The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3)

Only then did I hear shouts and turned my head to discover that some incident had occurred outside the station. I got to my feet and looked through the glass doors. The two Civil Guards were pushing their way through a circle of bystanders that had congregated in the rain. When the crowd parted, I saw Fermín kneeling on the ground, holding Salgado in his arms. The old man’s eyes were staring into space.

A woman came into the station, a hand clamped over her mouth.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘A poor old man, he just keeled over …’ she said.

I went outside and walked across to the knot of people observing the scene. I could see Fermín looking up and exchanging a few words with the Civil Guards. One of them was nodding. Fermín then took off his raincoat and spread it over Salgado’s corpse, covering his face. By the time I arrived there, a three-fingered hand was peeping out from under the garment. On the palm, shining in the rain, was the key. I protected Fermín with the umbrella and put a hand on his shoulder. We slowly moved away.

‘Are you all right, Fermín?’

My good friend shrugged.

‘Let’s go home,’ he managed to say.

4

As we left the station behind us I took off my raincoat and put it over Fermín’s shoulders. He’d abandoned his on Salgado’s body. I didn’t think my friend was in a fit state to take a long walk, so I hailed a taxi. I opened the door for him and, once he was seated, closed it and got in on the other side.

‘The suitcase was empty,’ I said. ‘Someone played a dirty trick on Salgado.’

‘It takes a thief to catch a thief …’

‘Who do you think it was?’

‘Perhaps the same person who said I had his key and told him where he could find me,’ Fermín murmured.

‘Valls?’

Fermín gave a dispirited sigh.

‘I don’t know, Daniel. I no longer know what to think.’

I noticed the taxi driver looking at us in the mirror, waiting.

‘We’re going to the entrance to Plaza Real, on Calle Fernando,’ I said.

‘Aren’t we going back to the bookshop?’ asked Fermín, who didn’t have enough fight left in him even to argue about a taxi ride.

‘I am. But you’re going to Don Gustavo’s, to spend the rest of the day with Bernarda.’

We made the journey in silence, staring out at Barcelona, a blur in the rain. When we reached the arches on Calle Fernando, where years before I’d first met Fermín, I paid the fare and we got out. I walked Fermín as far as Don Gustavo’s front door and gave him a hug.

‘Take care of yourself, Fermín. And eat something, or Bernarda will get a bone sticking into her on the wedding night.’

‘Don’t worry. When I set my mind to it, I can put on more weight than an opera singer. As soon as I go up to the flat I’ll gorge myself with those almond cakes Don Gustavo buys in Casa Quílez and by tomorrow I’ll look like stuffed turkey.’

‘I hope so. Give my best to the bride.’

‘I will, although with things the way they are on the legal front and with all that red tape, I can see myself living in sin.’

‘None of that. Remember what you once told me? That destiny doesn’t do home visits, that you have to go for it yourself?’

‘I must confess I took that sentence from one of Carax’s books. I liked the sound of it.’

‘Wel

l, I believed it and still do. That’s why I’m telling you that your destiny is to marry Bernarda on the arranged date with all your papers in order – with priests, rice and your name and surnames.’