Homer parked his car in front of the gate of Casimero residence. It was a concrete two-storey mansion painted pink—indicative of Julio's effeminate character. Homer surveyed the entire landscape. The green lawn fronting the mansion was well manicured. Bordering the lawn was a concrete path leading to the terrace. The house itself was surrounded with flowering plants, which Homer could not name. After all, ornamental plants weren't his taste. A classical display of opulence, he thought.
He pressed the doorbell three times, and in a couple of seconds a male helper came out of the house, and walked toward the gate.
"Detective Almendares," Homer said as he showed his badge to the helper.
"How I may help you, Sir?" the helper said courteously.
"Is Mrs. Casimero available? I want to talk to her," Homer was referring to Mrs. Lorena Casimero, Julian's mother.
"If you can wait for a couple seconds, Sir, I'll have to ask her if she is available," the helper replied.
Dencio, the helper, and all the other helpers in the Casimero mansion were strictly ordered not to let any visitor in without consulting first Julian or his mother, with exception of course to close relatives and friends.
" it's alright. I can wait," Homer smiled. After all, waiting had been a part of his job as a police detective. In this kind of profession, one has to develop the patience of Job, the courage of David, and the wisdom of Solomon.
A few seconds later, maybe a minute, Dencio the helper, came out. As soon as he reached the gate, he opened it and said, "Madam is seeing you."
"Thanks," Homer said and followed Dencio to the mansion. The spacious living room was well furnished and ventilated. Expensive pieces of furniture adorned the living room. On a wheelchair was the scrawny frame of Mrs. Lorena Casimero. She was about 86 or 87 years old, and she looked weak. She had a successful bout with cancer, and she was in the process of recuperation.
"Good morning Madam," Homer greeted the old lady, "I am Detective Homer Almendares of Alcala." He showed her his badge.
"So I was told by Dencio. Take your seat detective Almendares," Mrs. Casimero said.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Madam. It was such a tragedy that befell on Attorney Casimero," Homer tried his best to sound sympathetic and courteous.
The old lady's thin body quiverred and her face showed a mixture of anger and sorrow, "It is painful to lose a husband, but it is more painful to lose a son."
"I understand, Madam. I also lost a son once—died from car accident," Homer said. His son Zandro II's car was rammed by a ten-wheeler truck, causing him to die instantly.
"But not like the way my son died. He was murdered by thugs hired by no less than Buencamino. I wish that bastard burn in hell!"
Mrs. Casimero's frail body shook. She sobbed, and as she did so, she kept on cursing Glenn Buencamino, "That son of a filthy whore must pay! He killed my son, my loving son! May the mouth of hell swallow him! May he die a thousand agonizing deaths—that devil incarnate!"
Homer just allowed the old lady to pour out her emotion. He, Homer Almendares, learned human psychology: being a good detective, he had mastered the art of listening other people's outpouring—that is, to listen to their sentiments and even their emotional outburst if he wanted to get some answers. He had to listen and be patient. So he just let Mrs. Casimero pour out her burden, and her anger.
أنت تقرأ
The Open Coffin: Prelude to Murder
الأكشنA congressional candidate is murdered, and the next target is his political rival. Police Detective Homer Almendares races against the clock to apprehend the criminals and to preempt the commission of the second murder before the elections come.
