Chapter 12 - TOMÁS REYES
Tomás Reyes lived under another name.
He had spent four years repairing boats near Faro.
No social media.
No property in his real name.
No professional license.
Nothing that made him easy to find.
Mateo contacted Portuguese authorities before we moved.
I did not want another frightened witness disappearing because I acted too quickly.
Tomás agreed to speak after learning Marta had come forward.
We met in a small office above the marina.
He was sixty-two.
Silver hair.
Weathered face.
The kind of eyes that seemed to notice doors before people.
He looked at me for a long time.
“You look like Elena when you’re angry.”
I almost smiled.
“She would hate hearing that.”
“She did.”
That hurt in a strangely comforting way.
“You worked for her?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Seven months.”
“What did she ask you to investigate?”
“Arturo Valdés.”
“Beatriz?”
“Eventually.”
“Rafael?”
“Eventually.”
“Álvaro?”
Tomás leaned back.
“Álvaro was helping her.”
That answered one question.
“You’re sure?”
“I recruited him.”
I looked toward Mateo.
Álvaro had told the truth about that.
At least partly.
“What did you find?”
Tomás opened an old file box.
“Arturo had been running a long-term extraction scheme.”
“Small amounts.”
“Complex routes.”
“He used people with legitimate access.”
“Lawyers.”
“Assistants.”
“Consultants.”
“Vendors.”
“He rarely signed anything himself.”
“And Beatriz?”
“She began as an assistant.”
“Then became more valuable.”
“How?”
“She was ambitious.”
“She learned quickly.”
“She understood social access.”
“Arturo realized she could get close to people.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was getting close to me part of the plan?”
Tomás did not answer immediately.
That was enough.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
The word landed like a stone.
“When?”
“Not immediately after Elena died.”
“How long?”
“Months.”
“So my marriage…”
“Was encouraged.”
I looked away.
Every memory rearranged itself.
The first dinner.
The accidental meeting at a hotel opening.
The way Beatriz seemed to understand my grief without asking too many questions.
The way she bonded with Isabella slowly.
Nothing felt accidental anymore.
“Did Beatriz ever care about me?”
Tomás looked uncomfortable.
“I investigated crimes.”
“Not feelings.”
Fair answer.
“What about Elena’s crash?”
He opened another folder.
Photographs.
Vehicles.
A garage.
José Llorente.
The mechanic Marta named.
Arturo entering.
Beatriz entering two days later.
Then one photograph stunned me.
Rafael.
“What was he doing there?”
“I never knew.”
“Did Elena?”
“She saw the photograph.”
“What did she think?”
“That Rafael was compromised.”
“Was he part of the sabotage?”
“I found no proof.”
“What about Arturo?”
“Strong circumstantial evidence.”
“Beatriz?”
“Knowledge.”
“Maybe participation.”
“What does that mean?”
“Phone records placed her near Arturo before and after the first brake incident.”
“And the fatal crash?”
Tomás pulled out a road map.
“Elena left Marbella at 7:41.”
“Arturo followed at 7:53.”
“Beatriz left Marta’s location around 8:12.”
“Elena crashed at approximately 8:31.”
“Arturo’s phone went dark from 8:02 to 9:04.”
“Beatriz’s went dark from 8:14 to 9:11.”
My skin chilled.
“They turned them off.”
“Or disabled tracking.”
“Were they together?”
“Unknown.”
“Rafael?”
“At his Madrid residence according to cell records.”
“Álvaro?”
“At a dinner with twelve witnesses.”
“José?”
“His phone also went dark.”
Three people.
Arturo.
Beatriz.
José.
“What did police know?”
“Very little.”
“Why?”
“Rafael suppressed the mechanical lead.”
“I know.”
“Elena’s vehicle was released too quickly.”
“Then scrapped six months later.”
“Who ordered that?”
Tomás looked at me.
“Your legal office.”
Rafael again.
I rubbed my face.
“Why did you disappear?”
“Because two days after the funeral, someone entered my apartment.”
“They left photographs of my wife and grandchildren.”
“I understood.”
“You had evidence and ran.”
“Yes.”
“You could have come to me.”
Tomás stared at me.
“Everyone believed Rafael was your closest adviser.”
“He had buried the brake report.”
“Beatriz was already moving around your social circle.”
“Arturo had access to your business.”
“I did not know whether approaching you would save you or expose me.”
Painful.
Logical.
“What changed?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why talk now?”
“Because Elena left instructions.”
“What instructions?”
“If anyone ever found the blue file, I was supposed to finish what she started.”
My heart stopped.
“She expected this?”
“She hoped someone would eventually find it.”
Tomás pushed another envelope toward me.
Inside was a memory card.
“What is this?”
“Financial evidence.”
“Enough?”
“For theft and fraud?”
“Yes.”
“For Elena?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“What do we need?”
“José Llorente.”
“The mechanic.”
“He can connect Arturo to the vehicle.”
“Where is he?”
“I lost him four years ago.”
Mateo spoke.
“We can find him.”
Tomás shook his head.
“Arturo has been looking too.”
My phone vibrated.
Carmen.
I answered.
Her voice was tense.
“Gabriel, the judge moved the next hearing.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Beatriz filed new allegations.”
“What now?”
“She claims you are intimidating witnesses.”
I laughed without humor.
“Which witnesses?”
“Rafael.”
“That’s absurd.”
“It gets worse.”
“What?”
“She submitted an affidavit from him.”
My blood went cold.
“Rafael?”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
Carmen hesitated.
“That you threatened him in his office.”
I remembered grabbing his shirt.
Mateo had stopped me.
There were cameras.
Context.
But technically, I had touched him.
“Anything else?”
“He says he fears you may act irrationally if Isabella remains with you.”
I stared at Mateo.
“He turned.”
Carmen continued.
“There’s also a request for Isabella to be moved to neutral temporary care until the investigation is complete.”
“No.”
“Gabriel.”
“No.”
“We will fight it.”
“She is not going into a facility because these people manufactured evidence.”
“I understand.”
“No, Carmen.”
“You need to understand exactly what I’m saying.”
“My daughter spent months believing nobody would help her.”
“I will not let a courtroom teach her the same lesson.”
Silence.
Then Carmen said, “Then bring me evidence stronger than Rafael’s affidavit.”
I looked at Tomás.
He slowly pushed a second memory card across the table.
“What’s that?”
I asked.
“A recording Elena made of Rafael.”
“When?”
“Three days before she died.”
“Does it help me?”
Tomás’s expression darkened.
“It depends.”
May you like
“On what?”
“On whether you are ready to hear what Rafael believed was going to happen to Elena.”
