The name seemed like a bolt from the blue, since Mateo was the younger brother of her husband, the man who had stated during the investigation that he had only arrived at the scene after the crime.
“No…” Ramira whispered, shaking her head slowly.
But Salome continued.
‘I saw him that night,’ the girl whispered. ‘He said I had to stay in my room and couldn’t go out because there were adults talking.’
The social worker straightened up immediately.
‘Salomé, you never mentioned this during the investigation,’ she said, her voice now tense.
Salome lowered her gaze slightly.
“Nobody asked me what I saw,” she replied curtly.
Those eight words made the air in the room feel heavier.
Mendez rubbed his chin slowly.
He remembered reading that the girl was asleep during the incident.
This assumption was accepted without question.
“What exactly did you see?” he asked again.
Salome took another deep breath.
“I woke up because they were arguing,” she said. “My father was yelling, and Uncle Mateo was yelling even louder.”
Ramira’s hands began to tremble again, but this time from shock instead of despair.
“What were they discussing?” Méndez asked.
“Money,” Salome replied. “And something my father called betrayal.”
