The Prisoner of Heaven (The Cemetery of Forgotten 3)

‘I don’t wish to contradict you, chief, but that’s impossible,’ said Fermín.

‘Impossible? You’ll have to make yourself a bit clearer …’

‘David Martín fled the country before the war,’ I explained. ‘At the start of 1939, towards the end of the conflict, he came back, crossing over the Pyrenees, and was arrested in Puigcerdà a few days later. He was held in prison until well into 1941, when he was most probably murdered.’

Isaac was staring at us in disbelief.

‘You must believe him, chief,’ Fermín assured him. ‘Our sources are reliable.’

‘I can assure you that David Martín sat in that same chair you’re sitting in, Sempere, and we chatted for a while.’

‘Are you quite sure, Isaac?’

‘I’ve never been more certain of anything in all my life,’ replied the keeper. ‘I remember because I hadn’t seen him for years. He was in a bad way and looked ill.’

‘Can you remember the date when he came?’

‘Perfectly. It was the last night of 1941. New Year’s Eve. That was the last time I saw him.’

Fermín and I were lost in our calculations.

‘That means that what that jailer, Bebo, told Brians, was true,’ I said. ‘The night Valls ordered him to be taken to the old mansion near Güell Park to be killed … Bebo said he later overheard the gunmen saying that something had happened there, that there was someone else in the house … Maybe someone prevented Martín from being killed …’ I speculated.

Isaac was listening to these musings with concern.

‘What are you talking about? Who wanted to murder Martín?’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Fermín. ‘With tons of footnotes.’

‘Well, I hope to hear it one day …’

‘Did you think Martín was in his right mind, Isaac?’ I asked.

Isaac shrugged.

‘One never knew with Martín … That man had a tormented soul. When he left I asked him to let me walk him as far as the train, but he told me there was a car waiting for him outside.’

‘A car?’

‘A Mercedes-Benz, no less. Belonging to someone he called the Boss and who, from what he said, was waiting for him by the front door. But when I went out with him there was no car, no boss, there was nothing at all …’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, chief, but what with it being New Year’s Eve, and with the festive spirit of the occasion, couldn’t it be that you’d overdone it on the bubbly and, dazed by Christmas carols and the high sugar content of Jijona nougat, you might have imagined all this?’ asked Fermín.

‘As far as the bubbly is concerned, I only drink fizzy lemonade, and the strongest thing I have here is a bottle of hydrogen peroxide,’ Isaac specified. He didn’t seem offended.

‘Forgive me for doubting you. It was a mere formality.’

‘I understand. But believe me when I say that unless whoever came that night was a ghost, and I don’t think he was because one of his ears was bleeding and his hands were shaking with fever – and besides, he polished off all the sugar lumps I had in my kitchen cupboard – Martín was as alive as you or me.’

‘And he didn’t say what he was coming here for, after so long?’

Isaac nodded.

‘He said he’d come to leave something with me and that, when he could, he’d come back for it. Either he’d come or he’d send someone …’

‘And what did he leave with you?’

‘A parcel wrapped in paper and bits of string. I don’t know what was inside.’