“He rarely got sick. He used to swim an hour daily, very early, and take cold showers at night or early in the morning,” he tells me. He was taking one of those showers when he slipped on a bar of soap and fell to the floor. The impact to his head caused an internal brain hemorrhage, for which he was hospitalized.

He gives me a copy of the resignation letter to read, addressed to the president of the Justice System (as Tun was also the official expert for the courts). I transcribe it below.

Mr. President,

Seeing myself unable to attend to my obligations as Chief of the Identification Bureau of the National Police for over a month, due to a postoperative period following brain trauma that I recently suffered, I consider it my duty to indicate, precisely because the Courts are not completely informed regarding the duties held by subordinate personnel in this Bureau, and due to the fact, since if truth be told, the various obligations related to that position cannot be delegated to a single person, the necessity of a division of labor among the personnel at the Identification Bureau, as follows:

—Examination of fingerprints, palm prints, and footprints found at the crime scene, as well as the identification of cadavers using the post-mortem records.

—Chemical confirmation of gunpowder deflagration, using paraffin gloves.

—Determination of blood stains and other vestiges: sperm, excrement, hair, and various human, animal, or synthetic fibers.

—Analysis of inks and paints, by means of macro and micro-photography, which are indispensable for these studies.

—Analysis of all kinds of handwriting, in every sense, manuscripts, dactylographic transcripts and authentic or “doubtful” signatures, the study of which is the most requested by the Courts.

—Analysis of photographs.

—Voice analysis.

In addition to “committing himself” to assist the agents or staff members that he recommends to carry out these duties in certain cases, he awaits the attention and response of the president of the Judicial Body.

I tell Benedicto that I do not want to take any more of his time—it is now past noon—and we agree to another interview after Easter, upon my return from my trip to France.

He assures me that over the holidays he will have time to continue to review his father’s documents, and he promises to set aside those that he thinks might interest me. We get up and Benedicto goes to open the grate door that leads to the hallway, which he keeps locked—he explains again—“for peace of mind.”

Down below, at the end of the hallway and outlined against the glare of the sun coming in from the street, the silhouette of a police pickup truck can be seen. I have a bad feeling when I see two agents get out of it. They stare at me as they approach me, but they do not detain me.