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Chapters (61)
  1. Prologue
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Chapter Sixteen
  18. Chapter Seventeen
  19. Chapter Eighteen
  20. Chapter Nineteen
  21. Chapter Twenty
  22. Chapter Twenty-One
  23. Chapter Twenty-Two
  24. Chapter Twenty-Three
  25. Chapter Twenty-Four
  26. Chapter Twenty-Five
  27. Chapter Twenty-Six
  28. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  29. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  30. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  31. Chapter Thirty
  32. Chapter Thirty-One
  33. Chapter Thirty-Two
  34. Chapter Thirty-Three
  35. Chapter Thirty-Four
  36. Chapter Thirty-Five
  37. Chapter Thirty-Six
  38. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  39. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  40. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  41. Chapter Forty
  42. Chapter Forty-One
  43. Chapter Forty-Two
  44. Chapter Forty-Three
  45. Chapter Forty-Four
  46. Chapter Forty-Five
  47. Chapter Forty-Six
  48. Chapter Forty-Seven
  49. Chapter Forty-Eight
  50. Chapter Forty-Nine
  51. Chapter Fifty
  52. Chapter Fifty-One
  53. Chapter Fifty-Two
  54. Chapter Fifty-Three
  55. Chapter Fifty-Four
  56. Chapter Fifty-Five
  57. Chapter Fifty-Six
  58. Epilogue
  59. Author’s Note
  60. Acknowledgements
  61. About the Author

Ricardo had no interest in visiting his father, whom he hadn’t seen for over three years, since the passing of his beloved mother. However, he didn’t need to visit the house to enact his plan. At the bottom of the garden was a substantial shed he had helped his father build some years earlier, when he was living at home. He knew it wasn’t used any more and the wooden door was well secured by a mortice lock. A lock he had fitted himself and for which he still held a spare key. The shed was built from ten-inch rendered concrete blocks with a solid base and no windows, and so provided a perfect temporary home for his newly acquired assets.

At four in the morning, he parked the van outside the front of his father’s house. The lights were off inside and the street was deserted. Ricardo made ten separate trips, carrying the bags one at a time from the back of the van to the shed at the bottom of the garden. As he expected, it was completely empty, except for a rusty old lawnmower and a couple of watering cans that were covered by a layer of cobwebs.

About an hour later, he relaxed back in the driver’s seat of the van and turned the ignition. The engine burst into life and Ricardo resisted the usual instinct to flick on the headlights. He carefully placed the shed key back inside his jacket pocket and smiled to himself as he slowly steered the van away from the pavement. It had been a good night’s work and he was feeling euphoric. Unfortunately, he was totally unaware of the small red velvet pouch that had spilled from one of the cloth bags and was now lying on the grass verge inside his father’s garden, a few feet from the front door. The first mistake had been made.

Chapter Eight

10 January 2012

Buenos Aires

Maria Vidal was running late. As a carer, working for the city’s social services, she had three housebound clients she visited five days a week. She was on her way to see Raúl Gonzales at his home in La Boca, one of the city’s poorest districts, located in the south-east, near the old port. Her regular bus had broken down over a mile away from the house, so she had been forced to walk the rest of the journey laden with two heavy shopping bags full of groceries.