SEPHY LEFT THE APARTMENT early, but left a note in the kitchen telling the girls that she had an appointment with the vice-president of the college around nine o'clock. She took a taxi to Juan Carlos I Avenue to pick up her car, which she had left in the shopping center parking lot.
Zig-Zag because he didn't want anyone to link his Corvette to those two perfidious women. Then he headed to Santomera without wasting any time. He tucked into his jacket the address that corresponded to the phone number the auction house director had given him.
It was very easy to find. He compared the second prefix with those of the surrounding towns and villages of the autonomous community. This way, he determined it belonged to Santomera. Then, all he had to do was hide the numbers aligned vertically on the pages of the general catalog with cardboard, leaving only the last three visible. Thus, he gradually discarded those with different endings until he found what he was looking for.
After driving a few minutes toward Alicante, she left the highway and took the Santomera exit. It wasn't long before she reached the town center, determined to ask where Gregory Evans's friend lived. Among other reasons, the residence was located in a place with a confusing name, as it didn't resemble a street, but rather a place or path:
Senda Del Esparragal.
A young man on a moped showed him the way to the architect's grave, as that was what the residence was known as in the village. Sephy thanked him for the information and left, vaguely aware of where to turn right or left. He turned off the road onto a path that skirted a vegetable field.
A hundred meters or so ahead, she found a property where various types of trees, cacti, and palms grew. She stopped the car a few meters from the front door. She rolled down the windows and took off her sunglasses. From where she stood, she could see the main facade of the unique cave. She was certainly astonished by the man's genius, able to harness nature's capricious formation to build his home.
He didn't see anyone around. Not even a vehicle. They must have been outside.
A short distance away, he saw many small vans and cars parked in a field where straw bales were piled up for the pack animals, next to a shack with an old sign for a well-known soft drink brand stuck to the door. He deduced it was a shop serving coffee and drinks to the peasants who worked nearby. He had no intention of entering a place where the odor must have been repulsive, both due to the large number of men drinking brandy at that early hour, as well as the unsanitary appearance and the age-old appearance of the decaying walls and roof.
However, he thought he could park next to the other vehicles and wait for the owner of the property to enter or leave, who would probably be accompanied by the man he was looking for.
He started the engine again and headed toward the plain to the right. He looked for a spot with a good view and, above all, visibility. He found it at the edge of the parking lot, facing the road.
Once again, he dedicated himself to patiently waiting for his prey. He didn't mind, because it was part of his job.