Fernandito shifted uneasily, seeing Vargas’s ominous look. “Listen, if there’s a problem, I’ll—”

“There isn’t a problem,” Alicia cut in. “Captain?”

Vargas grunted and pulled out his wallet. He counted a couple of notes and handed them to Fernandito.

“More,” whispered Alicia.

“What?”

“Give him at least double that amount.”

Vargas pulled out two more notes. Fernandito, who had probably never seen so much money together in his entire life, accepted it in amazement.

“Don’t spend it all on candy,” mumbled Vargas.

“You won’t regret it, Señorita Alicia. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, kid, I’m the one who’s paying,” said the policeman.

“Can I ask you a favor, Fernandito?” asked Alicia.

“Just say the word.”

“Go down and get me a pack of cigarettes.”

“American?”

“You’re a darling.”

Fernandito ran off down the stairs—skipping, from the sound of it.

“So much for the altar boy,” Vargas observed.

“You’re jealous,” said Alicia.

“Oh, of course.”

“What’s the picture?” asked Alicia, noticing the canvas Vargas had brought with him.

“I thought it would look wonderful above your sofa.”

“Is it by your new friend, Señor Sanchís’s favorite painter?”

The policeman nodded.

“Do you think Sanchís is our book collector?”

Vargas shrugged.

“And the chauffeur . . . ?”

“Morgado. I’ve already called headquarters to ask for information on him. I’ll get news tomorrow.”

“What are you thinking, Vargas?”

“I’m thinking that perhaps you’re right, whether I like it or not. The knot, or whatever it is, is getting tighter.”

“You don’t seem altogether convinced.”

“I’m not. There’s something that doesn’t add up.”

“What?”

“I’ll know when I see it. But I get the feeling that we’re looking from the wrong angle. Don’t ask me why. I can feel it in my bones.”

“I think so too,” Alicia agreed.

“Are you going to tell Leandro?”

“I’m going to have to tell him something.”

“If you’ll allow a suggestion, leave Fernandito out of the newsreel.”

“I wasn’t planning to include him.”

A few moments later they heard the boy rushing up the stairs.

“Go on. Open the door. And be a bit nicer to him. He needs solid male role models if he’s going to be a useful member of society.”

Vargas shook his head and opened the door. Fernandito stood there anxiously, the pack of cigarettes in his hand.

“Come in, kid. Cleopatra awaits.”

Fernandito hurried in with the cigarettes. Alicia opened the packet with a smile and put one in her mouth. The boy quickly pulled out a lighter for her.

“I didn’t know you’d started smoking, Fernandito.”

“No, no . . . I just use it as a flashlight. Half the staircases in this neighborhood are pitch-dark.”

“You see, Vargas? Don’t you think Fernandito has the makings of a detective?”

“A veritable junior Marlowe.”

“Pay no attention to him, Fernandito. When they get older, they become embittered. It’s all that quinine in the white hair.”

“Keratin,” snapped Vargas.

Alicia waved her hand as if to brush away Vargas’s comment. “May I ask you another favor, Fernandito?”