Alicia pointed to the bottom of the pool. “There’s something down there.”

She brought the flashlight closer to the surface. The water took on a ghostly clarity.

“Do you see it?” asked Alicia.

A dark mass swayed at the bottom of the pool, slithering slowly. Vargas looked around and found the pole of what looked like a brush for cleaning the pool. All the fibers had come off it years ago, but the metal head was still stuck to the end. Vargas plunged the pole into the water and tried to reach the dark shape. When he touched it, it turned upon itself and seemed to unfurl bit by bit.

“Careful,” warned Vargas.

He felt the metal end touch something firm and tugged at it energetically. The shadow began its ascent from the bottom of the pool. Alicia took a few steps back.

Vargas was the first to realize what was happening. “Move away,” he murmured.

Alicia recognized the suit instantly: she’d gone with him to a tailor’s on Gran Vía the day he bought it. The face that emerged on the water’s surface was as white as chalk, the eyes like two ovals of polished marble, a dark web of capillaries around the irises. The scar on his cheek, which she herself had left on him, had become a purple mark that looked as if it had been seared with a branding iron. The head fell to one side, exposing the deep cut that had sliced his throat.

Alicia closed her eyes and let out a sob. She felt Vargas’s hand on her shoulder.

“It’s Lomana,” she managed to say.

When she opened her eyes again, the body was sinking, until it was finally left suspended underwater, turning upon itself, arms outstretched.

Alicia turned to Vargas, who was looking at her anxiously. “Vilajuana told me he’d sent him here. Someone must have followed him.”

“Or perhaps he came across something he wasn’t expecting to find.”

“We can’t leave him in this place. Like this.”

Vargas shook his head. “I’ll take care of that. For the time being, let’s get out of here.”

The policeman took her arm and guided her gently toward the stairs. “Alicia, that body has been there for at least two or three weeks. Since before you arrived in Barcelona.”

She closed her eyes and nodded in agreement.

“That means,” he said, “that whoever went into your apartment and stole the book, it wasn’t Lomana.”

“I know.”

They were about to climb up again when Vargas suddenly stood still and held her back. The sound of footsteps creaking on the floor above reverberated through the vaulted room. They followed the movement of the footsteps with their eyes. The policeman listened, his expression inscrutable.

“There’s more than one person,” he whispered.

For a moment the footsteps seemed to stop, and then they moved away again. Alicia was going to take a quick look up the stairs when she noticed a noise above them. They heard the stairs creak and the echo of a voice, and glanced at one another. Alicia switched off the flashlight and they positioned themselves one on either side of the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, hiding in the shadows. Vargas pointed his gun at the staircase and cocked the hammer. The footsteps were getting closer. Seconds later a figure emerged. Before the stranger could take another step, Vargas had placed the barrel of his revolver on the newcomer’s temple, ready to blow his head to pieces.