Page 327 of The Black Trilogy

“You’re right.”

Marco, who’d always been kind of shy around the ladies, gave me a little wave.

Greetings over, we went inside to the lounge where the lighting was better. I took the sketchbook from my bag and passed the pack of photos over to Eduardo.

“Sorry about the quality of some of those. We did our best.”

“It cannot be helped, angel. These things happen when you shoot someone in the head.”

His pragmatism was refreshing.

Eduardo started flipping through them, slowly, his expression giving nothing away. Would he recognise anyone? I caught myself digging my fingernails into my palms and forced myself to relax. Hands in your lap, Emmy.

He got to the end of the pile then passed them on to Seb.

“Anything?” I noticed Eduardo had paused for longer on one of the pictures.

“Maybe. I want Sebastien to have a look before I speak my thoughts.”

Seb flicked through, stopping on one particular photo as well. The same one? He showed it to his father and murmured something I couldn’t make out.

“Yes, I think so too,” Eduardo said. “I have only ever seen him with a beard though, and the hair is different.”

My pulse sped up as he passed that picture to Marco, who also nodded his confirmation. I leaned forward, heart thumping against my ribcage. Which of the men had they recognised?

“You’ve got something?”

Seb nodded and slid the photo over. “That one is Carlos.”

CHAPTER 11

I LOOKED DOWN at the photo Seb passed me and stifled a groan. A picture of Black had been left in the pack by accident. I vaguely recalled the team including it when they canvassed the hotel staff for witnesses, just in case the morbid needed to see who had died. His handsome face stared out at me from the shiny paper, and my soul ached with sadness.

It was him the Garcias had recognised. Charles. The English version of the Spanish Carlos. I knew Black had never met any of the family, but Eduardo had his sources just like I had mine. Although Black and I tried to keep pictures of ourselves out of the public domain, they must have seen a photo of him sometime.

“No, that’s Charles. He never called himself Carlos. Do any of the others look familiar?”

Seb’s brow furrowed in confusion. “No, no, he was always Carlos. I have never heard him called anything else. You recognise him? Why are you asking us, then?”

“Of course I recognise him. We were married for almost twelve years.”

Eduardo’s face, normally relaxed and friendly, clouded over.

“You were married to Carlos Ramos?” he thundered, leaping to his feet.

Huh?

He slammed his cane down on the wooden floor and advanced towards me. Okay, now I understood where he got his reputation from. He looked a little angry.

“What are you talking about? I was married to Charles Black. You know that.”

I stood up and faced him toe-to-toe, hands on hips. He may have been acting psychotic, but two could play at that game.

“Well, that’s Carlos Ramos,” he yelled, pointing at the photo. Spit flew onto my face, and I resisted the urge to wipe my cheek.

“No, it isn’t. It’s Charles Black.”

“It is Carlos Ramos, Emmy,” Seb told me, speaking more gently than his father. “The lack of beard confused me at first, but all three of us can see the likeness.”

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