Chapter 12 - THE CHILD WITH THREE NAMES
By the next morning, investigators had identified the family connected to the adoption record.
Their names were Javier and Beatriz Martín.
They lived in a quiet neighborhood outside Alicante.
Javier was an architect.
Beatriz taught literature at a secondary school.
They had one daughter.
A nine-year-old girl named Isabella.
Photographs on social media showed a smiling child riding a bicycle, celebrating birthdays, and walking along the beach.
She looked happy.
She also looked exactly like Inés Valdés.
Tomás sat in Inspector Ferrer's office, staring at the photographs.
His eyes were red.
He hadn't slept in nearly thirty-six hours.
Rafael stood behind him.
"That's her," Tomás whispered.
Ferrer nodded carefully.
"The resemblance is strong."
"Look at her wrist."
In one photograph, Isabella held a birthday cake.
A small crescent-shaped mark was visible near her left wrist.
Tomás pointed.
"That's her birthmark."
Ferrer studied the image.
"We're arranging independent verification."
"Can I see her?"
"Not yet."
Tomás looked up sharply.
"Inspector—"
"We have to protect her."
"She's my daughter."
"And if the records are fraudulent, she may have been living under another identity for years."
Tomás stared.
"She may not remember everything."
His voice broke.
"She remembers me."
"She may."
"She drew me."
"I know."
Ferrer leaned forward.
"But imagine what happens if a stranger suddenly arrives at her home and tells her the people raising her are not her parents."
Tomás looked down.
The inspector continued.
"We need child-protection specialists."
"We need accurate records."
"We need to know what the Martín family was told."
Tomás nodded slowly.
He understood.
Understanding did not make the waiting easier.
Across the hall, Daniel was examining documents recovered from the farmhouse.
One was especially troubling.
It identified Isabella as a child requiring permanent placement after the deaths of her biological parents.
The document contained a forged death certificate.
A false medical history.
And signatures from two officials whose names appeared repeatedly in the foundation's records.
The paperwork claimed the child had been abandoned.
Tomás stared at the description.
Abandoned.
His daughter.
The little girl he had mourned for six years.
The child he would have crossed the world to find.
Someone had written that she had been abandoned.
He pushed the document away.
"I want everyone involved held accountable."
Ferrer nodded.
"We're pursuing every lead."
At two that afternoon, Javier and Beatriz Martín arrived at the police station voluntarily.
They had been contacted by child-protection officials and informed that serious questions had arisen about Isabella's adoption.
Beatriz entered first.
She looked frightened.
Javier held her hand.
Tomás saw them through the glass partition of a conference room.
He stood immediately.
Rafael caught his arm.
"Tomás."
"I need to talk to them."
"Let Ferrer do her job."
"They have my daughter."
"Possibly because someone lied to them."
Tomás looked toward the couple.
Beatriz was crying.
Javier had both hands around hers.
For the first time, Tomás considered something he hadn't allowed himself to think about.
These people might not be criminals.
They might be victims too.
They might have loved Inés.
Raised her.
Comforted her when she had nightmares.
Helped her with homework.
Celebrated birthdays he had missed.
His chest tightened.
He had spent six years mourning a child another family might have spent years loving.
The thought was almost too much to bear.
An hour later, Ferrer returned.
"The Martíns say they believed the adoption was legal."
Tomás nodded.
"Did they know about Carlota?"
"No."
"Eduardo?"
"They met him once."
"Dr. Serrano?"
"Yes."
Tomás looked up.
"He arranged the placement?"
"According to their account, he introduced them to a private agency."
"Did they pay?"
"Substantial fees."
Tomás swallowed.
"They bought my daughter."
Ferrer shook her head.
"They say they believed they were paying lawful adoption and administrative expenses."
Tomás looked away.
He wanted someone to blame.
Someone to hate without complication.
But the evidence suggested Javier and Beatriz might have been deceived.
Ferrer continued.
"They also told us something important."
"What?"
"Isabella has nightmares."
Tomás stared.
"What kind?"
"She dreams about a car."
His body went still.
"And?"
"A woman calling her name."
He couldn't speak.
Ferrer lowered her voice.
"Sometimes she wakes up crying for someone named Elena."
Tomás covered his mouth.
Elena.
His wife.
Her mother.
The woman Isabella had supposedly forgotten.
Ferrer waited quietly.
When Tomás finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
"Does she remember me?"
"We don't know yet."
He looked toward the ceiling.
He had imagined this reunion a thousand different ways during the previous twenty-four hours.
He would see her.
She would run to him.
He would hold her.
The nightmare would end.
But real life wasn't a movie.
Six years had passed.
She had another name.
Another family.
Another home.
And perhaps another idea of who her father was.
"Inspector," he whispered.
"Yes?"
"Please don't frighten her."
Ferrer nodded.
"We won't."
At that moment, her phone rang.
She answered.
A colleague spoke urgently.
Ferrer stood.
"What do you mean she's missing?"
Tomás looked up.
His blood turned cold.
The inspector listened for several seconds.
Then she said:
"Lock down every exit and get officers there immediately."
She ended the call.
Tomás was already standing.
"What happened?"
May you like
Ferrer looked at him.
"Isabella disappeared from her school twenty minutes ago."
