Chapter 6 - THE KNIFE
Officer Salgado didn’t like being told how to do his job.
That helped Andrés.
He didn’t push.
He simply said, “Bag the knife properly.”
“It is bagged.”
“Then test it.”
Salgado frowned.
“You think your wife cut herself?”
“I think evidence should decide.”
Renata stood.
“This is insane.”
Andrés looked at her injured arm.
Three shallow cuts.
Parallel.
Controlled.
Not defensive wounds.
He had seen enough knife injuries to know what panic looked like.
Those cuts looked planned.
Renata snapped, “My mother-in-law attacked me.”
“Then her fingerprints should be on the knife.”
“She was holding it!”
“Good.”
Andrés nodded toward Salgado.
“Easy test.”
Renata’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Salgado noticed.
So did Andrés.
At the hospital, Teresa was placed under observation.
Renata tried to accompany her.
Andrés blocked the door.
“Go home.”
“I’m family.”
“So am I.”
“She needs me.”
“No.”
The word came out so flat that Renata stepped back.
Andrés stayed with Teresa.
The psychiatric physician interviewed her for forty minutes.
Alone.
Then another doctor came in.
Then a social worker.
They ordered bloodwork.
Toxicology.
Neurological screening.
At 2:15 a.m., preliminary results arrived.
Benzodiazepines.
Concentration inconsistent with Teresa’s reported prescriptions.
She wasn’t prescribed any.
The psychiatrist looked at Andrés.
“Someone gave her this medication.”
Teresa said, “I told you.”
The social worker asked, “Mrs. Robles, who gave it to you?”
Teresa looked straight through the open door.
Renata had somehow returned.
She stood in the hallway.
Listening.
Teresa pointed.
“Her.”
Renata burst into tears.
“She lies!”
The psychiatrist immediately closed the door.
Andrés stepped into the hall.
Renata backed away.
“You drugged her.”
“She takes sleeping pills.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know!”
“Then how did they get in the house?”
“She has medications everywhere.”
“Not clonazepam.”
Renata’s face changed.
Just slightly.
She hadn’t expected him to know the name.
Andrés stepped closer.
“I found the pills.”
“You searched my things?”
“They were in my mother’s closet.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“No, you don’t.”
She lowered her voice.
“Your mother hated me from the beginning.”
“This isn’t about whether she liked you.”
“She wanted us divorced.”
“Maybe she was smarter than I was.”
Renata slapped him.
The crack echoed down the hallway.
Two nurses turned.
Andrés slowly looked back at her.
Renata whispered, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“You’re right.”
He touched his cheek.
“I’m still finding out.”
His phone rang.
Officer Salgado.
“We processed the knife.”
Andrés watched Renata while he listened.
“Your mother’s prints aren’t on the handle.”
Renata’s face froze.
Salgado continued.
“Your wife’s are.”
Andrés said nothing.
“Also,” Salgado added, “we reviewed a neighbor’s doorbell camera. Mrs. Robles never entered the kitchen before officers arrived.”
Andrés looked at Renata.
She knew.
She could see it in his face.
“What?” she whispered.
He hung up.
“Go home, Renata.”
“Andrés—”
“Go.”
She turned.
Walked toward the elevator.
Then stopped.
Without looking back, she said, “You really think your mother is innocent?”
“Yes.”
Renata laughed quietly.
“You should ask her what happened to your father.”
Andrés went still.
His father had died twenty-three years earlier.
Hit-and-run.
Never solved.
Renata entered the elevator.
The doors began closing.
Andrés reached out, stopping them.
“What did you say?”
For the first time that night, Renata smiled.
May you like
“Ask Teresa.”
The elevator doors closed between them.
