“Police,” announced Vargas. “I need to use your telephone.”

The waiter opened the door and let him in. He pointed to the phone by the entrance gate to the counter. “Shall I serve you anything, while we’re at it?”

“A cortado, if it’s not too much bother.”

While the waiter was getting the coffee machine ready, Vargas picked up the phone and dialed the number for police headquarters. The dog planted itself next to him and observed him with dozing eyes and a feeble wag of the tail.

“Chusco, don’t bother him,” warned the waiter.

As Vargas waited for a reply, he and Chusco sized each other up, comparing their degrees of seniority and general wear and tear.

“How old is the dog?” asked the policeman.

The waiter shrugged. “When I bought the bar he was already here, and he couldn’t even hold back his farts. And that was ten years ago.”

“What breed is it?”

“Tutti-frutti.”

Chusco flopped down onto one side and showed Vargas a bare pink belly. On the other end of the line someone cleared his throat.

“Get me Linares. Vargas here, from Central Police Headquarters.”

Shortly afterward he heard a click on the line and the slightly mocking voice of Linares. “I thought you’d be back in Madrid by now, Vargas, collecting medals.”

“I’ve stayed on a few days longer so I can catch one of those processions with papier-mâché giants and big-heads.”

“Don’t get too excited—all the seats are gone already. How can I help you at this time of night? Don’t tell me you have bad news.”

“That depends. I’m in Vallvidrera, in the bar next to the funicular station.”

“The best views in all Barcelona.”

“You can say that! A while ago I saw a corpse in a house on Carretera de las Aguas.”

Vargas enjoyed Linares’s reaction.

“Holy shit,” Linares grunted. “Was that necessary?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me who the deceased is?”

“You weren’t going to tell me anyhow.”

“I would if I knew.”

“Maybe you could tell me what the hell you were doing at such a late hour up there. Walking in your sleep?”

“Tying up loose ends. You know how it is.”

“Sure. And I suppose you expect me to get a judge out of bed now to sign it off.”

“If it’s not too much to ask.”

Linares huffed again. Vargas heard him voicing instructions. “Give me an hour, or an hour and a half,” he said to Vargas. “And do me a favor: don’t find any more stiffs, if you don’t mind.”

“Will do.”

Vargas put down the phone and lit a cigarette. A steaming cortado awaited him on the counter. The waiter looked at him, vaguely curious.

“You haven’t heard anything,” Vargas advised him.

“Don’t worry, I’m as deaf as Chusco.”

“Can I make another call?”

The waiter shrugged. Vargas dialed the number of the flat on Calle Aviñón. He had to wait a few minutes for an answer. At last he heard the receiver being picked up and the sound of soft breathing on the other end.