52
Is it her?
I f there was someone I didn't expect to find in the hospital cafeteria, it was Segarra.
"What are you doing here? Are you okay?"
It wasn't usual for someone like him to approach someone like me in a public place. Sure, it was nighttime, and there weren't many people in the cafeteria, but he had always been very cautious with our particular association.
He glanced at the three people sitting at the table in the corner. All of them had red eyes from crying for quite a while. His scrutinizing gaze stopped at a guy nervously pacing by the counter, talking about how his wife had gone into labor and the baby was coming breech. His eyes then shifted to a couple of girls who looked like their drinking session had gone out of control. Finally, he ruled out the danger posed by a mother breastfeeding her infant. He asked if he could sit in the chair across from me. He didn’t intend to take much of my time. Of course, I invited him to do so; he wouldn’t risk it unless he had something urgent to tell me.
"How long have we been working together?" he asked, crossing his hands to rest his chin on them.
"You mean how long you've been getting a bonus even when it’s not Christmas? Is this your way of asking for a raise?" I replied. He offered me a smile.
"Don’t complain about what you pay me; I’m an investment."
"Uh-huh, some prefer to invest in the stock market, and others prefer corrupt cops. It’s a matter of taste."
"Or necessity," he added.
"So, what brings you here? A raise or saying you're retiring? Your gray hairs have multiplied lately."
"You don’t want to know," he replied, rubbing his temples. "Neither, it’s not about that."
He took one of the napkins from the counter and began folding it. The waiter came over to ask if he wanted anything. Segarra declined, and I took the opportunity to order a black coffee.
"Get to the point, I doubt you came all this way to give me a paper-folding workshop."
"It's a habit," he clarified without stopping. "First of all, I know you're here for your wife. I hope it’s not serious."
"An infected wound, nothing you need to worry about."
"I'm glad. In case you're wondering how I knew where to find you, I stopped by your house and told your maid I needed to know your whereabouts."
"And she told you?" I asked, surprised.
"On the contrary. That woman is tougher than Sergeant Hartman; it’s lucky Piero was there because I doubt she would have opened her mouth."
"Don’t doubt it, Ana María is too loyal to do anything against me."
"You asked me to send you the graphic material of Jonás Sánchez as soon as I had it. But you know me, I prefer to deliver it in person."
Segarra handed me a folder that I didn't pay much attention to, thinking it was some work he was taking home.
I opened it when it was right in front of me. Inside, there were some photos. Judging by the quality and the angle, they seemed to be taken from a security camera. Not from Korpe, but from the company located in front of the storage area. Segarra reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a pen drive.
"Here’s the full recording. It doesn’t show much more than in the images. These are the ones that were enlarged to check if it was your wife."
I flipped through the photos and tried to focus on the details. It showed a blonde woman with her back to the camera, with a low bun, so the hair length wasn't clear. She was slim, dressed in an impeccable business suit, and anyone could have determined it was Nikita Koroleva; she fit the profile. However, ... I don't know, my intuition told me it wasn't my wife. Or maybe it was my shitty subconscious trying to exonerate her. My sharpness regarding the people around me wasn't at its best right now.
"What do you think? Is it your wife?" the cop asked.
"Don’t you have anything better than this?" He shook his head.
"You can’t see her face in any of them. In the video, her profile is shadowed, but she’s wearing very large sunglasses, and the camera angle doesn’t allow for a clear view of her face. My only hope is that you can recognize her by the clothes or her gestures. But she does go in and out of the warehouse, and I doubt there are many women like that who can enter and leave Korpe as if they own the place. Also, the warehouse door is open."
I stroked my beard. Something didn’t quite convince me.
"I don’t know... It's true it could be Nikita, but something tells me it's not."
"It's logical that you want to defend your wife."
"Believe me, it's not that." I pointed at the image. "I’ve never seen these clothes in her wardrobe, nor those shoes. I’d swear she doesn’t have any outfit like this; she likes to attract attention, and the woman in the photo dressed too conservatively."
“Maybe it’s her ‘I’m going to do shady business’ suit,” he joked, dropping the paper fan he had crafted. “Watch the video, maybe you’ll find more answers there than in these photos. People are looking for a culprit, and a reasonable doubt would be enough for them to go after your wife.”
“What does your commissioner say?” I questioned.
“He wants someone’s head; nobody likes it when a teenager commits suicide because someone else is getting rich. However, we can’t arrest Nikita yet, not until we have something conclusive. At most, we can call her in for questioning, nothing more.”
“So, there’s nothing against her,” I asserted.
“While it’s true that everything points in her direction... no, we don’t have anything more. The gaming app has been ‘neutralized’ so no one can use it, but that doesn’t stop those crazy teenagers from playing that crap elsewhere. The Cybercrime unit is trying to pull at the few threads available on the Dark Web, but every time they think they have something, the thread disappears. They’ve done work worthy of an Oscar for Hackers.”
“And the guy with her? Do we know who he is?” Segarra shook his head again.
“He could be anyone; the facial recognition software didn’t identify him as anyone we have on record. The hooded jacket and sunglasses don’t help. Judging by his style, the way he moves in the video, and the nervousness in his gestures, he seems like a university student. In the images, you can only see the blonde woman handing him a couple of large boxes with the Korpe logo and the Mentium symbol.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. The boxes are just packaging; they could have contained something else.”
“Yeah, like polystyrene balls to safeguard your lovesick husband’s heart.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Don’t be a fool. You know my boss is going to want to get to the bottom of this.”
“Wanting to and being able to are two different things. We’ll see what I can find out. Thanks for coming here to bring me this.” He stood up.
“No problem, it’s always a pleasure. You know this is a copy and its confidential material. I’m risking my job, so now that you’ve brought up the raise and my gray hairs...” He smiled at me.
“We’ll see what I can do. You’d better leave; I’m expecting someone and we both know it’s better if fewer people see us together.”
“I’ve always liked the role of the lover,” he winked at me. “I won’t keep you any longer. Good night, and I hope your wife recovers.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as the cop left, I kept looking at the image, turning it over in my fingers. Why couldn’t I see Nikita in it? Was my brain really so messed up that it wanted to exonerate her from this?
My coffee had already gone cold, and I didn’t like it cold unless it was iced and in the middle of summer. I drank it in one gulp; I needed a caffeine kick to clear my foggy mind.
The idea of my wife reselling Mentium at the back of the company, exposing herself like that... It didn’t add up; it wasn’t her style. If she had wanted to do something like that, she would have used her men; why get her hands dirty?
Her image, along with the thought of the baby she was carrying, sent a shiver down my spine. How different things could have been between us.
“Have I kept you waiting too long?”
The melodious voice pulled me from my thoughts. It hadn’t even been two minutes since Segarra had left. Irene leaned in and planted two voluptuous kisses on my cheeks.
“No, don’t worry,” I murmured, trying to blindly stuff the picture back into the folder.
“What a poorly taken photo, with how beautiful Nikita is, and that angle doesn’t do her any favors. It doesn’t even look like her. Who’s that with her? The delivery guy?” she asked.
“Something like that.” I finished putting it away without giving it much attention.
“How is she? Because you look like...”
“Medicated.” Instead of sitting in the chair opposite me like Segarra had, she took the seat next to me. Her perfectly manicured hand caressed mine.
“She’s a strong woman; she’ll recover. You look exhausted; I’m sure you haven’t rested at all.”
“Not much, honestly.”
“You know you can count on me for anything. When I called you earlier, I got the feeling you needed to talk.”
It was true; I needed to verbalize what was happening to me with someone. However, caution prevented me from bringing Irene up to speed on everything. I simply pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed.
“Nikita is pregnant,” I let slip.
Her face covered in astonishment, she couldn’t hide it for a few moments before trying to convey a happiness that was nowhere to be found.
“Wow, so soon? I didn’t see your wife as a mother so quickly; I thought it would take longer.”
“We didn’t intend for it to happen. She takes the pill; the nurse said it might have failed. I found out today.”
“So, she hadn’t told you?”
“I don’t even know if she knows.”
“Maybe she does; some women forget to take the pill on purpose to tie down their husbands. I’m not saying yours did.” Was that possible? Was it some kind of safeguard in case I found out about her betrayal? “Anyway, congratulations, your father will surely be pleased; he always wanted a grandchild to continue the lineage.”
I was about to respond when screams were heard, people running in panic, and the security guard who had just entered the cafeteria quickly left.
My heart skipped a beat. I jumped up from my chair like a spring when I heard shouts saying someone had been shot.
“Don’t move from here,” I told Irene.
“You can’t leave me alone!”
“It’s better if you go home; I’m going to see what’s happening,” I said, reaching for my gun.