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big cellar. There was some stuff in it.’
    Galíndez noticed the change in her voice. ‘What kind of stuff?’
    â€˜He said it looked like an execution. There are bodies. Skeletons, I should say.’
    â€˜A war grave?’ Galíndez asked, disappointed. ‘So why did he contact you?’
    â€˜He didn’t, he contacted you. I’ve been checking your email while you’ve been off.’
    â€˜OK, but why me? Don’t they have their own forensic unit?’
    â€˜He remembered your requests last year for information about Guzmán.’
    Galíndez felt gooseflesh on her arms. ‘And?’
    â€˜It was Guzmán,’ Mendez said. ‘There’s something that identifies him as the killer.’
    Galíndez let it sink in for a moment. ‘ Jefe , you know what you just said?’
    â€˜I said the official investigation is over. What you do in your own time is up to you.’
    Galíndez looked at him, deep in thought.
    â€˜It’s a four-hour drive,’ Fuentes said. ‘Just promise me you’ll keep out of trouble.’
    â€˜Of course.’ Galíndez looked at her watch. ‘It’s only two o’clock now. I can drive up this afternoon. I’ll phone to let them know I’m coming.’
    â€˜Wait.’ Fuentes looked at Mendez. ‘You know what happened at Legutio, don’t you?’
    â€˜I was about to mention it.’
    Galíndez glanced from one to the other. Neither looked happy. ‘What?’
    â€˜Two years ago, ETA parked a car full of explosives near the cuartel one night,’ Fuentes said. ‘It destroyed the building. It was a wonder there was only one person killed.’
    Galíndez remembered 2008 well, though for other reasons. Sitting at Aunt Carmen’s side in a hospital room, watching chemicals flow through plastic tubes into her veins. Preparing for her new job in the guardia as she dealt with the funeral arrangements.
    â€˜Go as Señorita Galíndez,’ Fuentes said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Don’t carry anything that identifies you as guardia. And you’ll need a weapon.’
    â€˜I’ve still got the pistol they issued me in Vice.’
    â€˜Good. Don’t let anyone see you’re armed. Word gets around fast up there.’
    â€˜I’ll be careful.’
    â€˜Be really careful, Ana.’ Mendez put a hand on her arm. ‘ETA don’t play games.’
    Galíndez shrugged her hand away. ‘I saw them murder my father, remember?’
    â€˜I’m just saying,’ Mendez protested. ‘There’s a phone number for the sargento in these papers. I’ve printed out the route for you as well.’
    â€˜Thanks.’ Galíndez took the papers from her. She got up. ‘I mean it, thank you both.’
    â€˜But when you get back, you draw a line under Guzmán and move on,’ Fuentes said as she went to the door. Galíndez raised a hand in acknowledgement.
    â€˜I hope she doesn’t use the satnav,’ Fuentes said, once Galíndez had gone. ‘She always breaks them. She doesn’t look clumsy, but very often, they come back in pieces.’
    â€˜Strange,’ Mendez agreed.
    â€˜I just hope whatever’s up there is worth the drive.’
    â€˜It will be to her,’ Mendez said. ‘She’s obsessed with Guzmán.’
    Fuentes put his papers back into the envelope. ‘She seemed angry, don’t you think?’
    â€˜Ana’s got quite a temper when she gets going, boss,’ Mendez said. ‘Takes after her father, I heard.’
    Fuentes finished his coffee. ‘ Jesús Cristo , I hope not.’
    MADRID 2010, GLORIETA DE PIRÁMIDES
    The lights changed and an impatient line of traffic surged down into the underground section of the M-30. Galíndez followed the tunnel, emerging back into daylight on the Avenida de la Paz, hemmed in on both sides by tiers of apartment