The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3)

‘This being a posh establishment, we’ll put the shackles on him in the police car. Standard procedure, sir.’

Cascos, who was still bleeding and was probably seeing double, barred our way with little conviction.

‘Are you sure you’re a policeman?’

‘Elite corps. I’ll get room service to bring you up a tartar steak right away so you can treat your injuries with a soothing mask. Works wonders for bags under the eyes and close-up bruising, take it from a pro. My esteemed colleagues will swing by later to take your statement and prepare the official charges to make sure this rascal receives an airtight conviction for hard labour in a high-security Moroccan prison,’ he recited, moving Cascos’s arm out of the way and pushing me as fast as he could towards the exit.

12

We hailed a taxi outside the hotel door and travelled along Gran Vía in silence for a while.

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Fermín finally burst out. ‘Are you mad? I look at you and I don’t know who you are … What were you trying to do? Kill that imbecile?’

‘He works for Mauricio Valls,’ was my only answer.

Fermín rolled his eyes.

‘Daniel, this obsession of yours is beginning to get out of hand. I wish I hadn’t told you all that … Are you all right? Let’s have a look at your hand …’

I showed him my fist.

‘For God’s sake.’

‘How did you know …?’

‘Because I know you as if I’d given birth to you, even if there are days when I almost regret I do,’ he said furiously.

‘I don’t know what came over me …’

‘Well, I know exactly what came over you. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. That’s not the Daniel I know. And it’s not the Daniel I want for a friend.’

My hand was hurting, but to know I’d disappointed Fermín hurt far more.

‘Fermín, please don’t get angry with me.’

‘Oh, excuse me! Maybe you just want me to hand you a medal …’

For a while we didn’t speak, each looking out on his side of the street.

‘Thank God you came,’ I said at last.

‘Did you think I was going to leave you on your own?’

‘You won’t tell Bea, will you?’

‘Sure, and then I’ll write a letter to the editor of La Vanguardia setting out your exploits so everybody can rejoice in your bravery.’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking …’

He looked severely at me, but finally relaxed his expression and patted my hand. I swallowed my pain.

‘Let’s not go on about it. I suppose I would have done the same.’

I gazed at Barcelona marching past the windows.

‘What was the card?’

‘What?’