Detective Alejandro Vargas slammed his notepad down on the aluminum table, stood abruptly, and walked to the door. He pressed his forehead against the cold door frame for two seconds, trying to process the shock. Then, turning to Agent Rosa Silva, he ordered in a voice that admitted no hesitation:
“I need you to stay in here with her. Don’t let her out. I’m going to make an extremely urgent call.”
There were many pieces in that case that didn’t fit the conventional logic of a crime. However, the element that weighed most heavily on Alejandro’s sharp intuition wasn’t the supposed poisoning, nor the six blocks a child had walked. What disturbed him most was the pink notebook, identical to the backpack, which he had glimpsed for a fraction of a second when Lupita unzipped it to hide her trembling hands. It was a school notebook with meticulously written dates.
The police car kicked up dust as it crossed Las Torres Avenue, heading towards the Ramírez family’s house, located in a neighborhood where streets without sidewalks and unplastered block walls sounded like unfulfilled promises.
Alejandro had called the Regional Hospital. The answer continued to buzz torturously in his ears:
“Mateo Gómez, 41 years old, was admitted at 3:20 in the morning with unspecified intoxication. He requested voluntary discharge at 8:40 in the morning, completely ignoring medical advice.”
Voluntary discharge at 8:40. Lupita had arrived at the police station at 9:15. The mathematics of time was frightening.
Alejandro abruptly parked his car in front of a moss-green painted iron gate. He pushed the metal structure, which gave way with a creak, and walked down the narrow side corridor. The back door was ajar. The kitchen was immaculately tidy, with a pot of yesterday’s cooked rice untouched.
He crossed the room and reached the modest living room. Carmen Ramírez was sitting on the stained sofa. She was 28 years old, but her exhausted face and vacant gaze made her seem much older. She wore a faded sweater and blinked slowly, hypnotically.
“Mrs. Carmen?” Alejandro called. “I’m Detective Vargas. Your daughter Lupita is safe with me at the station.”
Carmen’s lips moved with tremendous effort.
“Lupita…” Her voice came out thick and heavy. “Mateo went to the hospital… He got very sick…
” “Did you wake up when the ambulance arrived?”
Her silence revealed the underlying terror.
“I woke up with the noise… but I was too scared to leave the room.”
Without wasting any more time, Alejandro inspected the rooms.
In the small bathroom, behind a cheap shampoo, he found an amber glass bottle with no label. It was full of cream-colored pills. He photographed the evidence and continued down the hallway to Lupita’s room. The walls were adorned with children’s drawings. On the wooden desk lay a pink notebook.
He opened the hard cover, which read “Lupita – Homework.” But there was no homework. What there was was a chilling diary of abusive control.
“2:03 PM. Night. Mateo screamed a lot. Mom didn’t leave the room.”
“5:03 PM. After dinner, Mateo gave Mom her pill. She went to bed early again.”
“9:03 PM. Mom didn’t remember the previous day. I asked her what we ate for dinner. She didn’t know.”
“3:03 PM. Mateo left the house. Mom stayed up very late. She laughed with me. It was a very good day.”
“2:04 AM. Mateo came back from the street angry. Mom took her pill right away.”
The detective closed his eyes. The girl had discovered the sinister pattern. Mateo drugged the woman whenever he intended to go out at night, or when they argued, to keep her sedated. Lupita, in her despair, hadn’t poisoned Mateo. She had emptied the bottle of sedatives into the toilet three times in a row and replaced the pills with pieces of vitamin C from her school. The aggressor had collapsed when the overdose he took in his rage didn’t have the usual anesthetic effect.
