‘That’s what you say. But if you want me to desecrate a grave, you must understand that you have to provide me with a more solid argument. Anyway, let me continue with my revision of your story.’

I swallowed.

‘Since I was there, I decided to walk over to Bogatell beach, where for one real I found at least ten people ready to reveal the huge secret of the Witch of Somorrostro. I didn’t tell you this morning when you were narrating your story so as not to ruin the drama, but in fact the big, stout woman who called herself by that name died years ago. The old woman I saw this morning doesn’t even frighten children, and is laid up in a chair. And there’s a detail you will love: she’s dumb.’

‘Inspector-’

‘I haven’t finished. You can’t say I don’t take my work seriously. So much so that from there I went to the large old mansion you described to me next to Güell Park, which has been abandoned for at least ten years and in which I’m sorry to say there were no pictures or prints or anything else but cat shit. What do think?’

I didn’t reply.

‘Tell me, Martín. Put yourself in my position. What would you have done?’

‘Given up, I suppose.’

‘Exactly. But I’m not you and, like an idiot, after such a worthwhile journey, I decided to follow your advice and look for the fearsome Irene Sabino.’

‘Did you find her?’

‘Give the police some credit, Martín. Of course we found her. A complete wreck in a miserable pensión in the Raval, where she’s lived for years.’

‘Did you speak to her?’

Grandes nodded.

‘At length.’

‘And?’

‘She hasn’t the faintest idea who you are.’

‘Is that what she told you?’

‘Among other things.’

‘What things?’

‘She told me that she met Diego Marlasca at a session organised by Roures in an apartment on Calle Elisabets, where a spiritualist group called the Afterlife Society held meetings in the year 1903. She told me she met a man who took refuge in her arms, a man who was destroyed by the loss of his son and trapped in a marriage that no longer made any sense. She told me that Marlasca was kind-hearted but disturbed. He believed that something had got inside him and was convinced that he was soon going to die. She told me that before he died he left some money in a trust, so that she and the man she had abandoned to be with Marlasca – Juan Corbera, aka Jaco – would receive something once he was gone. She told me that Marlasca took his own life because he couldn’t bear the pain that was consuming him. She told me that she and Juan Corbera had lived off Marlasca’s charity until the trust ran out, and soon afterwards the man you call Jaco dumped her. People say he died alone, an alcoholic, working as a nightwatchman in the Casaramona factory. She told me that she did take Marlasca to see the woman they called the Witch of Somorrostro, because she thought the woman might comfort him and make him believe he would be reunited with his son in the next life… Shall I continue?’

I unbuttoned my shirt and showed him the cuts Irene Sabino had engraved on my chest the night she and Marlasca had attacked me in the San Gervasio Cemetery.

‘A six-pointed star. Don’t make me laugh, Martín. You could have made those cuts yourself. Irene Sabino is just a poor woman who earns her living in a laundry in Calle Cadena, not a sorceress.’

‘And what about Ricardo Salvador?’

‘Ricardo Salvador was thrown out of the police force in 1906, after spending two years stirring up the case of Diego Marlasca’s death while having an illicit relationship with the widow of the deceased. The last thing anyone knew about him was that he’d decided to take a ship to the Americas and start a new life.’

I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the enormity of the deceit.

‘Don’t you realise, inspector? Don’t you realise you’re falling into the same trap that was laid for me by Marlasca?’

Grandes looked at me with pity.

‘You’re the one who doesn’t realise, Martín. The clock is ticking, and instead of telling me what you did with Cristina Sagnier, you persist in trying to convince me with a story that sounds like something from City of the Damned. There’s only one trap here: the one you’ve laid for yourself. And every moment that goes by without you telling me the truth makes it more difficult for me to get you out of it.’

Grandes waved his hand in front of my eyes a couple of times, as if he wanted to make sure that I could still see.

‘No? Nothing? As you wish. Let me finish telling you what the day had to offer. After my visit to Irene Sabino I was beginning to feel rather tired, so I returned for a while to police headquarters, where I still found the time, and the energy, to call the Civil Guard barracks in Puigcerdà. They’ve confirmed that you were seen leaving Cristina Sagnier’s hospital room on the night she disappeared, that you never returned to your hotel to collect your baggage, and that the head of the sanatorium told them you’d cut the straps that held down the patient. I then called an old friend of yours, Pedro Vidal, who was kind enough to come over to police headquarters. The poor man is devastated. He told me that the last time you two met you hit him. Is that true?’

I nodded.

‘I must tell you that he doesn’t hold it against you. In fact, he almost tried to persuade me to let you go. He says there must be an explanation for all this. That you’ve had a difficult life. That it was his fault you lost your father. That he feels responsible. All he wants is to recover his wife and he has no intention of retaliating against you in any way.’

‘You’ve told Vidal the whole thing?’

‘I had no option.’

I hid my face in my hands.

‘What did he say?’ I asked.

Grandes shrugged.

‘He thinks you’ve lost your mind. He thinks you must be innocent and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you, whether you’re innocent or not. His family is another matter. I know for certain that Vidal’s father has secretly offered Marcos and Castelo a bonus if they extract a confession from you in less than twelve hours. They’ve assured him that in one morning they’ll get you to recite the entire Canigó epic.’

‘And what do you think?’

‘The truth? The truth is that I’d like to believe Pedro Vidal is right and you’ve lost your mind.’

I didn’t tell him that, at that very moment, I was beginning to believe it too. Then I looked at Grandes and noticed something in his expression that didn’t add up.

‘There’s something you haven’t told me,’ I remarked.

‘I’d say I’ve told you more than enough,’ he retorted.

‘What haven’t you told me?’

Grandes observed me attentively and then tried to hide his laughter.

‘This morning you told me that the night Señor Sempere died he was overheard arguing with someone in the bookshop. You suspected that the person in question wanted to buy a book, a book of yours, and when Sempere refused to sell it, there was a fight and the bookseller suffered a heart attack. According to you, this item was almost unique, one of a handful of copies in existence. What was the book called?’

‘The Steps of Heaven.’

‘Exactly. That is the book which, according to you, was stolen the night Sempere died.’

I nodded. The inspector pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it. He took a couple of long drags, then put it out.

‘This is my dilemma, Martín. On the one hand you’ve told me a pile of cock and bull stories that either you’ve invented, thinking I’m an idiot, or – and I’m not sure if this is worse – you’ve started to believe yourself from repeating them so often. Everything points to you, and the easiest thing for me would be to wash my hands of all this and pass you over to Marcos and Castelo.’

‘But-’

‘But, and it’s a tiny, insignificant but, a but that my colleagues would have no problem at all dismissing altogether. And yet it bothers me like a speck of dust in my eye and makes me wonder whether, perhaps – and what I’m about to say contradicts everything I’ve learned in twenty years doing this job – what you’ve told me is not the truth, but is not false either.’