March was already at the table when Manolo arrived at the office. He was immersed in the files on his desk, where he appeared to have been transported to another dimension because he didn’t notice Manolo coming in.
Manolo walked straight to his table, silently observing the man across from him. March’s eyes were glued on the three opened folders containing the cases of Rissa, Olga, and Oscar. March looked as if his physical body was with Manolo, but his astral body could be wandering around—traveling in his own time and space.
“All were buried, but the depth of the pits varied. The first victim’s arms from the elbows were cut,” he murmured, but it was audible enough to be heard. He massaged his chin as he pouted his lips. “This kind of cut can be done using a chopping knife or a bolo. Sh
