Sonia's interrogation had inadvertently sliced open an old wound that hadn't fully healed.

"I wouldn't not call myself a sculptor." Rico pushed his hair back. "Sculpting and I have had a complicated relationship. She's like a girl I knew in high school; I loved her, but she didn't love me back. We see each other now and then, but our respective affections remain unchanged."

"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed," Sonia quipped. "Relationship problems aside, that admission makes you my prime suspect. Hopefully—"

"There are a few people I might hate." He interrupted. "But I wouldn't murder them or anyone. Whoever dumped that Botero in the lake—assuming it's real—deserves more than a couple punches to the face." Ricardo locked eyes with Sonia. "But I wouldn't kill them: murder always takes more than one life."

"Evidence will confirm your innocence, Mr. Torres," she calmly replied, "not your personal philosophy, no matter how deep it may sound. So, if you'd please, where were you on August 11th?"

Ricardo stared at the table. His unblinking eyes failed to conceal the storm raging in his mind.

It was bound to come up at some point. But I only need to mention the relevant points.

"Mr. Torres," Detective Mendoza said in a tone that required a response.

"Her name's Martina." He exhaled. "Martina Díaz. But I knew her as Tina—"

"I'll need more than that, Mr. Torres."

Black, beautiful but not very patient, are we Miss Mendoza?

Ricardo nodded. "I'm getting there, Detective... Tina's not my favourite topic to discuss; I prefer avoiding her—it when I can." He exhaled deeply.

Sonia's stone-face expression softened. "I'll give you a few minutes to collect your thoughts." She rose to her feet. "Would you like some water or a coffee?" Detective Mendoza asked while reaching for the doorknob.

"Water would be nice," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." A small smile graced her lips.

The door closed. Rico's fingers tapped on the table as he pondered how best to address the day in question.

She'll own up to being with me that day; I know that. But that's really all she needs to say. Ricardo sighed. I really don't want to call... but it's a bloody murder case now.

Creaking hinges signalled Sonia's return.

"As you requested, Mr. Torres." She set a clear plastic cup filled with cold water down in front of him and took her seat.

"Thanks," Ricardo said before taking a sip. Here we go. "I got to Bogotá on the first flight that morning, and after dropping my stuff off at my apartment, I went to see Tina. From there—"

"An address would be germane," Sonia said with her pen at the ready.

Rico gave the address of an apartment in the La Macarena neighbourhood. "She's a philosophy professor at the university," he added.

"The District University or La Tadeo University?"

"District," he uttered. "But as usual, our day began with trying out a new restaurant Tina had found. It was a charming little brunch place called Amanecer in Quinta Camacho."

"How long were you there for?" Sonia asked.

"From about 10 to noon, I think."

"Is that all?"

"No." Rico shook his head. "Then we went to watch a movie at Cine Colombia on Calle 53. That was from about 1:30 to 3:00. Next, we went to her apartment from about 4:00 to 5:00. And from 6:00 to 7:00, we were at La Hamburgueseria."

"On Calle 70?"

"Yes," he sighed. "From there, we went back to Tina's apartment..." his voice trailed off. "Then I left and went home at 9:00."

"Sounds like an early night for you." Sonia watched him closely.

"It was." Rico looked away.

And still too raw in my mind.

"Most of those locations have cameras; I assume your apartment does as well."

Rico nodded and gave her his address.

"Very well, Mr. Torres," Sonia stood up. "I will follow up with Miss Díaz, and we'll be in touch."

They shook hands, and Ricardo walked towards the door with slouching shoulders. As he was about to exit, Sonia spoke:

"Oh, and Rico."

"Yes?" He turned around.

"This should go without saying, but don't leave the city."

"I won't."

"Good."

The walk down the hallway was a blur. One word threatened to burn a hole through his skull: murder.

People passed Rico, but he was almost unaware of their presence; they were less solid matter and more disembodied shapes. He neither blinked nor lifted his head until the outside air stroked his face. The young artist looked up just in time to see Mónica Gómez, a curator from the Botero Museum, getting into a cab.

Guess I'll drop by la Señora's office later.

Ricardo had an important phone call that needed to be made pronto. He hopped onto his bike and rode over to Mallplaza NQS as fast as his feet could take him. The many red brick buildings of Bogotá blew by at the edges of his vision; soon, the glistening commercial centre emerged in the distance. With time being an expensive commodity, Rico hurried down to the bike parking area in the basement, chained it to the rack and then rushed to the stairwell.

Once upstairs, Rico weaved through the bustling crowd carefully yet swiftly. Finally, he arrived at his destination: the Claro store. His lungs still burned from the trip as he approached the glass counter. But what better place to purchase a single-use cell phone than at the nation's largest mobile service provider?

Eventually, Ricardo convinced the salesperson that he only wanted the cheap Nokia with the six-day prepaid plan. Once the cash was handed over, he walked to a quiet corner of the mall. And with a pit in his stomach, Rico dialled a number he desperately wanted to forget.

"Hello?" said an older woman.

"It's me," Rico replied coldly.

"Ricardo?" Tina's voice was a mix of joy and surprise. "How are you?—it's been so long since I—"

"Look," he interjected. "Someone's going to come and ask you about our last day together. You're going to tell them I was with you all day. Do you understand?"

"Are you in some kind of trouble?" she asked with a pang of worry in her throat.

"I killed a man."

Tina laughed. "How did you do it?"

"Quickly."

"I see. Well, I'll make sure your charming self stays out of prison. No need to worry."

"One more thing."

"So demanding today, aren't we?" Tina giggled.

"Don't tell her more than she needs to know."

"She?"

"Yes." Rico exhaled. "She."

"Oh." Her voice sank. "I understand."

I don't think you do.

"Don't worry, Felipe," Tina said longingly, "your secret's safe with me. I promise."

"Thank you."

"And for what it's worth..." Her voice trembled. "I am sorry... I would have done things differently if I had another—"

"Thanks, Martina." He cut her off and hung up.

Rico held the power button down until the screen went black. He shoved the phone into his pocket and stormed off.

Now would be a damned good time for a drink.