Méndez responded immediately.
Eп хпa enlarged photograph of the floor, something was shining near the sofa.
A small metallic reflection.
—Was this on the report? —Médez asked.
The guard checked the pages.
—No, sir.
Méndez zoomed in on the photo.
It looked like a metallic button… or a twin.
—Bring the inventory of evidence —he ordered.
When he arrived, he checked every line.
Weapon.
Clothing.
Partial footprint.
But nothing about the metal object.
Méndez looked at Ramiro.
—Did you know someone with a scar near their eye?
Ramiro weighed.
Then something changed on his face.
-Yeah.
The room remained silent.
—A man named Vargas. He worked with my wife. A loan shark. He was always high.
Salome raised her head.
—¡Ese olía a hυmo!
Méndez felt that the puzzle was beginning to move.
“Look for Ortega’s records,” he said.
Hours later, they found something else.
An ancient temple.
Counter Detective Ortega.
By manipulation of evidence.
The case had been closed without investigation.
Méndez closed the file.
The system on which he had relied all his life was beginning to crack.
He looked at Ramiro.
—Perhaps his story didn’t end today—he said.
Ramiro squeezed his daughter’s hand.
—It never ended —he replied.
And for the first time in five years, the future no longer seemed like a closed door.
