Chapter 11 - THE HOUSE BEYOND THE ORANGE GROVES
The farmhouse outside Alzira stood at the end of a narrow road surrounded by orange trees.
Its walls were faded yellow.
The roof tiles were cracked.
A rusty gate hung crookedly from two stone pillars.
From a distance, it looked abandoned.
But somebody had been there recently.
A black van was parked behind the building.
Fresh tire marks crossed the dusty driveway.
And a thin column of smoke rose from a chimney.
Inspector Ferrer approached with a specialized police team shortly before sunset.
The officers had obtained judicial authorization to enter and search the property after connecting it to the foundation investigation.
Tomás was not allowed to accompany them.
He knew that.
He had argued anyway.
Finally, Ferrer had agreed to call him as soon as they found anything relevant.
Now he sat inside Rafael's car at a police-approved waiting point miles away.
His hands were clasped so tightly that his knuckles hurt.
Rafael sat beside him.
Neither spoke.
Tomás had spent the afternoon reading every document Daniel could locate about the family trust.
He had discovered suspicious payments to companies controlled by Eduardo.
Consulting fees.
Legal expenses.
Property maintenance charges.
Millions of euros moved through organizations whose business purposes were unclear.
The more he read, the less he recognized the world he had been living in.
At the farmhouse, officers entered through the front door.
The kitchen was empty.
A pot sat on the stove.
There were fresh groceries in the refrigerator.
Someone had left in a hurry.
Upstairs, they found four small bedrooms.
Two contained adult clothing.
One contained medical supplies.
And the fourth contained something that made Ferrer stop.
Children's drawings covered the walls.
Flowers.
Houses.
Stars.
And birds.
Blue birds.
Dozens of them.
Some were drawn with crayons.
Others with markers.
One showed a tiny girl standing beneath a yellow sun.
Beside her was a man holding a blue balloon.
The drawing was labeled in uneven letters.
PAPA.
Ferrer felt a chill.
On a shelf near the window lay an old stuffed rabbit.
Its fur was worn.
One ear had been repaired with blue thread.
A police photographer began documenting the room.
Then an officer called from the hallway.
"Inspector?"
Ferrer turned.
"What is it?"
"We found someone."
She hurried downstairs.
In a storage room behind the kitchen sat a woman in her late fifties.
Her name was Teresa Molina.
She had worked as a caregiver at the farmhouse.
She was trembling.
And she was terrified.
"I didn't do anything," she said before anyone asked a question.
Ferrer sat opposite her.
"Then help us understand what happened here."
Teresa shook her head.
"I only cooked."
"For whom?"
"The women."
"What women?"
"Pregnant women."
"How many?"
Teresa began crying.
"I don't know."
"How long have you worked here?"
"Four years."
Ferrer leaned forward.
"And the children?"
Teresa went still.
"What children?"
"The ones who lived here."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Ferrer showed her a photograph of the drawings.
Teresa covered her face.
"Please."
"Teresa, if children were being held here or separated unlawfully from their parents, we need to find them."
The older woman began sobbing.
"They told me everything was legal."
"Who told you?"
"Dr. Serrano."
"And?"
Teresa hesitated.
"Eduardo."
Ferrer waited.
Then asked the question that mattered most.
"Was there a little girl named Inés?"
Teresa looked up.
The name struck her like a physical blow.
Her lips parted.
But no sound came out.
Ferrer remained calm.
"Teresa."
The woman's eyes filled.
"She didn't know that was her name."
Ferrer leaned closer.
"What did she call herself?"
"Alma."
"Where is she?"
Teresa shook her head.
"They moved her."
"When?"
"Almost two years ago."
"Where?"
"I don't know."
Ferrer studied her.
"Why was she here?"
Teresa began crying harder.
"Because somebody paid for her to stay hidden."
"Who?"
"I never saw the person."
"How were you paid?"
"Through the foundation."
Ferrer paused.
"Was she being cared for?"
Teresa looked ashamed.
"She had food."
"That isn't what I asked."
The woman lowered her eyes.
"She wanted her father."
Ferrer felt a painful tightness in her chest.
Teresa continued.
"Every night, she asked when he was coming."
"Did anyone tell her?"
"No."
"What did they tell her?"
Teresa's voice cracked.
"That he didn't want her anymore."
Ferrer closed her eyes for a brief moment.
Then she asked:
"Did she believe them?"
Teresa shook her head.
"Not at first."
"What changed?"
"She stopped asking."
Silence settled over the room.
Finally, Teresa looked toward the window.
"There was one thing she never stopped doing."
"What?"
"She drew the same man."
"Did she know his name?"
"No."
Teresa wiped her cheeks.
"But she always gave him a blue balloon."
Ferrer remembered the drawing upstairs.
"Why a blue balloon?"
Teresa looked confused.
"I don't know."
But Tomás would know.
Because on Inés's third birthday, he had bought her an enormous blue balloon shaped like a bird.
She had carried it everywhere.
Even into bed.
Elena had taken photographs.
Tomás had kept one in his wallet until the edges wore thin.
At six-forty, Ferrer called him.
He answered immediately.
"Did you find her?"
There was a pause.
"We found evidence she lived there."
Tomás pressed his hand against his mouth.
Rafael turned toward him.
"Is she alive?" Tomás whispered.
"We believe she was alive when she left the farmhouse."
"When?"
"Approximately two years ago."
"Where did she go?"
"We're working on that."
Tomás closed his eyes.
"Inspector..."
"Yes?"
"Did she remember me?"
Ferrer looked down at the drawing in her hand.
"She drew pictures of her father."
Tomás began crying.
He tried to stop.
He couldn't.
"She remembered me."
Ferrer remained silent.
Then she said:
"Mr. Valdés, we also found something else."
"What?"
"A record of a transfer."
"Whose?"
"Alma's."
Tomás gripped the phone.
"Where?"
Ferrer looked at the document.
"The receiving organization is listed as Casa del Mar."
Tomás frowned.
"What's that?"
"A private residential care facility near Alicante."
Rafael immediately started the car.
Tomás looked at him.
Then returned to the phone.
"Inspector, we're on our way."
"Mr. Valdés, do not go directly there."
"Why?"
Ferrer hesitated.
"Because the paperwork says the child was transferred under a new identity."
Tomás felt cold.
"What identity?"
Ferrer read the name.
Isabella Martín.
May you like
Then she added:
"And according to the file, Isabella was adopted eleven months ago."
