She screams a name. Every night the same name. But it’s not her father’s or her mother’s name, it’s another name. Which one? Martín. She screams Martín, « Help me, » over and over again. Dolores frowned. That name didn’t appear on any Inosinot documents. Case. Who is Martín? I didn’t know until I checked the Fuentes family’s employment records. Martín Reyes was the gardener. He worked for them for three years and disappeared a week after Sara died.
No one looked for him, no one asked about him. He disappeared without a trace. His mother lives in a small town four hours from here. She filed a missing person report, but the police never investigated. The case was closed. Dolores felt a chill, a potential witness vanishing right after the crime. A name a traumatized girl screams in her nightmares. This was bigger than she imagined. “I need Martín’s mother’s address,” Dolores said. “I have it.” Carmela handed her a piece of paper.
“But be careful, ma’am. Whoever made that man disappear can make you disappear too.” Dolores put the paper in her pocket. “At my age, Carmela, I’m not afraid of disappearing anymore. I’m afraid of disappearing without having done justice.” Five years earlier, two weeks before the tragedy, Gonzalo Fuentes’s office was on the tenth floor of a glass building in the financial district. Sara walked in unannounced with a manila folder in her hands and fire in her eyes.
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