HOURS AFTER HER CONVERSATION with Gregory Evans, Geovanna met with Nicolas Colmenares, the company's lawyer, in her office. She told him that she had recently hired a new employee, Gregory Evans, for a period of time, since the detective was working for the auction house and someone was needed to continue his usual task, cataloging the books to be auctioned.
The professional accepted the change without hesitation, although he would have preferred to take a look at the employment conditions and the termination date, since it was his responsibility to draft contracts of this nature. He was convinced when Monroe assured him that the detective had been recommended by a great friend of his: Alfredo Hijarrubia, who worked at the Ministry of the Interior.
Then, they discussed other pending matters. They dedicated a few hours to matters related to the auction house, not without some beating around the bush on Geovanna's part, when the lawyer tried to address the unfortunate incident in Viana in more depth.
Nicolas, who after practicing his profession for more than thirty years, presumed to know human nature better than many psychologists, sensed that the director wanted to tell him something that, at the same time, she wanted to hide. Monroe used to be a very frank person, perhaps too much so. That's why he found it strange to see her so distant at times and too excited at others.
He had known her for six years, when she had settled on Velazquez Street with a big dream in her head, after leaving the Drouot company in Paris due to demands from her manager, but today she was not the Geovanna she always was, the iron lady capable of winning the battle against adversity. He was sure that something was worrying her greatly.
— I'll invite you to dinner," he suggested, trying to resume old habits.
— We haven't shared a table for many months, and that makes me think that you no longer include me among your most select friends.
Geovanna started to laugh. She had always liked the courteous tone of that mature Don Juan with tanned skin, gray hair, and green eyes, who had been showering her with quite appropriate compliments a few years earlier, with the aim of seducing her. She could not deny that he was still an attractive man and that he had been much more so in his youth, but there had never been any kind of chemistry between them, only a great respect that had given way to a solid friendship.
— I accept the invitation — she replied, as she picked up her overcoat. — That way we can continue talking while we eat. There is something I need to know and you can help me."
— May I ask what it is?
— I think it would be better to explain while we dine.
The lawyer stepped forward to open the door and let her in. Geovanna thanked him. Then they went to the hall.
— I have to confess that you have been different since the funeral… — She touched his nose. — I know we're all a little disconcerted by what happened to Jorge and I'd like to think that's the reason… and not another — and then he stopped in front of the elevators, adding gravely: — Tell me that Hiperión isn't hiding any new surprises from me.
— It all depends on your answer to my questions.
— What a thing…! — he exclaimed, scathing. — This morning, you woke up enigmatic.
— Don't worry, by the end of the night I'll be the same rude person as always — he assured her with a hint of dryness.
Nicolas noticed again the sudden change in her mood. It was clear that she was on the defensive. Her concern must have been serious, since her instability had led her to give a very off-key answer. The truth is that he knew the cause of her ups and downs, but he wanted her to confess it herself.
After a short walk, they went into a Basque restaurant. They ordered traditional hake and a good bottle of Navarrese white wine. While they were bringing them some appetizers, Geovanna took the opportunity to light a cigarette. Nicolas, who couldn't stand tobacco smoke, consoled himself by thinking that the new law on smoking would come into effect next year.
—I assume the police have already contacted you about Jorge's murder—the director began, placing her hands together. —I gave you your phone number myself, because I thought it would be better. Any matter that has to do with the personal lives of our employees is a problem that doesn't concern the company, but this time is different. I couldn't face the situation alone and I suggested that they talk to you. I'm sorry I abused your trust.
—You did the right thing, otherwise you might have found yourself faced with a series of impertinent questions, designed to confuse you.
—What do you mean?
—Come on!—she raised her eyebrows significantly. —Do you think the police are idiots?—she reproved her in a friendly tone. — Why were you the only person from the company they questioned, instead of an employee?
— Well, because Jorge had no family in Madrid and I was the only person they could turn to in this case. Anyway worked for me.
A brief, ironic smile crossed the professional's face.
— Save your efforts. They know what was going on between you two.
Monroe felt his cheeks flush:
They had discovered...
It wasn't that Geovanna felt embarrassed about the romantic relationship, but she liked to keep everything about her private life a secret, even more so if it involved getting into the sexual realm. In any case, the only thing she could think of was to deny what was unquestionable.
— I don't know what you're talking about —she whispered. Then she looked at him with a defiant air.
— They found evidence of your relationship in the apartment. You know... Photographs of you together and happy, women's underwear in his bedroom drawers, perfume in the bathroom... And a series of other things that made them think about the sporadic presence of a woman there. In this case, you.
— What else did they tell you?
— That it was a massacre — he answered in a low voice — It seems incredible that something like that happened to Jorge.
— Is that all? — she asked again. — No gruesome details about his death?
— I think they cut out his tongue... I don't know anything else. The police don't go into much detail when they're trying to clarify what happened. The explanations they offer are minimal, professional, as you already know.
Geovanna nodded, trying to suppress her uneasiness.
The waiter brought them their appetizers and wine and soon after served the food. They talked about business, about the great growth in paper collectors over the last year, thanks to the quality of the offer, the visible increase in competence in the sector and also the extensive knowledge that the investors who frequented the auction rooms demonstrated.
The truth is that they both tried to waste their time in a professional conversation, which threatened to become a smokescreen hiding the real reason that had brought them there.
But at coffee time, now relaxed and unarmed, Geovanna decided it was time to tell him certain things. She needed someone with legal credibility to help her.
— Nicolas… — she said in a very low voice. — I know why Jorge was murdered. — She bit her lower lip. The lawyer frowned. He hadn't expected a comment of that caliber.
— Are you sure?" he asked, astonished. "And don't try to tell me it's just feminine intuition. — She paid little attention to the comment. His icy gaze remained fixed, unblinking.
— They executed him for translating a medieval cryptogram… — she finally added, then clarified, — …it's a manuscript that carefully guards the secret of an esoteric brotherhood called The Widow's Children. You must think I'm crazy, but what I'm telling you is the naked truth.
Nicolas grimaced and allowed himself to express his opinion. He thought for a few seconds before speaking. He knew Geovanna and knew she was not a woman inclined to jokes. Her story must be true, although it was hard for her to accept that there was a sectarian conspiracy against Viana.
That seemed like the plot of a mystery novel, quite common.
— Do the police have this information? — he asked, interested.
— Only regarding the names of his killers. I know the rest because we used to see each other at his house and I knew about the existence of the manuscript.
— And what explanation did you give them for knowing about the existence of these Sons of... what are they called again?
— Listen, Nicolas. Those bastards cut out Jorge's tongue and wrote some sentences on the wall in blood. — Her face hardened. — They signed themselves as The Widow's Sons... — she paused for a moment before continuing. — I was there myself and I could see it with my own eyes.