17
Dawn was breaking when I arrived at the tower house. The lock on the front door was broken. I pushed it open and stepped into the courtyard. The locking mechanism on the back of the door was smoking and gave off an acrid smell. Acid. I climbed the stairs slowly, convinced that I would find Marlasca waiting for me in the shadows of the landing, or that if I turned around he would be there, behind me, smiling. As I walked up the last flight of stairs I noticed that the keyhole on the apartment door also showed signs of acid. I put in the key and had to struggle with it for a couple of minutes; the lock was damaged but had apparently not yielded. Finally I succeeded and pulled out the key, which was slightly gnawed by the substance, and pushed open the door. I left it open behind me and headed down the corridor without taking off my coat. I pulled the revolver out of my pocket and unlocked the barrel, emptying the cartridges of the bullets I had fired and replacing them with new ones, just as I’d seen my father do so many times when he returned home at dawn.
‘Salvador?’ I called.
The echo of my voice spread through the house. I cocked the hammer and continued to advance until I reached the room at the end. The door was ajar.
‘Salvador?’ I asked.
I pointed my gun at the door and kicked it open. There was no trace of Marlasca inside, just the mountain of boxes and old objects piled up in a corner. Again I noticed the odd smell that seemed to filter through the walls. I went over to the wardrobe that covered the back wall and opened its doors wide, removing all the old clothes from the hangers. The cold, damp draught that came from the hole behind it caressed my face. Whatever it was that Marlasca had hidden in the house, it was on the other side of that wall.
I put the weapon in my pocket and removed my coat. Standing by a rear corner of the wardrobe, I put my arm into the space between the frame and the wall. I managed to grab the back of the wardrobe with my hand and I pulled it forward hard. The first pull allowed me to gain a few centimetres and secure my hold. I pulled it forward again. The wardrobe now moved almost a hand’s width. I kept on pulling the end of the wardrobe until the wall behind it became visible and there was enough room for me to slip in. Once I was behind the wardrobe I pushed it with my shoulder, moving it right away against the adjacent wall. I stopped to recover my breath and examine my work. The wall was painted an ochre colour, different from the rest of the room. Beneath the paint I could feel some sort of clay-like mass. I rapped on it with my knuckles. The echo left no room for doubt. This was not a supporting wall. There was something on the other side. I leaned my head against it and listened carefully. Then I heard a noise. Steps along the corridor, approaching . . . I moved away and stretched out my hand towards the coat I had left on a chair, in order to grab the gun. A shadow filled the doorway. I held my breath. It peered into the room.
‘Inspector . . .’ I whispered.
Víctor Grandes smiled at me coldly. I imagined he must have spent hours waiting for me, hiding in some doorway in the street.
‘Are you refurbishing the house, Martín?’
‘Just tidying up.’
The inspector looked at the pile of clothes and boxes thrown on the floor and the displaced wardrobe.
‘I’ve asked Marcos and Castelo to wait downstairs. I was going to knock, but the door was open so I took the liberty of coming straight in. I said to myself: this must mean that my friend Martín is expecting me.’
‘What can I do for you, inspector?’
‘Come along with me to the police station, if you’d be so kind.’
‘Am I being arrested?’
‘I’m afraid so. Are you going to make it easy for me or are we going to have to do this the hard way?’
‘No, I’ll come,’ I assured him.
‘I appreciate that.’
‘May I get my coat?’
Grandes stared straight at me for a moment. Then I picked up the coat and he helped me put it on. I felt the weight of the revolver against my thigh. Before leaving the room, the inspector cast a last glance at the wall that had been revealed. Then he told me to go on out into the corridor. Marcos and Castelo had come up to the landing and were waiting for me with triumphant smiles. Just as we were about to leave I stopped for a second to look back inside the house, which seemed to withdraw into a well of shadows. I wondered if I would ever see it again. Castelo pulled out some handcuffs, but Grandes stopped him.
‘That won’t be necessary, will it, Martín?’
I shook my head. Grandes closed the door and pushed me gently but firmly towards the stairs.