That last remark stayed with Tomas.
The evening before, he had walked home that way and caught, faint as a rumor, a sourness that did not belong to ordinary cooking.
He did not sleep well.
The next morning, he watched Lidia arrive again.
Same coat.
Same counting of coins.
Same sixty kilos.
And when she turned toward the service road instead of Binder Lane, his unease sharpened into something that required a name.
He called the police.
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