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you to stay in New York, but you bullied and blackmailed me into changing my mind. So don’t try to make me feel guilty. And, whatever you do, don’t blame me for bringing you here.”
    â€œI didn’t know I was going to be chased around the country by a bloodthirsty criminal.”
    â€œIf you had, would you have stayed at home?”
    I didn’t even have to think about that. “No.”
    â€œSo stop complaining. Now relax. Otto will never find us. We’re much too cunning for him. We’re Trelawneys, remember? We’re used to trouble. It’s in our genes. Don’t worry, Tom. Everything’s going to be fine.”
    I didn’t believe him for a moment. I wondered if he even believed himself. Or was he just trying to make me feel better? And what did he mean about our having trouble in our genes? As far as I knew, I came from a long line of shopkeepers and bank managers. That was what Dad had told me, anyway. But now wasn’t the time for a family history lesson. I had a far more important question for my uncle: “If Otto’s such a big crook, why isn’t he hiding? How can he live in the middle of the city? With a tattoo like that, he’s not exactly invisible. Why don’t the police arrest him?”
    â€œThe police only arrest little criminals,” said Uncle Harvey. “They can’t touch the big ones.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThat’s just the way the world works.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œHaven’t you ever heard of bribery and corruption?”
    â€œHe pays them?”
    â€œOf course! Otto slips the chief of police a few million dollars. The cops leave him alone. Simple as that.”
    The taxi stopped outside a high-rise apartment building. We retrieved our bags and went inside. A porter in a peaked cap was slouched behind a long wooden desk, half asleep, a crumpled newspaper on his lap. The sound of the door woke him up. He gave a funny little salute. “
Buenos días,
Señor Harvey.”
    â€œ
Buenos días,
Felipe.”
    Felipe led us across the hallway and ushered us into the elevator. He pressed the button marked eight and dodged out as the doors slid shut.
    I said, “Where are we?”
    â€œA friend of mine lives here.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œJust a friend. We’re going to borrow her car. If she’ll lend it to us. So smile nicely, Tom, and try to look trustworthy.”
    On the eighth floor, the doors opened and we stepped out into a long corridor lined with a shabby old carpet. Uncle Harvey walked to apartment 83. He rapped his knuckles loudly on the door. A voice came from inside, calling out in Spanish, and then the door was opened by a tall woman with long black hair. She was wearing a white bathrobe and a pair of pink flip-flops. She stared at my uncle as if she couldn’t believe her big black eyes. “Arvee? Is it really you?”
    â€œHello, Alejandra.” My uncle darted in and kissed her three times, once on each cheek and then once more on the lips.
    Her name, by the way, was pronounced Allay-handra. I didn’t know the spelling till later. Apparently it’s the same name as Alexandra in English.
    â€œI want you to meet someone.” Uncle Harvey brought me forward. “May I present my nephew, Tom Trelawney.”
    Alejandra smiled at me. She had gleaming white teeth. “I am happy for meeting you, Tom.” She placed her thin hand in mine. I could feel the bones through her skin. “My name is Alejandra Catalina, and I am a friend of Arvee. Welcome in Lima. Please, you will enter?”
    Compared to Otto’s magnificent apartment, Alejandra’s apartment was like a cupboard. There were just two main rooms, a bedroom and a kitchen, plus a tiny, cramped bathroom. If you sat on the toilet, your knees jammed against the bath. It was cozy, though. I slumped on a sofa and thought,
Yes, this is nice—I wouldn’t mind