Her apartment was in an old building near the Doctor’s Garden. There were books, old furniture and pictures on the walls. On one of them, I saw a little boy with dark hair holding a kite.
Next to him stood a girl about ten.
Svetla.
"That's him," she said. "Stefan."
Nora approached the photo.
He touched the frame with the tip of his finger.
"Looks like me."
Svetla smiled.
"A lot.
She had some files on the table.
Photos.
Letters.
Copies of contracts.
Manuscript notes.
Stefan had collected evidence of a construction project near Botevgrad. The company, for which he worked as an external engineer, used poor quality materials and fake certificates. The project was to repair an old school, which was to be turned into a social center.
According to documents, everything seemed legal.
But Stefan found discrepancies.
Accounts for materials that were never delivered.
Signatures of engineers who had not seen the documents.
Pictures of cracks in load-bearing walls disguised with new plaster.
"He said that if the center is opened, someone may get hurt," Svetla explained. "There were children, elderly people, people with disabilities." He couldn't keep quiet.
That was Stefan.
He always said that construction is not just concrete and brick. That in a building people should feel protected.
Then I often laughed that he was talking about the walls as living creatures.
Now I wish I could tell him I understood him.
"Has he given a signal?" I asked.
The older officer, who was also there, nodded.
There is evidence that he was preparing a signal. But he didn't make it official. The papers stayed with his sister.
"So someone found out?" Nora asked.
"That's what we're checking.
Svetla took out the last letter.
The envelope was addressed to her.
Stefan's handwriting was familiar.
