Méndez didn’t move an inch, but something hardened his gaze.
“Why didn’t you say so before?” she asked with unexpected gentleness.
Salome lowered her gaze.
Then, for the first time since she came in, she truly looked like a little girl.
“Because he took me to live with him,” she murmured. “Every night he told me my mother was a murderer and that if I talked, no one would believe me because children make things up. Then he told me that if I was good, maybe they would let my mother live. But if I lied… they would kill her because of me.”
Ramira let out a broken, animalistic, unrecognizable sound.
—My God… my little girl… my little girl…
Méndez took a deep breath.
—And why are you speaking now?
Salome lifted her face.
There was something fierce in his eyes.
—Because yesterday I overheard Uncle Julian on the phone. He said that when it was all over today, we were going to go “far away” because no one would be able to say a word anymore. And I understood that he was never going to stop. Not with me. Not with her.
The entire room seemed to tilt.
The colonel turned to the social worker.
—Is the girl still in her uncle’s custody?
She nodded, pale.
—Yes, sir. For three years now.
Méndez muttered a curse under his breath. Then he turned to face the guards.
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