Free The Secret in Their Eyes by Eduardo Sacheri Page B

“It’s a pleasure.” His reply had sounded quite formal: “How do you do, Miss? Good to have you with us.” At the time, Chaparro was twenty-eight, ten years older than his new employee, and he was convinced that a boss always had to keep the hierarchical rankings clear in dealing with his subordinates. He’d hesitated a little when he looked into her eyes, because the girl looked back at him so intently, so penetratingly, that it was as if his own eyes had been struck by two well-aimed, jet-black beams. He broke the impasse by immediately releasing the hand she’d given him and instructing a secretary to describe the youngintern’s basic duties to her. As their court was on call and overwhelmed with work, they’d assigned the girl to answer the telephone. After her fourth or fifth “Hello?” Chaparro had deemed it proper to explain to her, from the heights of his juridical experience, that it would be infinitely more practical to answer incoming calls by saying, “Clerk’s Office 19,” thus sparing the caller the time required to overcome his surprise at such eccentricity and to verify whether he’d actually reached the court. Well before the conclusion of his discourse, Chaparro had started feeling like an idiot, although he wasn’t sure whether that was because of the intrinsic stupidity of his counsel or because of Irene’s demurely amused expression as she listened to him go on. Nonetheless, she nodded a few times, as if accepting his suggestion. Three minutes later, however, when the telephone rang again, she answered with a “Hello?” as informal and unjuridical as all the previous ones. There was no temerity in her voice, nor did it convey the slightest defiance. Maybe that was why Chaparro couldn’t get angry at her and considered the matter closed.
    All her life, Irene has answered the phone like that, and so she does on this August day, thirty years after their first meeting, when Chaparro stops pacing around his house and circling the telephone and picking up the receiver and putting it down again who knows how many times and finally decides—since he can no longeravoid acting, which is the point he generally reaches before any important decision—to call her at her office and hears the “Hello?” that makes his heart leap in his chest.

Alibis and Departures
    B enjamín Chaparro goes directly to the judge’s chambers. He doesn’t pass through his own clerk’s office or through the offices of Section No. 18. So agitated is he by the imminence of seeing Irene that he’s afraid everyone will notice how love-smitten he is. He knocks two times. Irene’s voice bids him enter. He thrusts his head inside with a gesture of involuntary timidity, the kind he hates himself for. A smile lights up her face when she sees him. “Come in, Benjamín,” she says. “Come on in.”
    Chaparro steps in, feeling his temperature rise. Has his face turned red? The sight of her stuns him as much as it did the first time they met, but he tries to keep her from seeing that when he looks at her. She’s tall, with a narrow, fine-featured face. When she was younger, she was a little bony, but the years—and childbearing?—have added a slight, becoming roundness to her figure. They greet each other with a kiss on the cheek. Only when they sit down, one on either side of her big oak desk, does Chaparro release the breath he’s been holding since the instant before the kiss. Now he can breathe easy; since he hasn’t smelled it, it’s possible that herscent won’t keep him awake for the next two or three nights. A little embarrassed, as if they’ve caught each other doing something entertaining but reprehensible, they smile without talking. Chaparro draws out the moment before he speaks, because he sees her blush, and that makes him feel extremely happy. But when she looks into his eyes with an unspoken question that seems to penetrate all his alibis, he feels he’s lost the advantage. Better stick to the