33
When I left the shop I returned home, wondering what to do next. I was approaching the entrance to Calle Moncada when I saw him. Inspector Grandes was leaning against a wall and enjoying a cigarette. He smiled at me and waved and I crossed the street towards him.
‘I didn’t know you were interested in magic, Martín.’
‘Nor did I know that you were following me, inspector.’
‘I’m not following you. It’s just that you’re a difficult man to find and I decided that if the mountain wouldn’t come to me, I’d go to the mountain. Do you have five minutes to spare, for a drink? It’s on police headquarters.’
‘In that case . . . No chaperones today?’
‘Marcos and Castelo stayed behind doing paperwork, but if I’d told them I was coming to see you, I’m sure they’d have volunteered.’
We walked through the canyon of old palaces until we reached the Xampa?et Tavern, where we found a table at the far end. A waiter, armed with a mop that stank of bleach, stared at us and Grandes asked for a couple of beers and a tapa of Manchego cheese. When the beers and the snack arrived, the inspector offered me the plate. I declined.
‘Do you mind? I’m always starving at this time of day.’
‘Bon appétit.’
Grandes wolfed down the cubes of cheese and licked his lips.
‘Didn’t anyone tell you that I came by your house yesterday?’
’I didn’t get the message until later.’
‘I understand. Hey, she’s gorgeous, the girl. What’s her name?’
‘Isabella.’
‘You rascal, some people have all the luck. I envy you. How old is the little sweetheart?’
I threw him a toxic look. The inspector smiled, obviously pleased.
‘A little bird told me you’ve been playing at detectives lately. Aren’t you going to leave anything to the professionals?’
‘What’s your little bird’s name?’
‘He’s more of a big bird. One of my superiors is a close friend of Valera, the lawyer.’
‘Are you also on the payroll?’
‘Not yet, my friend. You know me. I’m of the old school. Honour and all that shit.’
‘A shame.’
‘And tell me, how is poor Ricardo Salvador? Do you know? I haven’t heard that name for over twenty years. Everyone assumed he was dead.’
‘A premature diagnosis.’
‘And how is he?’
‘Alone, betrayed and forgotten.’
The inspector nodded slowly. ‘Makes one think of the future in this job, doesn’t it?’
‘I bet that in your case things will be different, and your promotion to the top is just a question of a couple of years. I can just imagine you as chief commissioner before the age of forty-five, kissing the hands of bishops and generals during the Corpus parade.’
Grandes ignored my sarcasm.
‘Speaking of hand-kissing, have you heard about your friend Vidal?’
Grandes never started a conversation without having an ace hidden up his sleeve. He watched me with a smile, relishing my anxiety.
‘What about him?’ I mumbled.
‘They say his wife tried to kill herself the other night.’
‘Cristina?’
‘Of course, you know her . . .’
I didn’t realise that I’d stood up and my hands were shaking.
‘Calm down. Se?ora de Vidal is all right. Just a fright. It seems that she overdid it with the laudanum. Will you sit down, Martín? Please.’
I sat down. My stomach was a bag of nails.
‘When was this?’
‘Two or three days ago.’
My mind filled with the image of Cristina in the window of Villa Helius a few days earlier, waving at me while I avoided her eyes and turned my back on her.
‘Martín?’ the inspector asked, waving a hand in front of my face as if he feared I’d lost my mind.
‘What?’
The inspector seemed to be genuinely worried.
‘Have you anything to tell me? I know you won’t believe me, but I’d like to help you.’
‘Do you still think it was me who killed Barrido and his partner?’
Grandes shook his head.
‘I’ve never believed it was you, but there are others who would like to.’
‘Then why are you still investigating me?’
‘Calm down. I’m not investigating you, Martín. I never have. The day I do investigate you, you’ll know. For the time being I’m only observing you. Because I like you and I’m concerned that you’re going to get yourself into a mess. Why won’t you trust me and tell me what’s going on?’
Our eyes met and for an instant I was tempted to tell him everything. I would have done so, had I known where to begin.
‘Nothing is going on, inspector.’
Grandes nodded and looked at me with pity, or perhaps it was only disappointment. He finished his beer and left a few coins on the table. He gave me a pat on the back and got up.
‘Look after yourself, Martín. And watch how you go. Not everyone holds you in the same esteem as I do.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
It was almost midday when I got home, unable to stop thinking about what the inspector had told me. When I reached the tower house I climbed the steps slowly, as if my very soul was weighing me down. I opened the door of the apartment, fearing I’d find Isabella in the mood for conversation. The house was silent. I walked up the corridor until I reached the gallery and there I found her, asleep on the sofa, an open book on her chest - one of my old novels. I couldn’t help but smile. The temperature inside the house had dropped considerably during those autumn days and I was afraid Isabella might catch a chill. Sometimes I’d see her wandering about the apartment wrapped in a woollen shawl she wore over her shoulders. I went to her room to find the shawl, so that I could quietly cover her with it. Her door was ajar. Although I was in my own home, I’d rarely entered that room since Isabella had installed herself there and now felt uneasy doing so. I saw the shawl folded over a chair and went to fetch it. The room had Isabella’s sweet, lemony scent. The bed was still unmade and I leaned over to smooth out the sheets and blankets. I knew that when I applied myself to these domestic chores my moral standing rose in the eyes of my assistant.
It was then that I noticed there was something wedged between the mattress and the base of the bed. The corner of a piece of paper stuck out from under the folded sheet. When I tugged at it I realised it was a bundle of papers. I pulled it out completely and found that I was holding what looked like about twenty blue envelopes tied together with a ribbon. My whole body felt cold. I untied the knot in the ribbon and took one of the envelopes. It had my name and address on it. Where the return address should have been, it simply said: Cristina.
I sat on the bed with my back to the door and examined the envelopes, one by one. The first letter was a few weeks old, the last had been posted three days ago. All of the envelopes were open. I closed my eyes and felt the letters falling from my hands. I heard her breathing behind me, standing motionless in the doorway.
‘Forgive me,’ whispered Isabella.
She walked over slowly and knelt down to pick up the letters. When she’d gathered them together she handed them to me with a wounded look.
‘I did it to protect you,’ she said.
Her eyes filled with tears and she placed a hand on my shoulder.
‘Leave,’ I said.
I pushed her away and stood up. Isabella collapsed onto the floor, moaning as if something were burning inside her.
‘Leave this house.’
I left the apartment without even bothering to close the door behind me. Once outside, I faced a world of buildings and faces that seemed strange and distant. I started to walk aimlessly, oblivious to the cold and the rain-filled wind that was starting to lash the town with the breath of a curse.