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Over there, next to the door, the policeman is talking on his phone, mumbling, laughing, still picking his teeth: talking, spitting and picking away.

Diego opens his mouth, just a little at first. “In a few days, you said?”

“That’s what I said. You can’t complain about my work.”

“I’ll pay you as soon as I can.”

“You’ll be able to pay me very soon, Diego. You’ll hear from me straight away, today or tomorrow.”

Diego feels a shiver at the nape of his neck, a queasiness in his stomach, but now all that matters is to get out. A month inside, one month. He looks at the yard, the piles of dry leaves that the end of autumn has blown in from the woods. Santiago’s wife lied when she said he hadn’t demanded a 16ransom, she lied because she’s a good person. But still, it doesn’t fit together, he feels confused, he senses that there are guilty people and innocent ones in this story, and they don’t match those who are really guilty and innocent.

17

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Many years earlier

She’s just a hungry, frightened girl, just a little girl standing in the darkest part of the corridor, her back pressed against the wall, her eyes closed, frozen. Her forehead, neck and hairline are beaded with sweat, her breathing is agitated, like when she runs or when she jumps rope at school, and her hands are trembling slightly. She’s just a girl and it isn’t an easy decision but she’s hungry, she’s always hungry. Finally she moves, she bends down, she noiselessly removes her patent leather shoes with their silver buckles; very slowly she places them on the floor and advances in silence, her white socks sliding across the waxed parquet, a little further, then she hesitates, stops in front of the door, listens, carefully pushes open the swing door and peers round.

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