Juan Ovieda finds himself under surveillance, with his phone tapped and shadowy figures tailing him. Frustrated by the lack of progress and the mounting political pressure, he decides to clear his head with a night ride to the Albufera wetlands. There, he encounters an old fisherman who shares a chilling tale about a hidden cove and a secret meeting place used by the city's elite. This story provides Juan with a new lead, reigniting his determination to uncover the truth behind the journalist's death.
The oppressive heat of the day had given way to a cool, velvet night as Juan Ovieda mounted his vintage Moto Guzzi. The roar of the engine was a comforting sound, a reminder of simpler times when the world seemed less complex. He needed the solitude of the ride to clear his mind, to shake off the shadows that seemed to cling to him since the investigation began. As he rode out of the city, the lights of Valencia faded into the distance, replaced by the tranquil expanse of the Albufera wetlands.
The moon cast a silver glow over the water, and the air was filled with the scent of salt and reeds. Juan found a sense of peace here, away from the prying eyes and the constant pressure of the case. He parked the bike near a small, weather-beaten dock and walked towards the water's edge. The sound of gentle waves lapping against the shore was soothing, but his thoughts were still tangled with the mysteries of the case.
He took out the brass Saint Michael medallion from his pocket, rubbing it absently between his fingers as he stared out at the dark expanse. It was then that he noticed the silhouette of a man standing at the end of the dock, a fishing rod in hand. The man turned, revealing a face etched with lines of age and wisdom. "Buenas noches, Inspector," the fisherman greeted, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
"I thought you might come here."
Juan approached, intrigued. "How did you know?" he asked, curiosity piqued. The fisherman chuckled softly, gesturing towards the water. "The wetlands have a way of calling those who seek answers," he replied cryptically.
For a moment, they stood in silence, the only sound the gentle rustle of reeds in the breeze. Then, the fisherman began to speak, his voice low and conspiratorial. He told Juan of a hidden cove, a place where the city's elite would gather under the cover of darkness. It was a place of secrets and whispers, where deals were made and loyalties tested.
Juan listened intently, every word filling him with a renewed sense of purpose. The fisherman's tale hinted at connections between the journalist's death and the powerful families of Valencia. "This cove," Juan asked, "do you know where it is?"
The fisherman nodded, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I can show you," he said, "but be careful, Inspector.
Some secrets are guarded fiercely."
As Juan rode back to the city, the wind whipping through his hair, he felt a new determination coursing through his veins. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but he knew he could not turn back now. The truth was out there, hidden in the shadows of the wetlands, and he was determined to bring it to light. But as he approached the city limits, he noticed the headlights of a car in his rearview mirror, following at a distance.
His heart quickened, a reminder that he was not alone in his quest. Someone else was watching, waiting for him to make a move. The game had just become more dangerous, and Juan knew he had to tread carefully. Yet, the fisherman's story had given him a crucial lead, a thread to follow in the tangled web of deceit and power.
He would find this hidden cove, uncover its secrets, and bring justice to those who thought themselves untouchable. The night ride had cleared his mind, but the road ahead was still shrouded in uncertainty. Who was really pulling the strings behind the scenes?
