“No.” She certainly hadn’t expected to need an alibi, or she would have invited someone in the condo building for dinner.
“Did you attend church?” Robles asked.
“No. Did you?”
Mesa shoved his chair back. “You’d be wise to watch your attitude, Miss Santillan. We may want to speak with you again, and you may want to have an attorney present.”
Ana bolted to her feet. “Where was Jaime murdered? In his studio?”
“Yes, and his blood splattered many of his prized photos.”
She’d not asked for details and shuddered. “I’ve never been to his studio, so you won’t find my fingerprints. Don’t you rely on clues?”
“The murderer would have wiped the place clean, Miss Santillan,” Robles stated. “Here’s my card. If you think of something we should know, call me.”
Ana took the card and walked out the door ahead of them. She waited by the security desk while they passed through the front doors. “Did they sign in, Henry?”
“Yes, right here, Robles and Mesa. I’m sorry if they upset you, but if I’d said you weren’t here, they would have kept coming back.”
“You needn’t lie for me. A photographer I worked with was murdered, and they’re probably questioning everyone he knew. At least I hope they are.”
Tuesday morning, the doctored photo of Ana appeared on the front page of the most popular tabloid in Barcelona. Her agent called to warn her before she left her building and walked straight into a swarm of paparazzi unprepared. “That’s only my head, Paul, but I won’t pose nude to prove it. Two police detectives showed it to me yesterday. One of them must have leaked it. I need an attorney to stop this before it gets any worse.”
“How could it get worse?” Paul asked.
She had an easy answer for that. “They could arrest me for murder.”
“Don’t even think that, Ana. You don’t have any work today; stay home and screen your calls. The agency has an attorney, Elena Covarrubias, and I’ll ask her about suing the tabloid for harassment.”
“How about defaming my image?”
“Perfect. I’ll get her right on it.”
Ana called Henry and asked him to find a copy of the tabloid. “It isn’t my body, and I’m going to sue over it, so I’d like to have a copy.”
“Right away, Miss Santillan.”
Orlando Ortiz called Alejandro as soon as he heard about the photo. “I’ve sent you an email. Open it and tell me what you think.”
Alejandro found the front-page photo and wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of sounding alarmed. “That isn’t Ana’s body.”
“You know her that well? I’m impressed.”
“Anyone could tell the proportions are wrong. She’s all legs, and this photo shows a woman with an average height. Why would they publish something like this?”
“Read the article. She’s a suspect in a murder.”
He couldn’t stand his father’s gloating tone. “Nothing in the tabloids is true. You ought to know that.”
“Perhaps not, but a man is dead. I’ll talk to you later.”
Alejandro sat down and read the accompanying article and then went out to buy a copy of a reputable newspaper. The bogus photo of Ana wasn’t included, but her name was mentioned as one of the models who’d worked with Jaime Campos. There was no mention of her being a suspect, and relieved, he sat back and debated what to do. Doing nothing seemed completely wrong, however.
Henry buzzed Ana’s condo. “There’s a deliveryman here from El Gato Café. Did you order something?”
She looked at Fatima and rolled her eyes. “Please ask him his name.”
There was a momentary pause. “He says he’s Alejandro Vasquez, and you know him.”