The Angel's Game (The Cemetery of Forgotten 2)

I dropped back into the chair.

“I don’t know …” I murmured.

I thought I saw a hint of pity, or perhaps it was just tiredness, in the inspector’s eyes.

“Look, Martín. Let’s begin again. Let’s do it your way. Tell me a story, and start at the beginning.”

I stared at him in silence.

“Martín. Don’t think that because I like you I’m not going to do my work.”

“Do whatever you have to do. Call Hansel and Gretel, if you like.”

At that moment I noticed a touch of anxiety on his face. Footsteps were advancing along the corridor and something told me the inspector wasn’t expecting them. I heard voices and nervously Grandes went up to the door. He tapped three times with his knuckles and Marcos, who was on guard, opened up. A man dressed in a camel hair coat and a matching suit came into the room, looked around him in disgust, and then gave me a sweet smile while he calmly removed his gloves. I watched him in astonishment. It was Valera, the lawyer.

“Are you all right, Señor Martín?” he asked.

I nodded. The lawyer led the inspector over to a corner. I heard them whispering. Grandes gesticulated with suppressed fury. Valera watched him coldly and shook his head. The conversation went on for almost a minute. Finally Grandes huffed and let his hands fall to his sides.

“Pick up your scarf, Señor Martín. We’re leaving,” Valera ordered. “The inspector has finished his questioning.”

Behind him, Grandes bit his lip, glaring at Marcos, who shrugged. Without losing his expert smile, Valera took me by the arm and led me out of the dungeon.

“I trust that the treatment you received from these police officers has been correct, Señor Martín.”

“Yes,” I managed to stammer.

“Just a moment,” Grandes called out behind us.

Valera stopped and, motioning for me to be quiet, he turned round.

“If you have any more questions for Señor Martín you can direct them to our office and we will be glad to help you. In the meantime, and unless you have a more important reason for keeping Señor Martín on the premises, we shall retire. We wish you a good evening and thank you for your kindness, which I will certainly mention to your superiors, especially to Chief Inspector Salgado, who, as you know, is a dear friend.”

Sergeant Marcos started to move toward us, but Inspector Grandes stopped him. I exchanged a last glance with him before Valera took me by the arm again and pulled me away.

“Don’t wait about,” he whispered.

We walked down the dimly lit passage until we came to a staircase that took us up to another long corridor. At the end of the second corridor a small door opened onto the ground-floor entrance hall and the main exit, where a chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz was waiting for us with its engine running. As soon as the chauffeur saw Valera, he jumped out and opened the door for us. I sat down on the backseat. The car was equipped with heating and the leather seats were warm. Valera sat next to me and, with a tap on the glass that separated the back from the driver’s compartment, he instructed the chauffeur to set off. Once the car was en route and had settled in the center lane of Vía Layetana, Valera smiled at me as if nothing had happened. He pointed at the mist that parted like undergrowth as we drove through it.

“A disagreeable night, isn’t it?” he said casually.

“Where are we going?”

“To your home, of course. Unless you’d rather go to a hotel or …”

“No. That’s fine.”

The car was rolling along down Vía Layetana. Valera gazed at the deserted streets with little interest.

“What are you doing?” I finally asked.

“What do you think I’m doing? Representing you and looking after your interests.”

“Tell the driver to stop the car,” I said.

The chauffeur looked at Valera’s eyes in the mirror. Valera shook his head and gestured to him to continue.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Señor Martín. It’s late, it’s cold, and I’m taking you home.”