The Invisible Guardian. Dolores Redondo

with my Aunt Engrasi …’

      ‘No, I haven’t, but I’d love to. Your husband told me that she reads cards and that sort of thing.’

      ‘Yes … and that sort of thing. You stay away from my aunt,’ said Amaia with a smile, ‘your head’s buzzing as it is.’

      Jonan laughed without taking his eyes off the roast that was sitting next to the oven waiting for its final browning before dinner.

      ‘Speaking of buzzing heads, do you have any idea where Montes is?’

      The deputy inspector was about to reply when he was overcome by a fit of discretion and bit his lip and dropped his gaze. His expression did not escape Amaia’s notice.

      ‘Jonan, we’re conducting the most important investigation of our lives here, there’s a lot riding on this case. Reputation, honour, and, most importantly, getting that rat off the streets and making sure he doesn’t do what he’s already done to those girls to anybody else. I appreciate your sense of solidarity, but Montes is a bit of a loose cannon and his behaviour could seriously interfere with the investigation. I know how you feel, because I feel the same. I still don’t know what to do about it, and of course I haven’t reported him, but much as it hurts me, much as I respect Fermín Montes, I won’t allow his flaky behaviour to prejudice the work of so many professionals who are slogging their guts out, ruining their eyesight and losing sleep over this. Now, Jonan, tell me: what do you know about Montes?’

      ‘Well, chief, I agree with you, and you already know my loyalty lies with you; if I haven’t said anything before it’s because it seemed to me to be something of a personal nature …’

      ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

      ‘At lunch time today I saw him eating at the Antxitonea restaurant … with one of your sisters,’ he finished in a mumbled rush.

      ‘With his sister?’ she said in surprise.

      ‘No, with your sister.’

      ‘My sister? My sister Rosaura?’

      ‘No, the other one, with your sister Flora.’

      ‘With Flora? Did they see you?’

      ‘No; you know it has a semi-circular bar that runs from the entrance and goes back towards the entrance to the pelota court; I was by the window with Iriarte, but I saw them come in. I was going over to say hello but then they went into the dining room and it didn’t seem appropriate for me to follow them. When we left half an hour later I saw through the window into the bar that they had ordered and were about to eat.’

      Jonan Etxaide had never let rain intimidate him. In fact, walking in a downpour without an umbrella was one of his favourite things and, in Pamplona, he would go for a walk with his anorak hood pulled up whenever he could, the only one walking slowly as everyone else hurriedly fled to the nearest cafés or lined up under buildings’ treacherous eaves which dripped huge drops on them, making them even wetter. He walked the streets of Elizondo admiring the smooth curtain of water that seemed to fall across the roads, producing a curious effect like a slanting wedding veil. The car headlights pierced the darkness, drawing watery ghosts in front of them, and the red light of the traffic lights seemed to spill out as if it were a solid, forming a pool of red water at his feet. In contrast with the deserted pavements, there was a steady flow of traffic at that hour, when it seemed like everyone was in a rush to get somewhere, like lovers on their way to a tryst. Jonan walked along Calle Santiago to the square, fleeing the noise with rapid steps, which slowed as soon as he drew near enough to make out the clean outlines of the buildings that immediately transported him to another era.