The storm had pushed in an old cargo ship, which had run aground just a few meters from the shore. Its hull had listed to port, and the keel and propellers peeped over the foam. The waves had knocked most of the cargo overboard. A flock of seagulls fluttered among the floating remains of the wreckage while the crew tried to salvage what it could and the children celebrated the disaster in party spirit. In the distance rose an endless forest of chimneys and factories. Above them clouds slid along the sky, carrying the echo of thunderclaps and the glow of the storm.

“Fermín,” said a deep, calm voice next to him.

He turned to find Armando, prince of gypsies and emperor of the forgotten world of El Somorrostro. He wore an impeccable black suit and carried his patent leather shoes in his hand. He’d rolled up his trouser legs to walk along the damp sand and watch the children play in the surf.

Armando pointed at the scene of the shipwreck. “The misfortune of some is the bonanza of others,” he declared. “What brings you to these parts, dear friend, misfortune or bonanza?”

“Despair.”

“Never a good counselor.”

“But very convincing.”

Armando smiled and nodded. He lit a cigarette and offered the packet to Fermín, who declined the invitation.

“They tell me you were seen leaving the Hospital del Mar,” said Armando.

“You have eyes everywhere.”

“I suspect that what you need are hands, not eyes. How can I help you?”

“By saving a life.”

“Yours?”

“I already owe you mine, Armando. What brings me here is a life I should have saved many years ago. Destiny placed it in my hands, and I failed.”

“Destiny knows us better than we know ourselves, Fermín. I don’t think you failed anyone. But I sense that haste is required. Give me the details.”

“It can be complicated. And dangerous.”

“If it were easy and safe, I know you wouldn’t insult me by coming to ask for my help. What’s the name?”

“Alicia.”

“A love?”

“A debt.”

* * *

Hendaya knelt down by the body and removed the blanket. “Is that him?” he asked.

When he didn’t get a reply, he turned around. Linares, behind him, was staring at Vargas’s corpse as if he’d just been slapped in the face.

“Is it, or isn’t it?” Hendaya insisted.

Linares nodded, closing his eyes briefly.

Hendaya covered the face of the dead policeman again and stood up. He walked calmly around the room, casually examining the clothes and objects scattered about. Apart from Linares, two of his men were waiting in patient silence.

“I’m told that before he came back here, Vargas was in the morgue with you,” he said to Linares. “Can you fill me in?”

“Captain Vargas had found a dead body the night before, and he called to inform me about it.”

“Did he say under what circumstances he found the body?”

“During the course of an investigation he was working on. He didn’t discuss the details of the case with me.”