“What a gem.”

“Quimet would spend a couple of nights with the dead bodies, emulating, so to speak, some sort of marital life, until the bodies began to smell of dead flowers. At that point, always before daybreak, when the streets were still deserted, he would take them to their new eternal life in one of the hearses and then stage their discovery.”

“Holy Mother of God . . . Stuff like that only happens in Barcelona.”

“Alicia was able to discover all this and more, just in time to rescue what would have been Quimet’s eighth victim from one of the coffins.”

“And was it established why he did it?”

“Alicia found out that when he was a boy, Quimet had spent a whole week locked up with his mother’s corpse in a flat on Calle de la Cadena, until the smell alerted the neighbors. It seems that his mother had committed suicide by swallowing poison when she found out that her husband had left her. Unfortunately, none of this could be verified because Quimet took his own life during his first night in the Campo de la Bota prison, after leaving his dying wishes written on the wall of his cell. He wanted to have his body shaved, washed, and embalmed, and then, dressed in white, be exhibited in perpetuity in a glass coffin next to one of his wax brides, in the shop window of the El Siglo department store. Apparently his mother had worked there as a shop assistant. But, speaking of the devil, Señorita Gris must be about to arrive. A little brandy to remove the bad taste from the anecdote?”

“One last thing, Leandro. I want one of my men to work with your agent. I don’t want another unreported disappearance like Lomana’s.”

“I think that’s a mistake. We have our own methods.”

“The condition isn’t negotiable. And Altea agrees with me.”

“With all due respect . . .”

“Leandro, Altea had already wanted to put Hendaya on the case.”

“Another mistake.”

“I agree. That’s why I’ve convinced him to let me do things my way, for the moment. But the condition is that one of my men must supervise your operative. It’s that, or Hendaya.”

“I see. Who were you thinking of?”

“Vargas.”

“I thought he had retired.”

“Only technically.”

“Is this a punishment?”

“For your agent?”

“For Vargas.”

“More like a second chance.”

4

The Packard circled Plaza de Neptuno under the deluge, then turned up Carrera de San Jerónimo toward the white, French-style silhouette of the Gran Hotel Palace. They stopped in front of the main entrance, and when the doorman came over to open the passenger door, holding a large umbrella, the two secret-police officers turned their heads and gave Alicia a look that was somewhere between a threat and a plea.

“Can we leave you here without you making a scene, or must we drag you in so you don’t give us the slip again?”

“Don’t worry; I won’t show you up.”