A woman opened my door and gave my name as hers

—Amadeo Rueda, residency office. I'll read you exactly what the inspector wrote, Mrs Alcorta, because it is all I have. —Read it. —Teodoro Lamas, inspector. Visit of 12 March, eleven forty. "A woman opens the door. States that the registered occupant moved out two years ago and that she lives here with permission." And she signs underneath. —I work the counter at the chemist's on Calle Ancha from nine to two. On 12 March I was behind that counter with two colleagues. —I see. The problem is that the removal has gone through, and your daughter loses her school place on 30 September. —Give me that woman's name. —That is where I get stuck. In the signature box it says Nieves Alcorta. Different handwriting, but the identity document she showed Lamas is yours, check digit and all. —That cannot be. —I asked Lamas to go back tomorrow and tell me whether he would recognise the person who opened the door. He says there is no need. —And why is there no need? —Because he told me that woman showed him the same electricity bill you are showing me right now.