After finding his way home from the pub, Rico ordered sushi, brewed a pot of coffee and fired up his laptop. He ate the Philadelphia and tempura rolls with sensei-level chopstick skills while devouring every article he could find about the missing sculptures. The newspapers Ricardo kept when the theft first occurred would've come in handy. However, those were at his primary apartment in Medellín.

Unfortunately, his investigation was coming up dry. There weren't any new details on the case. In actuality, Ricardo's earlier encounter at the lake made him more informed than all the sources he'd consulted. But Rico couldn't help diving into some conspiracy theories that had slithered their way onto the internet. One that really put the wasabi on his Tuna roll was about extraterrestres (aliens).

Interesting.

According to the undoubtedly well-researched blog, the reason the truck carrying the sculptures evaporated into thin air was due to art-loving aliens. Several unnamed eyewitnesses claimed to have seen a strange silver orb hovering in the skies above the area where the truck was last seen. So the site claimed the mother-ship beamed everything up. Obviously.

Well, that would explain how the sculpture got into the lake. The back of the truck opened up, and it fell out right before the spaceship left Earth. They abducted the driver: that's why he was never found. Kind of out there, but it ties everything together. I'll keep that in mind.

Eventually, Rico's eyelids became heavy, preventing any further Google searches. And with a sleep-soaked sigh of defeat, the laptop was closed. He stumbled towards the bathroom, hopped in and out of the shower, brushed his teeth and fell into bed. During the night, Ricardo dreamt he was floating on the gentle waves of Lake Fúquene.

Overhead, the star-filled night sky spun and turned like an enormous kaleidoscope. Just off the shore, an engorged bronze sculpture emerged from the depths. Its feet splashed water droplets that rained down everywhere as it marched out of the lake. Within moments, the statue faded into the darkness.

Rico swam over to where the figure went ashore. Nothing was there save for giant footprints leading away from the lake. The ground vibrated, and a loud buzzing tore through the air. In a flash, he sat up, peeled his eyes open, reached over to the side table and grabbed his phone. In one frustrated swipe, Ricardo dismissed the annoying alarm.

Why'd I leave this thing set for 8AM?

He yawned, climbed out of bed, threw on a pair of boxers and walked into the hallway. Ricardo's shuffling feet led him to the kitchen; he mechanically opened the fridge and retrieved two eggs from the carton.

After closing the omelette he'd filled with diced tomatoes, chopped scallions and Quesito (Colombian Fresh Cheese), Rico cut open an avocado. He sliced the fruit, sprinkled a pinch of salt on it and slid the omelette onto the plate.

As he ate, the sounds of car horns and chirping birds drifted in through the window. Good morning to you too, Bogotá. Rico's sushi-induced vision was all but forgotten until he heard his phone vibrating on the side table in the bedroom. Right away, he remembered the footprints from the dream.

The shore!

Ricardo shoved one more piece of avocado into his mouth before hurrying over to his laptop on the couch. The screen lit up, revealing a stunning impressionist depiction of the White Cliffs of Dover. Three clicks on particular areas of the image unlocked the computer. He opened a folder on the desktop called 'For the Gallery,' which contained pictures of all his paintings of the lake. The scroll bar raced towards the bottom of the window, stopping abruptly over a row of images from the previous year. Rico zoomed in and leaned forward, examining each photo with meticulous scrutiny.

That's different.

There was a slight variance in one painting: tire tracks on the shore.

When was I out there again? I painted this on August 12th-the same day the sculptures were reported missing; they were supposed to be delivered on the 11th. So I would've taken this picture on the 13th after I got back to Medellín. What's the timestamp say?

It was a match.

Lucky number thirteen strikes again.

He set the laptop aside, sprung to his feet and rushed to the bedroom. Rico grabbed his wallet off the dresser and whipped out the detective's card. He picked up his phone and was about to dial the number when he noticed a text from Pablo.

'Fútbol @ 11? The guys wanna know if you're in.' The message read.

'Yeah, I need to run yesterday's drinks off.'

'Chimba (cool). See you there.'

Rico took a breath and punched in the digits. The phone rang; he held his breath.

"Good morning," Sonia said cordially, "Detective Mendoza speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hello detective, it's-"

"Mr. Torres," she interrupted. "I was hoping I'd hear from you sooner rather than later."

"Yes, well, I uh, that's why I called, of course," Rico shook his head to steady himself. "When can we meet? I think I might have something that would aid your investigation."

Pages flipped. "Today's booked tight... how does tomorrow at 1:00PM sound?"

"Perfect. I'll be there. A la hora (on time)."

"Excellent. I look forward to our meeting, Mr. Torres."

"Likewise."

* * *

Before leaving, Rico printed the picture he thought would interest the detective. On the way out, he retrieved his trusty bicycle; promoting a greener city meant driving only when absolutely necessary. Besides, the police station was only about four kilometres away. All was well until he turned the corner. A black cat dashed across his path, forcing him to clamp down on the brakes. Ricardo missed the animal by centimetres.

Damn cat.

His neck grew more constricted with each turn of the pedals, anticipating the onset of bad luck.

True to his word, Ricardo arrived at one sharp. After confirming his appointment, the officer at the desk directed him to the waiting area. Soon, Detective Mendoza came by and led him to a room near the end of the hallway.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Torres?" Sonia asked as they took their seats. "You seem tense."

"I'll be fine." Rico forced a slight smile. "It's just that a black cat crossed my path on the way here."

The detective raised an eyebrow. "I didn't peg you as the superstitious type."

Rico tilted his head. "I've known many so-called 'superstitions' to be true."

"Truth is best left to reason, not old wives' tales."

"In my experience, many who completely buy into reason often can't see what's hiding right under their noses."

"Some people, Mr. Torres, are more intelligent when they speak less," Sonia said pointedly. "Now then, let's discuss the sculpture."

"But that would require me speaking." He smirked.

"Some evils are necessary."

Rico chuckled, took the picture out of his bag and laid it on the table. He explained as much as he could remember about that day while Sonia fiercely scribbled in her notebook. There was something artistic about how her hand moved across the page; it brought a smile to Ricardo's face.

That's her canvas, and this is her studio.

Sonia cupped her chin and hummed. "This picture is helpful, but it's difficult to tell what kind of tires those are. But, if the dimensions are correct, there might be a way to tell the size of the vehicle..." her voice trailed off. "Do you remember seeing-"

A knock on the door interrupted the detective's question.

"Excuse me, Mr. Torres." She stood up. "I'll be back shortly."

"Of course." Rico nodded.

Detective Mendoza walked out of the room and pulled the door mostly closed. However, it slid open ever so slightly, allowing Rico to hear the discussion in the hallway.

"The curator finished her authentication, I assume," Sonia said.

"Yes, but she said the sculpture felt heavier than it should have been."

"What does that have to do with anything? It's probably just water that seeped in somehow."

"That's what I thought at first, but there was a smell."

A smell?

Rico almost fell backwards, causing the chair legs to scrape on the floor. Sonia turned around, glared at him, and shut the door.

Dammit.

Moments later, the handle turned, and Sonia re-entered the room wearing a face that could have been carved from stone. She resumed her seat and fixed Ricardo with eyes of steel.

"Mr. Torres," she said in an icy tone, "can anyone account for your whereabouts on August 11th of last year?"

Ricardo furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."

"Do you have an alibi for August 11th of last year?"

"Yes-of course."

"Then, for your sake, I hope it's airtight; someone like you wouldn't do well in prison."

"I'm sorry, but are you suggesting I stole the sculpture? Do you really think I'd throw something like that into a lake?" He said, completely taken aback.

Sonia straightened her back, placed both hands on the table and folded them. "This is now a murder investigation. A body was found inside the sculpture." She leaned in. "You wouldn't happen to be a sculptor, would you, Mr. Torres?"