PROLOGUE:

The coffee steam rose like mist, hovering in slow motion through the heavy atmosphere of the police station. It was one of those days. Not because of the activity. It was actually calm there. Too calm, maybe. And that was the problem. That kind of tranquility always seemed to announce some disaster, like a cursed omen.

And there was the migraine. Ah, that alone could turn any day into hell.

Detective Helena Almeida rubbed her forehead when officer Paulo entered her office.

— Do you have a moment, ma’am? — he asked.

She gave her colleague a tired laugh.

— No, but go ahead anyway.

He tried a smile in return, but the heavy expression barely let his lips move. The officer looked paler than a sheet forgotten soaking in a bucket of bleach water, which immediately caught the woman’s attention.

— We have a murder.

She didn’t want to sound insensitive, but that was not exactly new. After all, it was the line of work they were in. Murders were not common in Maramoures, but they happened from time to time. Some drunken brawl at the Dockside Bar, or someone finding an unexpected visitor hidden in their beloved wife’s closet... It came with the job.

— Who was it? — she asked, without much alarm in her voice, though the weight in Paulo’s eyes was, at the very least, alarming. — What is it, man? You look like a walking corpse. Spit it out.

— It was a student, ma’am... And... it was bad.

Murders were always bad, weren’t they? But for a police officer to say that, there was something more. Helena stood up, almost forgetting the migraine, and stared the man in the eyes.

— On campus?

He nodded.

— In the woods. And... it wasn’t pretty. I just got the radio call from the patrol unit that was sent there. A female student found him. She’s traumatized. I could hear her crying over the radio.

— “It wasn’t pretty”? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

— The boy had scratches on his arms and legs. His pants and shirt were torn. A large laceration on his neck and... — he hesitated for a moment — and... he had no heart.

Helena felt the blood rush to her head all at once, but she stayed upright, her expression unshaken.

— Get a patrol car. I want to go there. And bring me the report. I want you to explain what, in the name of the Almighty, that means.