Free The She-Devil in the Mirror by Horacio Castellanos Moya Page A

anybody any good for me to
play the fool. What I did do was let him know that only a total imbecile would
ever suspect someone as important as Gastón Berrenechea, with his political and
economic interests, of hiring someone to kill the woman he loved, which would
only create thousands of problems for himself. That’s what I told him: Yuca
would be the last person to have any interest in Olga María being dead, he could
be sure of that. Then he asked me about Kati. But the truth is I don’t know if
she realized what was going on between Olga María and her husband, and I don’t
think she’d care, anyway. Why would you care if the husband you can’t stand
anymore goes out with one woman or another? Why would she even bother to ask, my
dear? That’s what happened to me. The thing is, Alberto is so boring I don’t
think he could even get a woman to go out with him unless he first showed her
his bank account. That’s why I told this Deputy Chief Handal, his line of
investigation that points to a “crime of passion,” as he calls it, doesn’t make
much sense: neither José Carlos or Yuca or Kati, much less Marito, would have
anything to gain from Olga María’s death. That was my conclusion, my dear,
though afterward I started wondering how anyone can ever be sure of what anybody
else thinks or feels. Just look at Olga María: not to have shown me, not to have
even mentioned the naked photo José Carlos took of her! And Yuca, during one of
his panic attacks, mortified by jealousy and a woman’s abject scorn, with all
that power at his disposal, what wouldn’t he be capable of? That interview with
that policeman has upset me a lot, believe it or not. I’ve started imagining
horrible things about Kati, God help me, all because of his filthy insinuations;
for instance, maybe she found out about Yuca and Olga María’s
affaire
and she arranged the murder to create problems for Yuca. Pure fantasy, of
course, as if I’d been force-fed a slew of murder mysteries, but that’s how that
interview with that Deputy Chief Handal affected me. Can you believe that it
never occurred to me that Don Federico himself could have masterminded Olga
María’s murder and that way kill three birds with one stone: finish off the
woman who was driving his son-in-law crazy, save his daughter’s marriage, and
keep Yuca on a tighter leash because of the suspicions that would surround him.
Yes, I know, my dear, more fantasy—things like that only happen in telenovelas.
It’s that meddlesome, conniving policeman, he’s to blame for what’s happening to
me, but before he left I asked him what his other lines of investigation were,
other than the “crime of passion” one, just in case I could contribute anything
to them. The guy didn’t want to give me even a little hint; he just told me that
if he uncovered anything of interest or if he needed to talk to me again, he’d
call me. That’s what he called it: “talk to me,” as if it weren’t really an
interrogation. He gave me a little card so I could get in touch with him if I
remembered anything important that might help the investigation. In short, he
came here to mess with my head. That was this morning; they were at the house
until noon. It was their fault I was upset all afternoon. You see, I’ve even
started thinking badly of Marito, God forbid, as if the poor man didn’t have
enough sorrows and problems. The mind can be a treacherous thing: you know, I
even started wondering if maybe Marito had a lover, if he found out about the
affaire
between Yuca and Olga María and saw his chance to get rid
of her
and
point the finger at Yuca
and
get the insurance
money. Yes, my dear, I know, it’s despicable. I feel guilty just thinking such
thoughts. It’s all that Deputy Chief Handal’s fault. That’s why I went to see
the girls after lunch, at