The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3)

‘Listen, boss,’ argued the doctor. ‘We’re unlikely to walk through the walls or swallow the iron bars …’

The jailer swore and rushed off to the medicine cabinet, while Sanahuja stood by the bars of his cell and waited. Salgado had been asleep for a couple of hours, breathing with difficulty. Fermín tiptoed up to the front of his cell and exchanged glances with the doctor. Sanahuja then threw him a parcel, the size of a pack of cards, wrapped in a shred of material and tied with a piece of string. Fermín caught it in the air and quickly retreated to the shadows at the far end of his cell. When the jailer returned with what Sanahuja had asked him for, he peered through the bars, inspecting Salgado’s silhouette on the bunk.

‘He’s on his last legs,’ said Fermín. ‘I don’t think he’ll last till tomorrow.’

‘You keep him alive until six. I don’t want him to screw things up for me. Let him die during someone else’s shift.’

‘I’ll do what is humanly possible, boss,’ replied Fermín.

17

That night, while Fermín unwrapped the parcel Dr Sanahuja had tossed him from the other side of the corridor, a black Studebaker was driving the governor down the road from Montjuïc towards the dark streets bordering the port. Jaime, the chauffeur, was taking great care to avoid potholes and any jolts that might inconvenience his passenger or interrupt the flow of his thoughts. The new governor was not like the previous one. The previous governor would strike up conversations with him in the car and once in a while he had sat in the front, next to him. Governor Valls never addressed Jaime except to give him an order and rarely caught his eye, unless he’d made a mistake, or driven over a stone, or taken a bend too fast. Then his eyes would smoulder in the rear-view mirror and his face would adopt a sour expression. Governor Valls did not let him turn on the radio because, he said, all the programmes were an insult to his intelligence. Nor did he let Jaime display photographs of his wife and daughter on the dashboard.

Luckily, at that time of night there was no traffic and the route didn’t throw up any unwelcome surprises. In just a few minutes the car had passed the old Royal Shipyards, skirted the monument to Columbus and started up the Ramblas. Two minutes later they had reached the Café de la Ópera and stopped. The Liceo audience, on the other side of the street, had already gone in for the evening performance and the Ramblas were almost deserted. The chauffeur got out and, after making sure there was nobody

in the way, opened the door for Mauricio Valls. The governor stepped out, looking at the boulevard with indifference, then straightened his tie and brushed off his shoulder pads.

‘Wait here,’ he said to the driver.

When the governor entered the café, it was almost empty. The clock behind the bar said five minutes to ten. The governor responded to the waiter’s greeting with a nod and sat down at a table at the far end. He calmly slipped off his gloves and pulled out his silver cigarette case, the one his father-in-law had given him on his first wedding anniversary. He lit a cigarette and gazed at the old café. The waiter came over with a tray and wiped the table with a damp cloth that smelled of bleach. The governor threw him a look of disdain which the waiter ignored.

‘What will the gentleman have?’

‘Two camomile teas.’

‘In the same cup?’

‘No. In separate cups.’

‘Is the gentleman expecting someone?’

‘Obviously.’

‘Very good. Can I get you anything else?’

‘Honey.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The waiter left unhurriedly, while the governor made some contemptuous remark under his breath. A radio on the counter was murmuring a phone-in programme for lonely hearts, interspersed with publicity from Bella Aurora cosmetics, whose daily use guaranteed perpetual youth and sparkling beauty. Four tables away an elderly man seemed to have fallen asleep with a newspaper in his hands. The rest of the tables were empty. The two steaming cups arrived five minutes later. At a snail’s pace, the waiter placed them on the table, followed by a jar of honey.

‘Will that be all, sir?’

Valls nodded. He didn’t move until the waiter had returned to the bar. Then he proceeded to pull a small bottle out of his pocket. He unscrewed the top, while casting a quick glance at the other customer who still seemed knocked out by his newspaper. The waiter stood behind the bar, with his back to the room, methodically drying glasses with a white cloth.

Valls took the bottle and emptied its contents into the cup on the other side of the table. Then he added a generous dollop of honey and began to stir the camomile with the teaspoon until the honey had dissolved completely. On the radio someone was reading an anguished letter from a faithful listener from Betanzos whose husband, apparently annoyed because she’d burned his All Soul’s Day stew, had taken to going to the bar to listen to the football with his friends, was hardly ever home and hadn’t gone to mass since that day. She was recommended prayer, patience and to make use of her feminine wiles, but only within the strict limits of the Christian family. Valls checked the clock again. It was a quarter past ten.

18

At twenty past ten, Isabella Sempere walked in through the door. She wore a simple coat, no make-up, and her hair was tied up. Valls saw her and raised a hand. Isabella paused for a moment to look at him blankly, then slowly walked over to the table. Valls stood up and held out his hand with a friendly smile. Isabella ignored the gesture and sat down.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering two camomile teas. It’s the best thing to have on such a chilly evening.’

Isabella nodded absently, avoiding Valls’s eyes. The governor studied her closely. As every time she had come to see him, Señora Sempere had made herself look as plain as possible in an attempt to hide her beauty. Valls examined the shape of her lips, her throbbing neck and the swell of her breasts under her coat.

‘I’m listening,’ said Isabella.

‘Above all, let me thank you for agreeing to meet me at such short notice. I received your note this afternoon and thought it would be a good idea to discuss the matter away from the office and the prison.’