“My name is David Martín. I got your address from police headquarters. I wanted to speak to you about a case you handled.”
“Do you usually go into people’s homes uninvited, Señor David Martín?”
“The door was open. I called out but you can’t have heard me. Can I put my hands down?”
“I didn’t tell you to put them up. Which case?”
“The death of Diego Marlasca. I rent the house that was his last home. The tower house in Calle Flassaders.”
He said nothing. I could still feel the revolver pressing against my neck.
“Señor Salvador?” I asked.
“I’m wondering whether it wouldn’t be better to blow your head off right now.”
“Don’t you want to hear my story first?”
The pressure from the revolver seemed to lessen and I heard the hammer being uncocked. I slowly turned round. Ricardo Salvador was an imposing figure, with gray hair and pale blue eyes that penetrated like needles. I guessed that he must have been about fifty but it would have been difficult to find men half his age who would dare get in his way. I gulped. Salvador lowered the revolver and turned his back to me, returning to the apartment.
“I apologize for the welcome,” he mumbled.
I followed him to the minute kitchen and stopped in the doorway. Salvador left the pistol on the sink and lit the stove with bits of paper and cardboard. He pulled out a coffeepot and looked at me questioningly.
“No, thanks.”
“It’s the only good thing I have, I warn you,” he said.
“Then I’ll have one with you.”
Salvador put a couple of generous spoonfuls of coffee into the pot, filled it with water, and put it on the flame.
“Who has spoken to you about me?”
“A few days ago I visited Señora Marlasca, the widow. She’s the one who told me about you. She said you were the only person who had tried to discover the truth and it had cost you your job.”
“That’s one way of describing it, I suppose,” he said.
I noticed that at my mention of the widow his expression darkened and I wondered what might have happened between them during those unfortunate days.
“How is she?” he asked. “Señora Marlasca.”
“I think she misses you.”
Salvador nodded, his fierce manner crumbling.
“I haven’t been to see her for a long time.”
“She thinks you blame her for what happened. I think she’d like to see you again, even though so much time has gone by.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should pay her a visit …”
“Can you talk to me about what happened?”
Salvador recovered his severe expression.
“What do you want to know?”
“Marlasca’s widow told me that you never accepted the official line that her husband took his life. She said you had suspicions.”