liaison between her husband and Madame Trabanino? What a pig! You should have heard how he pronounced the word liaison, the brute — I stood up and told him to leave my house immediately, and to be very careful, he was in big trouble if he thought he could go around slandering Kati like that, he clearly had no idea how Don Federico Schultz would react if he found out that some nobody was going around insinuating that his daughter was somehow involved in Olga María’s murder. I shouted at him, my dear. Also, that he should be even more careful about Yuca, because I’d already warned Yuca that a policeman in cahoots with the communists was spreading lies about his involvement in Olga María’s murder. This is no laughing matter, my dear. The very same day as the burial, the first thing I told Yuca, after taking him a ways away from Kati, was what Deputy Chief Handal was hatching. I could tell, Yuce was alarmed — he asked me how that policeman could have found out about his relationship with Olga María. How should I know? But I warned him he should take all the necessary precautions. Yuca is friends with the chief of police, as well as the minister of public security. I’m surprised they haven’t taken that Deputy Chief Handal off the case. I’m telling you all this, my dear, but don’t repeat a word of it to anybody; it’s all extremely delicate. Wait, wait a second, mama’s talking to me. She’s telling me to turn on the television, there’s a report about the Olga María case on the news. Hold on a minute, it’s on Channel 2. I hate watching the news: all they ever do is talk about politics. What a bore. But ever since what happened to Olga María, I’ve got my ears glued to every word. There it is. Are you watching it, too, my dear? Look at that animaclass="underline" he’s really got the mug of a criminal. The more I look at him the more he looks like a murderer to me. They caught him in Soyapango, in a major operation. He’s an ex-sergeant from the Acahuapa Battalion. They identified him thanks to the girls’ description: there aren’t many soldiers in this country who look like RoboCop. Bastard, creep. Too bad there’s no death penalty. They should execute him, like they do in Guatemala — did you see on television the last time they executed an Indian there? They don’t stand around there wondering what to do; if you’re an Indian and a criminal, you go straight to the firing squad. As it should be. If they’ve got the death penalty in the most civilized country, the United States, why not here? A guy like that isn’t going to suddenly turn into a nice guy. Papa says it’s the priests’ fault that there’s no death penalty — I agree with him: I bet you if they sent a dozen bad guys like him to face the firing squad it would make them think twice before carrying out their atrocities against decent people. Fiends like that don’t respond to reason. With that criminal look in his eyes, you think he could be reformed? They should shoot him, without a trial or anything. Well, of course, first he should give the name of the mastermind, even though a brute like that never squeals. But I didn’t finish telling you about that Deputy Chief Handal’s visit. I thought he was going to take off right away after my screaming fit, but he didn’t even stand up. The one who was terrified, like he wanted to hide under the sofa, like a mongrel who was being beaten, was the detective who came with him, that Villalta person — just looking at him you’d think he was that bastard RoboCop’s brother. What kind of a world is this? As I was saying, that Deputy Chief Handal remained very calm, just sitting there in that armchair, staring at me, like I was whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Then he said that if I’d gotten everything off my chest, I might like to sit down again, he wanted to finish up so he wouldn’t have to bother me again. He said it so gently it caught me off guard. I actually listened. He went back to the subject of Yuca, and Kati, and Olga María. He assured me he had no intention of judging anybody’s private life, much less a person who’d been murdered in such a brutal way, but his job consisted of pursuing all possible lines of investigation, and one of them was pointing to a crime of passion, though this wasn’t the only or even the most important one. He told me he had specific information about Olga María’s relationship with José Carlos and with Yuca, and he understood why I’d prefer not to talk about those things, how I’d fiercely defend my friend’s private life, but the information he had led him to believe that I was aware of these relationships. That Deputy Chief Handal spoke so gently, without any hostility, that I couldn’t get upset, my dear. All I managed to do was ask where he’d gotten his information. He told me he couldn’t reveal his sources, in his line of work he had to maintain strict confidentiality — he would keep anything I told him in the strictest secrecy, I should trust him. His goal in questioning me was only to dig a little deeper into the relationships Olga María had with her friends, not to create a scandal or anything like that, just to tie up the loose ends of that line of investigation. That’s what he said, then he added that his work was apolitical, that he never had any intention of messing with Don Gastón Berrenechea’s reputation, much less that of his wife. And maybe because I’m so tired of all this, maybe because his tone of voice was so gentle, maybe because when all is said and done the man is doing his job because he did arrest the murderer, well, the truth is I began to answer most of his questions. I told him, yes, José Carlos was in love with Olga María, they’d met on several occasions, in his studio, and Marito didn’t know anything about it. But I made it clear to him that I didn’t know anything about any pornographic pictures or any blackmail, the truth was I considered José Carlos incapable of doing anything of the sort. Then I told him in no uncertain terms that if he wanted me to keep talking he’d have to tell me where he’d gotten that photograph of Olga María. He repeated that he couldn’t tell me. I asked him if there were other photos or if this was the only one. And since he kept his mouth shut, my dear, so did I. I told them the interview was over, to please leave because I felt very tired. Here comes my mother. Wait a second. She says the Brazilian telenovela is about to start. Yes, we watch it together, hard as that is to believe. I know, I also never imagined my mother would like a telenovela like that — it’s so risqué, so sexy. But she’s taken even more of a liking to it than I have: she hasn’t missed a single episode. I love it. In a totally different league than that Mexican garbage, only servants watch that. But it bugs me that it’s so long, it seems like it’ll never end; the one I like best is that Holofernes — what a hunk, my dear, incredible man, gorgeous, but with such a horrible name; I wonder what his name is in real life. If it weren’t for Holofernes I’d have stopped watching that telenovela. The truth is there’s ten more minutes before it starts; my mother’s always jumping the gun. Anyway, I pretended to be tired, I didn’t want to talk anymore, but that Deputy Chief Handal was determined to finish the job, because he didn’t budge, he asked me if Olga María’s relationships with José Carlos and Yuca had overlapped, which had come first, if either one knew of the existence of the other, if Marito suspected or knew anything. I told him more or less what we know, but without going into many details, because when all’s said and done the guy already had the information, it didn’t do anybody any good for me to play the fool. What I did do was let him know that only a total imbecile would ever suspect someone as important as Gastón Berrenechea, with his political and economic interests, of hiring someone to kill the woman he loved, which would only create thousands of problems for himself. That’s what I told him: Yuca would be the last person to have any interest in Olga María being dead, he could be sure of that. Then he asked me about Kati. But the truth is I don’t know if she realized what was going on between Olga María and her husband, and I don’t think she’d care, anyway. Why would you care if the husband you can’t stand anymore goes out with one woman or another? Why would she even bother to ask, my dear? That’s what happened to me. The thing is, Alberto is so boring I don’t think he could even get a woman to go out with him unless he first showed her his bank account. That’s why I told this Deputy Chief Handal, his line of investigation that points to a “crime of passion,” as he calls it, doesn’t make much sense: neither José Carlos or Yuca or Kati, much less Marito, would have anything to gain from Olga María’s death. That was my conclusion, my dear, though afterward I started wondering how anyone can ever be sure of what anybody else thinks or feels. Just look at Olga María: not to have shown me, not to have even mentioned the naked photo José Carlos took of her! And Yuca, during one of his panic attacks, mortified by jealousy and a woman’s abject scorn, with all that power at his disposal, what wouldn’t he be capable of? That interview with that policeman has upset me a lot, believe it or not. I’ve started imagining horrible things about Kati, God help me, all because of his filthy insinuations; for instance, maybe she found out about Yuca and Olga María’s affaire and she arranged the murder to create problems for Yuca. Pure fantasy, of course, as if I’d been force-fed a slew of murder mysteries, but that’s how that interview with that Deputy Chief Handal affected me. Can you believe that it never occurred to me that Don Federico himself could have masterminded Olga María’s murder and that way kill three birds with one stone: finish off the woman who was driving his son-in-law crazy, save his daughter’s marriage, and keep Yuca on a tighter leash because of the suspicions that would surround him. Yes, I know, my dear, more fantasy — things like that only happen in telenovelas. It’s that meddlesome, conniving policeman, he’s to blame for what’s happening to me, but before he left I asked him what his other lines of investigation were, other than the “crime of passion” one, just in case I could contribute anything to them. The guy didn’t want to give me even a little hint; he just told me that if he uncovered anything of interest or if he needed to talk to me again, he’d call me. That’s what he called it: “talk to me,” as if it weren’t really an interrogation. He gave me a little card so I could get in touch with him if I remembered anything important that might help the investigation. In short, he came here to mess with my head. That was this morning; they were at the house until noon. It was their fault I was upset all afternoon. You see, I’ve even started thinking badly of Marito, God forbid, as if the poor man didn’t have enough sorrows and problems. The mind can be a treacherous thing: you know, I even started wondering if maybe Marito had a lover, if he found out about the affaire between Yuca and Olga María and saw his chance to get rid of her and point the finger at Yuca and get the insurance money. Yes, my dear, I know, it’s despicable. I feel guilty just thinking such thoughts. It’s all that Deputy Chief Handal’s fault. That’s why I went to see the girls after lunch, at Doña Olga’s place, the situation is so chaotic, the girls spend most of the time at their grandmother’s, but Marito wants to be with them at least for meals. The horrible thing is that the house reminds them of Olga María’s murder. Can you imagine how awful it must be for the girls to walk into that living room where that monster murdered their mother? It can’t be good for them. I already told Marito: he should sell that house immediately. If he doesn’t, the girls will never get over their trauma. They should live in a different house, a different space, where they can forget that atrocity — Marito agrees with me. But it’s not so easy to sell the house and buy another one. It’ll take a few months. In the meantime it’s best for the girls to live at Doña Olga’s and go home only to get their clothes and toys — the less they go there the better. The one who has it the worst is Julita: she can’t go to Doña Olga’s — her place is too small and also they can’t leave Olga María’s house with nobody there, with so many thieves around who’d strip it bare in the blink of an eye. The poor thing has been totally abandoned, because Marito comes home only to sleep. Poor dear Julita, I really feel sorry for her, all alone in that house, full of so many memories, with Olga María’s presence everywhere, with nothing much to do, not being able to see the girls, like living with ghosts. It’s horrible. Doña Olga agrees with me. We talked about it this afternoon when I went to see the girls. Something has to be done about Julita, she’s worked for them for so many years. But for now there’s nothing to do: neither Sergio or Cuca or Doña Olga can take her to live with them. She’ll have to wait until Marito moves, the girls get settled again, and then Julita can take care of them. In the meantime that poor woman might go crazy; that’s what I’m worried about. Here comes my mother, again. Wait a second. She says the Brazilian telenovela has started. I’m going to have to go, or else my mother won’t enjoy it. I’ll call you later, or tomorrow morning if you’re going out tonight. It’s just that I have a few more ideas about this Deputy Chief Handal’s suspicions, a couple of ideas that might help find the mastermind behind Olga María’s murder. I want to explain them to you — but not in such a rush — so you can give me your opinion. I’m even tempted to call that policeman so he can follow up on some leads. But they’re very delicate issues. Let’s talk about it later. Okay, ciao.