‘Then who can?’
I dropped back into the chair.
‘I don’t know…’ I murmured.
I thought I saw a hint of pity, or perhaps it was just tiredness, in the inspector’s eyes.
‘Look, Martín. Let’s begin again. Let’s do it your way. Tell me a story, and start at the beginning.’
I stared at him in silence.
‘Martín. Don’t think that because I like you I’m not going to do my work.’
‘Do whatever you have to do. Call Hansel and Gretel, if you like.’
At that moment I noticed a touch of anxiety on his face. Footsteps were advancing along the corridor and something told me the inspector wasn’t expecting them. I heard voices and nervously Grandes went up to the door. He tapped three times with his knuckles and Marcos, who was on guard, opened up. A man dressed in a camel-hair coat and a matching suit came into the room, looked around him in disgust, and then gave me a sweet smile while he calmly removed his gloves. I watched him in astonishment. It was Valera, the lawyer.
‘Are you all right, Señor Martín?’ he asked.
I nodded. The lawyer led the inspector over to a corner. I heard them whispering. Grandes gesticulated with suppressed fury. Valera watched him coldly and shook his head. The conversation went on for almost a minute. Finally Grandes huffed and let his hands fall to his sides.
‘Pick up your scarf, Señor Martín. We’re leaving,’ Valera ordered. ‘The inspector has finished his questioning.’
Behind him, Grandes bit his lip, looking daggers at Marcos, who shrugged his shoulders. Without losing his expert smile, Valera took me by the arm and led me out of the dungeon.
‘I trust that the treatment you received from these police officers has been correct, Señor Martín.’
‘Yes,’ I managed to stammer.
‘Just a moment,’ Grandes called out behind us.
Valera stopped and, motioning for me to be quiet, he turned round.
‘If you have any more questions for Señor Martín you can direct them to our office and we will be glad to help you. In the meantime, and unless you have a more important reason for keeping Señor Martín on the premises, we shall retire. We wish you a good evening and thank you for your kindness, which I will certainly mention to your superiors, especially to Chief-Inspector Salgado, who, as you know, is a dear friend.’
Sergeant Marcos started to move towards us, but Inspector Grandes stopped him. I exchanged a last glance with him before Valera took me by the arm again and pulled me away.
‘Don’t wait about,’ he whispered.
We walked down the dimly lit passage until we came to a staircase that took us up to another long corridor. At the end of the second corridor a small door opened onto the ground-floor entrance hall and the main exit, where a chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz was waiting for us with its engine running. As soon as he saw Valera, the chauffeur jumped out and opened the door for us. I sat down on the back seat. The car was equipped with heating and the leather seats were warm. Valera sat next to me and, with a tap on the glass that separated the back from the driver’s compartment, instructed the chauffeur to set off. Once the car was en route and had settled in the central lane of Vía Layetana, Valera smiled at me as if nothing had happened. He pointed at the mist that parted like undergrowth as we drove through it.
‘A disagreeable night, isn’t it?’ he said casually.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To your home, of course. Unless you’d rather go to a hotel or-’
‘No. That’s fine.’
The car was rolling along down Vía Layetana. Valera gazed at the deserted streets with little interest.
‘What are you doing?’ I finally asked.
‘What do you think I’m doing? Representing you and looking after your interests.’
‘Tell the driver to stop the car,’ I said.
The chauffeur looked at Valera’s eyes in the mirror. Valera shook his head and gestured to him to continue.
‘Don’t talk nonsense, Señor Martín. It’s late, it’s cold and I’m taking you home.’
‘I’d rather walk.’
‘Be reasonable.’
‘Who sent you?’
Valera sighed and rubbed his eyes.
‘You have good friends, Señor Martín. It is important in life to have good friends and especially to know how to keep them,’ he said. ‘As important as knowing when one is stubbornly following the wrong path.’
‘Might that path be the one that goes past Casa Marlasca, number 13, Carretera de Vallvidrera?’
Valera smiled patiently, as if he were scolding an unruly child.
‘Señor Martín, believe me when I say that the further away you stay from that house and that business, the better for you. Do accept at least this piece of advice.’
When he reached Paseo de Colón, the chauffeur turned and drove up to Calle Comercio and from there to the entrance of Paseo del Borne. The carts with meat and fish, ice and spices were beginning to accumulate opposite the large marketplace. As we drove past, four boys were unloading the carcass of a calf, leaving a trail of blood that could be smelled in the air.
‘Your area is charming, full of picturesque scenes, Señor Martín.’
The driver stopped on the corner of Calle Flassaders and got out of the car to open the door for us. The lawyer got out with me.
‘I’ll come with you to the door,’ he said.
‘People will think we’re lovers.’
We entered the alleyway, a chasm of shadows, and headed towards my house. On reaching the front door, the lawyer offered me his hand with professional courtesy.
‘Thanks for getting me out of that place.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ replied Valera, pulling an envelope out of the inside pocket of his coat.
I recognised the wax seal with the angel even in the tenuous light that dripped from the street lamp above our heads. Valera handed me the envelope and, with a final nod, walked back to the waiting car. I opened my front door and went up the steps to the apartment. When I got in I went straight to the study and placed the envelope on the desk. I opened it and pulled out the folded sheet of paper with the boss’s writing.
Martín, dear friend,
I trust this note finds you in good health and good spirits. I happen to be passing through the city and would love the pleasure of your company this Friday at seven o’clock in the evening in the billiard room of the Equestrian Club, where we can talk about the progress of our project.
Until then, please accept my warm regards,
ANDREAS CORELLI
I folded the sheet of paper and put it carefully in the envelope. Then I lit a match and, holding the envelope by one corner, moved it closer to the flame. I watched it burn until the wax turned to scarlet tears that fell on the desk and my fingers were covered in ashes.
‘Go to hell,’ I whispered. The night, darker than ever, leaned in against the windowpanes.
36
Sitting in the armchair in the study, I waited for a dawn that did not come, until anger got the better of me and I went out into the street ready to defy Valera’s warning. A cold, biting wind was blowing, the sort that precedes dawn in wintertime. As I crossed Paseo del Borne I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I turned round for a moment but couldn’t see anyone except for the market boys unloading carts so I continued walking. When I reached Plaza Palacio I saw the lights of the first tram of the day waiting in the mist that crept up from the port. Snakes of blue light crackled along the overhead power cable. I stepped into the tram and sat at the front. The same conductor who’d been present on my last trip took the money for my ticket. A dozen or so passengers dribbled in, each one alone. After a few minutes the tram set off and we began our journey. Across the sky stretched a web of red capillaries between black clouds. There was no need to be a poet or a wise man to know that it was going to be a bad day.