"What are these?" the cop asked, eyeing a stack of puzzle boxes.
"Oh, sir. I run a toy shop...those are part of my supply," Mendez replied with a polite smile.
"What kind of puzzles?" the cop asked, pulling one out and opening it.
"All sorts," Mendez shrugged. "Plastic, paper, metal."
The cop examined the contents briefly before putting it back. "Alright, move along."
"His inspection's done...let him go," another officer called out, clearing the road.
"You think we'll ever find it?" the first cop asked as they moved to the next vehicle.
"We will. No way a gun that size gets past us unnoticed," the second officer replied.
Another car was stopped at Vila do Conde—it belonged to one of the henchmen.
"Please cooperate, it's just a routine search," a cop said.
"Of course," the man replied, stepping out to allow the inspection.
Another henchman was stopped at Baixa. He complied the same way.
Despite thoroughly searching every vehicle, the officers found no trace of any gun. They deployed drones and used the latest tech—still nothing.
2:00 PM
The house had already been cordoned off with yellow tape when Inspectors Duarte and Salazar arrived. Two GNR officers stood guard outside. On the curb, Vero's wife knelt, tears streaming down her face, clutching her young child, whose sobs were stifled by confusion and fear. Officer Martins crouched beside them, speaking gently.
Duarte gave a firm nod. "Secure the perimeter. No one gets in or out without clearance."
Salazar adjusted his gloves as they stepped inside, followed by two members of the Forensic Criminalistics Unit. The scent of blood lingered in the dimly lit living room.
The forensic team got to work immediately.
One technician crouched near a dark stain on the floor. "Sir, we've got a bloody shoeprint. Size eleven. Looks like the killer stepped in it before leaving."
Duarte knelt to inspect it. "Photograph it. Try lifting it."
Nearby, another technician examined a side table with two glasses...one half-full of water, the other empty.
"We'll dust these for prints. Same with the door handle."
They moved systematically...photographing, dusting, collecting.
On the floor near the couch lay Vero's body, a clean bullet wound through his temporal region.
Duarte studied the angle. "Close range. Upward trajectory… The killer was sitting, kneeling, or standing close beside him."
"No casings," Salazar observed. "Could've been a revolver."
They scanned the floor and furniture for residue or signs of another shot. Nothing.
Salazar picked up Vero's phone and Vero's wife was asked to unlock the phone. Since the child's fingerprint was also registered on it, they were able to unlock it using the child's fingerprint.
"Let's see….... Call from Costa at 1:00 PM. Then a callback from Vero at 1:03. And a missed call from his wife at 1:15."
"So he was alive until at least 1:03," Duarte noted. "If the wife called at 1:15 and didn't get through...… time of death is likely between 1:03 and 1:14."
They moved into the adjacent study, where the air smelled of smoke.
"What's this?" Salazar asked, crouching near a pile of ashes.
"Looks like files were burned," Duarte said, leaning closer. "This wasn't a robbery...this was deliberate. He was trying to erase something."
"Or someone wanted to silence him."
Forensics confirmed the ashes held nothing useful.
Outside, they questioned the wife.
"I kept telling him we should leave this place," she sobbed. "But he said...… he said he'd only tell Costa what he was working on. No one else."
Duarte and Salazar exchanged a glance.
"Where does Costa live?" Salazar asked gently.
"Varons," she said. "Just off the forest road."
An officer jogged over from the house. "Sir, we've pulled the camera footage from the front gate."
They followed him to a monitor inside the police van.
The screen flickered to life. A tall figure approached the door, fully covered and wearing a monkey mask. His gait was strange...comically bouncy.
Then, in front of the door, he pressed the door bell.
The camera was too far to catch his face clearly. Just before entering, he turned his back to the lens and removed his mask—calmly, deliberately. Then Vero opened the door. He smiled and welcomed him inside.
"He knew him," Salazar muttered.
"No forced entry. No hesitation," Duarte added.
They watched the footage again. And again.
"Track where that car went," Duarte ordered.
Later, a traffic cam on Paredes Street showed the same vehicle leaving the area calmly, heading onto a rural road between Paredes and Varons.
They followed the lead.
"Found it," a patrolman called. "Black Renault, parked off the main road. In the forest."
The vehicle sat in tall grass, too pristine to be casual.
Duarte frowned. "Send in the dogs first."
The canine unit approached. One dog barked sharply.
"Everyone step back," Duarte ordered, approaching cautiously.
He reached for the door.....and the car burst into flames.
He threw an arm over his eyes. "Damn it."
"Burned remotely," Salazar said grimly. "Whoever did this didn't want us finding anything."
Back at the van, Duarte called HQ.
"Track Costa's phone. Check his location between 1:00 and 1:20 PM."
A few minutes later, a reply came through.
"He was at the Grand Theater. Downtown Porto."
Duarte raised an eyebrow. "A theater show during the murder?"
Salazar cracked his knuckles. "Or an alibi planned a little too perfectly."
They looked at the burning car, smoke rising into the trees.
"This wasn't just murder," Duarte muttered. "It was planned, precise....… and personal."
Just then, an officer pressed a hand to his earpiece. "Sir, forensic lab just called in. We dusted everything...the glasses, door handle, table. Only Vero's fingerprints were found. No one else's."
Duarte froze, disbelief in his eyes. "What?" he whispered. Almost to himself.