Ink and a Slanted Hand

Chapter 11

Four days passed without any new letters.

The silence, far from bringing relief, generated a different kind of tension in Castel's apartment: the active waiting for something they both knew was inevitable. Irene resumed her sessions with patients almost normally, although each knock on the door of her office quickened her pulse, each envelope in her mailbox she checked with trembling fingers before confirming that they were invoices or administrative correspondence without any hidden threat.

Castel, for his part, had redoubled the fieldwork. He spent his mornings checking the guest list at the opening of the gallery where the first three victims had met, cross-referencing names with police records, looking for any connection that wasn't apparent at first glance. He returned every night with his face increasingly tired, his eyes red from the hours in front of screens and documents, but without giving an inch in his determination to protect Irene while the investigation progressed.

"There's a name that repeats," he said one night, spreading out on the kitchen table a printed list with several lines underlined in yellow. The gallery owner, Mauricio Elizondo. He organized the event where the first three victims met. It also coincides, according to the airline's records, that she traveled to Yerevan three weeks ago, the same period in which Renata Ibarra received the message that quoted her here.

Irene leaned over the list, checking the name carefully. —Any relationship with Ivo?

"None I've found yet." But I'm going to investigate it tomorrow. Castel rubbed his eyes, the accumulated fatigue of whole days of work evident in every gesture. I'm starting to wonder if we got the approach wrong from the start. If instead of looking for someone close to you, we should have looked for someone who crossed paths with the three victims at a specific point in their lives, without needing to know you directly at all.

"But the letters know intimate details of my life. That implies proximity, not just superficial research.

—Unless the proximity is built in another way. Castel poured himself a glass of whiskey, thoughtfully. Someone who works in something related to security, with access to cameras, to phone records, to information that would normally require being within someone's inner circle to obtain. A private investigator. A hacker. Someone with resources and patience.

Does Elizondo have that profile?

"He has the resources, without a doubt. And access: it organizes events where personal information of its guests circulates without them noticing. I'm going to dig deeper tomorrow. He finished the whiskey, and for the first time in days something like optimism crossed his expression. This could be the thread that finally leads us to a specific part.

They went to bed that night with the usual closeness, Castel's hand looking for Irene's even in her sleep, and she fell asleep with the tranquility of knowing that whatever happened the next day, she would not face it alone.

The next morning, Castel left early to investigate Mauricio Elizondo, and Irene had to, for the first time in days, go to the office alone, without the discreet escort that Castel had maintained since the first letter. The outdoors, though accompanied by constant surveillance of his surroundings, checking every face on the street, every car parked too long in front of his building—brought him a clarity of mind that he had missed during the days of careful confinement in the apartment.

Ivo received her with cautious warmth, the kind of treatment that is established between two people who have gone through something uncomfortable together and do not know exactly how to return to the previous normality.

"Any news?" He asked, as he handed him the day's files.

"Nothing concretes yet. Irene studied it with renewed attention. Ivo, do you know someone named Mauricio Elizondo? He is a gallery owner, organizes art events.

Ivo frowned thoughtfully. "The name rings a bell. I think Miranda mentioned it once, during one of his sessions, although I don't remember the exact context. Should I?

"We're just following a lead. Irene stopped, something in Ivo's answer generating a sudden idea. Wait. Do you remember the context of that mention? Any detail could help.

—It was during the updating of files, months ago. You dictated some notes of the session and I transcribed them. Ivo closed his eyes for a moment, trying to reconstruct the memory accurately. I think Miranda mentioned meeting someone at a gallery opening who made her feel "watched in a strange way." He didn't elaborate, but I remember thinking it sounded unsettling at the time.

The simple but potentially significant fact made Irene feel an adrenaline rush. "Did you transcribe those notes?" Is there a written record of that specific session?

—It should be in the digital archive, yes.

"I need to see it. Now.

They headed together to the terminal where the digital files were kept, and Ivo, with an efficiency that contrasted with his usual nervousness, located the file in a matter of minutes. Irene read the notes of the session with devouring attention, finding, towards the end of the document, a sentence that she had dictated months ago without giving it much importance at the time: "The patient reports feeling uncomfortable with the attention of an older man at a recent social event, who observed her for a prolonged period without approaching to talk to her, behavior she described as 'almost professional in its intensity.'"

"This could be him," she murmured, more to herself than to Ivo. Someone who observes from a distance, who studies his victims before approaching. It's exactly the kind of premeditated behavior we'd look for in such a profile.

"Should I call Detective Castel?"

"Yes. Tell him that we found a direct connection between Elizondo and Miranda, documented in the session notes. Let him come as soon as he can.