VARGAS WAS WAITING for Alicia in the dining room of the Gran Café, nursing a steaming cup and rehearsing his smile as a truce offering. She spotted him as soon as she walked out of her front door, his profile outlining a double image on the café window. He was sitting at the same table she had occupied the day before, surrounded by the remains of what must have been a sumptuous breakfast, and by a couple of newspapers. Alicia crossed the street and took a deep breath before opening the café door. When he saw her come in, Vargas stood up and waved nervously. She returned his greeting and approached the table, signalling to Miquel to bring her the usual breakfast. The waiter nodded.
“How was your journey?” asked Alicia.
“Long.”
Vargas waited for her to sit down before doing so himself. They eyed one another in silence. His brow was furrowed, and he looked confused.
“What?” asked Alicia.
“I was expecting to be greeted with a curse, or something more in your style.”
Alicia shrugged.
“If I were a bit more stupid, I’d almost say you were pleased to see me,” he added.
She gave just the hint of a smile. “Don’t push it.”
“You scare me, Alicia. Has something happened?”
Miquel approached the table with care, carrying Alicia’s toast and her cup of coffee. She gave him a nod, and he quickly left, disappearing discreetly behind the bar. Alicia took one of the pieces of toast and gave it a tentative bite.
Vargas shot her a slightly worried look. “So?” he finally asked, impatiently.
Alicia began to summarize the previous day’s adventures, and those of the night. Vargas’s face grew sombre. As she finished telling him how she had spent those hours until dawn, holding her revolver, waiting for the door of the flat to open again, he swore under his breath.
“There’s something I don’t understand,” he said. “You say a man came in while you were asleep and took the book.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“How do you know it was a man?”
“Because I know.”
“So you weren’t asleep.”
“I was under the effects of the medication. I’ve already told you.”
“What part haven’t you told me?”
“The one that’s none of your business.”
“Did he do anything to you?”
“No.”
Vargas looked at her in disbelief. “While I was waiting for you, your friend Miquel here offered me an attic they have upstairs, with a partial view of your home. I’m going to ask him to take my suitcase up, and I’ll pay him a couple of weeks in advance.”
“You don’t need to stay here, Vargas. Go to a good hotel. It’s on Leandro.”
“It’s either this, or I take up residence on your sofa. You choose.”
Alicia sighed. She was not in the mood to start a new battle.
“You hadn’t told me you had a gun,” said Vargas.
“You hadn’t asked me.”
“And you know how to use it?”
“There I was, thinking you were more the knitting kind,” said the policeman. “Will you please always carry it with you? Inside and outside your home.”
“Yes, sir. Were you able to discover anything about Lomana?”
“No one in the ministry is saying a word. The impression I got was that they didn’t know anything. You must have already heard the police force’s version. He was transferred from his unit about a year ago to assist on the case of the anonymous letters to Valls. He did some investigating on his own. He was supposed to report to Gil de Partera. At some point he stopped doing so. Vanished into thin air. What is your history with him?”
“None.”
Vargas frowned. “You’re not thinking he’s the person who came into your apartment last night to steal the book and do whatever it is he did that you won’t tell me about?”
“That’s you talking, not me.”
Vargas was observing her with a quizzical look. “This medication, is it for that wound of yours?”
“No, I take it for fun. How old are you, Vargas?”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Probably twice as old as you, although I’d rather not think about it. Why?”
“You’re not starting to see yourself as my father, or anything of the sort, are you?”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“What a shame,” said Alicia.
“And don’t get all soppy now. It doesn’t suit you.”
“That’s what Leandro says.”
“Probably with good reason. If our sentimental interlude is over, why don’t you tell me what our plans are for the day?”
Alicia finished her coffee and signalled to Miquel to bring her another.
“You do know that aside from caffeine and cigarettes the body also needs carbohydrates, protein and all that stuff, don’t you?”
“I promise we’ll go and have lunch at Casa Leopoldo later today. You’re paying.”
“What a relief. And before that?”
“Before that we’re going to meet my private spy, good old Rovira.”
“Rovira?”
Alicia gave him a brief account of her meeting with Rovira the day before. “He must be wandering around out there, frozen stiff.”
“Let him freeze his balls off,” said Vargas. “And after giving your apprentice his assignment for the day, what’s next?”
“I thought we could pay a visit to a lawyer. Fernando Brians.”
Vargas nodded unenthusiastically. “Who is he?”
“Brians represents a collector who for years has been buying up all the copies of Mataix novels.”
“You’re still on about that book. Don’t be offended, but wouldn’t the sensible thing be to see what they have to tell us at police headquarters about the car Valls was in when he left Madrid? I’m just giving an example of something truly connected with the case in hand.”
“That’s not a priority.”
“Says who? Excuse me, Alicia, but are we still trying to find Minister Valls while it’s possible that he may still be alive?”
“The car is a waste of time.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Valls’s. But if it makes you feel better, OK. You win. Let’s follow up on your suggestion.”
“Thanks.”