“Sempere & Sons,” murmured Alicia.
“That’s right. Do you know it?”
Alicia nodded.
“Our friend Salgado doesn’t seem to fit the profile of a regular reader,” Leandro suggested. “Do we know what he hoped to find in one of the station’s baggage lockers?”
“We suspect he had some sort of booty hidden there, the fruit of crimes he committed before he was arrested in 1939.”
“Was the suspicion confirmed?”
“In the second week of his release, Salgado visited the Sempere & Sons bookshop one last time and then made his way to the railway station, as he did every day. That day, however, instead of sitting down in the entrance hall to stare at the lockers, he walked over to one of them and put a key in. He pulled a suitcase out of the locker and opened it.”
“What was inside it?” asked Alicia.
“Air,” pronounced Gil de Partera. “Nothing. His booty, or whatever it was he’d hidden there, had disappeared. The Barcelona police were about to arrest him on his way out of the station when Salgado collapsed in the rain. The officers had noticed that when he left the bookshop, two of its employees followed him to the station. Once Salgado lay stretched out on the ground, one of those two employees knelt down beside him for a few seconds and then left. When the policemen reached Salgado, he was already dead. It could be a case of divine justice, the robbed robber and all that, but the autopsy revealed needle marks on his back and on his clothes, and traces of strychnine in his blood.”
“Could it have been the two bookshop employees? The accomplices get rid of their bait once he’s no longer any use to them, or once they realize their safety has been jeopardized because they’re being watched by the police.”
“That was one of the theories, but it was ruled out. In fact, anyone who’d been at the station could have murdered him without Salgado even noticing. The policemen were keeping a close eye on the two bookshop employees and did not see any direct contact between them and Salgado until Salgado collapsed, presumably dead.”
“Could they have administered the poison in the bookshop, before Salgado set off toward the station?” asked Leandro.
This time it was Alicia who replied. “No. Strychnine acts very fast, even more so in an older man, and one whose physical condition had presumably been affected by spending almost twenty years in a dungeon. No more than two minutes would have elapsed between the prick and his death.”
Gil de Partera looked at her, holding back an expression of approval. “That’s right. The most likely explanation is that somebody else was in the station that day, someone who went unnoticed by the police officers and had decided the moment had come to get rid of Salgado.”
“What do we know about these two bookshop employees?”
“One of them is Daniel Sempere, the son of the owner. The other answers to Fermín Romero de Torres, whose trail in the records is confused and shows signs of documentary impersonation. Perhaps to establish a false identity.”
“What was their connection to the case, and what were they doing there?”
“That wasn’t established.”
“And weren’t they questioned?”
Gil de Partera shook his head. “Once again, by express instructions from Minister Valls. Against our own judgment.”
“What about the trail leading to Salgado’s accomplice or accomplices?
“At a standstill.”
“Perhaps the minister will change his mind now and allow you to . . .”
Gil de Partera unearthed his wolfish veteran policeman’s smile.
“That’s what I was coming to. Exactly nine days ago, at daybreak, the day after the masquerade ball organized in his Somosaguas residence, Don Mauricio Valls abandoned his home in a car, accompanied by his chief bodyguard, Vicente Carmona.”
“Abandoned?” asked Alicia.
“Nobody has seen him or had any news from him since. He’s vanished from the face of the earth without a trace.”
A long silence fell over the dining hall. Alicia searched Leandro’s eyes.
“My men are working tirelessly,” he continued, “but for the moment we’ve got nothing. It’s as if Mauricio Valls had evaporated the moment he stepped into that car.”
“Did the minister leave a note, or some indication of where he was going before he departed?”
“No. The theory we’re considering is that the minister, for some reason we can’t quite follow, had at last discovered who was sending him those threats and decided to confront that person himself with the help of his trusted bodyguard.”
“And that way perhaps fall into a trap,” Leandro concluded. “‘The entrance to the labyrinth.’”
Gil de Partera nodded repeatedly.
“How can we be certain that the minister didn’t know from the start who was sending him those notes and why?” Alicia now queried.
Both Leandro and Gil de Partera threw her a disapproving look. “The minister is the victim, not the suspect,” the latter put in quickly. “Don’t confuse the facts.”
“How can we help you, my friend?” asked Leandro.
Gil de Partera took a deep breath and waited a few moments before replying.
“My department has limited procedures. We were kept in the dark on this subject until it was too late. I admit we may have made some mistakes, but we’re doing everything in our power to resolve the matter before it gets into the news. Some of my superiors believe that, given the nature of the case, your unit could come up with some additional angle that would help us resolve this question as soon as possible.”
“Is that also what you believe?”
“To be honest, Leandro, I no longer know who or what to believe. But what I’m quite sure of is that if we don’t find Valls safe and sound very soon, Altea will unleash a storm and put his old friend Hendaya on the case. And neither of us wants that to happen.”
Alicia looked inquiringly at Leandro, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Gil de Partera chuckled bitterly under his breath. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked as if he hadn’t slept more than two hours a night for a week.
“I’m telling you as much as I know, but what I don’t know is whether I’ve been told the whole truth. I can’t be any clearer. We’ve spent the last nine days groping around in the dark, and every hour that goes by is another hour lost.”
“Do you think the minister is still alive?” asked Alicia.
Gil de Partera looked down and said nothing for a long time. “It’s my duty to think that he is,” he said finally, “and that we’ll find him safe and sound before any of this can leak out, or the case is taken out of our hands.”
“And we’ll be behind you on this matter,” Leandro agreed. “Be in no doubt that we’ll do all we can to help you with your investigation.”
Gil de Partera nodded, looking at Alicia with ambivalence. “You’ll work with Vargas, one of my men.”
For a moment Alicia hesitated. She searched Leandro’s eyes, but her superior decided to stare into his coffee cup.
“With all due respect, sir,” she said, “I always work alone.”
“You’ll work with Vargas. There’s no room for discussion on this point.”
“Of course,” agreed Leandro, oblivious to Alicia’s blazing eyes. “When can we start?”
“Yesterday.”
At a sign from the director, one of his officials came over and handed him a bulky envelope. Gil de Partera set it on the table and stood up, not trying to conceal his haste to be anywhere else but that dining hall. “All the details are in the dossier. Keep me informed.” He shook Leandro’s hand and, with barely a glance at Alicia, stood up to leave.
They watched him recede through the large dining hall with his men in tow, and then sat down again. For a few minutes neither of them said a word, Alicia gazing into space and Leandro meticulously slicing a croissant, spreading butter and strawberry jam on it and then eating it slowly, his eyes shut.
“Thanks for the support
,” said Alicia.
“Come on. I hear Vargas is a talented man. You’ll like him. And you might learn something.”
“Lucky me. Who is he?”
“A veteran in the Force. He used to be a heavyweight. He’s been moved to the reserve for a while, apparently due to a difference of opinion with the head office. Something happened, they say.”
“A pariah? Am I so worthless that I don’t even deserve a top-class chaperone?”
“He has class, no doubt about that. The trouble is that his loyalty and faith in the regime have been questioned more than once.”
“Surely they’re not expecting me to convert him.”
“All they expect is that we don’t make any noise, and we make them look good.”
“Fabulous.”
“It could be worse,” said Leandro, putting an end to it.
“Does ‘worse’ mean this business of inviting his ‘old friend,’ that Hendaya guy?”
“Among other things.”
“Who is Hendaya?”
Leandro looked away. “Best if you don’t have to find out.”
A long silence ensued, during which Leandro took the opportunity to pour himself another cup of coffee. He had the irritating habit of holding the saucer with one hand under his chin and taking small sips. On days like this, almost all his habits, which Alicia knew so well, seemed irritating to her.
Noticing her expression, he gave her a benevolent, paternal smile. “If looks could kill.”
“Why didn’t you tell the director that I resigned two weeks ago, and I’m no longer in the service?”
Leandro set the cup down on the table and wiped his lips with his napkin. “I didn’t want to embarrass you, Alicia. May I remind you that we’re not a chess club. One can’t just join or leave the service by filling in a form. We’ve had this conversation a few times already, and to be honest, I’m hurt by your attitude. Because I know you better than you know yourself, and because I think so highly of you, I allowed you two weeks’ holiday so you could rest and think about your future. I understand that you’re tired. So am I. I understand that you sometimes don’t like what we do. Neither do I. But it’s our job and our duty. You knew that when you joined.”
“I was seventeen when I joined. And it wasn’t out of choice.”
Leandro smiled like a proud teacher confronting his most brilliant student. “Your soul is an old soul, Alicia. You’ve never been seventeen.”
“We decided that I was leaving. That was the deal. Two weeks don’t change anything.”
Leandro’s smile was getting cold, like his coffee. “Grant me this last favor, and then you’ll be free to do whatever you want.”
“No.”
“I need you in this, Alicia. Don’t make me beg. Or force you.”
“Hand it to Lomana. I’m sure he’s dying to collect some points.”
“I was wondering when you’d bring up the subject. I’ve never quite understood what the problem was between you and Ricardo.”
“Incompatible personalities,” suggested Alicia.
“In fact, Ricardo Lomana is the agent I loaned to the police a few weeks ago, and he hasn’t been returned. Now they tell me he’s disappeared.”
“Fat chance. Where the hell is he?”
“Part of the disappearing act consists in not revealing that detail.”
“Lomana isn’t the sort to disappear. There must be a reason why he’s not giving any signs of life. He’s found something.”
“That’s what I think, too, but insofar as we don’t have any news from him, we can only speculate. And that’s not what they pay us to do.”
“What do they pay us to do?”
“To solve their problems. And this is a very serious problem.”
“And couldn’t I also disappear?”
Leandro shook his head. He looked at her for a long time, a pained expression on his face.
“Why do you hate me, Alicia? Haven’t I been like a father to you? A good friend?”
Alicia stared at her mentor. She had a knot in her stomach, and words didn’t come to her mouth. She’d spent two weeks trying to get Leandro out of her mind, and now that she was facing him again, she realized that sitting there, beneath the grand dome of the Hotel Palace, she was once again that miserable teenager who would probably never have reached her twentieth birthday, had Leandro not gotten her out of that hole.
“I don’t hate you,” she said at last.
Leandro smiled again, that warm smile that forgave everything, that understood everything. “Perhaps you hate yourself, what you do, who you serve, all that crap that surrounds us and rots us inside a little bit more each day. I understand you. I’ve also been through that.” He rested his hand on Alicia’s and squeezed it hard. “Help me solve this last matter, and I promise you’ll be able to leave afterward. Disappear forever.”
“That simple?”
“That simple. You have my word.”
“Where’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch.”
“There’s always a catch.”
“Not this time. I can’t keep you beside me forever if you don’t want that. However much it may hurt.” Leandro held out his hand. “Friends?”
Alicia hesitated, but finally she held hers out too. He took it to his lips and kissed it. “I’m going to miss you when all this is over. And you’ll miss me too, even if you don’t see it that way now. You and I make a good team.”
“Birds of a feather flock together.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do later?”
“When?”
“When you’re free. When you disappear, as you say.”
Alicia shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“I thought I’d taught you to be a better liar, Alicia.”
“Perhaps I’m no use for anything else.”
“You’ve always wanted to write,” Leandro suggested. “A new Laforet?”
Alicia looked at him with indifference.
He smiled. “Will you write about us?”
“No. Of course not.”
Leandro nodded. “It wouldn’t be a good idea, you know that. We operate in the shadows. Unseen. It’s part of the service we offer.”
“Of course I know. You don’t have to remind me.”
“A shame, because there would be so many stories to tell, wouldn’t there?”
“See the world,” murmured Alicia.
“Excuse me?”
“What I’d like to do is travel and see the world. Find my place. If it exists.”
“On your own?”
“Do I need anyone else?”
“I suppose you don’t. For creatures like us, solitude can be the best company.”
“It suits me fine.”
“One of these days you’ll fall in love.”
“What a pretty title for a ballad.”
“You’d better get going. Unless I’m completely wrong, Vargas must be waiting for you outside.”
“It’s a mistake.”
“This interference annoys me more than it annoys you, Alicia. It’s obvious that they don’t trust either of us. Be diplomatic and don’t scare him. Do it for me.”
“I always am. And I don’t scare anyone.”
“You know what I mean. Besides, we won’t be competing with the police. We’re not even going to try. They have their investigation, their methods and procedures.”
“What do I do, then? Smile and hand out sugared almonds?”
“I want you to do what you do best. Notice what the police are not going to notice. Follow your instinct, not the procedure. I want you to do all the things the police won’t do because it’s the police and because they’re not my Alicia Gris.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Yes, and an order.”
Alicia took the envelope containing the dossier that was lying on the table and stood up. As she did so, Leandro noticed how she put her hand on her hip and pressed her lips to h
ide the pain.
“How much are you taking?” he asked.
“Nothing in these last two weeks. A couple of pills every now and then.”
Leandro sighed. “We’ve talked about this a number of times, Alicia. You know you can’t do that.”
“I am doing it.”
Her mentor shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I’ll make sure they send you four hundred grams this afternoon to your hotel.”
“No.”
“Alicia . . .”
She turned and walked away from the table without limping, biting her tongue, swallowing her pain and her angry tears.
6
When Alicia left the Gran Hotel Palace, the driving rain had stopped and a veil of vapor rose from the pavement. Thick beams of light stabbed the center of Madrid from the dome of passing clouds, like spotlights combing through a prison courtyard. One of them swept through Plaza de las Cortes and revealed a Ford parked a few yards from the hotel entrance. Leaning against the hood stood a silver-haired man in a black coat, calmly smoking a cigarette and watching people walk by. She guessed he must be in his mid-fifties, but he looked well muscled and in good shape for his age. He had the solid appearance of someone who has made the most of his stint in the armed forces and spends little time at his desk.
As if he’d sniffed her in the air, he turned toward Alicia and smiled like a matinee idol. “Can I help you at all, miss?”
“I hope so. My name is Gris.”
“Gris? You’re Gris?”
“Alicia Gris. Of Leandro Montalvo’s unit. Gris. You must be Vargas.”
The man nodded vaguely. “They didn’t tell me—”
“Last-minute surprises,” she said quickly. “Do you need a few moments to recover?”
The policeman took a final drag of his cigarette and looked at her intently through the curtain of smoke he exhaled. “No.”
“Wonderful. Where do you want to begin?”
“They’re expecting us in the Somosaguas villa. If that’s all right with you.”
Alicia nodded. Vargas threw the cigarette stub onto the street and walked around the car while she installed herself in the passenger seat. He sat at the wheel, his eyes staring straight ahead, the car keys on his lap. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I didn’t think you were so . . . young.”
The Labyrinth of the Spirits Page 11
