Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE ACROSS THE STREET
Andrés called Salgado.
No answer.
He called again.
Voicemail.
He looked through the hospital window.
Emergency entrance.
Cars.
Visitors.
Too many eyes.
He called Mrs. Lucha’s home phone.
It rang twice.
Then someone answered.
Silence.
“Mateo.”
No response.
“I know you’re there.”
A man breathed into the phone.
Then hung up.
Andrés returned to Teresa’s room.
“You’re staying here.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“I raised you. Don’t insult me.”
He showed her the photograph.
Teresa covered her mouth.
“Lucha.”
“I’m calling police.”
“No.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
“Look at the kitchen.”
He enlarged the photo.
Teresa pointed.
“That isn’t my kitchen.”
Andrés looked closer.
Cabinets were similar.
Tiles similar.
But the window—
Wrong side.
Then he understood.
Mrs. Lucha’s kitchen.
Across the street.
Renata had staged the photograph to make him think they were in his house.
“Smart,” Andrés whispered.
Teresa grabbed his wrist.
“Too smart.”
He called Salgado again.
This time the officer answered.
Andrés explained everything.
Salgado swore.
“Do not go there.”
“They have a hostage.”
“Do not go there.”
“I heard you.”
“Captain.”
“I heard you.”
Andrés hung up.
He left the hospital.
Not for the house.
For the alley behind it.
Police would approach from the front.
Mateo knew that.
Renata knew that.
Andrés knew the neighborhood better than either of them.
Mrs. Lucha had an old laundry-room window behind the kitchen.
He crossed two backyards.
Jumped a low wall.
Crouched beneath the window.
Voices inside.
Mateo.
“She’s not answering.”
Renata.
“He’ll come.”
“What if he called police?”
“He won’t risk her.”
Mrs. Lucha made a muffled sound.
Then a slap.
Andrés’s hands curled.
Renata snapped, “Stop hitting her!”
“Then get her quiet.”
“You’re losing control.”
“I’m losing control?”
Mateo laughed.
“You brought me into this.”
“I brought you into a property deal.”
“You drugged the old woman.”
“You bought the pills.”
“You forged the documents!”
“Because you said you could handle it!”
There it was.
Confession.
Andrés activated the voice recorder.
Renata continued.
“We were supposed to move Teresa into the facility, sell the house, transfer the money, and leave.”
Mateo said, “Then your soldier came home early.”
“My husband.”
“Whatever.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“And you’re still married to him.”
Silence.
Then Mateo said, “Maybe not for long.”
Andrés carefully opened the laundry window.
One inch.
Two.
Three.
A dog barked somewhere down the street.
Mateo stopped talking.
“What was that?”
Andrés froze.
Footsteps approached.
The laundry-room door opened.
Andrés moved.
He caught Mateo’s wrist as the gun came around.
The shot exploded.
Glass shattered.
Mrs. Lucha screamed through the tape.
Andrés drove Mateo into the wall.
Gun clattered across the floor.
Renata lunged for it.
Andrés kicked it away.
Mateo punched him.
Andrés took the blow, grabbed his shirt, and slammed him onto the kitchen table.
Wood cracked.
Sirens screamed outside.
Renata ran.
Back door.
Andrés saw her disappear into the alley.
Mateo twisted beneath him.
A knife flashed.
Andrés caught his wrist.
The blade stopped one inch from his throat.
Mateo grinned.
“Your wife said you were dangerous.”
Andrés forced the knife away.
“She talks too much.”
He drove an elbow into Mateo’s jaw.
Mateo collapsed.
Police poured through the front door.
“DOWN!”
Andrés raised both hands.
“Captain Robles!”
Salgado recognized him.
They cuffed Mateo.
Freed Mrs. Lucha.
Then Salgado asked the question Andrés already knew was coming.
“Where’s Renata?”
Andrés looked toward the open back door.
Gone.
His phone vibrated.
A new message.
No number.
Just a photo.
Teresa’s hospital room.
May you like
Empty.
Andrés stopped breathing.
