They wore blue. That line is all the neighbor could add: two people with Francisco Bonilla, talking, dressed in blue. The detail mattered because it broke his routine and pointed to a moment that would become his last scene. The 68-year-old retiree had been spending the afternoons in the shade, beneath a palm tree, according to his brother Joaquín. After that afternoon in April 2015, Bonilla vanished from Cabra, Córdoba. He had dined that day with his other brother, Vicente, whom he lived with; when he returned from work, Francisco was not at home.
“What happened? What did they do to him? Where is he? We ask questions every day for seven years,” Joaquín complains. The man known as Kiki had retired a year earlier and seemed content. “My brother didn’t leave on his own, that much I know. He wasn’t disoriented, and he didn’t suffer from any illness.” Under the palm tree they found his empty chair, his hat, and his glasses. He has not been seen since that day.
When Vicente returned home and Francisco was gone, his first thought was that something had happened. “They ate together as usual. Kiki stayed at the farm and Vicente left,” Joaquín recalls. “It was around half past ten when Vicente got home because he had finished work at ten.”
“He called my brothers: ‘No, I don’t know anything about Kiki,’” the sister explains. “The first step was to search for clinics and hospitals. There was no one with these characteristics. They went to the olive grove to see if anything had happened to him, but there was nothing forthcoming. They searched the surroundings, and the search continued until today.”
fire in the fig tree
Francisco’s brothers filed a disappearance report with the National Police. A search began with agents sealing the area. “National Police, do not pass,” he recalls. The inquiries tried to reconstruct the afternoon steps Francisco could have taken. “From 2:30 p.m. until 10:30 p.m. we had nothing,” Joaquín laments. A neighbor confirmed seeing him that afternoon with two unknown people in the area, his glasses and hat nearby. It felt wrong, not normal.
That same afternoon a second alarm echoed through Cabra: a fire in the same region. A fig tree burned, an event that still raises questions. “The police checked, but the next day it rained, washing away many clues,” he recalls. Weeks turned into months as wells and roads were beaten, and the search moved through the orchard and Cerrillo la Horca area surrounding the farm. Yet there were no traces.
Dozens of volunteers joined, including mountain-bike clubs and riders who could access hard-to-reach places. Dog guides, a police helicopter, local police, civil guards, civil protection, firefighters, and provincial volunteers all took part. “There was no trace, nothing showed up,” Joaquín says. The team covered about eight kilometers on foot, but the river was largely neglected in the effort. Georadar was used, but authorities did not permit clearing or cutting the weeds. Maybe tenderness withered, but the search was relentless and wrenching.
No data appeared. No news followed. “Seven years later, nothing is clear to the police,” his brother notes. “Some people claimed to have seen two dressed-in-blue individuals, but there were no solid identifications.” The leads remained faint, and the question persisted: who was with Francisco that afternoon?
“Maybe someone argued with my brother, things got out of hand, and they left him somewhere,”
Agents and family tried to reconstruct the hours before the disappearance. “I believe someone did something to him, and I’m telling the police too,” Joaquín says. The police have not ruled that out, and it remains one of the active but unprogressing lines of inquiry. “They tell us to search for an ending thread, but nothing comes. It’s hard to wait.”
“Maybe someone had a fight with my brother, things escalated, and they left him somewhere,” Joaquín repeats. “The other person might have panicked and guided him off the path.”
no sign of a robbery
There were no clues of theft or foul play. No movement or evidence pointed toward Francisco. It was established that there was no financial motive behind his disappearance and that the farm’s accounts remained untouched. Nothing on the property suggested a robbery or forced departure.
Remembering Francisco, his family asks who was the person dressed in blue. The orchard where he last appeared sits in a land that is easy to walk, and someone might have remembered a detail that could unlock the case. Francisco, known as Kiki, loved his home, his family, his garden, the farm, the cats, and the bulls. He enjoyed a peaceful life after years of working at a local pomace factory. He would be 73 now, but he is not here.
Neighbors and family wait. “There isn’t a day you don’t wonder where he is and where he isn’t,” Joaquín laments, voice heavy with unanswered questions. They search, they do not rest. “It’s been seven years and the hurt remains as fresh as the first day.” In his garden they remember him daily: he tended olive trees, pruned branches, and planted small crops to share with the family later. He often sat in the shade of the khaki tree, the place of his last sighting, a spot he loved to be.