The She-Devil in the Mirror (8 page)

affaire
with her.
It took me so much by surprise that I didn't know what to say. I still haven't
fully digested it. Can you imagine Olga María finding Alberto attractive? I
simply can't make heads or tails of it. That's what I told that detective when I
came out of my state of shock: I told him he'd have to show me some proof if he
wanted me to believe him, it was some kind of misunderstanding, malicious gossip
cooked up by the police. And I couldn't even manage to get angry because
suddenly I was putting two and two together. Pepe Pindonga was categorical—the
man is heartless: he told me that Olga María and Alberto had met at least a
couple of times before we got divorced. Imagine that! What a fool I was not to
have realized it. He went on to explain that the first time was at Olga María's,
the morning after a party, when you-know-who returned to the house with the
excuse that he'd left his sweater there, and they took advantage of nobody being
home; the other time Alberto picked her up at the beauty salon. That must have
been why Mercedes got so nervous when I started talking about Olga María,
because the detective had just been there questioning her and gotten that
information out of her. Then, while my brain was working a million miles a
minute, I began to catch a glimpse of what the beauty salon “hypothesis”
consisted of. I was determined to have the answers. He said, yes, Alberto's name
appeared in a report about the investigation into her lovers, especially because
he's been managing Olga María's and her family's finances. By this time, my
dear, we were in the bar, so I ordered a double whiskey. He said he'd talked
enough, he'd told me everything he knew, now it was my turn, I needed to help
him, tell him everything I knew so we could work together and that way he could
move his investigation forward. He mainly asked me about what you already know,
but in much greater detail than the police. The horrible part is that the more I
talked the more I realized that this man was only looking to confirm what he
already knew; I wasn't, in fact, telling him anything new, just corroborating
the information in the police reports he'd read and the inquiries he'd carried
out on his own. The truth is, I was feeling pretty distressed, choked up and
all, because of the Alberto thing, and I wanted to get back to that, hear more
about the relationship between my ex-husband and Olga María. Weird, because I
didn't feel angry, none of that rage that blinds you when you feel like you've
been betrayed, but instead there was this sadness, anxiety, as if suddenly
nothing made any sense. That's why I wasn't responding with much enthusiasm and
Pepe Pindonga had to pry everything out of me. There was a moment, around when I
ordered a second drink, that I felt like crying, I swear, that's how I felt,
because I'd always been so loyal to Olga María, and now it turns out she didn't
show me the least consideration at all. Pepe noticed my state of mind—he's very
sensitive—and he said maybe it'd be better to change the subject; he saw me so
sad, he hadn't wanted to hurt me, but it was better for me to know so I wouldn't
hear about it later and be even more shocked. He tried to comfort me: Olga María
didn't want to hurt me by getting involved with Alberto, she probably didn't
have any control over those unconscious urges that made her have sex with men, I
knew her better than anybody else did and should forgive her. Pepe Pindonga said
all that. I couldn't control myself any longer and I shed a tear, then another,
and another; it all happened in silence, with no big fuss, a mournful cry,
melancholic, like I was remembering somebody I'd lost a long time ago. Luckily,
it's pretty dark in the hotel bar and the TV's always on, so nobody knew what
was happening to me, only Pepe: he took my hand and squeezed it. It's pretty
awful, my dear, to find out about something like that. With my last glimmer of
hope I asked him about his sources, how he'd gotten his information. But Pepe
had already warned me that he wasn't going to reveal any names. All I can guess
is, other than Mercedes, maybe Julita, Olga María's housekeeper, maybe she
confided in her, or in those blabbermouths Cheli and Conchita, who work at the
boutique. Who knows? It's unbelievable how you can live, being deceived by your
best friend and your husband. Though I couldn't care less about Alberto; on the
contrary, he must have something going for him besides his moneymaking ability,
otherwise our friend wouldn't have gotten involved with him. Bring me some more
water, my dear, my mouth is dry from talking so much. I don't want to get sad
again, especially on this overcast afternoon. But I'm telling you, I'm going to
call Alberto later tonight when he gets home from the office, I don't want him
to think I'm a total imbecile, to think they can cheat on me like that and me
not have a clue. Pepe Pindonga advised me not to: why dig up dirt from such a
long time ago? But I'm not going to repress myself. That's what I told him when
we were already at the restaurant by the pool; Alberto's going to pay for this.
You'd keep your mouth shut, wouldn't you? So what if we got divorced a long time
ago. Pepe says maybe Olga María seduced him; but no man goes to bed with a woman
by force. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing, and the same goes for Olga María.
Pepe told me he's trying to create a psychological profile of her—it would help
his investigation—because even though he's almost a hundred percent sure that
the murder was planned to hurt Yuca, one should never completely neglect other
lines of investigation. He told me that my name appears in the police reports as
a possible suspect, because of the
affaire
between Alberto and Olga
María and my connections with Yuca. Can you believe it? I got indignant, my
dear. Not only do I have to swallow the fact that my best friend slept with my
ex-husband but also that they suspect me of having killed her. It's
unbelievable. I was so angry I lost my appetite. I had the urge to immediately
call that Deputy Chief Handal and give him a piece of my mind. But Pepe tried to
calm me down: I wasn't a suspect in the strict sense of the word, it's just that
I'm considered part of secondary investigations, offshoots, ones that feed into
and support the central inquiry. No matter what, it's outrageous. Now, after
thinking about it a lot, I disagree with Pepe Pindonga: I believe Olga María
went to bed with Alberto fully conscious of what she was doing. She was
perverse, my dear, it all started when I told her that my relationship with
Alberto was on the rocks, he was useless in bed, life with him was the most
boring thing that could ever happen to me; that's all she needed to hear to
decide she wanted to give him a whirl. That's what I think. She wanted to try
him out to see if what I told her was true or not. Simply perverse. Most likely
she found out I wasn't lying, because Pepe Pindonga assures me that he has
dependable information about only a couple of encounters. My head hasn't stopped
racing all afternoon, my dear. Horrible: I've had the most awful thoughts. I
haven't had a moment of peace. Now I feel a little calmer. Your house really is
in the best part of the city: you have a gorgeous view, it's super-cool here,
and it's not that far away from shopping and everything else you need. You know
what I've even started thinking? That Alberto hurried the divorce through—even
though I was the one who first suggested it—because he had hopes of starting up
something with Olga María. It's not paranoia, my dear. All of them were ready to
separate from their wives so they could be with her. Why would Alberto, who was
sort of dense about things like that, be the exception? I might be exaggerating,
you might be right, but by now anything seems possible. It's as if I just got
rudely awoken with a slap across the face. What a nightmare. The worst part is
that there I was, accomplice and confidante in all her romances: I feel cheated,
and idiotic. I'm going to get even with that piece of shit Alberto, and I'm
going to force him to confess everything, absolutely everything, the whole nine
yards. Who does that idiot think he is? The good part is that this Pepe Pindonga
is a great conversationalist, he knows an infinite number of stories, and when
he saw how distraught I was he changed the subject to get me to calm down. He
started telling me about something super-interesting: his experiences at a
school of the esoteric. He said he was in some kind of monastery, in the
mountains in central Mexico, where the masters are old indigenous people who've
experimented with hallucinogenic mushrooms. He asked me if I'd been in Mexico. I
told him only briefly: papa hates that country, he says Mexicans are thieves and
bums, and the Aztecs were barbarians. That's why I've never been very
interested; I prefer to go to Miami or New York. Don't you feel the same way?
The thing is that there we were, the detective and I chatting away, right next
to the pool, hanging around after dinner, about to have coffee or tea. I don't
know how we got back to the subject of Rita Mena, the reporter. He told me that
she'd accused him of sexual harassment and that's why his situation at the
newspaper deteriorated to the point where he had to resign. Seems like that girl
blows everything out of proportion, she's a compulsive liar, ever since she
covered that story about the snakes; do you remember that huge scandal, about
that maniac in a yellow Chevrolet full of snakes who went around terrorizing the
population a few years ago? She thinks she's the cat's meow, but she's just a
nobody, that's why anybody can easily manipulate her, like they did to wage
their campaign against Yuca. Now she's trying to get in to interview that
RoboCop criminal so she can write an article that will earn her one of those
journalism prizes the priests hand out. That's what Pepe Pindonga told me. But
it seems RoboCop plays his cards very close; that man's kept his lips sealed,
that's why they hired him. Oh, dear, it's getting late. It's so pleasant here on
the terrace, but I can't stand it any longer, I have to call Alberto. He's going
to be so surprised, this Olga María case is getting uglier all the time. I get
the impression nobody has found the unifying thread. You can tell that Pepe
Pindonga is no simpleton, but even he admitted there comes a point where all the
trails go cold. By the way, he asked me about you. Yes, Pepe did, about if you
had been a good friend of Olga María's, where you work, how much I trust you;
the man is nosy, I'm warning you. I told him I was sick of being interrogated,
you are one of my best friends, and you weren't about to go gossiping about me.
But he wouldn't take no for an answer. I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to
interview you. He's nice enough. We left it that we'd meet again in a few days.
He said he'd get in touch with me, even though he also left me his card. Here it
is in case you're interested. I bet you'll run into him when you least expect
to, like I did, but once he gets hold of you he doesn't let go. You know I even
got to thinking that the sly fox probably let the air out of my tire. Too much
of a coincidence, my dear. I can't trust anybody anymore.

7. THE CRASH

I
COULDN'T WAIT TO CALL YOU,
my dear, things are heating up so fast.
I talked to Alberto, about an hour ago, as soon as I got back from your house. I
gave him a piece of my mind about the disgusting things he did with Olga María.
I had no intention of even letting him defend himself, all I wanted to do was
throw in his face everything Pepe Pindonga told me. And that's just what I did:
I told him he was a son of a bitch, a real bastard, how dare he betray his
friendship with Marito and my trust; how dare he make a mockery of our best
friends' marriage. I guaranteed him this was not going to be the end of it, I'd
get even with him, he'd better watch his step. I caught him completely off
guard, he wasn't expecting anything of the sort, and I didn't let him answer or
get a word in edgewise. I didn't hold back: you pig, I said, you slept with my
best friend, you betrayed every principle in the book, you took advantage of all
of us, we all trusted you. I didn't spare him any of the gory details. I even
threatened him, just so he'd know it wasn't all just hot air: Marito is going to
hear about this, and your family, I told him, and my mother and my father, I'm
going to tell everybody. The cherry on top was to warn him that the police
suspect him, maybe he arranged Olga María's murder so he could cover up the
disgusting things he'd done with her and so that neither Marito or I would find
out, so he could stay in good with Olga María's family and mine. I don't know
why I said that, my dear, but suddenly I realized it actually could be true,
come to think of it, one of the many hypotheses could point to Alberto as a
suspect. I told him that, and also that I wouldn't be at all surprised to find
out that he'd had Olga María murdered, that's when I stopped to take a deep
breath. I was exhausted, panting, I expected Alberto to start mumbling some
excuses or maybe even denying in a really cynical way that he'd had sexual
relations with Olga María. But Alberto didn't react: I didn't hear a peep from
the other end of the line, as if he'd put the phone down on the table and left
the room. Then I shouted at him not to be such a coward, to say something, admit
he'd been a pig, a hypocrite, and in the end everything had turned out badly for
him because he'd pushed through our divorce hoping he could be with Olga María,
that's what I shouted at him, now I understood his last-minute hurry, what a
beast, though mostly just a fool, as if he didn't know Olga María, as if she'd
want to separate from Marito so she could be with the most boring man in the
world, the worst man on the entire planet Earth to have sex with, an idiot who
all he does is go to bed in his undershirt and underwear and wait for someone to
climb on top of him, and she'd only do that because she wanted a little relief
from the worst case of boredom ever. I ripped into him again, my dear, until I
felt I had nothing left in me. Again, I stopped, panting, to catch my breath.
That's when I realized he was still on the other end of the line, listening to
me. I thought he'd hung up, but no: he barely mumbled something about me being
unfair. Can you believe it? Me, unfair, to him? Stupid fool. I was about to haul
off on another tirade, really set him straight, tell him that fairness is
something between human beings, not animals, when all of a sudden he exploded,
hysterically—it was incredible, I've never heard such frenzy in his voice—he
started shrieking uncontrollably, saying I should quit bothering him with
trifles like this gossip about Olga María, it's totally inconsequential compared
to the catastrophe that's befallen him, a catastrophe that will land him in jail
or murdered. Then he let it out: Finapro is bankrupt. Imagine that. Dreadful, my
dear. The investment company has gone bankrupt. That's what he said. All the
money's gone to hell. I still can't believe it. Alberto is the vice president—if
he says so, it must be true. He was beside himself. He told me that instead of
haranguing him with ridiculous lies about Olga María, I should be helping him,
the police were on their way to arrest him. He told me the whole thing was
Toñito Rathis's fault. Now that guy, he's insane, my dear, he wants to be
president of everything: Finapro, all his family businesses, the governing
party, the soccer team, and, needless to say, the country. That's what Alberto
told me, that Toñito made a horrible mess of everything, he used the money from
the company to cover losses in other family businesses, to finance the party's
election campaign, and to pay for his obsession, the soccer team. Imagine that,
my dear. Tomorrow the scandal is going to be all over the news. Alberto is dying
of fear. They've lost more that a billion colones—incredible—more than a hundred
million dollars. Do you realize what that means? This will be the end of
everything. Almost everybody I know put their money in Finapro—hundred of
thousands, millions of colones. Alberto started sniveling on the phone: he said
that he'll end up being the fall guy, Toñito Rathis still thinks he's
untouchable, after all, he belongs to one of the country's top fourteen
families. Poor Alberto, I really felt sorry for him. He told me he can't leave
the country, they've already got a policeman on guard in front of his house, he
even told me our telephone conversation was probably being taped. Total
paranoia, but now for good reason. I asked him what was going to happen to
people who had their money invested in Finapro. He said he doesn't know, most
likely they'll lose it, the whole thing's gone to hell. Atrocious. Then I
thought of Doña Olga: her money's invested in Finapro, and Olga María's too, and
probably Marito's. That's when I stopped feeling sorry for him and I asked him,
now with anger, what was going to happen to Olga María's family's money, the
girls' inheritance, the interest Doña Olga lives on. You know what he told me?
It's out of his hands, they are just one of many families affected by the crash,
most of his friends have their money in Finapro. He's afraid he'll get killed
because several retired military officers, the ones who made millions during the
war, also had their money there. He kept ticking off names of people we know
who've lost all their savings, all in that same hysterical voice I'd never heard
before, like he was about to have a nervous breakdown, but I was already angry
as hell, my dear, most of all because I know that Doña Olga invested all the
money she got from selling her fincas in Finapro, and I thought about my
beautiful little girls, who from one day to the next are going to be left
without any inheritance, and then I didn't feel sorry at all for that disgusting
Alberto, not only was he a crook but also a fool and a coward—and incompetent. I
flew at him in a rage: I shouted at him that he was a fiend, I hope they do kill
him for being such a bastard, for thinking he's so high and mighty, the
country's leading investment manager, and look what he's ended up doing with
other people's money. Here's what I told him: what good has it done you to get
those graduate degrees in the States, you idiot? I warned him that he better
recover the money for Olga María's family because if he doesn't, I am personally
going to eliminate him. That's when the idiot hung up on me. Which made me even
more furious. I dialed him again several times, but it was busy; he must have
left the phone off the hook. Then I called his cell. When he heard my voice, he
started up again with his fit of hysteria: I should stop bothering him with my
nonsense—that's what he said—he was waiting for urgent phone calls and couldn't
waste his time on me. He hung up again without giving me a chance to tell him
what was on my mind, to say all the horrible things I was thinking about him,
because it just can't be that all that money's been lost, money doesn't just
disappear from one day to the next, between him and that Toñito Rathis, they
must have stolen it, they probably snuck it out of the country and are now
acting like they're the victims, pretending the investment company just crashed
on its own. Damn thieves. I'm very worried, my dear. So many people are going to
lose their money. I immediately called papa at the finca to tell him. He told me
he'd been expecting this, it was impossible for them to be paying twenty-two
percent annually when the banks were paying ten, there had to be something shady
going on. That's my father, my dear, sometimes I criticize him for being too
conservative, but in the end he always ends up being right. You remember when he
warned us against putting our money there when everybody else was going on and
on about how Finapro was the very best? I wouldn't have done it anyway, just to
avoid having anything to do with Alberto. We did the right thing, my dear. Now I
remember that I warned Olga María, told her what papa told me, but she ignored
me, she said it was just my prejudices against Alberto. But here you have the
consequences. She was too innocent, she let herself be led down the garden path,
she must have totally trusted Alberto, and seeing as how she'd already slept
with him, everything seemed under control. What a brilliant way to lose the
money they got for the fincas Don Sergio left them. It makes me so mad. I told
papa what I'd talked to Alberto about, the tragedy of Doña Olga and the girls, I
asked him if something couldn't be done; it's simply unheard of that from one
day to the next Doña Olga will be out on the streets. I wanted to know what papa
thought before I called Doña Olga, because I was certain Alberto hadn't called
her, coward that he is. Papa told me that if Alberto couldn't do anything,
nobody else could, either. He repeated that even though he didn't have any
evidence, this bankruptcy smelled to him like a gigantic fraud, a tidal wave of
shit that was going to bury half the country, and Alberto more than anybody,
that's what papa said. Thank God I separated from that imbecile, and I have
absolutely nothing to do with him. Just imagine the mess I'd be in. I don't know
why I thought to tell my papa my suspicions about Alberto and his connection to
Olga María's murder. You know how much I trust my father. That's why I told him
everything, down to the last detail, just like Pepe Pindonga told me. He was
quiet for a while, like he was thinking, then with great concern in his voice he
suggested that, because it's such a serious accusation, I should keep it in
reserve. But I have this intuition that Alberto's got something to do with our
friend's death, and this might just be the connecting thread that will tie up
all the loose ends. That's what I thought at that moment, still fuming against
Alberto, and here's how I communicated it to papa: What if Olga María and
Alberto were still seeing each other and she found out what was happening with
Finapro? Papa just kept repeating that I shouldn't talk about this to anybody
else. After I hung up, after all the excitement of having solved the case, I got
paralyzed. It was like I saw a blinding light. I felt this terrible dread, as if
my discovery, that I'd solved the case, could cost me my life. I didn't want to
keep thinking. So, instead, I called Doña Olga. Sergio answered. I asked him if
he'd heard about the crisis at Finapro. He told me he had, word had already
reached everybody who has their money there, and Doña Olga is falling apart, her
blood pressure is shooting sky high, they were waiting for the doctor. I called
about half an hour ago. I'm extremely worried, my dear. Can you imagine losing
all your money a month and a half after they kill your daughter? Horrible. I'm
afraid something serious will happen to Doña Olga, a heart attack or something
like that. You know when things like this happen people want to die. I asked
Sergio if he had his money in that company, too. He said luckily he didn't, but
Marito did and a ton of other people did, too. You know who could lose millions,
my dear? Yuca. That's what Sergio said: even the archbishop, the Spanish one
papa can't stand, he put the church's money in Finapro. What a disaster Alberto
has gotten himself into. Because he's an imbecile, that's why, a conceited
spoiled brat. Yuca is going to kill him, no doubt about that. Sergio told me
people are very upset, they don't know what to do; neither he nor Marito has
been able to get hold of Alberto to get some kind of explanation. I told him
what he'd said, the situation is now out of his hands, most likely the money
can't be recovered. My poor little girls: they've lost their inheritance. I'm
telling you, when I hung up, my head was racing a million miles a minute. You
know what I mean? That sensation that you're on the verge of discovering
something very very important, the pieces are beginning to fall into place. Do
you see the threesome? Alberto, Olga María, Yuca. I thought I should call Pepe
Pindonga right away. But it was as if that man was reading my mind, because just
as I was about to pick up the phone, it rang. Bingo: it was him. I told him
about the financial scandal. He told me he already knew, everybody was talking
about it, the newspapers were about to print the story, and he'd gotten all the
details from his contacts. Then I told him all about my conversation with
Alberto, the money Olga María's family had lost, and also the rumors about Yuca
having a big portion of his money in that company. He confessed to me that he
hadn't known that last bit; and he said that it made the situation much trickier
than he'd imagined. I told him straight out my suspicions: that Olga María's
murder probably had something to do with Finapro's crash. The more I think about
it, the more convinced I get, my dear. You-know-who must have figured out the
dirty game Alberto and Toñito Rathis were playing and that's why they decided to
get rid of her. Alberto probably opened his big mouth, wanting to impress Olga
María—just to show you how stupid he is—and when they realized she was
romantically involved with Yuca, they decided to eliminate her. It's the only
logical explanation. It scares me, as you can imagine. Of course they're capable
of that, and worse: they've stolen billions of colones. Do me a favor! You think
they're going to think twice about putting a contract out on someone? That
Toñito Rathis is the worst, he's a gangster, my dear, ever since he was at the
American School, you could see what a scoundrel he was, even if he was three
years ahead of us, he already had quite a reputation. But, you know what Pepe
Pindonga, the great detective, told me? That my hypothesis sounded very
far-fetched to him, there was no evidence to back it up, I must be upset by
what's going on, and that's why I keep coming up with these bizarre hypotheses.
What an imbecile. I told him I don't have a hypothesis, that hypotheses are for