“My daughter-in-law.”

“Maybe she’ll remember her?”

“I’ll ask her.”

“If you remember anything, or if your daughter-in-law does, please call this telephone number. It doesn’t matter what time it is. The name is Hendaya.”

“We’ll do that.”

The policeman gave a friendly nod and headed for the door. “Thank you for your help. Have a nice day.”

They stayed behind the counter without saying a word, watching Hendaya cross the street slowly and stop by the café on the other side. There an individual in a black coat came up to him, and the two talked for about a minute. The individual nodded, and Hendaya set off down the street. The man in the black coat glanced briefly at the bookshop and stepped into the café. He sat at the table by the window and remained there, vigilant.

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” asked Señor Sempere.

“It’s complicated,” ventured Fermín.

Just then the bookseller caught sight of his niece, Sofía, who was returning from taking Julián to the park. She was grinning from ear to ear.

“Who was that handsome hunk who just left?” she asked from the door. “What’s the matter? Has someone died?”

* * *

The conclave took place in the back room. Fermín broached the subject without further delay.

“Sofía, I know you adolescents keep your brains on the back burner while you wait for the hormonal tsunami to abate, but if the handsome snake you’ve just seen leaving the bookshop, or any other individual using any old pretext, appears and asks you whether you’ve seen, know, have heard of, or have the faintest idea of the existence of Señorita Alicia Gris, you’re going to lie with that Neapolitan grace God has given you and say no, you’ve never seen her in your life, and you’ll say so looking as dumb as your neighbor Merceditas, or I swear that, even though I’m not your father, or your legal guardian, I’ll stick you in a cloistered convent from which you’ll not be allowed out until you find Sir Winston Churchill devilishly handsome. Are you with me?”

Sofía nodded remorsefully.

“Now go to the counter and pretend you’re doing something useful.”

Once they’d gotten Sofía out of the way, Señor Sempere confronted his son and Fermín.

“I’m still waiting for you to explain what the hell is going on.”

“Have you taken your blood pressure medication?”

“With my coffee.”

“What a grand idea. All you need to do now is to dunk a dynamite cartridge in it, as if it were a sponge finger, and then we can all pat you on the back.”

“Don’t change the subject, Fermín.”

Fermín pointed at Daniel. “I’ll take charge of this. You go out there and behave as if you were me.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Keep your eyes peeled. Those dickheads are staking out the shop and will be waiting for us to make a wrong move.”

“I was going to take over from Bea . . .”