Speak of the devil. His phone vibrates in his pocket as Pepito emerges from the building and crosses the street. He pulls it out and presses it to his ear. It's Mariquita. She speaks in short, breathless sentences without waiting for a response. Carlos had been released. He's at her house. He wants to talk to Pepito and he's scared. Shitless.
"I'll be right there." It's all Pepito has time to say before she hangs up. Pushing the phone back in his pocket, he strides off down the street. Raphael is nowhere in sight, he must have slipped out of the flat before Pepito. Where he is now is anyone's guess, although, it doesn't really matter - Pepito has already forgotten about him. In fact, at this moment in time, he couldn't care less. He has more pressing things on his mind. He has a nagging doubt in the back of his mind and it won't let him rest.
He leaves his bike propped by the side of the road in front of the house. As he lifts his head he spots Mariquita, waiting by the front door but she doesn't run towards him. Not this time. She stays where she is, holding the door open with the side of her hip and her arms tucked up tight beneath the cushioned bulge of her chest. She's wearing a loose fitting robe that falls to the floor in a cascade of silk and when she moves backwards to let him pass, the robe falls open beneath her knee and Pepito can see she is barefoot. Averting his eyes, he sucks in his gut and shuffles around her. Squeezes passed those folds of silk and those blood red toenails, clipped and shining, winking beneath him on her smooth, tanned feet.
Carlos is sitting in the living room with his head buried deep in his hands. He stays like this for some moments until Pepito clears his throat with a softened rasp. As he looks up Pepito can see his face is swollen and pale, streaks of dirt run down his cheeks and his clothes are creased and disheveled. He looks a mess. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. He tries to stand but his legs give way under his bulky frame and he crumples back into the sofa with a hiss of softened leather. Slowly, he shakes his head and lets it fall back into the fleshy pit of his palms. Pepito slips up beside him and touches him lightly on the shoulder. He sits down next to him. He waits for him to speak. Finally, after a lengthy silence, Carlos starts to speak.
"I can't believe it .." tears fall silently down his face and stain his crumpled shirt. "The police said she was pregnant."
Pepito nods his head. "She was Carlos, I'm sorry."
"Was it mine?" He looks up from between his hands and braces himself for the answer.
Pepito shakes his head. He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, blushing at the rasps of his butt on the leather. Or is it the sobs from the big mans throat? He isn't quite sure. He reaches out and tugs at the hand.
"Look at me Carlos ... I'm going to find out who did this to her. Do you hear me? I'm going to find out who killed her."
Carlos pulls his hand from Pepito's grasp and stands up. He walks restlessly towards the window and looks out.
"The police said she was seeing someone else ... and maybe the baby wasn't mine.. and I could have .." His words trail off, sliding down his throat, as if he has no strength to push them up again, or doesn't care to speak. He moves towards a chair by the window and slumps down heavily.
"Why didn't she tell me? We could have worked our way through this .. we could have .." He stops. He shakes his head.
"Why?" His eyes snap back to Pepito for an answer. Eyes that are swollen and stained with hurt. "Why?"
"I don't know Carlos .. but I promise you, I'll find out."
Mariquita has been silent. She stands at the back of the room with her gaze fixed on Carlos. Her lips pressed tightly together and her brow furrowed in thought. Pepito turns towards her. He tips his head and jolts his eyebrows in a signal for her to join him. Then he stands up and moves outside to the terrace. They meet beside the swimming pool and confer in hushed voices, their heads bowed together.
"I need to ask him some more questions but in this state .." he nods towards the house, "in this state, I'm not sure if he's ready."
"What kind of questions?"
"Just some things I found out .. things I don't think he knows anything about but I have to ask him anyway."
"Things?" She's growing restless. Flicking her eyes over her shoulder, she looks back towards the house. She moves around the edge of the pool with her robe flying out behind her. She stops. She turns. She moves back towards Pepito.
"Look," she pulls a strand of hair from her face and loops it behind her ear. "I don't think he's in any condition to answer any more questions. He's been through enough with the police and the only reason he's here in the first place is they had nothing concrete against him ... no evidence, but they still suspect him. Can't you give him a break?"
Pepito shakes his head but he presses onwards.
"I appreciate your concern but really .. that's why I'm here .. I need some more information."
"Don't you have enough? Don't you know yet that he didn't do it?"
Her voice rises as she speaks, her breath falling in tightly compressed gasps. She turns from him and walks towards the wall where she rests her cheek against the cool plaster and closes her eyes.
"They're going to take him from me again, aren't they?" She stifles a sob and turns to face Pepito. He can see her eyes, two slits of honey, glinting in the fading light. Glinting and sparkling and filing with tears. His heart tightens with a kick in his chest. His pulse quickens. His head spins and he feels himself falling, falling towards her. He wants to take her in his arms and squeeze, gently, have her rest her head on his hammering chest, stain his shirt - he doesn't care. But just as he moves in behind her, he stops himself. He stops himself in time. He pulls back from the edge of the precipice. Pulls back and adjusts his holster.
"Mariquita." He clears his throat and repeats her name. "Mariquita." It rolls over his tongue and he almost forgets. "I ... I need some answers." He almost forgets why he came. She reaches out to stops him but he has already turned and is moving back to the house with a stiffness guiding his step.
"Have you ever heard of Francisco Turó?" He sits on the edge of the sofa and leans forwards with his elbows hitched up on his knees. Carlos looks up. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He shakes his head. Pepito stands up and walks towards him. He circles behind and places a hand on the muscled shoulder.
"See ... there's no way for me to say this Carlos but .." He takes a deep breath. "Rosa and this man, Francisco Turó were ... he was the man she was seeing." He feels as though he's coaching a child. "You know she wanted to tell you, she just never got the chance."
Carlos raises his head and twists around to Pepito, his eyes blinking in rapid succession.
"The police think I did it .. they think I did that to her."
Pepito bows his head. "I know they do Carlos but I'm here to prove them otherwise."
He move back towards the sofa and sits down.
"They said someone put them onto me .. said I was the most likely suspect on account of her wanting to leave me ... and the baby .." He trails off again, slumping back in the chair, his large paw-like hand running over his head and down over his face. "But they've got it wrong, they've got it all wrong." He leans forwards, his hands gripped tightly together, fingers pressing the skin white. "If only she had come to me .." He looks up at Pepito. "We could have talked."
"I'm sorry Carlos, I'm sure she wanted to tell you but .."
"But what?"
Mariquita enters the room with two glasses clutched in her hands. Her eyes are darting back and forth between the two of them as she moves across the room. She sets the glasses down on the coffee table in front of Pepito and as she bends forwards, she catches his eye and holds his gaze. Then she crosses over to Carlos and sits down on the arm of the chair with her body pressed against him.
"Do you have everything you want?" The question is directed towards Pepito but her head is turned the other way. Pepito leans forwards and considers his response.
"I'm getting there," he eventually says. He leans backwards pushing his spine into the sofa and crosses his feet at the ankles.
"I'm curious," his gaze is fixed on Mariquita but his voice is directed towards Carlos. "Did you notice her behaving differently in any way in the last few months?"
Carlos lifts his head.
"No," his head slumps forwards and his eyes wander over his hands, laying mute in his lap.
"She wasn't nervous or anything?"
Carlos shakes his head.
"She didn't seem scared, or anxious or .."
Mariquita sighs, an exaggerated hiss of breath but Pepito ignores her.
"She didn't seem different to you?"
"Different?" Carlos raises his head and looks at Mariquita. She's still sitting on the edge of the chair, one arm curled around his neck.
"I think he's established the point that everything was normal."
Carlos nods his head. Mariquita stands up.
"If that's all detective Pons, I think Carlos needs some rest." She moves towards the entrance with her hand poised ready to open the door. Pepito hesitates for a moment, his eyes glancing over to Carlos still slumped in the chair, his back hunched over and his head buried in his hands. Pepito pushes upwards on cracking joints. He stands upright, slowly and reluctantly, stretching his spine with a muffled crack and moves towards Mariquita with lingering steps. He doesn't want to leave just yet, he has a few more questions he'd like to ask. As he reaches Mariquita, he leans in close, his breath brushing her ear and slips her a name. She stiffens her back at the sound of his voice and shifts her weight to the balls of her feet.
"Candy?"
"Candy Vazquez." He repeats.
She shakes her head. She purses her lips.
"Sorry," she finally says, "never heard of her."
"I'll be right there." It's all Pepito has time to say before she hangs up. Pushing the phone back in his pocket, he strides off down the street. Raphael is nowhere in sight, he must have slipped out of the flat before Pepito. Where he is now is anyone's guess, although, it doesn't really matter - Pepito has already forgotten about him. In fact, at this moment in time, he couldn't care less. He has more pressing things on his mind. He has a nagging doubt in the back of his mind and it won't let him rest.
He leaves his bike propped by the side of the road in front of the house. As he lifts his head he spots Mariquita, waiting by the front door but she doesn't run towards him. Not this time. She stays where she is, holding the door open with the side of her hip and her arms tucked up tight beneath the cushioned bulge of her chest. She's wearing a loose fitting robe that falls to the floor in a cascade of silk and when she moves backwards to let him pass, the robe falls open beneath her knee and Pepito can see she is barefoot. Averting his eyes, he sucks in his gut and shuffles around her. Squeezes passed those folds of silk and those blood red toenails, clipped and shining, winking beneath him on her smooth, tanned feet.
Carlos is sitting in the living room with his head buried deep in his hands. He stays like this for some moments until Pepito clears his throat with a softened rasp. As he looks up Pepito can see his face is swollen and pale, streaks of dirt run down his cheeks and his clothes are creased and disheveled. He looks a mess. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. He tries to stand but his legs give way under his bulky frame and he crumples back into the sofa with a hiss of softened leather. Slowly, he shakes his head and lets it fall back into the fleshy pit of his palms. Pepito slips up beside him and touches him lightly on the shoulder. He sits down next to him. He waits for him to speak. Finally, after a lengthy silence, Carlos starts to speak.
"I can't believe it .." tears fall silently down his face and stain his crumpled shirt. "The police said she was pregnant."
Pepito nods his head. "She was Carlos, I'm sorry."
"Was it mine?" He looks up from between his hands and braces himself for the answer.
Pepito shakes his head. He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, blushing at the rasps of his butt on the leather. Or is it the sobs from the big mans throat? He isn't quite sure. He reaches out and tugs at the hand.
"Look at me Carlos ... I'm going to find out who did this to her. Do you hear me? I'm going to find out who killed her."
Carlos pulls his hand from Pepito's grasp and stands up. He walks restlessly towards the window and looks out.
"The police said she was seeing someone else ... and maybe the baby wasn't mine.. and I could have .." His words trail off, sliding down his throat, as if he has no strength to push them up again, or doesn't care to speak. He moves towards a chair by the window and slumps down heavily.
"Why didn't she tell me? We could have worked our way through this .. we could have .." He stops. He shakes his head.
"Why?" His eyes snap back to Pepito for an answer. Eyes that are swollen and stained with hurt. "Why?"
"I don't know Carlos .. but I promise you, I'll find out."
Mariquita has been silent. She stands at the back of the room with her gaze fixed on Carlos. Her lips pressed tightly together and her brow furrowed in thought. Pepito turns towards her. He tips his head and jolts his eyebrows in a signal for her to join him. Then he stands up and moves outside to the terrace. They meet beside the swimming pool and confer in hushed voices, their heads bowed together.
"I need to ask him some more questions but in this state .." he nods towards the house, "in this state, I'm not sure if he's ready."
"What kind of questions?"
"Just some things I found out .. things I don't think he knows anything about but I have to ask him anyway."
"Things?" She's growing restless. Flicking her eyes over her shoulder, she looks back towards the house. She moves around the edge of the pool with her robe flying out behind her. She stops. She turns. She moves back towards Pepito.
"Look," she pulls a strand of hair from her face and loops it behind her ear. "I don't think he's in any condition to answer any more questions. He's been through enough with the police and the only reason he's here in the first place is they had nothing concrete against him ... no evidence, but they still suspect him. Can't you give him a break?"
Pepito shakes his head but he presses onwards.
"I appreciate your concern but really .. that's why I'm here .. I need some more information."
"Don't you have enough? Don't you know yet that he didn't do it?"
Her voice rises as she speaks, her breath falling in tightly compressed gasps. She turns from him and walks towards the wall where she rests her cheek against the cool plaster and closes her eyes.
"They're going to take him from me again, aren't they?" She stifles a sob and turns to face Pepito. He can see her eyes, two slits of honey, glinting in the fading light. Glinting and sparkling and filing with tears. His heart tightens with a kick in his chest. His pulse quickens. His head spins and he feels himself falling, falling towards her. He wants to take her in his arms and squeeze, gently, have her rest her head on his hammering chest, stain his shirt - he doesn't care. But just as he moves in behind her, he stops himself. He stops himself in time. He pulls back from the edge of the precipice. Pulls back and adjusts his holster.
"Mariquita." He clears his throat and repeats her name. "Mariquita." It rolls over his tongue and he almost forgets. "I ... I need some answers." He almost forgets why he came. She reaches out to stops him but he has already turned and is moving back to the house with a stiffness guiding his step.
"Have you ever heard of Francisco Turó?" He sits on the edge of the sofa and leans forwards with his elbows hitched up on his knees. Carlos looks up. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. He shakes his head. Pepito stands up and walks towards him. He circles behind and places a hand on the muscled shoulder.
"See ... there's no way for me to say this Carlos but .." He takes a deep breath. "Rosa and this man, Francisco Turó were ... he was the man she was seeing." He feels as though he's coaching a child. "You know she wanted to tell you, she just never got the chance."
Carlos raises his head and twists around to Pepito, his eyes blinking in rapid succession.
"The police think I did it .. they think I did that to her."
Pepito bows his head. "I know they do Carlos but I'm here to prove them otherwise."
He move back towards the sofa and sits down.
"They said someone put them onto me .. said I was the most likely suspect on account of her wanting to leave me ... and the baby .." He trails off again, slumping back in the chair, his large paw-like hand running over his head and down over his face. "But they've got it wrong, they've got it all wrong." He leans forwards, his hands gripped tightly together, fingers pressing the skin white. "If only she had come to me .." He looks up at Pepito. "We could have talked."
"I'm sorry Carlos, I'm sure she wanted to tell you but .."
"But what?"
Mariquita enters the room with two glasses clutched in her hands. Her eyes are darting back and forth between the two of them as she moves across the room. She sets the glasses down on the coffee table in front of Pepito and as she bends forwards, she catches his eye and holds his gaze. Then she crosses over to Carlos and sits down on the arm of the chair with her body pressed against him.
"Do you have everything you want?" The question is directed towards Pepito but her head is turned the other way. Pepito leans forwards and considers his response.
"I'm getting there," he eventually says. He leans backwards pushing his spine into the sofa and crosses his feet at the ankles.
"I'm curious," his gaze is fixed on Mariquita but his voice is directed towards Carlos. "Did you notice her behaving differently in any way in the last few months?"
Carlos lifts his head.
"No," his head slumps forwards and his eyes wander over his hands, laying mute in his lap.
"She wasn't nervous or anything?"
Carlos shakes his head.
"She didn't seem scared, or anxious or .."
Mariquita sighs, an exaggerated hiss of breath but Pepito ignores her.
"She didn't seem different to you?"
"Different?" Carlos raises his head and looks at Mariquita. She's still sitting on the edge of the chair, one arm curled around his neck.
"I think he's established the point that everything was normal."
Carlos nods his head. Mariquita stands up.
"If that's all detective Pons, I think Carlos needs some rest." She moves towards the entrance with her hand poised ready to open the door. Pepito hesitates for a moment, his eyes glancing over to Carlos still slumped in the chair, his back hunched over and his head buried in his hands. Pepito pushes upwards on cracking joints. He stands upright, slowly and reluctantly, stretching his spine with a muffled crack and moves towards Mariquita with lingering steps. He doesn't want to leave just yet, he has a few more questions he'd like to ask. As he reaches Mariquita, he leans in close, his breath brushing her ear and slips her a name. She stiffens her back at the sound of his voice and shifts her weight to the balls of her feet.
"Candy?"
"Candy Vazquez." He repeats.
She shakes her head. She purses her lips.
"Sorry," she finally says, "never heard of her."
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