Cornea Marie and The Dead Stranger
(excerpt)
Cornea Marie is not an ordinary girl, though she lives an ordinary life. A gifted young prodigy, she spends her days studying in a well-known university and her nights partying at the city's loudest venues. But her mundane existence is about to change when her beloved friend and mentor was reported missing; in his house the police found the dead body of a John Doe. Fearing that he is being framed for murder, Cornea Marie must race against the authorities in finding her missing teacher and prove his innocence. But as mysteries begin to unfold, she discovers that sometimes, even the people you know the most are not what they appear to be.
Chapter 7
Cornea woke up to a deafening
silence. The lights are off and for a brief moment she was puzzled by her
surrounding, until everything slowly came back. She turned to the jalousie
window but couldn't see anything outside. She willed her ear to hear something
but all she got was the silent whirring of Tim's laptop left running. She
stretched her legs, reaching for the bottom edge of the top-bunk bed, but she
couldn't. She started thinking about the events that unfolded that day: from
the morning she woke up in her own bed to the night she slept into someone
else's bed, a stranger's bed. And strangely enough, a stranger she eagerly trusted.
Why won't she, he's a guy who obviously loves his Mom, he wouldn't dare to do
anything that will upset his mother. Cornea has always prided herself to be an
excellent judge of character, and she is yet to be disappointed.
Threat.
That was the word that stuck with her after her meeting with her boss, or
technically her Sir Ed's boss. Dino
Miguel Atienza, the dead stranger inside Sir Ed's house is under threat, was
under threat; from whom and why, only her missing teacher knows. Alfredo Cueto
never bothers with the minute details of a case when his best investigator is
on it. He trusts him enough to handle everything.
Threat.
Dino Miguel Atienza, an independent game developer, was under threat. It was
his father who called up Alfredo, as a friend calling up for a favor. He wanted
a guarantee to his son's safety, and Alfredo promised his safety by bringing
his best man on the job, Sir Ed. Unfortunately, that promise was broken when 4
days later he was found dead inside the house of the man who's supposed to protect
him.
But Sir Ed is no bodyguard. He's not
a thug, he will not be paid to take a bullet for someone; he's too precious for
that. This case, Atienza's case, is what they consider in their agency as a consultation, and Sir Ed is merely a
“security consultant”. He doesn't just guarantee the safety of his client, it
is also his responsibility to assess the threat, identify its source, figure
out the who's what's and why's, and if absolutely necessary, eliminate the
threat in any legal way possible.
Cornea must have been staring at the
dark ceiling for almost an hour when she heard a noise, the noise. The
noise that's she had been waiting for, the reason she suggested sleeping into
some stranger's bed, or on some stranger's top-bunk bed. It's a soft noise, almost
indiscernible, something you would only hear if you are listening closely. It came from outside the house, by the street. Footsteps. Amplified by the
deafening silence, followed by a soft clank of a metal. A metal gate.
She rose up quickly, minding the
ceiling over her head. She slowly removed the blanket covering her body and
carefully went down the bunk bed. If she can hear the noise outside, surely
somebody outside can hear any noise she makes inside. She tiptoed her way to
the window, and tried to peek out at the streets, but it’s too dark. Yet she's
sure, as certain as the sun will rise three hours from now, that somebody is
outside, and that somebody is breaking into Sir Ed's house. Again. It's one of
those things that a woman feels but can't explain. Same reason she knows
someone is ogling at her ass when she rides the LRT, or that some construction
worker makes a second glance as she walks by. Instinct is probably the best
word for it, albeit being broad and too generic. She tiptoed backwards towards
the door, and quietly opened it. She's still wearing the same dress she went
out with this morning, and there's no way she's making that jump by the balcony
with her low-heel boots again, so she slipped into one of the slippers by the
door and started walking towards the balcony behind the house.
She was just about to jump when she
realized another thing. Weapon. She needs a weapon. She's considering two
options here. First: It was Sir Ed. He sneaks back into his house the night
after somebody is murdered. But that's unlikely. If he has time to sneak back
into his own house 24 hours after he presumably left it, then he has time to
reply to Cornea's 20 text messages. Sir Ed is not the type to ignore text
messages, especially from his favorite student. And even if he, by any chance lost
his cellphone, he would have found out that his Honda is missing, and as she is
the only one who knows about his secret garage, he would have contacted her by
now, by any means. So she scratched that off her head, it’s not Sir Ed.
So it goes down to the second
option, the killer. Whoever it was who killed Dino Miguel Atienza the night before
came back to the scene. Either because he's stupid enough, or brave enough,
nevertheless he returned to finish something. Something he missed the first
time he came. Cornea would have never anticipated the killer would return, but
she still entertained the idea. And having no lead whatsoever, it’s the only
idea she has, so she insisted to sleep in Tim's house. Now, her gamble paid
off.
She walked back to the spiral
staircase behind Tim's room. She went down and was greeted by the huge Honda
scooter blocking its bottom steps. She could make the hop across, but she
wouldn't make the hop back up. So she dismissed the idea, and climbed back up.
She searched around the hallway for anything, any weapon she can use. If that's
the killer, he will have a gun, like he had a gun the previous night. A knife
wouldn't work, neither will a scissor: she would've need to get close to the
killer to make it useful, and she's mostly likely be shot-dead by the moment
she comes within the killer's arm's reach. She needs something long, and, hard,
yet light and easy to swing.
She went back inside Tim's room and
surveyed the area, trying hard to see anything through the dark, and then her
eye fell by the windows and saw the curtains, or the lack of it. Above the
window hangs a metal rod that's used to hold the drapes. A long metal rod, about
a meter length. "Perfect", she whispered to no one. She took the
chair to the window and reached for the rod. A quick nudge and it fell into her
palm. She held it tightly with her two hands and swung back and forth, testing
her arm, then she walked back to the balcony.
She braced herself and made the six-foot
jump. The metal rod in her right hand, she tiptoed towards the hanging bonsai
plant and took another metal wire. She picked the lock again, like she did
earlier this morning, then she leaned back by the wall, waiting for a reaction,
a response, like a ship sending a distress signal. Two minutes after, she
opened the back door, and entered silently. From the back of the house, she
could hear noises, boxes being turned over, drawers being violently opened and
closed, and silent shuffling on the floor. She crouched through the kitchen,
then the dining area and under the table. From there she heard the door of Sir
Ed's room opening so she went prone, her pounding chest drumming on the cold
concrete floor. A man came out of the room, and stood by the narrow hallway
between the dining room and the living room. Facing away from her, she couldn't
see his face, but his description matches what Tim saw the previous night.
Black leather jacket, baseball cap, and generic blue jeans. Too common, too
casual.
The man stood there for a moment,
surveying the interior of the house. He's looking for something, it's clear
now. Something he missed the first time he raided the house. Cornea
contemplates her position. She could attack him right now, crawl up out of the
dining table and hit him in the head with the rod there and then and all of
this will be over with. He will not die, of course, but she could establish an
advantageous position, he could pass out from the blow, and she could drag him
to the bed, strap him to the post and ask him about what happened the night
before. She could also find out if he knows where Sir Ed is. But the hallway is
too narrow; she can't make that swing with a meter-length rod. Striking from
the top is also not viable, it would hurt him, but that blow will not be enough
to stun him, much less disorient him. He could swiftly turn around and grab her
by the neck and that would be the end of her. The best hit is through the
temple, or through the back of his skull. So she has to wait for the perfect
timing. He just needs to walk a couple of steps forward, to the living area
where there is enough space to swing the rod to his right temple.
The man made a last look to her
direction, by the dining area. He can't see her. She's under the table and the
room is dark, the whole house is dark. This man would not take a risk of switching
on the lights; some neighbor awake at this moment could see it and report it to
the police the next morning. He's holding a flashlight on his left hand and she
saw a glimpse of a shiny metal by his right jacket pocket. A gun. He turned
back and started walking towards the door. She started crawling behind out of
the table. She could still reach him if she makes a run. Run, swing and hit,
probably shout along the way. Shouting helps, apparently. For some reason it
makes an attack more powerful. She knows there's an explanation behind that,
she have read about it somewhere, but she’s just too pre-occupied to remember
about it now. Run, swing and hit. All of this will be over. Run, swing and hit.
By the time she's out of the dining
table, the man, walking way faster than she anticipated is already a few steps
away from the door. She realized she wouldn't make it so she crouched down
again. Even she runs as fast as she can, she won’t reach him in time. She'll
just alert him of her position and by the time she's a meter away from him, he
could have his gun pointed at her forehead. Blink and die. No, she won't risk
it, so she let him go. She let him walk outside the house and back to whatever
hell he's from. Not that Cornea believes in hell.
She tiptoed towards the door as it
closed. She held the doorknob for a second, then a minute. It could be a trap.
He could've seen her, in some way, beneath the dining table, and feigned
leaving. He could be outside that door, waiting for her to come out. One hit to
the head and she's done. She stood there for five for minutes waiting for
something, until she heard a car moving across the street outside. She couldn't
catch him, but she could at least see his plate number. She quickly opened the
door and stepped outside, the car is already a few blocks away. A black Toyota,
probably a Vios, the same car Tim saw last night. She couldn't see the full
plates but she caught a letter and a number. She hissed and closed the door in
disappointment, that’s not enough.
Chapter 8
“Good morning.” Tim greeted Cornea
as she stepped down from the bunk bed. The young man is already nose-deep in
front of his laptop, listening to some sappy OPM song.
“Morning, what time is it?” Cornea
greeted back.
“Nine. He's in the news.”
“Who?” Cornea asks.
“Dino Miguel Atienza is in the major
news websites. His family indentified his body last night, and the PNP will be
making a press conference later this afternoon.”
“A press conference? Wow, I didn't
know he was that important.”
“He was. Or at least his family is.
Apparently, he's the son of Leopoldo Atienza Jr.” Tim, bent sidewards and
showed Cornea a website, headlined Son of entrepeneur found dead in Manila,
he then switched the tab to another news website, Businessman's son found
dead in teacher's house. “And then this, it’s from a gaming blog, it just
came in a few minutes ago”, Tim switched to another website, this one more
colorful than the first two, Developer of Tappity Tap found dead.
“Wait, who is his father again?”
“Leopoldo Atienza Jr. Businessman,
owner of a chain of high-end restaurants. An engineer by profession,
apparently, he owns a building. A rather small building at the backseat of
Makati, have you heard of the LAJ Bldg. in Pasay road? That's his.”
Cornea shakes her head, “I don't
even know where that is.”
“We passed across it last night.”
“Really?”
“When we went to Magallanes, it’s
near the Skyway.” Tim made a gesture with his right hand over his left hand, but
Cornea shook her head. “Never mind. Anyway, his family is rich enough to
warrant a press conference and influential enough to require a police task
force.”
“A task force?”
“Yep. That's what the news sites are
saying. PNP is forming a task force to hunt down Atienza's killer and put the
case into a close as fast as possible.”
“Yesterday the police didn't even
bother checking his body, and now that they found out who it was they're
creating a task force? I love the Philippines.” Cornea quipped sarcastically.
“Now here's the bad news,” Tim
turned himself around and faced the young woman, “Since his body was found
inside Mang Ed's house, he is their primary suspect.”
“Ok.” Cornea nodded.
“Ok? That's it? Yesterday you were
so adamant into finding Mang Ed and proving that he has nothing to do with this
guy's death and now you're just 'Ok'?”
“Well, naturally, he will be the
primary suspect, they found him in his house, and he's missing. Ask anyone, it’s
as plain as a summer day, he killed him and ran away hiding. That's a solid
case right there.”
Tim listened silently.
“But of course,” Cornea continued,
“they don't know what we know: that his father hired Sir Ed to protect him.
Wait, they don't know that, do they?”
“I think they don't, I didn't read
it mentioned in any news.”
“Right, so the police don't know...”
Cornea stood thinking, and then she felt her stomach grumble, “I'm hungry,
what's for breakfast?”
“I have pandesal here, if you want and I can get you coffee downstairs,”
Tim pointed to the plate of cold pandesal
lying beside his mouse pad and to the empty mug of coffee. “We also have sinangag
and egg if you want to eat rice.”
“I'll have the rice. We need energy
for the rest of the day.”
“For what?”
“Also, can I borrow some change of
clothes?” Cornea nodded down at her dirty clothes.
“About that, what happened to you?
Did Mama give you dirty blankets?”
“No, no, no. The blankets are clean.
It's the floor that's dirty.”
“Floor? You slept on the top bunk.
Did you fell on the floor?”
“No, I didn't. You know what, it’s a
long story; I'll tell you on our way to the funeral.”
“The funeral?”
“Yes, for now, let me borrow your
clothes and let me eat some breakfast.”
Tim stood bewildered, staring at
Cornea with his narrowed eyes and opened mouth.
“Get me some clothes!” She cried, “or
I'm gonna go downstairs naked. Let's see what your mother thinks about that.”
Tim hurried to his dresser and
rummage for some clothing. He took out a thin white shirt and a pair of board
shorts.
“Wow, you really do want me to go
downstairs naked, don't you?”
“What? No.”
“Get me a colored shirt, something
thick. The whole world's gonna see my bra through that.”
Tim returned to rummaging his
dresser and took out another shirt with some reference to an American TV show.
“This one?” he asks Cornea.
“Alright, that's good. Hand it to
me, and close the door.”
Tim gave the shirt and the pair of
shorts to Cornea and walked to the bedroom door. He closed it and stood beside
the bed obliviously.
“Get out, you perv!” Cornea shouted.
“Sorry.” Panicking, Tim rushed outside
the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. She walked towards it,
double-checked the lock, and chuckled to herself.
She quickly changed into the shirt
and shorts and put her old dress into her shoulder bag. She stood in front of
the dresser mirror and checked herself out. The loose shirt hangs formlessly on
her slim body, and her hair is all messed up. She took out a hair brush from
her bag and combed it and tied it into a bun. She realized that she forgot to
remove her make up before sleeping and made a mental note to wash it off after
eating. She folded up the sleeves of her t-shirt until it's a third of its
length, then walked out of the room.
Tim is already sitting by the dining
table when Cornea climbed downstairs. He served a plate of fried rice and egg, and
then made a gesture if she wants coffee. She obliged, so he poured hot water
into a cup and placed it beside Cornea's plate. She then handed her a sachet of
3-in-1 coffee.
“You don't have real coffee?” Cornea
asks, smugly.
“That is real coffee.” Tim answered.
“Whatever. Where's your mother?”
“I don't know,” waving off his hand,
“probably went to the market.”
Cornea nodded and started eating.
Tim watched her for a few minutes.
“You mentioned going to the
funeral?” His curiosity broke the silence in the room.
“Yes. We're going to the funeral.”
“We?”
“We. You, me, we.”
“Dino Miguel Atienza's funeral?”
“Why, did anybody else die last
night?”
“With me? Why?”
“Well, I need you to drive the
Honda.”
“No, why are we going to his
funeral?”
“To interrogate his parents.”
“Why?”
“Isn't it obvious?”
“Enlighten me.”
Cornea took a final sip of her coffee and
placed it back on the table. “They hired Sir Ed to protect their son, and then
they found their son dead in Sir Ed's house. Why didn't they mention that he
was supposed to be guarding him? Why didn't they tell to the police that their
primary suspect is, and was, technically their son's bodyguard, for lack of a
better word?”
Tim is still staring at Cornea,
clueless.
“They're hiding something. They know
something about their son's death, and they're letting Sir Ed take the fall.”
