Abuelo shook his head. “I, of course, knew you were well. You had wired me since this mysterious death to tell me you were spending Christmas here. And, of course, you are no murderer. That was never in question. So I told the policía they must have been mistaken. That my grandson was but a lackadaisical university student who could not seem to finish his studies in a reasonable amount of time. And one who further prolonged his graduation by deciding to winter here for some unfathomable reason.” His eyes darted to Margot, and his lips slid up just a fraction—not enough to be thought a smile on anyone else, but the equivalent of a grin for him. “Or perhaps not so unfathomable now. Why have you not mentioned your cariño in your letters to me, Dragón?”

Drake could only shake his head. “I don’t understand. What murder scene?”

“Ah. This was of the utmost interest to me, too, despite my certainty you had nothing to do with it. I had to expend considerable effort and call in many favors to determine this.” Abuelo waved his fingers again, and again Eneko stepped forward.

Eneko’s expression said more than Abuelo’s did. That whatever this was, it was serious. He held out a thin stack of papers clipped together, a photograph on top.

Naturally, Drake’s eyes went first to the image. And his head went light at the grainy shot of two men entering a building. Grainy, but good enough to see their faces.

“El Señor was providing for us with that photograph, sí? A woman had her camera out, at her window, to try to get a snapshot of her son riding on his bicycle—you see him there in the foreground. She did not realize she had captured anyone else in her image until weeks later, when she received her pictures back. And even then, she only came forward when we put an advertisement in the newspaper, asking for any information to be had on suspicious men seen at that address.”

“Suspicious men,” Drake echoed, eyes still pasted to the image.

Margot had leaned in, too, and had drawn in a long breath. “It’s him. The taller one—that’s the man who attacked us. Was he the one following you?”

“Yes.” Drake swallowed. “And the other is Maxim Jaeger.” Jaeger, clutching at his leg. Jaeger, agony on his face. Jaeger, supported by the man in the grey overcoat, looking as though he wouldn’t have been able to walk without said support.

Red, who had been hovering in the doorway behind him, eased forward to study the image. “They look a bit alike, don’t they?”