After midnight, she tried to escape and had to be very quiet. She was walking in the dark on her toes because even the slightest noise could be heard. She thought of going from the backyard where there were fewer guards. Either way, they didn't do their job properly. Every Monday and Friday night, they organize poker games betting whatever they had. She crossed the high fence and finally managed to get out. It was much easier than it seemed even though she used to think that this house was like a prison. Like her old one. "Stop it Amanda. There is not time for this."
She met Carl in the backyard. Even if they were determined to find new evidence they eventually ended up sitting over the murder scene and looking at each other. Everything was clear without the tiniest clue. That makes sence since the police could find nothing more. Carl broke the ice: -Whoever is the murderer, there is a chance to was blackmailing him for the past few days. He seemed worried, all day locked in his office over a stack of papers. We will definitely find something there, but it's always locked. -So what are we waiting for. Let's go and get the keys.
-If someone finds us...
-You will find easily a good excuse because you are his own nephew.
He looked at her anxiously for a few seconds as if he regretted this thought and finally said with his fake italian accent:
-We should go through the back door.
They took careful steps, not daring to make the slightest sound. The house was really old and even an aristocrat had planks creeping in from the passing of time. The office was down the corridor with the keys in the familiar spot. Inside the floor vase to the left of the door. Amanda lit a candle to distinguish through the shadows.
It was a simple, cold room with a smell of pine trees like in the backyard. The brown carpet was located in the middle of the room and the curtains with the same colour as well, would hide the light of the most sunny day. The walnut wood desk was stuck to the yellow wall with a painting of Picasso's blue period, a young artist who did not seem to have a particularly bright future, to stand majestically above it. It was showing an old, miserable man playing the guitar and had the face of a living dead. They started to looking in the drawers full of investment papers and old letters that his other brother sent to him from aboard before his death 4 years ago. As Carl was absorbed in one of them, they heard footsteps in the hallway.
-Hurry. Let's go.
-We dont's have time for this. Here. Let's hide behind the office.
Then, a tall shadow entered. At first, stand at the entrance of the door but then turned to the central point of the room, knelt and pushed the floor. The shadow did that and in some other places too a little further until a sudden sound was heard. He removed the rug and the detached plank. He took something from inside. It didn't sound big or heavy. Carl tried to get closer but the shadow had already gone. He tried to find the person but he couldn't. He came back to the office with hands trembling.
-I was so close. He knew the evidence were here. Who the fuck was that? Amanda started at the painting without talking
-If I had one more minute everything would be as they should be
-Carl...
-I want revenge...
-Carl! Amanda said abruptly but she was still looking the scary painting. I recognized the shadow Carl.
-What?
-That man...his hands...I know him -Who the bloody hell was that Amanda?