“Not at all. Thank you for receiving me.”
Valera gave me the smile of someone who knows how much he charges for every minute.
“My secretary tells me your name is David Martín. You’re David Martín, the author?”
The look of surprise must have given me away.
“I come from a family of great readers,” he explained. “How can I help?”
“I’d like to ask you about the ownership of a building in—”
“The
tower house?” the lawyer interrupted politely.
“Yes.”
“You know it?” he asked.
“I live there.”
Valera looked at me for a while without abandoning his smile. He straightened up in his chair and seemed to go tense.
“Are you the present owner?”
“Actually I rent the place.”
“And what is it you’d like to know, Señor Martín?”
“If possible, I’d like to know about the acquisition of the building by the Banco Hispano Colonial and gather some information on the previous owner.”
“Don Diego Marlasca,” the lawyer muttered. “May I ask the nature of your interest?”
“Personal. Recently, while I was doing some refurbishment on the building, I came across a number of items that I think belonged to him.”
The lawyer frowned.
“Items?”
“A book. Or, rather, a manuscript.”
“Señor Marlasca was a great lover of literature. In fact, he was the author of a large number of books on law and also on history and other subjects. A great scholar. And a great man, although at the end of his life there were those who wished to tarnish his reputation.”
Again, my surprise must have been evident.
“I assume you’re not familiar with the circumstances surrounding Señor Marlasca’s death.”
“I’m afraid not.”
Valera looked as if he were debating whether or not to go on.
“You’re not going to write about this, are you, or about Irene Sabino?”
“No.”
“Do I have your word?”
I nodded.