“An old English girlfriend of mine is the political correspondent for BBC World News and works out of Washington. She is incredibly well respected and I think we could trust her to break this story on the international stage. If we can’t bring Franklin down by normal means, maybe we can use the media.”

“Why don’t you call her and see if she’s willing to meet us in LA?”

“I already have and she’s up for it.”

“And, while you’re dreaming of your ex, I’m off to see Sophia’s parents.

Since her death three years earlier, he had never missed the once-a-month visit to his in-laws. They weren’t Orthodox Jews but loved hosting the traditional Sabbath meal for their immediate family. It was an emotional roller coaster, and although he dreaded going he always left feeling invigorated by the warmth and support he received from Sophia’s family. He slid open the top drawer of the bedside table and grabbed the blue velvet skullcap that always joined him on his monthly Friday night outing. It was a treasured gift from Sophia, who had bought it for him prior to his first visit to her family home, five years earlier.

Despite his usual misgivings, an hour later he pulled up in his white Peugeot directly in front of the tiny garden of the modest detached house, situated in the middle-class Almagro district in the city centre. He put his “Friday night” face on and headed for the front door. He was greeted warmly by Sophia’s parents and sister as usual, and, after exchanging pleasantries, they made their way into the small dining room at the back of the house.

The circular mahogany table was neatly dressed, covered with a pristine white lace tablecloth. The four place settings were evenly spread and the starter plates containing home-made chopped liver were already in place. The centre of the table was dominated by two ornate silver candlesticks, holding unlit candles. A matching silver platter housed a large plaited loaf of challah, which had been pre-sliced. Alongside it, was a cut-glass decanter containing sweet red kosher wine, a concoction that Vargas found undrinkable.

The only other piece of furniture squeezed into the room was a matching mahogany sideboard, displaying a prized collection of framed family photographs, a number of which featured Sophia. There were five in total, and, although Vargas had seen them on countless occasions, he always felt a sucker punch in his stomach every time he encountered them. The pain was always the same; almost unbearable, which was the main reason he dreaded the monthly visits, but his sense of duty and love for Sophia’s family left him with no choice.