LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘You’re as curious as the Inspector, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘I’m easily bored, Don Javier. Marciano and I see each other when my ennui peaks.’

      Pérez came in, told Falcón which room the prostitute was in and took over.

      The girl was sitting at a table smoking while she stacked and unstacked two packs of Fortuna. Her hair was cropped unevenly on her head as if she’d done the job herself without a mirror. She stared at the dead TV screen straight ahead of her, blue eyeshadow, pink mouth. A blonde wig hung off the back of an unused chair. She wore a tartan miniskirt, a white blouse and black boots. She was tiny and still looked of school age, but the depravity she’d seen on her extended truant was worn into her dark brown eyes.

      Ramírez turned on the tape, introduced her as Eloisa Gómez and announced himself and Falcón.

      ‘Do you know why you’re here?’ asked Falcón.

      ‘Not yet. They said it was a few questions, but I know you guys. I’ve been here before … I know your games.’

      ‘We’re different to the usual guys,’ said Ramírez.

      ‘That’s right,’ she said, ‘you are. Who are you?’

      Falcón shook his head a fraction at Ramírez.

      ‘You were with a client last night …’ said Falcón.

      ‘I was with lots of clients last night. It’s Semana Santa,’ she said. ‘It’s our busiest time of the year.’

      ‘Busier than the Feria?’ asked Ramírez, mildly surprised.

      ‘Without a doubt,’ she said, ‘especially the last few days when everybody comes from out of town.’

      ‘One of your clients was Raúl Jiménez. You went to see him last night in his apartment in the Edificio Presidente.’

      ‘I knew him as Rafael. Don Rafael.’

      ‘You’d met him before?’

      ‘He’s a regular.’

      ‘In his apartment?’

      ‘Last night was maybe the third or fourth time in his apartment. Normally it’s the back of his car.’

      ‘So how did it work this time?’ asked Ramírez.

      ‘He called the mobile. My group of girls bought three mobiles last year.’

      ‘What time?’

      ‘I didn’t take the call. I was with someone else … but it must have been midnight. The first time.’

      ‘The first time?’

      ‘He only wanted to speak to me, so he called again around twelve-fifteen. He asked me to come to his apartment. I told him I was making a lot of money on the plaza and he asked me how much I wanted. I told him one hundred thousand.’

      Ramírez roared with laughter.

      ‘That’s Semana Santa for you,’ he said. ‘The prices are ridiculous.’

      The girl laughed too, relaxed a notch.

      ‘Don’t tell me he paid that,’ said Ramírez.

      ‘We settled on fifty.’

       ‘Joder.’

      ‘How did you get there?’ asked Falcón, trying to settle it down again.

      ‘Taxi,’ she said, lighting up a Fortuna.

      ‘What time did it drop you off?’

      ‘Just after half past twelve.’

      ‘Anybody around?’

      ‘Not that I saw.’

      ‘What about in the building?’

      ‘I didn’t even see the conserje, which I was glad about. There was no one in the lift or on the landing and he let me in before I rang the bell, as if he’d been watching me through the spy hole.’

      ‘You didn’t hear him unlock the door?’

      ‘He just opened it.’

      ‘Did he lock it once you were inside?’

      ‘Yes. I didn’t like that, but he left the keys in the door so I didn’t protest.’

      ‘What did you notice about the apartment?’

      ‘It was almost empty. He told me he was moving. I asked him where and he didn’t answer. Other things on his mind.’

      ‘Talk us through it,’ said Ramírez.

      She grinned, shook her head as if men the world over were all the same.

      ‘I followed him up the corridor into his study. There was a TV on in the corner with an old movie playing. He took a video out of the desk and loaded it into the machine. He asked me to wear a thick blue skirt which came down to my knees and a blue jumper over my blouse. He told me to tie my hair in bunches. I was wearing a long black wig,’ she said. ‘He preferred brunettes.’

      ‘Did you see him take a pill?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You didn’t notice anything strange apart from the place being empty?’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Anything that made you feel nervous?’

      She thought about it, wanting to help. She held up a finger. They leaned forward.

      ‘He wasn’t wearing any shoes,’ she said, ‘but that didn’t exactly make me panic.’

      They slumped back in their chairs.

      ‘Hey! It’s your fault. You’re making me see things where there’s nothing.’

      ‘Keep going,’ said Ramírez.

      ‘I asked him for my money. He gave me some five thousand notes which I counted. He picked up the remote and a porno movie started up on the TV. He took off his trousers. I mean he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them. And we got down to it.’

      ‘What about the windows?’ asked Ramírez.

      ‘What about them?’

      ‘You were facing the windows.’

      ‘How do you know?’

      ‘He assumes you were facing the windows,’ said Falcón.

      ‘The curtains were drawn,’ she said, suspicious now.

      ‘So you had sex with him,’ said Ramírez. ‘How long did it last?’

      ‘Longer than I expected.’

      ‘Is that why you turned round?’ asked Ramírez.

      The brown eyes hardened in her head. These were not the usual games.

      ‘Who are you?’ she said.

      ‘Inspector Ramírez,’ he said, dry as fino.

      ‘We’re from the Grupo de Homicidios,’ said Falcón.

      ‘Somebody killed him?’ she asked, her head switching between the two men, who nodded.

      ‘The person who killed him was in the apartment while you were there.’

      She wrenched the cigarette from her mouth, puffed hard.

      ‘How do you know?’

      Ramírez had prepared the tape earlier and clicked the remote so that the screen was instantly filled with the empty corridor, the bare hook, the light falling from the study doorway while the soundtrack blared the mixture of the two fake ecstasies. The hairs came up on Falcón’s neck. The girl was transfixed. The camera turned

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