PART 3 — “What Mariana Hid Beneath Her Daughter’s Bed”
The police searched the funeral home for nearly an hour.
The man Veronica had seen was gone.
No one knew how he had entered.
No one knew how he had escaped.
But Diego found one thing near the rear exit.
A small piece of black fabric.
Caught on a broken latch.
He placed it inside an evidence bag.
“Someone knew exactly where the cameras were,” he said.
I looked at Cristóbal.
He was sitting against the wall under police supervision.
His expensive black suit was wrinkled now.
His perfect image of the grieving husband was gone.
“What about him?” I asked.
“He's not under arrest yet.”
“Why?”
“Because suspicion isn't evidence.”
I looked at Mariana.
The bruises around her throat were evidence.
But apparently not enough.
Then Veronica tugged my sleeve.
“Grandma.”
I looked down.
“Mommy said under my bed.”
I knew what we had to do.
We went to Mariana's house with Diego and two officers.
Cristóbal tried to object.
“You can't enter my home.”
Diego looked at him.
“Your wife died there.”
“It's still my property.”
“Not anymore.”
The words were cold.
“We're treating it as a potential crime scene.”
Cristóbal said nothing.
When we entered, the house felt wrong.
Too clean.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Mariana had always been messy.
Not dirty.
Just alive.
Books on the coffee table.
Shoes near the door.
A half-finished cup of tea beside the sofa.
But everything had been arranged perfectly.
Almost artificially.
Like someone had cleaned away a life.
I went upstairs.
Veronica led me to her room.
She pointed beneath the bed.
“There.”
I knelt.
There was nothing visible.
I reached underneath.
My fingers touched cardboard.
I pulled out a small wooden box.
My heart began pounding.
There was no lock.
Inside were three things.
A USB drive.
A photograph.
And a folded piece of paper.
I opened the paper first.
Only one sentence was written.
“If something happens to me, don't trust Cristóbal.”
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
Mariana had known.
She had been afraid.
And she had tried to warn me.
Diego took the USB.
“Don't open it here.”
“Why?”
“If someone planted this, we don't know what's on it.”
I handed him the photograph.
It showed Mariana standing outside a restaurant.
Beside her was a man I didn't recognize.
He wore a dark coat.
His face was partially turned away.
But there was something familiar.
The silver watch.
I looked at Veronica.
“Is that him?”
She nodded.
“That’s him.”
Diego turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
A date.
And an address.
A medical clinic.
My stomach tightened.
“Why would Mariana meet someone at a clinic?”
Diego stared at the address.
“Because that clinic specializes in forensic toxicology.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He nodded slowly.
“Your daughter may have been investigating her own death before it happened.”
A cold silence filled the room.
Then we heard footsteps downstairs.
Diego immediately reached for his weapon.
The officers spread out.
I pulled Veronica behind me.
“Who is there?”
No answer.
A door slammed.
Then someone ran.
The officers rushed downstairs.
A moment later, one shouted:
“Window!”
We ran into the hallway.
The back window was open.
Rain poured through it.
Whoever had entered was gone.
But something had been left behind.
A phone.
Diego picked it up.
The screen was cracked.
One notification remained visible.
MESSAGE FROM: M
He opened it.
The message contained only four words.
“She knows about him.”
Diego looked at me.
“Who is M?”
I shook my head.
“I don't know.”
Veronica suddenly whispered:
“Mommy did.”
We both turned.
“What?”
“Mommy knew M.”
“How?”
“She called him Uncle Mateo.”
Diego froze.
“Mateo?”
Veronica nodded.
“He came to our house when Daddy wasn't home.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The man beside Mariana.
The silver watch.
“Do you know where he lives?”
Veronica shook her head.
“But Mommy had his picture.”
“Where?”
She pointed toward the closet.
“Inside her red suitcase.”
I opened the closet.
There was no red suitcase.
I searched again.
Nothing.
Then Diego noticed the empty space beneath a shelf.
“Someone took it.”
My blood ran cold.
Someone had been here before us.
Someone knew exactly what we were looking for.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a man's voice.
Low.
Calm.
“You should stop looking.”
I gripped the phone.
“Who are you?”
“You've already lost your daughter.”
My blood ran cold.
“Don't lose your granddaughter too.”
I looked at Veronica.
The man continued.
“Take the child and leave the house.”
“Why?”
“Because your daughter made the same mistake.”
“What mistake?”
A pause.
Then:
“She trusted the wrong person.”
The call ended.
Diego immediately asked:
“Did you recognize the voice?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
But Veronica was staring at me.
Her lips were trembling.
“What?”
She whispered:
“Grandma…”
“What?”
“That was the man Mommy was talking to the night she died.”
I felt the room spin.
“How do you know?”
“Because…”
She pointed toward the phone.
“He told Mommy the same thing.”
“What?”
Veronica swallowed.
“He said…”
Her eyes filled with tears.
‘If you tell your mother, your daughter dies next.’
