The Whispering City (41 page)

She moved away from Sanvisens.

‘I can’t believe that Castro is heading up this inquiry; I think he’s only carrying out orders,’ he said then.

‘And I’m afraid that we also know who is giving the orders.’

‘Who?’

She hesitated enough that Sanvisens noticed it.

‘Ana, where does this sudden distrust come from?’

‘It’s just that everything is so complicated. Knowing things has become dangerous.’

‘Not knowing things. It’s saying what you know that’s dangerous.’

‘That’s why I think it’s better if I don’t tell you anything more.’

‘I’ve spent years deciding what to say and what to keep quiet. It’s one of the survival tactics I’m best at.’ Sanvisens accompanied that last sentence with a weary smile.

If there was something she had learned in the past few days, it was indeed that distrust was another of the basic survival strategies. But, on the other hand, she needed to trust someone; she needed to in order to keep on believing that they had some possibility of getting out of this situation.

‘The one pulling the strings is Prosecutor Grau.’

Hearing the name hit Sanvisens like a bolt from the blue, and he couldn’t disguise it.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Not entirely, but there are a lot of arguments pointing to him: he has the motive, Mariona’s blackmail over the penicillin trafficking; he had people to carry out the murder, policemen of his ilk or some of the thugs that work for them; and he also has the means to manipulate the investigation.’

‘I always took him for a merciless fanatic and, because of that, the first one to comply with the morality he preaches.’ Sanvisens sounded dismayed.

‘Well, now you see. What this story shows us – the moral, if you want to call it that – is that too many people aren’t who they appear to be. Castro, for one. Then there’s Carlos.’

‘Carlos who?’

‘Carlos Belda.’

‘What does he have to do with all this?’

‘I think he’s been spying on me. I think he followed me that day I met Mendoza at the Estación de Francia, and that he somehow knows the meeting had something to do with Mariona Sobrerroca’s murder.’

‘That’s a very serious accusation. What brings you to that conclusion? I know he isn’t your best friend, but —’

‘He threatened me – indirectly, but he threatened me. And now, because of one of those two, I’ve got the police after me.’

Sanvisens, who had started pacing again behind his desk, stopped and rested his hands on the back of the chair.

‘What can I do, Mateo?’

‘The only thing I can offer you is information. I’ll do everything I can to find out who knows what, and what they know about you and your cousin.’

‘It’s always useful to know who you’re running from.’

‘Now it’s best if you get out of here and lie low. Do you have somewhere to go?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not your parents’ house. If they’re looking for you, it’s the first place they’ll go. Is there anywhere else?’”

‘Yes, I think so.’

The walls of Beatriz’s house, in a reversal of the story of the three little pigs, were no longer made of brick, but of wood.

‘And the documents?’

‘Well hidden.’

The walls turned to straw.

‘How can I get in touch with you?’ Ana asked.

‘Call me here, at the office. I will tell you what I know, whatever it is.’

Ana rose. Sanvisens came over and hugged her again. At that moment her fear almost turned to panic. Was he saying goodbye to her?

‘Be very careful. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you. I gave you the assignment.’

‘I got myself into this, don’t blame yourself.’

She left the newsroom. She went down the stairs and waved to the porter, who showed her the light green pencil with a satisfied expression. She lifted her thumb in an approving gesture. Turning to leave, she suddenly came smack up against a wall comprised of two strapping men who blocked her way through the door. She recognised Officer Burguillos.

‘Where are we off to in such a rush?’ said the other man, grabbing her by her left arm.

‘What do you want?’

She yanked her arm out of the man’s grip, but Burguillos already had a hold of her too.

‘What do we want? Nothing. To take a little stroll.’

‘And have a little chat,’ added the other man, grabbing her left arm again. ‘It’s always pleasant to stroll and chat with a pretty girl.’

‘While she’s still pretty and can still walk.’ Burguillos’s lisping, raspy voice was right in her ear.

They began to drag her. Ana tried to resist by gluing her feet to the floor, but they lifted her bodily. She thrashed wildly between the two men, who grasped her even tighter. Just as they reached the door to the street, all movement stopped and Burguillos, on her right, crumpled strangely. She turned to him and saw that a green pencil was sticking out of his ear. The other man, gobsmacked, dropped her and turned towards the attacker – the porter, who was threatening him with his coloured pencils.

‘Run, señorita, run.’

‘And you?’ she cried as she took off.

‘Doesn’t matter. They can’t leave me any stupider.’

The last thing Ana heard were confused shouts.

‘Son of a bitch!’

‘Get away from the door!’

‘Run, señorita, run!’

56

‘How about I buy a chicken? Mercader, the man from the poultry shop, has a brother-in-law that brings them from his farm in Granollers.’

Beatriz smiled somewhat absently. Encarni made an excellent chicken in
sanfaina
; it always came out tender, even the breast meat.

‘Fine. If they’re good, bring two.’

Who knew what would happen in the coming days? Eating well doesn’t protect you from the unpleasantness of life, but it makes it somewhat less disagreeable. And besides, part of the chicken would be wrapped up and taken to the slum where Encarni’s family lived. She was thrilled with the generosity of the order, but that didn’t mean she’d lost her pragmatism.

‘Only if they’re really good. You never know with Mercader, you always have to watch him.’

Encarni would undoubtedly make sure, pushing her thumb in to see if the meat was fresh, carefully checking the colour of the chicken’s skin, comb and even its feet. And she’d only buy two whole chickens if she was convinced.

‘Anything else, ma’am?’

Encarni waited one more moment before stepping out of the house with the shopping basket in her hand.

She had just closed the door when the telephone rang. Beatriz picked up the heavy black receiver and heard Ana’s voice. ‘I only escaped by the skin of my teeth.’

‘What happened?’

She was calling from a bar. Beatriz could hear the shouting of the regulars in the background, the banging of cups and plates, the voice of a waiter ordering dishes.

‘Two men were waiting for me at the door to the newspaper and they tried to force me to go with them. If it hadn’t been for the porter, who intervened, I don’t know what would have happened.’

‘Calm down. Where are you?’

‘In a restaurant on Caspe Street.’

‘Then come to my house at once.’

‘No, that’s not possible.’

‘Why not?’

‘They were policemen. One of them was Burguillos, as I suspected. As soon as they tell Castro that I got away from them, they’ll work out that, since I can’t go home, I’ll get in touch with you. I’m afraid your house is one of the places they’ll be looking for me.’

Ana paused. Beatriz understood that she was giving her time to reach the conclusion that she couldn’t stay in her house either. She looked around her, at her desk, her Persian carpet, the shelves filled with books. Her refuge, her home. She felt it slipping away from her.

From the other end of the line came Ana’s voice urging her, ‘Do you get the situation?’

‘I’m afraid I do.’

‘We need a safe place to meet.’

In her mind, the word ‘safety’ was always associated with books. Places with books were safe places. They had just snatched her most precious one – her personal library – but that wasn’t the only one.

‘Go to the Athenaeum. We’ll meet there.’

‘OK, but be careful. They might already be looking for you.’

She heard Ana hang up. The house was deadly silent. If what they were imagining was true, she would have to leave for a few days. She still didn’t know where they could go.

But the important thing was to get out of the house as soon as possible. And Encarni? How could she warn her of the danger? She didn’t have any idea where Mercader’s poultry shop was; maybe Encarni had told her at some point, but she hadn’t paid attention. What would happen if the police came looking for her and found Encarni? They might try to pressure her, thinking that the maid could give them information as to her whereabouts. She decided that the best thing would be to demonstrate Encarni’s innocence by leaving her a note. She scribbled.

She signed it, making sure her name was completely legible. She placed the note on the kitchen table, held down by the salt shaker so it wouldn’t blow away.

There was no way she could leave the copies of Mariona’s letters in the house. She bundled them into an envelope and jammed that in her handbag along with Mendoza’s papers.

She was about to leave when the telephone rang again. She picked it up thinking that it was Ana, who’d forgotten to tell her something. But the background noise was different.

‘Is this Señora Beatriz Noguer?’ asked a smooth male voice.

‘Yes.’

‘This is Inspector Castro, from the Criminal Investigation Brigade.’

The receiver almost fell from her hand. She said nothing. The man continued speaking.

‘I wanted to make sure you were at home. I am going to come by in half an hour to speak with you. I would also appreciate you returning the copies of the letters that Señorita Martí gave you. Do you still have them?’

‘Yes. No.’

‘Yes or no?’

‘Yes,’ she had to admit.

‘Good. I’m glad to hear it. Wait for me at your house.’

His tone was imperious. He hung up.

Beatriz glanced furtively at the window. What if Castro was already having her watched? She cautiously approached the window and looked out at the street, half hidden by the curtain. No one seemed to be watching her. But if they were, she supposed they would be discreet enough not to allow themselves to be seen.

How could she get away without attracting attention? The building’s inner courtyard led to a house on Balmes Street whose back door was always open, but to get to it she’d have to climb over a wall.

She sighed. She hadn’t climbed a wall in more than thirty years, and it was obvious that today, however terrified she was, she wasn’t going to manage it. She had to go through the front door. Suddenly, absurdly, the name of the playwright Tirso de Molina popped into her head. Why had she thought of him now? Don Gil!
Don Gil of the Green Breeches.
Disguises. A woman disguised as a man.

She raced to the old wardrobe she had at the end of the hallway. There it was. Her Uncle Lázaro’s magnificent cassock, and he hadn’t been much taller than her.

A few minutes later she was appraising herself in the mirror. Despite the danger she was in, she couldn’t help but think, like Don Fermín de Pas, the confessor of
The Regent’s Wife
, that she looked good in a cassock, although it was a bit long for her. Even better; that way it hid her shoes. She threw a black cape over it, and succeeded in hiding her hair well beneath Uncle Lázaro’s black hat. Its wide brim covered a good part of her face.

She looked at herself once more – this time objectively – and saw that she was quite inconspicuous. Anyone seeing her dressed like that would see only a priest. If her movements and her way of walking weren’t particularly masculine, they would undoubtedly attribute it to the fact that she was a member of the clergy. They would see a small priest, who walked somewhat curved inward and carried a large bag.

She took a last glance around the house. A farewell, she hoped not for long. She closed the door and walked slowly down the stairs, controlling her gait.

Ana burst out laughing when she related how she’d managed to get out of the house.

‘I would like to have seen that.’

Beatriz shrugged it off.

‘I changed my clothes as soon as I could. Luckily no one noticed that the priest never reappeared after going into one of the confessionals at the Santa Maria del Pino church.’

Ana had to laugh again. Then the gravity of their situation came sharply back to her and her face grew serious once more, the way Beatriz had found her when she arrived at the Athenaeum. By this point, Castro already knew that Beatriz had fled her house. The police would be looking for them with even more determination.

‘What can we do now?’

‘Maybe hide in some cheap hotel. I brought money with me.’

Ana shook her head.

‘Too dangerous. They have to keep a register of their guests.’

‘But aren’t there hotels that are a little less painstaking about that?’

‘Sure, in the Barrio Chino, for example. But I think that the two of us would attract a lot of attention there, and some informer might be minded to mention it to the police.’

Ana stirred another teaspoonful of sugar into her cup. Beatriz realised how tired she was; she saw her fallen shoulders, the slight tremble at the corner of her lips and the violet circles around her eyes.

‘We can’t go to my parents’ house, it will be the first place Castro looks for me.’