by David Sal
Aurora Pedroza was seated in one of the armchairs inside the small room, waiting for them. She was an older woman of 62 years who, as far as Lorenzo could tell, had prepared herself to receive them. She was elegantly dressed and wore makeup. Nevertheless, neither the clothes nor the makeup could hide what she had been through over the past several days. In spite of having no point of reference, as Lorenzo had not known her previously, it was clear that she was emotionally drained. For some reason unknown to him, he had expected Aurora to be the typical “trophy wife” of millionaires like Pedroza entering their seventies, twenty or thirty years younger, with a slender figure and too active for the old husband to be able to keep up with in any capacity. Lorenzo was, therefore, taken aback to see the older, fragile appearance of the lady of the house.
As soon as she signaled they could take a seat, the maid asked them if they would like a snack, juice, or water.
“Yes, whatever he’s having,” responded Edgar.
“I don’t want anything, thank you,” said Lorenzo, anxious to start the conversation with Aurora.
“Well, then, nothing I guess,” answered Edgar dejectedly.
After a fleeting glance from Aurora, the maid left the room. Lorenzo and Edgar sat on the sofa, face-to-face with Aurora. After a long silence, Lorenzo took the initiative.
“I’d like to formally introduce myself, now that we are meeting in person. My name is Lorenzo Almeida. I’m the husband of…”
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Almeida,” interrupted Aurora. “I know exactly who you are. I also know who you are. You work in the company, right?” she asked, looking at Edgar. Aurora’s comment caught Edgar off-guard because he thought his presence went unnoticed by the company’s superiors. He nodded his head yes.
“Edgar Moya, pleased to meet you,” he said, introducing himself.
“I suppose your visit is due to…the incident,” said Aurora in a trembling voice, shutting her eyes tightly and trying to hold back tears. The wound was still undeniably fresh. Lorenzo imagined that she had agreed to meet him because she hoped that talking to someone who was also suffering would help her deal with the profound pain she was experiencing. But after seeing how wounded she was, Lorenzo worried that maybe it was the wrong time to talk about the matter. Maybe it was too soon.
“Mrs. Pedroza, I want you to know that I…”
“Don’t worry. Your apology isn’t necessary. It’s not your fault. Your wife lost her sanity. Those things happen,” said Aurora, regaining her composure and speaking in an understanding tone. “I forgive her,” she added, her face tranquil.
Lorenzo looked at Edgar, taken aback. He remained silent. Be careful what you wish for, he thought to himself, you might just get it. He knew that he was seeing the flip side of the coin. This woman saw him as the husband of the woman who had murdered her spouse. She allowed him into her house because she wanted to forgive him, to let it out and move forward in her recovery process. And he had nothing concrete with which to refute her.
“I forgive her even though she robbed me of the most important thing in my life. My reason for being. Do you see this mansion? I didn’t want to live in a house this big. I knew that when the children left it would feel lonely,” Aurora explained, turning her gaze inward to a time and place that only she could see and feel. “It’s been almost fifteen years now since the last one moved away, but Armando made me forget all of that. We were closer than ever and now…”
All expression was wiped from Aurora’s face and she remained frozen and lost for a few seconds. Lorenzo tried to remedy his discomfort by directing the conversation toward what he was interested in.
“Mrs. Pedroza…I only…wanted to know…” said Lorenzo, unable to find a way to express himself without sounding insensitive.
“You want to know what exactly happened? I’m as lost as you are. I came in after your wife had already left,” said Aurora as if she had suddenly awakened from a trance.
“Where were you at the moment of the…incident?” asked Lorenzo, careful to maintain a soft and respectful tone.
“I was in my bedroom. It was already time for my evening shower. Then I sat down in bed to read a book. That was my routine when I was waiting for Armando to finish entertaining his guests,” explained Aurora slowly.
“But if there were guests in the house, why weren’t you entertaining them with your husband?” asked Lorenzo. It seemed odd to him that the lady of the house would not participate in entertaining the guests, as was usually the custom.
“Armando set aside some time each night to be by himself. He enjoyed reading, listening to music, or simply meditating in his study,” Aurora began to explain.
“Every night? That didn’t bother you?”
“No, not at all. I liked to give him his space, let him do what he wanted to on his own time. He worked very hard and he deserved to rest. I knew that afterwards, the rest of the night was for me. We chatted in our bedroom, called our children and grandchildren, listened to music, or simply sat out on the balcony to enjoy the evening,” explained the widow nostalgically.
“I see,” said Lorenzo, resting his face in his hand.
“He also enjoyed inviting his friends to sample his wines on occasion. That was his life’s passion. He even prepared a wine cellar to properly store them. He loved to get new wines to add to his collection. He was livelier and happier on those nights of wine tasting. I would never try to take that from him,” said Aurora with a gleam in her eyes, which seemed to return some life to her countenance.
“But that night was different,” added Lorenzo, sorry to have to mention the incident again.
“At first, no,” answered Aurora, breathing deeply now. “But at about nine thirty I heard shouts and loud voices and… chaos. I left the room and headed downstairs to see what was happening. Everyone was standing in front of the study, and I immediately felt their eyes on me. They were all, without exception, locked on me. That’s when I knew that something was very wrong. When I entered the study…Armando was on the floor, face down. They pulled me away as soon as I tried to throw myself on top of him. I don’t remember anything else. They gave me some sedatives and I was out of it until after the police arrived.”
“How many people were in the house?”
“I don’t know, about eight, I think.”
“Counting the employees and everyone?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Is it possible that anyone else was in the house without you knowing it?”
“No, everyone who entered and left had to register in the guard’s log book at the entrance, with the time and everything. Even I have to write down what time I arrive. I don’t like to, but…”
“Your employees, are they trustworthy?”
“What do you mean?” asked Aurora, annoyed.
“I mean, have you known them long, do you really know them?” clarified Lorenzo.
“What does that have to do with anything? I don’t see how…”
“We’d like to see the scene of the crime,” interrupted Edgar.
Aurora’s facial expression registered displeasure at the request. Lorenzo gestured at Edgar to shut up and butt out, but Aurora caught their exchange. Sighing, she shook her head from side to side.
“That’s why you came? To see how you could get out of the mess that your wife made?” asked Aurora, disappointed.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” assured Lorenzo, trying to repair the damage caused by Edgar’s inappropriate request.
“Then why so many questions?” asked Aurora, already knowing the answer.
“It’s just that, I need to know what happened. I need to be sure. I need…to know the truth,” stated Lorenzo, clasping his hands together in a plea.
“The truth even though it hurts?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Lorenzo hesitated to answer. He knew that he had not allowed room to truly accept the possibility that Doris was guilty. But he also admitted that, if he did, he would not have the
energy and drive necessary to continue. There was no room for doubt.
“But you don’t understand,” said Lorenzo, trying to explain.
“Don’t underestimate me. How long have you been married? Seven, eight years?”
“Ten.”
“Thirty-eight. And I was always ready to do whatever was necessary for him. So, I understand very well the feelings that must be ripping you apart right now. None of us is perfect, but we have the duty to expect the best out of our spouses and to support them, even in the worst moments, like right now for you two,” declared Aurora calmly.
“Doris is pregnant,” announced Lorenzo, looking directly at her. “I just found out a few days ago, when this mess began.”
“I see. It won’t be easy for you. I can assure you of that,” she said, showing an understanding of his situation. Lorenzo responded, nodding his head yes.
“But that doesn’t change the facts. You can’t let that cloud your judgment. Do you really believe that your wife is innocent?”
“I have to…I have to believe,” said Lorenzo with his eyes on the floor.
Aurora sighed, looking at nothing, while making her decision.
“Teresa!” she called in a loud voice, straightening up in her chair.
The young maid instantly appeared, ready to follow Aurora’s instructions.
“Please, take them to the study and show them whatever they want,” Aurora ordered in a definitive tone.
Lorenzo and Edgar stood up at the same time. Lorenzo moved closer to Aurora, outstretching his hand. She stood up and took his hand in hers.
“Thank you,” said Lorenzo gratefully. Aurora did not let go of his hand, looking firmly into his eyes, as if trying to read his true intentions.
“I hope you find the truth that you’re looking for. Truly. As for me, the only truth I know is that my husband is dead, and, sadly, no truth that you or anyone else can find is going to change that,” finished Aurora, letting go of his hand and slowly walking out of the room through the same door through which they had entered.
Lorenzo remained silent and motionless, apparently unaware that Teresa and Edgar had already gotten up and were headed to the opposite side of the room.
“Through here, gentlemen,” the girl signaled, stretching her arm toward the open hallway. Lorenzo snapped out of his thoughts and ran to catch up. While they were walking, Edgar moved in toward Lorenzo.
“Did you notice how she talked about Pedroza, as if he were a saint or something?” asked Edgar, looking for Lorenzo to agree.
“Remember that she lost her husband. You lost your boss. A sick fantasy that many people have. But not yours, right?”
“Don’t ask,” answered Edgar, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Leaving the hallway, they entered a spacious room furnished with a sofa and armchairs, in addition to a dining room table with space for ten dinner guests. Similar to the foyer, several wooden doors with large glass windowpanes separated the room from the outside terrace.
“Everyone was seated here? Do you remember where?” asked Edgar, pointing to the dining room table.
“Mr. Pedroza was seated here,” answered the young woman. “Next to him was…”
“But that was during dinner,” interrupted Lorenzo. “The wine tasting was in the dining room, too?”
“No, for that they went out onto the terrace. Mr. Pedroza liked to be outside,” clarified the young woman as she opened the doors that led to the terrace. Lorenzo and Edgar walked outside, following closely behind her. They were both astounded by the view from the terrace. In the distance, the beach with its tall and majestic palm trees; down below, the pool’s blue, crystal-clear water; above, the powerful sun shining in the cloudless sky. All of this accentuated by the caress of a refreshing breeze and the aroma of saltwater.
“The bread in the world is poorly divided,” commented Lorenzo wryly.
“No, the money is poorly divided. This is amazing. I don’t want to leave,” said Edgar, astonished and outraged at the same time.
Lorenzo watched as an employee put the final touches of paint on the steel-barred fence that separated the property from the beach. The color was a green tone that Lorenzo found to be ugly. Money doesn’t buy good taste, he thought to himself.
“The metal needs special maintenance because the saltwater erodes it. Today they’re resuming the work that had been stopped because of Mr. Pedroza’s death,” explained Teresa, making Lorenzo wonder if he had spoken out loud. Then Teresa pointed out where each of the guests was sitting on the night in question.
“Mr. Pedroza was seated here, Mrs. Alfonso here, Ms. Ronda there, and Mr. Estrada there,” she said, pointing to each space with her finger.
“What brand was the wine?” interrogated Edgar.
“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Lorenzo, somewhat embarrassed.
“Nothing, just curious,” answered Edgar, shrugging his shoulders and smiling bashfully.
“Château Palmer 2005, among others,” she answered without hesitation.
“I’ve never heard of it,” answered Edgar without knowing what else to say. The maid nodded, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips. Lorenzo returned his attention to the matter-at-hand.
“According to the testimonies given, Doris arrived around nine o’clock, correct?”
“Yes, the exact hour is registered in the guard’s log book,” explained Teresa.
“You greeted her and brought her out here?”
“Yes, just as I did with you.”
“She had already visited on other occasions, right? You knew her?”
Teresa answered yes, nodding her head.
“Did you notice anything different on that night?”
“Oh, yes, definitely. She was completely different. She didn’t say hello to me. Her makeup was running down her face, like she’d been crying. I don’t know. She was very out of sorts.”
“Next, you brought her out here,” pointed out Lorenzo, signaling with open hands to the terrace.
“She didn’t go out onto the terrace. She stayed in the dining room,” corrected the maid.
Lorenzo entered the dining area and stopped in front of the table, looking out toward the terrace.
“Here?” he asked, pointing both index fingers at the floor.
“Yes,” she nodded as she, too, entered.
“Okay, she arrived here upset and with a strange demeanor. What did Pedroza say when he saw her? Did he seem surprised?” asked Lorenzo.
“I suppose he was just as surprised as everyone else. But I don’t remember if he said anything in particular,” Teresa answered, straining to remember the details.
“We can assume that, seeing her in that state, Pedroza decided not to cause a scene and ruin the evening. He therefore invited her to come into his study and work the matter out in private. At least that’s the opinion of the other witnesses. Do you agree?”
“Yes, I think so, too. He didn’t like to take care of matters in front of others who weren’t involved,” answered Teresa.
“Where’s the study?” asked Lorenzo.
Teresa directed them toward the study, heading down the outside corridor, a few steps past the first door on the right. It was adjacent to the room they were in. Teresa opened the solid wooden door and entered, followed by Lorenzo and Edgar, who paused momentarily while passing through the doorway.
Lorenzo made a quick visual inspection of the space. Pedroza’s desk was facing them and the door, at the back of the room. It was constructed of wood, elegant and immense. It was accompanied by a high-quality executive chair lined with genuine leather and two magnificent wooden executive’s chairs. There were still papers and folders scattered over his desk, some that would be tended to by others and some that would forever remain unresolved. Behind the desk was a wall about 14 feet wide, covered by a clear, cream-colored curtain. Lorenzo could see through the curtain that the windows were open, letting in the light of the day and a breeze strong enough to
create soft ripples in the delicate fabric.
“You were the one who found him, right? I mean, after Ms. Ronda,” Lorenzo asked Teresa, the memory that it provoked clearly affecting her. She answered yes with a slight nod of her head.
“In what position did you find him…you know?” grilled Edgar while tossing a glance at Lorenzo for approval. Teresa breathed in before answering.
“Face down, with his head…toward the…door,” she said, her voice breaking. Lorenzo crouched down in the area that she pointed to.
“According to the police, he was struck hard in the head. The trophy was here on the floor next to him. Is that correct?” asked Lorenzo. Teresa motioned yes. Lorenzo pulled himself upright and sat down in one of the chairs, carefully analyzing the scene being painted in his mind with the information that he had at hand. His eyes shifted from side to side, up and down, as if searching every corner of the room. Edgar put his hands in his pockets and started to look at the photographs and awards that were hanging on the walls.
“Look, Pedroza and the mayor. What year would that have been?” asked Edgar with curiosity as he analyzed some of the other photographs that showed Pedroza posing with different public celebrities, both from the political and social spheres.
“It doesn’t make sense,” persisted Lorenzo in his analysis. “Pedroza was a tall man. He was older, 65 years old, but he was in good shape and he was in good health. Doris, on the other hand, is small and not very strong. She could barely lift that trophy. When they awarded it to her, I was the one who ended up carrying it around all night until my arm was about to fall off,” remembered Lorenzo. “I find it difficult to believe that she could have lifted it above her head to be able to strike Pedroza in the head with enough force to kill him instantly,” analyzed Lorenzo with the motion that Doris would have made with her arm raised high.
