“And you didn’t ask him?”

“I presumed that Vargas would give me the details when the time was right.”

“You had that much trust in him?”

“As much as in myself,” replied Linares.

“Interesting analogy. Nothing like having good friends in headquarters. And tell me, were you able to identify the body?”

Linares hesitated for a moment. “Vargas suspected it was someone called Ricardo Lomana. The name must ring a bell. He was a colleague of yours, I think.”

“Not of mine. But yes, the name sounds familiar. Did you file a report on these events to the relevant department?”

“No.”

“Why was that?”

“I was awaiting confirmation from the pathologist.”

“But you were going to do it.”

“Of course.”

“Of course. Meanwhile, did you tell anyone in the police station about Vargas’s suspicions regarding Lomana’s identity?”

“No.”

“No?” Hendaya insisted. “No assistant?”

“No.”

“Does anyone else, apart from the pathologist and his staff, the judge, and the police officers who came with you, have any knowledge of the removal of the corpse?”

“No. What are you insinuating?”

Hendaya winked at him. “Nothing. I believe you. . . . And do you know where Vargas was going when he left the morgue?”

Linares shook his head.

“To the Civil Registry,” said Hendaya.

Linares frowned.

“You didn’t know?”

“No,” Linares answered. “Why should I know?”

“Didn’t Vargas mention it to you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Didn’t Vargas call you from the registry to ask you something?”

Hendaya was smiling, enjoying the game. Linares held his gaze.

“No.”

“Does the name Rovira ring a bell?”

“It’s quite a common surname.”

“Is it in the police station?”

“I think there’s someone there with that name. He works in the archives and is about to retire.”

“Has anyone asked you about him recently?”

Linares shook his head again. “Can you please tell me what we’re talking about?”

“About a crime, my friend. A crime that was committed against one of ours, one of the best. Who could have done something like this?”

“A professional, obviously.”

“Are you sure? To me it looks more like the work of a petty thief.”

“A petty thief?”

Hendaya nodded confidently. “This neighborhood isn’t trustworthy, and God knows these Catalans are capable of stealing their mothers’ drawers on their deathbed while they’re still warm. It’s in their blood.”

“No third-rate petty thief would have had a chance against Vargas,” Linares argued. “You know that as well as I do. This wasn’t done by an amateur.”

Hendaya gave him a long, calm look. “Come on, Linares. There are professional petty thieves. Hard men, with no scruples. You know that. And your friend Vargas, let’s face it, wasn’t in very good shape. The years don’t lie.”

“The investigation will have to determine that.”

“Unfortunately there won’t be one.”

“Just because you say so,” snapped Linares.

Hendaya smiled with satisfaction. “No, not because I say so. I’m nobody. But if you know what’s good for you, you won’t expect anyone else to tell you.”