Consuelo Reyes’ house was the same as before, but this time the old woman was waiting at the door with a nervous expression.
“My son is inside,” she whispered. “But he’s not the only one. There’s someone else who wants to see her.” Dolores went inside.
In the small room, sitting in an old chair, was Martín Reyes. He was a man of about 40, thin, with an unkempt beard and eyes that had seen too much.
“Mrs. Medina,” he said, standing up. “Thank you for coming. Martín has a lot to explain, starting with how it’s possible that Sara Fuentes is alive.”
Martin looked toward the back door. I don’t need to explain.
She can do it better than I can. The door opened. A woman appeared in the doorway. She was thin, haggard, with short hair and white streaks she hadn’t had before.
But her eyes were unmistakable, the same eyes that Dolores had seen in the photographs in the file.
