The Angel's Game (The Cemetery of Forgotten 2) - Page 127

We walked through the canyon of old palaces until we reached the Xampañet tavern, where we found a table at the far end. A waiter, armed with a mop that stank of bleach, stared at us and Grandes asked for a couple of beers and a tapa of Manchego cheese. When the beers and the snack arrived, the inspector offered me the plate. I declined.

“Do you mind? I’m always starving at this time of day.”

“Bon appétit.”

Grandes wolfed down the cubes of cheese and licked his lips.

“Didn’t anyone tell you that I came by your house yesterday?”

“I didn’t get the message until later.”

“I understand. Hey, she’s gorgeous, the girl. What’s her name?”

“Isabella.”

“You rascal, some people have all the luck. I envy you. How old is the little sweetheart?”

I threw him a toxic look. The inspector smiled, obviously pleased.

“A little bird told me you’ve been playing at detectives lately. Aren’t you going to leave anything to the professionals?”

“What’s your little bird’s name?”

“He’s more of a big bird. One of my superiors is a close friend of Valera, the lawyer.”

“Are you also on the payroll?”

“Not yet, my friend. You know me. I’m of the old school. Honor and all that shit.”

“A shame.”

“And tell me, how is poor Ricardo Salvador? Do you know? I haven’t heard that name for over twenty years. Everyone assumed he was dead.”

“A premature diagnosis.”

“And how is he?”

“Alone, betrayed, and forgotten.”

The inspector nodded slowly. “Makes one think of the future in this job, doesn’t it?”

“I bet that in your case things will be different and your promotion to the top is just a question of a couple of years. I can imagine you as chief commissioner before the age of forty-five, kissing the hands of bishops and generals during the Corpus parade.”

Grandes let my sarcasm pass.

“Speaking of hand kissing, have you heard about your friend Vidal?”

Grandes never started a conversation without having an ace hidden up his sleeve. He watched me with a smile, relishing my anxiety.

“What about him?” I mumbled.

“They say his wife tried to kill herself the other night.”

“Cristina?”

“Of course, you know her …”

I didn’t realize that I’d stood up and my hands were shaking.

Tags: Carlos Ruiz Zafón The Cemetery of Forgotten Mystery
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