Apparently, Señor Bovio had been told who Mr. Simon was. He put his briefcase down on the table and nodded at us to sit as well. Then he opened it and pulled out the document I had signed to accept Señor Bovio’s custody of Adan Jr. He slid it over the table toward Señor Bovio.
“It’s not necessary to show me that,” Señor Bovio said, glancing down at it but not touching it.
“Since it’s the centerpiece of our discussion, I thought I should put it on the table,” Mr. Simon said. “If I am right about the chronology here, you had offered and provided what you believed to be excellent medical care for Delia Yebarra during her pregnancy.”
“There’s no question about that,” Señor Bovio said. “No matter how unappreciated it was,” he added, targeting his gaze at me.
“And,” Mr. Simon said, ignoring the comment, “you offered her your home for herself and her child after he was born. You offered to provide for her to attend a school for nursing, but at the time, you did not ask to have sole custody of your grandchild.”
“I don’t need this historic review,” Señor Bovio said, and sipped some of his brandy.
“I just want us all to agree on the facts, sir.”
“I agree so far,” Señor Bovio said. “And?”
“And it wasn’t until Delia suffered a near-miscarriage and had to have the emergency caesarean that you presented her with this document. You learned that there was the presence of a drug popularly known as Ecstasy or X in her blood and threatened to make that an issue if she refused to sign this document. Am I correct?”
“No decent grandfather would have done less,” Señor Bovio said. “Especially if we consider that he had lost his son and was the sole protector of his son’s child.”
“No one’s questioning your motives, sir.”
“Then why are you here?” Señor Bovio fired back at him, “defending these…kidnappers?”
“Perhaps, sir, you were a bit hasty in your condemnation of Delia, either deliberately or otherwise.”
“In her heart, she knows that is not so,” Señor Bovio said, glaring at me. “She conspired with a fugitive in Mexico, obstructed justice, and perhaps after taking drugs or drinking too much, carelessly caused my son’s death.”
“Ray!” Tía Isabela cried.
“Why aren’t those facts placed on this table along with my document?” he snapped back at her. He turned to Mr. Simon. “Are you here to get me to have the district attorney drop the kidnapping charges? Don’t you consider what I went through when I learned my grandson was stolen? You think I should care about their pain and suffering and forget my own? My son is gone!”
“No, sir,” Mr. Simon said.
“Then why did you come here?” he shouted, his face reddening and the veins in his neck straining.
“Simply to get at the truth, sir,” Mr. Simon replied quietly. “Something I hope you want as much as we do.”
“The truth,” Señor Bovio repeated disdainfully.
Mr. Simon looked at Tía Isabela and nodded.
She rose and went to the library door, then turned back with Teresa right behind her. Apparently, she had been waiting in the hallway just outside the library.
“What is this?” Señor Bovio demanded.
“We’ll know in a few minutes, Mr. Bovio,” Mr. Simon said. He looked at Teresa. “Please, have a seat,” he said.
Teresa glanced at Señor Bovio and then sat. She kept her gaze down.
“Your full name is Teresa Donald?” Mr. Simon began.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“And you’ve been working for Mr. Bovio for a long time, Teresa?”
“Nearly thirty-two years,” she replied.
“That’s dedication,” Mr. Simon said.