“I understand.”

“He said he’d be delighted to meet you this afternoon at the Equestrian Club, if that would suit you. He’s having lunch there today and will be there all afternoon. Do you know where it is? Casa Pérez Samanillo, Balmes, on the corner of Avenida Diagonal?”

“I know it. I’ll tell Don Gustavo you’ve been a great help.”

“Most grateful.”

Alicia was about to leave when the young man, perhaps wishing to prolong her visit a few more moments, walked around the counter and offered to accompany her to the exit.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he improvised, sounding rather nervous. “It’s been years since anyone has seen a single book of the Labyrinth series, and this month, so far, you’re the second person who has come to the bookshop to talk about Mataix.”

Alicia stopped. “You don’t say. And who was the other person, if I may ask?”

Benito assumed a serious expression, as if he’d talked too much.

Alicia put her hand on his arm and pressed it affectionately. “Don’t worry, it will remain between us. I’m just curious.”

The assistant looked doubtful. Alicia leaned slightly toward him.

“He was a man from Madrid who looked like a policeman. He showed me some sort of badge,” he said.

“Did he tell you his name, perhaps?”

Benito shrugged. “Right now I don’t remember . . . I remember him because he had a cut on his face.”

Alicia’s smile made Benito feel even more agitated.

“On the right cheek? The scar?”

The boy turned pale.

“Was the name Lomana, perhaps?” asked Alicia. “Ricardo Lomana?”

“It might be . . . I’m not sure, but—”

“Thanks, Benito. You’re a star.”

Alicia was already walking down the street when the shop assistant stuck his head out of the door and called out, “Miss? You haven’t told me your name . . .”

Alicia turned around and threw Benito a smile that left its mark on him all day and part of the night.

6

After her visit to Barceló’s bookshop, Alicia allowed herself to be tempted by the old haunts as she meandered through the rambling Gothic quarter, bound for the second stop of her day. She walked slowly, her thoughts focused on Ricardo Lomana and his strange disappearance. Deep down, it didn’t surprise her that she’d already run across his trail. Time had taught her that quite often she and Lomana were hot on each other’s heels when following the same track. Nine times out of ten she was the one who got there first. The only remarkable thing on this occasion was that only a few weeks ago Lomana—who, as Gil de Partera had explained when he entrusted them with the mission, had started investigating the case of Valls’s anonymous letters—should have been asking questions about the Víctor Mataix books. Lomana might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid. The good news in all that was that if Lomana had arrived at the Labyrinth books on his own, Alicia could take that as evidence that her instinct was not failing her. The bad news was that, sooner or later, she was going to bump into him. And their encounters rarely ended well.