LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘Age?’

      ‘About thirty. He looked fit. He had a tight black T-shirt on and he was muscled. I think he was wearing jeans and trainers. He locked the car and went off through the trees to Calle Blanca Paloma.’

      ‘Did you see the van when it arrived in the position it is now?’

      ‘No. All I can tell you is that it was there by six thirty in the evening. My daughter-in-law parked next to it. I also remember that when I went for coffee after lunch the van had left its position on the other side. There aren’t so many cars during the day, except for the ones belonging to teachers lined up in front of the school, so I don’t know how, but I noticed it. Old guys notice different things to other people.’

      ‘And there were two men when it was going along Calle Los Romeros?’

      ‘That’s why I can’t be sure if it was the same van.’

      ‘On which side of the van did your daughter-in-law park her car?’

      ‘To the left as we’re looking at it,’ said the old man. ‘Her door was blown open by the wind and knocked into it.’

      ‘Did the van move again at all?’

      ‘No idea. Once people are around me I don’t notice a thing.’

      Falcón took the daughter-in-law’s name and number and called her as he walked upstairs. He talked her through the conversation he’d just had with her father-in-law and asked her if she’d had a look at the van when her door had knocked into it.

      ‘I checked it, just to make sure I hadn’t dented it.’

      ‘Did you glance in the window?’

      ‘Probably.’

      ‘Did you see anything on the front passenger seat?’

      ‘No, nothing.’

      ‘You didn’t see a book?’

      ‘Definitely not. It was just a dark seat.’

      Ferrera was coming out of the fourth-floor apartment as he hung up. They went downstairs in silence.

      ‘Was your witness injured in the blast?’ asked Falcón.

      ‘She says she fell down the stairs last night, but she’s got no bruises on her arms or legs, just the ones on her face,’ said Ferrera angrily. ‘And she was scared.’

      ‘Not of you.’

      ‘Yes, of me. Because I ask questions, and one question leads to another, and if any of it somehow gets back to her husband it’s another reason for him to beat her.’

      ‘You can only help the ones that want to be helped,’ said Falcón.

      ‘There seems to be more of it about these days,’ said Ferrera, exasperated. ‘Anyway, she did see the van arrive in its current position. There’s a woman on the same shift at the factory where she works, who lives in one of the blocks further down her street. They meet for a chat under the trees on Calle Blanca Paloma. They walked past the van at 6 p.m. just as it had arrived. Two guys got out. They were talking in Arabic. They didn’t take anything out of the back. They went up to Calle Los Romeros and turned right.’

      ‘Descriptions?’

      ‘Both late twenties. One with a shaved head, black T-shirt. The other with more of a square head, with black hair, cut short at the sides and combed back on top. She said he was very good looking, but had bad teeth. He wore a faded denim jacket, white T-shirt, and she remembers he had very flashy trainers.’

      ‘Did she see the van move again from that position?’

      ‘She keeps an eye on this car park, looking out for when her husband comes home. She said it hadn’t moved by the time he came in at 9.15 p.m.’

      The police were letting people through the cordon so that they could get back into their homes to start clearing up the damage. There was a large crowd gathered outside the chemist’s at the junction of Calle Blanca Paloma with Calle Los Romeros. They were angry with the police for not letting them back into any part of the block attached to the destroyed building, which was still too dangerous. Falcón tried talking to people in the crowd, but they couldn’t give a damn about Peugeot Partners.

      Pneumatic drills started up on the other side of the block. Falcón and Ferrera crossed Calle Los Romeros to another apartment building, whose glass was more or less intact. The apartments on the first two floors were still empty. On the third floor a child led Falcón into a living room, where a woman was sweeping up glass around a pile of cardboard boxes. She had moved in at the weekend but the removal company hadn’t been able to deliver until yesterday. He asked his question about the white van and the two guys.

      ‘Do you think I’d be sitting on the balcony watching the traffic with all this lot to unpack?’ she said. ‘I’ve had to give up two days’ work because these people can’t deliver on time.’

      ‘Do you know who was in here before you?’

      ‘It was empty,’ she said. ‘Nobody had been living here for three months. The letting agency on Avenida San Lazaro said we were the first to see it.’

      ‘Was there anything left here when you first arrived?’ asked Falcón, looking out of the living-room balcony on to Calle Los Romeros and the rubble of the destroyed building.

      ‘There was no furniture, if that’s what you mean,’ she said. ‘There was a sack of rubbish in the kitchen.’

      ‘What sort of rubbish?’

      ‘People have been killed. Children have been killed,’ she said, aghast, pulling her own child to her side. ‘And you’re asking me what sort of rubbish I found here when I moved in?’

      ‘Police work can seem like a mysterious business,’ said Falcón. ‘If you can remember noticing anything it might help.’

      ‘As it happens, I had to tie the bag up and throw it out, so I know that it was a pizza carton, a couple of beer cans, some cigarette butts, ash and empty packets and a newspaper, the ABC, I think. Anything else?’

      ‘That’s very good, because now we know that, although this place was empty for three months, somebody had been here, spending quite some time in this apartment, and that could be interesting for us.’

      He crossed the landing to the apartment opposite. A woman in her sixties lived there.

      ‘Your new neighbour has just told me that her apartment had been empty for the last three months,’ he said.

      ‘Not quite empty,’ she said. ‘When the previous family moved out, about four months ago, some very smart businessmen came round, on maybe three or four occasions. Then, about three months ago, a small van turned up and unloaded a bed, two chairs and a table. Nothing else. After that, young men would turn up in pairs, and spend three or four hours at a time during the day, doing God knows what. They never spent the night there, but from dawn until dusk there was always someone in that apartment.’

      ‘Did the same guys come back again, or were they different every time?’

      ‘I think there might have been as many as twenty.’

      ‘Did they bring anything with them?’

      ‘Briefcases, newspapers, groceries.’

      ‘Did you ever talk to them?’

      ‘Of course. I asked them what they were doing and they just said that they were having meetings,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t that worried. They didn’t look like druggies. They didn’t play loud music or have parties; in fact, quite the opposite.’

      ‘Did their routine change over the months?’

      ‘Nobody came during Semana Santa and the Feria.’

      ‘Did you ever see inside the apartment

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