An eternity later I heard footsteps approaching and shortly afterwards the door opened. Marcos stuck his head round and peered into the cell with a smile. He held the door open for Grandes, who came in without looking at me and sat on the chair on the other side of the table. Grandes nodded to Marcos and the latter closed the door, but not without first blowing me a silent kiss. The inspector took a good thirty seconds before deigning to look me in the eye.

‘If you were trying to impress me, you’ve done so, inspector.’

He ignored my irony and fixed his eyes on me as if he’d never seen me before in his life.

‘What do you know about Damián Roures?’ he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Not much. He owns a magic shop. In fact, I knew nothing about him until a few days ago, when Ricardo Salvador mentioned him. Today, or yesterday – I’ve lost track of the time – I went to see him in search of information about the previous occupier of the house in which I live. Salvador told me that Roures and the owner-’

‘Marlasca.’

‘Yes, Diego Marlasca. As I was saying, Salvador told me that Roures had had dealings with him some years ago. I asked Roures a few questions and he replied as best he could. There’s little else.’

Grandes inclined his head.

‘Is that your story?’

‘I don’t know. What’s yours? Let’s compare and perhaps I’ll finally understand what the hell I’m doing here in the middle of the night, freezing to death in a basement that smells of shit.’

‘Don’t raise your voice to me, Martín.’

‘I’m sorry, inspector, but I think you could at least have the courtesy to tell me why I’m here.’

‘I’ll tell you why you’re here. About three hours ago, one of the residents of the apartment block in which Señor Roures’s shop is located was returning home late when he found that the door of the shop was open and the lights were on. He was surprised, so he went in, and when he did not see the owner or hear him reply to his calls, he went into the back room, where he found Roures, his hands and feet bound with wire to a chair, over a pool of blood.’

Grandes paused, his eyes boring into me. I imagined there was more to come. Grandes always liked to end on something dramatic.

‘Dead?’ I asked.

Grandes nodded.

‘Quite dead. Someone had amused himself by pulling out the man’s eyes and cutting out his tongue with a pair of scissors. The pathologist believes he died by choking on his own blood about half an hour later.’

I felt I needed air. Grandes was walking around. He stopped behind my back and I heard him light a cigarette.

‘How did you get that bruise? It looks recent.’

‘I slipped in the rain and hit the back of my neck.’

‘Don’t treat me like an idiot, Martín. It’s not advisable. Would you rather I left you for a while with Marcos and Castelo, to see if they can teach you some manners?’

‘All right. Someone hit me.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘This conversation is beginning to bore me, Martín.’

‘Well, just imagine what it’s doing to me.’

Grandes sat down in front of me again and offered a conciliatory smile.

‘Surely you don’t believe I had anything to do with the death of that man?’

‘No, Martín. I don’t. What I do believe is that you’re not telling me the truth, and that somehow the death of that poor wretch is related to your visit. Like the death of Barrido and Escobillas.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Call it a hunch.’

‘I’ve already told you I don’t know anything.’

‘And I’ve already warned you not to take me for an idiot, Martín. Marcos and Castelo are out there waiting for an opportunity to have a private conversation with you. Is that what you want?’

‘No.’

‘Then help me get you out of this so that I can send you home before your sheets get cold.’

‘What do you want to hear?’

‘The truth, for example.’

I pushed the chair back and stood up, exasperated. I was chilled to the bone and my head felt as if it was going to burst. I began to walk round the table in circles, spitting out the words as if they were stones.

‘The truth? I’ll tell you the truth. The truth is I don’t know what the truth is. I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know why I went to see Roures, or Salvador. I don’t know what I’m looking for or what is happening to me. That’s the truth.’

Grandes watched me stoically.

‘Stop walking in circles and sit down. You’re making me giddy.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Martín, you’re not telling me anything. All I’m asking you to do is to help me so that I can help you.’

‘You wouldn’t be able to help me even if you wanted to.’

‘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.