‘We were working late. It was almost midnight when Señor Barrido told me to go home. The publishers were expecting a gentleman…’

‘At midnight? Which gentleman?’

‘A foreigner, I think. It had something to do with a proposal. I’m not sure. I would happily have stayed on, but Señor Barrido told me-’

‘Herminia, that gentleman, do you remember his name?’

She gave me a puzzled look.

‘I’ve already told the inspector who came here this morning everything I can remember. He asked for you.’

‘An inspector? For me?’

‘They’re talking to everyone.’

‘Of course.’

Lady Venom looked straight at me, eying me with distrust, as if she were trying to read my thoughts.

‘They don’t know whether he’ll come out of this alive,’ she murmured, referring to Escobillas. ‘We’ve lost everything, the archives, the contracts… everything. The publishing house is finished.’

‘I’m sorry, Herminia.’

A crooked, malicious smile appeared.

‘You’re sorry? Isn’t this what you wanted?’

‘How can you think that?’

She looked at me suspiciously.

‘Now you’re free.’

I was about to touch her arm but Herminia stood up and took a step back, as if my presence scared her.

‘Herminia-’

‘Go away,’ she said.

I left Herminia among the smoking ruins. When I went back outside I bumped into a group of children rummaging through the rubble. One of them had disinterred a book from the ashes and was examining it with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. The cover had been disfigured by the fire and the edges of the pages were charred, but otherwise the book was unspoilt. From the lettering on the spine, I knew that it was one of the instalments of City of the Damned.

‘Señor Martín?’

I turned to find three men wearing cheap suits that were at odds with the humid, sticky air. One of them, who seemed to be in charge, stepped forward and proffered me the friendly smile of an expert salesman. The other two, who seemed as rigid and unyielding as a hydraulic press, glued their openly hostile eyes on mine.

‘Señor Martín, I’m Inspector Víctor Grandes and these are my colleagues Officers Marcos and Castelo from the investigation and security squad. I wonder if you would be kind enough to spare us a few minutes.’

‘Of course,’ I replied.

The name Víctor Grandes rang a bell from my days as a reporter. Vidal had devoted some of his columns to him, and I particularly recalled one in which he described Grandes as a revelation, a solid figure whose presence in the squad confirmed the arrival of a new generation of elite professionals, better prepared than their predecessors, incorruptible and tough as steel. The adjectives and the hyperbole were Vidal’s, not mine. I imagined that Inspector Grandes would have moved up the ranks since then, and his presence was proof that the police were taking the fire at Barrido & Escobillas seriously.

‘If you don’t mind we can go to a nearby café so that we can talk undisturbed,’ said Grandes, his obliging smile not diminishing one inch.

‘As you wish.’

Grandes took me to a small bar on the corner of Calle Doctor Dou and Calle Pintor Fortuny. Marcos and Castelo walked behind us, never taking their eyes off me. Grandes offered me a cigarette, which I refused. He put the packet back in his pocket and didn’t open his mouth again until we reached the café and I was escorted to a table at the back, where the three men positioned themselves around me. Had they taken me to a dark, damp dungeon the meeting would have seemed more friendly.

‘Señor Martín, you must already know what happened early this morning.’

‘Only what I’ve read in the paper. And what Lady Venom told me…’

‘Lady Venom?’

‘I’m sorry. Miss Herminia Duaso, the directors’ assistant.’

Marcos and Castelo exchanged glances that were priceless. Grandes smiled.

‘Interesting nickname. Tell me, Señor Martín, where were you last night?’

How naive of me; the question caught me by surprise.

‘It’s a routine question,’ Grandes explained. ‘We’re trying to establish the whereabouts of anyone who might have been in touch with the victims during the last few days. Employees, suppliers, family…’

‘I was with a friend.’

As soon as I opened my mouth I regretted my choice of words. Grandes noticed it.

‘A friend?’

‘Well he’s really someone connected to my work. A publisher. Last night I’d arranged a meeting with him.’

‘Can you tell me until what time you were with this person?’

‘Until late. In fact, I ended up sleeping at his house.’

‘I see. And this person you describe as being connected to your work, what is his name?’

‘Corelli. Andreas Corelli. A French publisher.’

Grandes wrote the name down in a little notebook.

‘The surname sounds Italian,’ he remarked.

‘As a matter of fact, I don’t really know what his nationality is.’

‘That’s understandable. And this Señor Corelli, whatever his citizenship may be, would he be able to corroborate the fact that last night you were with him?’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘I suppose so.’

‘You suppose so?’

‘I’m sure he would. Why wouldn’t he?’

‘I don’t know, Señor Martín. Is there any reason why you would think he might not?’

‘No.’

‘That’s settled then.’

Marcos and Castelo were looking at me as if I’d done nothing but tell lies since we sat down.

‘One last thing. Could you explain the nature of the meeting you had last night with this publisher of indeterminate nationality?’

‘Señor Corelli had arranged to meet me because he wanted to make me an offer.’

‘What type of offer?’

‘A professional one.’

‘I see. To write a book, perhaps?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Tell me, is it usual after a business meeting to spend the night in the house of, how shall I put it, the contracting party?’

‘No.’

‘But you say you spent the night in this publisher’s house.’

‘I stayed because I wasn’t feeling well and I didn’t think I’d be able to get back to my house.’

‘The dinner upset you, perhaps?’

‘I’ve had some health problems recently.’

Grandes nodded, looking duly concerned.

‘Dizzy spells, headaches…’ I added.

‘But it’s reasonable to assume that now you’re feeling better?’

‘Yes. Much better.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. In fact, you’re looking enviably well. Don’t you agree?’

Castelo and Marcos nodded.

‘Anyone would think you’ve had a great weight taken off your shoulders,’ the inspector pointed out.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’m talking about the dizzy spells and the aches and pains.’

Grandes was handling this farce with an exasperating sense of timing.

‘Forgive my ignorance regarding your professional life, Señor Martín, but isn’t it true that you signed an agreement with the two publishers that didn’t expire for another six years?’

‘Five.’

‘And didn’t this agreement tie you, so to speak, exclusively to Barrido & Escobillas?’

‘Those were the terms.’

‘Then why would you need to discuss an offer with a competitor if your agreement didn’t allow you to accept it?’

‘It was just a conversation. Nothing more.’

‘Which nevertheless turned into a soirée at this gentleman’s house.’

‘My agreement doesn’t forbid me to speak to third parties. Or spend the night away from home. I’m free to sleep wherever I wish and to speak to whomever I want.’

‘Of course. I wasn’t trying to imply that you weren’t, but thank you for clarifying that point.’

‘Can I clarify anything else?’

‘Just one small detail. Now that Señor Barrido has passed away, and supposing that, God forbid, Señor Escobillas does not recover from his injuries and also dies, the publishing house would be dissolved and so would your contract. Am I wrong?’

‘I’m not sure. I don’t really know how the company was set up.’