Just two words. Four potent syllables. Detective Pons. That's what the pathologist had called him and you can call it fake or you can call it fate but Pepito feels his chest swell as he steps out of the hospital. He slips around to the side entrance and straddles his bike. Stuffs his fattened head into his helmet and checks his watch. 1.15am. It's late but is minding is racing onwards, cogs firing and neurons sparking as he kicks off from the ground and pulls out of the car park. Not a breath stirs the air or even ruffles the back of his shirt as he guides the Vespa through the silent streets and out to La Mina. He has to see it, there is no other way. He has to see the place where her body was found. And if he's lucky, he might just stumble on the tramp and his dog who found it.
Pulling the bike up behind him, he scans the street with a twist of his head and struggles to pull off his helmet. There's no-one around and he's nervous. Strangely exposed beneath the winking lights from the tower blocks as he makes his way on stumbling feet across the street. No-one to see as he trips through the dust to the building sight. Except a cat, which raises its head with a lazy grace to watch the middle-aged man with a gun at his hip, pick his precarious way through the rubble. There's no-one. And he's nervous. Never done this before so when he reaches the building, he pulls out his gun as he steps inside and pokes through the dark to the back. Luckily, the police have taped the spot so he has no trouble finding it. Ducking under the tape, he bends down to the hole where her body was dumped and peers inside. He reaches forwards, touches the sides with the tip of his gun, then climbs down with his right foot first and stands with his torso exposed.
Drowned, drowned ... a blow to the back of the head ... but it wouldn't have killed her, she drowned ... that was what killed her ... SHE DROWNED.
The words float around his head as he slips the gun in his holster and runs his hands around the empty space. Cautiously, his fingers skipping over the jutting concrete, broken tiles and tangled bits of metal. Searching. Searching for something. Anything really, that can give him a clue, a reason, or a lead. But there is nothing. Only a hole in the ground and a middle-aged man with mud on his hands, desperately groping in the dark. He straightens his back and wipes his forehead, smearing the sweat and dirt together across his brow. A noise, like a distant shuffle of feet distracts him and he struggles out of the hole with his arms pushing on either side and his feet kicking up off the ground. He struggles to stand, brushing the dirt from his buckling knees as the shuffling grows louder. Louder and closer with each panicked breath, his head swiveling round right and left as he flattens his back against the wall. But there's only one point of entry into this dingy room, the one he came through, the one in front of him and the one which heralds the shuffle of feet. He pulls out his gun, again. Raises it up, arms held out and points it at the doorway. He holds his breath. A tremor runs down the length of his spine so he braces himself with his feet spread out and calls into the darkness.
"Who's there?" No answer.
"I said who's there?" The shuffling is almost upon him.
A dog barks, echoing off the walls and bounds into the room. It stops when it sees Pepito and whimpers softly beneath its breath, paws scraping on the broken floor. Pepito lowers his gun. He lowers his gun and walks over to the dog and bending down on cracking joints, he scratches beneath its chin.
"You found the body?" he asks the tramp.
"My dog did."
"Your dog found the body?"
"Yep."
"Did you see the body?"
The tramp scratches his nose with the lengthened point of a grimy nail. Slowly, methodically with languorous strokes, he considers his answer.
"I already told the police .. I didn't see nothing."
"But you saw the body."
He considers again.
"Maybe."
"Maybe yes or maybe no?"
"Maybe yes."
"So you saw the body?"
The tramp nods, his eyes flicking up slyly between the dips of his head.
"I already told the police."
"Yeah and now you're telling me, so let's just run through it all again."
Pepito pulls out his wallet and opens it a crack. He peers inside, shielding the contents from the tramp who is craning his neck to get a peak himself.
"Notice anything unusual?" He peels out a twenty and holds it between finger and thumb.
"I saw that tattoo she had on her arm."
"The rose?"
"Yeah, the rose." His eyes are fixed on the twenty in Pepito's hand.
"How long you been staying here?"
"A few nights."
"Notice anything unusual on any of those nights?"
The tramp shakes his head, his eyes glued to the twenty.
"You sure about that?"
He dips his head then stops, flicks his neck to the side and scratches his chin.
"Maybe I seen something else .." he waits, cautiously watching the twenty still gripped between Pepito's fingers. Pepito nods his head and hands the note to the tramp.
"Yeah, that's right, it's all coming back to me now ... I seen a car, a couple of nights before pull up outside, over there ..." He points, the grimy tip of his nail stretching out towards the building site. "Yeah, it pulled up and I though it was funny 'cause it was out of place."
"Out of place?"
"Yeah, fancy .."
"Fancy?"
"Yeah, you know ... a nice fancy car, no roof."
"Did you see who was inside?"
"No, I didn't get too close and my eyes were kind of blurry."
"The car just stopped outside?"
The tramp nods his head.
"Did anybody get out?"
He shakes his head, crumpling the twenty in his fist and pushing it into the lining of his coat.
"Did you tell the police any of this?"
"About the car?" The tramp smiles, a lurid slit of blackened teeth.
"Nah ... I forgot to tell them."
A fancy car, not much of a lead but at least it was something. And there was something else. He digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief which he runs over his face in sweeping circles.
"She knew her attacker .." he speaks the words out loud, unconsciously spilling from his mouth, he repeats them, "she knew her attacker .." It is the only feasible conclusion he can make and what's more - the doctor was right. Her body was never meant to be found, at least, not yet. This was no random attack, no frenzied blow from the wrath of a stranger. This was well thought out. Her body was brought here on purpose, dragged through the debris and dumped beneath the floor. Out of mind and out of sight. At least, that's what her killer had thought. Placing one foot in front of the other, his toes scuffing over the dusty stretch of concrete, Pepito makes his way back to his bike. He stops when he reaches the street and turns to look back at the building. And then he recalls something else the doctor had said. She was pregnant. Had her killer known? Was that the reason? What kind of monster could take the life of a pregnant woman? Strike when she was at her most vulnerable. Pepito shakes his head and moves slowly, with sluggish steps towards the bike. Did Carlos know? Did he know she was carrying his baby? Was that what she had wanted to talk about the last morning he saw her? Of course, it was possible that he knew nothing about the baby. Possible that she hadn't told him because she didn't get the chance and while his mind is filling with possibilities it suddenly strikes Pepito that perhaps Carlos is not the father after all. It was possible. Anything was possible. Especially for Pepito. What did he know about her really? What did Carlos know about her, really? With each new piece of information he uncovers it seems as though he is being pushed further from the truth. Further from the girl in the photo. Further into something that is leading him into deeper waters and taking him out of his depth.
Drowned, drowned ... a blow to the back of the head ... but it wouldn't have killed her, she drowned ... that was what killed her ... SHE DROWNED.
The words float around his head as he slips the gun in his holster and runs his hands around the empty space. Cautiously, his fingers skipping over the jutting concrete, broken tiles and tangled bits of metal. Searching. Searching for something. Anything really, that can give him a clue, a reason, or a lead. But there is nothing. Only a hole in the ground and a middle-aged man with mud on his hands, desperately groping in the dark. He straightens his back and wipes his forehead, smearing the sweat and dirt together across his brow. A noise, like a distant shuffle of feet distracts him and he struggles out of the hole with his arms pushing on either side and his feet kicking up off the ground. He struggles to stand, brushing the dirt from his buckling knees as the shuffling grows louder. Louder and closer with each panicked breath, his head swiveling round right and left as he flattens his back against the wall. But there's only one point of entry into this dingy room, the one he came through, the one in front of him and the one which heralds the shuffle of feet. He pulls out his gun, again. Raises it up, arms held out and points it at the doorway. He holds his breath. A tremor runs down the length of his spine so he braces himself with his feet spread out and calls into the darkness.
"Who's there?" No answer.
"I said who's there?" The shuffling is almost upon him.
A dog barks, echoing off the walls and bounds into the room. It stops when it sees Pepito and whimpers softly beneath its breath, paws scraping on the broken floor. Pepito lowers his gun. He lowers his gun and walks over to the dog and bending down on cracking joints, he scratches beneath its chin.
"You found the body?" he asks the tramp.
"My dog did."
"Your dog found the body?"
"Yep."
"Did you see the body?"
The tramp scratches his nose with the lengthened point of a grimy nail. Slowly, methodically with languorous strokes, he considers his answer.
"I already told the police .. I didn't see nothing."
"But you saw the body."
He considers again.
"Maybe."
"Maybe yes or maybe no?"
"Maybe yes."
"So you saw the body?"
The tramp nods, his eyes flicking up slyly between the dips of his head.
"I already told the police."
"Yeah and now you're telling me, so let's just run through it all again."
Pepito pulls out his wallet and opens it a crack. He peers inside, shielding the contents from the tramp who is craning his neck to get a peak himself.
"Notice anything unusual?" He peels out a twenty and holds it between finger and thumb.
"I saw that tattoo she had on her arm."
"The rose?"
"Yeah, the rose." His eyes are fixed on the twenty in Pepito's hand.
"How long you been staying here?"
"A few nights."
"Notice anything unusual on any of those nights?"
The tramp shakes his head, his eyes glued to the twenty.
"You sure about that?"
He dips his head then stops, flicks his neck to the side and scratches his chin.
"Maybe I seen something else .." he waits, cautiously watching the twenty still gripped between Pepito's fingers. Pepito nods his head and hands the note to the tramp.
"Yeah, that's right, it's all coming back to me now ... I seen a car, a couple of nights before pull up outside, over there ..." He points, the grimy tip of his nail stretching out towards the building site. "Yeah, it pulled up and I though it was funny 'cause it was out of place."
"Out of place?"
"Yeah, fancy .."
"Fancy?"
"Yeah, you know ... a nice fancy car, no roof."
"Did you see who was inside?"
"No, I didn't get too close and my eyes were kind of blurry."
"The car just stopped outside?"
The tramp nods his head.
"Did anybody get out?"
He shakes his head, crumpling the twenty in his fist and pushing it into the lining of his coat.
"Did you tell the police any of this?"
"About the car?" The tramp smiles, a lurid slit of blackened teeth.
"Nah ... I forgot to tell them."
A fancy car, not much of a lead but at least it was something. And there was something else. He digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief which he runs over his face in sweeping circles.
"She knew her attacker .." he speaks the words out loud, unconsciously spilling from his mouth, he repeats them, "she knew her attacker .." It is the only feasible conclusion he can make and what's more - the doctor was right. Her body was never meant to be found, at least, not yet. This was no random attack, no frenzied blow from the wrath of a stranger. This was well thought out. Her body was brought here on purpose, dragged through the debris and dumped beneath the floor. Out of mind and out of sight. At least, that's what her killer had thought. Placing one foot in front of the other, his toes scuffing over the dusty stretch of concrete, Pepito makes his way back to his bike. He stops when he reaches the street and turns to look back at the building. And then he recalls something else the doctor had said. She was pregnant. Had her killer known? Was that the reason? What kind of monster could take the life of a pregnant woman? Strike when she was at her most vulnerable. Pepito shakes his head and moves slowly, with sluggish steps towards the bike. Did Carlos know? Did he know she was carrying his baby? Was that what she had wanted to talk about the last morning he saw her? Of course, it was possible that he knew nothing about the baby. Possible that she hadn't told him because she didn't get the chance and while his mind is filling with possibilities it suddenly strikes Pepito that perhaps Carlos is not the father after all. It was possible. Anything was possible. Especially for Pepito. What did he know about her really? What did Carlos know about her, really? With each new piece of information he uncovers it seems as though he is being pushed further from the truth. Further from the girl in the photo. Further into something that is leading him into deeper waters and taking him out of his depth.
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