— YOU SHOULD TELL ME what you know. It will be easier for me to get an idea of what happened if I know the details... Don't you believe me?
Greg placed the glass on the table and continued.
—Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that's why I'm here.
The director wrinkled her nose and felt compelled to continue. There would be no point in prolonging her silence any longer, but instead, she challenged him with a new question.
—Do you know of any sect or esoteric organization called The Widow's Children?
—No... I don't think so—he replied.
After thinking for a few seconds and blinking in bewilderment—
—The truth is that I've never cared about people like that, nor am I interested in their beliefs and religions. I'm skeptical, as you well know—he admitted, but felt curious and asked:
—Did Viana associate with those people?
— I couldn't say for sure — Marion confessed, continuing — but they were the ones who ripped out his tongue from under his chin, after making a deep cut near his throat. He bled to death... — she paused for a few seconds before continuing:
— The most horrifying thing about the case was the atrocious sentence they wrote in the room with Jorge's own blood:
— Don't tell anyone the secrets of the chamber, or anything they do in the store...
Gregory Evans took a while to assimilate the director's words. A speculative emptiness took hold of his thoughts and, as a result, he was unable to react for a few seconds. It all seemed absurd and ridiculous to him. However, Miss Marion was certainly not joking.
Jorge had been killed by some fanatics whose purpose was unknown. It wasn't an assumption, but the absolute reality...
— It's horrible... — he whispered, shocked. — I never thought something like that could happen to Viana. That man posed no danger to anyone.
— We can't be sure of that — Geovanna's eyes searched the detective expectantly.
— What do you mean? — he asked uneasily. He was surprised by the enigmatic nature of her comment.
— Jorge and I were very good friends — she let out in a barely audible whisper. "We were close friends... Do you understand?
Greg had to admit that Miss Marion's bold frankness confused him, although he soon recognized that several details were now beginning to make perfect sense. The tears shed at the funeral, her black suit and skirt were not a facade, but rather a reflection of the genuine pain she felt for the loss of a loved one.
Despite everything, he remained impassive, due to the strict confidentiality situation. Laughing under her nose would have been rude. Even so, it was still fun to imagine the disheveled and distracted paleographer making love to an elitist creature like Geovanna Marion.
— I know he spent a few days in Toledo, working for some friends of his wife's uncle — continued the director. — He told me he had brought with him an old document, dating back to the beginning of the sixteenth century. When he tried to translate it, he was surprised to find that the sentences were composed of Greek and Latin letters and numbers. It was a coded message. That's why he had been arriving late for work lately. He spent entire nights trying to decipher the hidden meaning of that text.
Gregory Evans had to admit that it was true. For a few days now, Jorge seemed to be isolated from the rest of the world. He hadn't communicated with anyone since he returned to work after his vacation. Their last meal together, at Wellington, was much more soporific than other times. The only thing that seemed important to Viana was the fact that he had found, in Toledo, a text that had sparked his great interest and for which he had even paid six hundred euros.
— He told me something — admitted Gregory Evans, also being sincere. — However, I didn't give that much importance to the document. I didn't believe he had any real interest, from a commercial point of view.
— There's something I didn't tell the police, namely the fact that Jorge called me on the afternoon of his death, saying that he had finished the translation and deciphered the message.
She didn't even blink when admitting to what could be considered by the courts as a crime of omission.
— He told me that it was a letter written by a master mason, in which he explained how to get to a diary whose pages contained the greatest mysteries of humanity. I told him that I wanted to go to his house, because I needed to see what had caused him to leave his work and that he was about to be the pivot of the breakup of our relationship.
— And what did he say?
— He replied that it wouldn't be necessary, because he had just sent me a copy of the text, via email.
— Do you have a copy of the manuscript? — Gregory Evans shifted uneasily in his chair, picking up his glass of wine again to finish it in one gulp.
— Yes, on my computer. I thought it wise not to print or make copies ias. Although it amounts to the same thing. He sent it without deciphering it. The text is of no use to us if we don't have the key.
—You're speaking in the plural, if I'm not mistaken... — That was an omen of his involvement in the matter.
—Right—he said icily. —That's why I asked you to accompany me. He also sent you an email...
Seeing Gregory's surprised expression, he decided to continue:
—But that's not all. His attackers got rid of the original manuscript before leaving the apartment, which complicates the mystery surrounding Jorge's murder even more.
Greg grimaced.
—How can you be so sure they really did it? — he asked next. —I mean... How is it possible that you know something like that?
—Because the police asked me if he had a habit of burning his documents. When I told them no, they simply accepted it, without giving me any further explanation. And I insisted...
— I imagine...
— You know what, Greg? — Her body began to shake unexpectedly — ... I'm so scared that I don't know what to think.
The American detective felt something similar. His concern seemed incomprehensible, but it was there. Latent.
— If what worries you is the copy sent, just delete the file.
— That easy...? No, I don't think those fanatics forgot to investigate Jorge's private life! — He said louder, letting himself be carried away by anguish. — They must know that I exist, and that we probably shared something more than good times in bed... — He rolled his eyes, imagining torrid scenes.
— No! They have more than enough reasons to think that I might have a copy. If this manuscript is the reason for his death, then those damned people will come after me.
Gregory Evans had to admit that there were, indeed, reasons to worry, if Geovanna's story was accurate. If Jorge's killer or killers were able to rip out his tongue to prevent him from speaking, both he and the director were certainly in danger, and all because of a medieval text they had never even had the chance to read.
— Can I take a look? — He turned his head toward the monitor on the desk to his left. Perplexed, she raised her thin, well-proportioned eyebrows.
— Now? — he asked.
He looked at his watch. It was six fifteen and he had arranged a virtual meeting with Alissa for eight thirty that night. He had more than enough time.
— Yes, now.
— You might be right — Geovanna said, and then turned on the PC's switch. As they say in Spain: "you have to take the bull by the horns..."
They immediately heard a metallic noise in the reception area, which not only put them on alert, but also made their hearts skip a beat.