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bedroom.
    ‘They’re two friends of mine. They just managed to escape being arrested yesterday and asked if they could stay a few days.’
    ‘You’re getting yourself into a mess. This place will soon be crawling with pimps, and the police will be next.’
    ‘I couldn’t just leave them out on the street.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Go fuck yourself. Get out of here.’
    ‘Listen. This is a serious business. These aren’t normal raids. They’re going after drugs in a big way, and all these girls are mixed up with people who deal as well. Besides,they’re going to need to work: do you want them to bring all their men back here?’
    ‘Why not? It’s a big enough place.’
    ‘And what will your select clientele say?’
    ‘My clientele or you? What will you say?’
    Charo was in passionate solidarity mode. It was like arguing with a monument to class consciousness. She was still wearing her negligee, and the dark lines stood out under her eyes. Her blonde hair with platinum highlights looked unkempt, desperately in need of a comb.
    ‘Hello there, Pepe.’
    Carvalho nodded as Charo’s two companions came into the room. He thought he remembered that one of them was called the Andalusian: she was small and had flame-coloured hair. He did not know the other girl: she was good looking and seemed very young.
    ‘I was so scared, Pepe! First we heard the whistles, then they appeared out of nowhere like ghosts. Soon the place was crawling with them. They swarmed in everywhere.’
    Carvalho went out on to the balcony of this new building, put up as a one-off in a district that had not grown in a century. Every so often the gap left by a property destroyed in the war provided the opportunity for a house like this to be built, its eight floors of boxes and glass towering above the red verdigris-stained roofs all around them. If Charo had listened to him and moved to a villa out in the suburbs, there would be none of this trouble. He went back into the room, where the three women were still talking nervously.
    ‘As long as you’re here, your pimps stay out in the street, got it? It’s them the cops are after, not you, and I don’t want Charo to get into trouble.’
    ‘Don’t worry, Pepe, they’re already in clink.’
    Saying this, the Andalusian girl burst into tears. Carvalho took Charo to one side.
    ‘I need to know if any of your friends ever met a guy who had a tattoo on his back with the motto:
Born to raise hell in hell
. A young, tall man with blond hair. He had an Andalusian accent, though he wasn’t from there, and he had been or was working in Holland.’
    ‘The madams of the brothels are more likely to know something like that. If you are nice to these poor girls and don’t upset them, I promise to find out.’
    ‘Leave them here and come to my house until all this blows over.’
    ‘Can I see my clients there?’
    ‘Stop working for a while. You don’t need the money.’
    ‘How would you know? I’m not leaving this place.’
    ‘I may have to go abroad. Just for a few days. You could move into my place while I’m away.’
    ‘No chance.’
    Carvalho shrugged and walked away, but Charo went after him.
    ‘You’ve no reason to treat me like this. Who do you think you are? This is my house and I do what I like with it. Do you pay for it? When have you ever given me a cent towards it?’
    ‘Drop it.’
    But Charo would not drop it. She followed him to the landing door.
    ‘If I were in their position I’d want them to help me.’
    ‘You’re not in their position, but you’re getting caught up in this.’
    ‘I am like them. The only difference is I work for myself. Anyway, you’re like them too, or almost.’
    ‘Like who?’
    ‘Like the cops.’
    Charo showed she meant it by closing her mouth in a firm line. Carvalho did not know whether to slap her or turn his back on her. He stared intently while he made up his mind, and Charo could see the indecision in his eyes. She took a step backwards and