“That’s you talking, not me.”

Vargas was observing her with a quizzical look. “This medication, is it for that wound of yours?”

“No, I take it for fun. How old are you, Vargas?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Probably twice as old as you, although I’d rather not think about it. Why?”

“You’re not starting to see yourself as my father, or anything of the sort, are you?”

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“What a shame,” said Alicia.

“And don’t get all soppy now. It doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s what Leandro says.”

“Probably with good reason. If our sentimental interlude is over, why don’t you tell me what our plans are for the day?”

Alicia finished her coffee and signaled to Miquel to bring her another.

“You do know that aside from caffeine and cigarettes the body also needs carbohydrates, protein, and all that stuff, don’t you?”

“I promise we’ll go and have lunch at Casa Leopoldo later today. You’re paying.”

“What a relief. And before that?”

“Before that we’re going to meet my private spy, good old Rovira.”

“Rovira?”

Alicia gave him a brief account of her meeting with Rovira the day before. “He must be wandering around out there, frozen stiff.”

“Let him freeze his balls off,” said Vargas. “And after giving your apprentice his assignment for the day, what’s next?”

“I thought we could pay a visit to a lawyer. Fernando Brians.”

Vargas nodded unenthusiastically. “Who is he?”

“Brians represents a collector who for years has been buying up all the copies of Mataix novels.”

“You’re still on about that book. Don’t be offended, but wouldn’t the sensible thing be to see what they have to tell us at police headquarters about the car Valls was in when he left Madrid? I’m just giving an example of something truly connected with the case in hand.”

“That’s not a priority.”

“Says who? Excuse me, Alicia, but are we still trying to find Minister Valls while it’s possible that he may still be alive?”

“The car is a waste of time.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Valls’s. But if it makes you feel better, OK. You win. Let’s follow up on your suggestion.”

“Thanks.”

12

True to his promise, Rovira was waiting in the street, trembling with cold and looking as if he cursed the day he’d been born and all the days that followed. The spook apprentice seemed to have shrunk noticeably overnight. His anxious grimace suggested the start of an ulcer.

Vargas spotted him before Alicia had pointed him out. “Is that the ace of spies?”

“That’s him.”

Rovira looked up when he heard approaching footsteps. He gulped when he saw Vargas and searched for his cigarettes with a shaking hand. Alicia and Vargas hemmed him in, one on either side.

“I thought you would come alone,” he mumbled, gazing at Alicia.

“You’re such a romantic, Rovira.”

He breathed out a sort of nervous laugh. Alicia pulled the cigarette from his mouth and threw it far away.

“Hey . . . ,” Rovira protested.