Torres took the frame from his boss and studied the image that showed three figures.

“Gonzales from years gone by, together with his wife and their son, I guess.”

Vargas nodded. “How tall would you say the corpse was?”

Torres’s mind flashed back to the interior of the shed and the prone position of Raúl Gonzales.

“Quite tall. I would estimate about six feet.” Torres continued to study the photograph showing a young man framed between his mother and father. He stood head and shoulders above both of them.

Vargas took the picture from his assistant. “Which means his son must be at least six foot six. A colossus of a man. He’s got to be our fucking giant from inside the vault.”

* * *

At exactly the same moment Vargas worked out the identity of one of the three bank robbers, Matias Paz, Luciano Herrera and three of their men were in an apartment five miles away in the Pompeya district, about to begin an interrogation with the same man.

Ricardo Gonzales was stripped to the waist and slumped on a wooden chair. His arms were tied behind his back and his legs were held in place by thick black leather straps. His face was a rubbery mess of blood and cartilage and his right eye was almost shut.

Paz was truly in his element. Inflicting physical pain on his enemies always gave him a perverse buzz of pleasure. The man opposite him was obviously one of the thieves and had used his father’s garden shed as a hiding place for his share of the robbery. But, more importantly, he would know the identities of the two other men involved in the crime, one of who was in possession of his client’s property.

Gonzales had been caught by surprise when Paz and his henchmen broke into his apartment. One of the assailants had pistol-whipped his face, while another two held him in position. He had briefly lost consciousness and, when he awoke, he found himself tied to the chair, facing his torturer.

He figured that, somehow, a rival gang of villains had tracked him down and was after the safe-deposit pickings. He had no intention of giving away his own hiding place, let alone the names of his two friends. But then Paz spoke for the first time and everything changed.

“Ricardo, your father is lying on the floor of his garden shed with a bullet in his head. Before he died, he claimed he had no idea how the treasure trove got there, and you know what? I believe him. So I’m afraid you’ve already lost everything – your father and your cut of the money.”

Ricardo’s mind went into overdrive as it struggled to process the information he was hearing.

Paz was on a roll and relishing the inquisition.