My voice sounds firm, controlled, as if I really am.
Alexander doesn't say anything right away. But I know he doesn't believe me.
I notice it in the way he looks straight ahead, in how he squeezes the steering wheel slightly before speaking.
"I was at home last night when Mr. Bustamante called me."
My stomach contracts, I don't look at him.
I still see the road, but every word... falls with weight.
"It was strange that he called me," he continues. "He told me that he had greeted you, that you agreed to talk, to meet to socialize..."
He pauses a little, just enough for my breathing to alter slightly.
"But you weren't there."
I press my fingers against my leg.
"He called you... You didn't answer."
I swallow hard.
The landscape outside continues to pass by, indifferent. As if noth
