The Whispering City (48 page)

‘On Sundays,’ said Ana, ‘there are a lot of people at the Apolo. There is also more of a police presence.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll go with you. The people who are looking for you are after two women.’

Ana nodded without much conviction. She couldn’t shake off the thought that her entire plan was hanging by very fine threads, like a delicate cobweb. It was almost ironic that at that moment everything depended on a thief named Pepe the Spider.

69

On Saturday night they went to bed very early, to shorten the wait. But not one of the three could get to sleep. Ana noticed that Beatriz was awake by her side, and she struggled to keep still so she wouldn’t bother her. She heard Pablo’s footsteps in the sitting room, as he got up several times from the sofa he was sleeping on.

She kept thinking about Castro’s brief visit that morning. She reran the scene in her head, searching for signs, guarantees that the policeman was going to do what they had asked him to. The mere fact that he had come in person to pick up the papers was a good sign. And he had thought of how and when he would deliver them to Sánchez-Herranz.

‘I’ll call him on Monday. I’ll go to the Civil Government offices to speak with him.’

That was good too.

The fact that he hadn’t looked her in the eyes as he spoke made her uneasy.

Castro was perfectly capable of keeping the papers and using them for his own gain. The plan that might possibly save them also benefited him. If it went well, he would have Goyanes out of the way, but those papers would also allow him to call up other kinds of favours. They were depending on Castro fulfilling his promise, which is to say they were depending on the good will of a policeman. They were depending on The Spider being able to pull off what they would ask him to do. They were depending on Grau not uncovering the deception. They were depending on Goyanes not finding them before any of it could take place. They were depending on killing several birds, and she wasn’t even sure whose hand held the stone.

At some point, her tiredness got the better of her and she slept deeply but uneasily for a while before waking with a start feeling as though she were suffocating, like when she dreamed of her dead brother. She slipped furtively out of the bed so as not to wake Beatriz and headed to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. It was five thirty in the morning. She could already hear footsteps and vehicles on the street, but dawn hadn’t yet broken. The floor was cold and she missed her old felt slippers. Remembering such a trivial object made her feel the first stab of pain for the life she felt she had lost for ever; she suddenly understood what it meant not to be able to return home: abandoned slippers, a pot that held a dying plant, a book she wouldn’t finish.

She went into the kitchen and felt around for a glass.

‘You can turn on the light if you want.’ It was Pablo’s voice. He was sitting at the kitchen table.

She jumped, but managed to repress the scream that was rising in her throat.

‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ said Pablo. ‘You can’t sleep either, eh?’

She shook her head. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark by then, and she was able to make out Pablo’s silhouette perfectly.

‘You can’t scare me any more than I already am,’ she responded. ‘What if this goes wrong? First I got Beatriz mixed up in this mess, which cost poor Encarni her life. And now I’ve got you involved too.’

For the first time since it had all begun, Ana felt an uncontrollable urge to cry. It wasn’t just the fear; it was the guilt and her self-recrimination for allowing herself to get drawn in by her ambitions.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she said between her tears.

Pablo got up and hugged her. Ana rested her head on his shoulder.

‘You’re going to get cold,’ Pablo said into her ear. ‘You should lie down again.’

‘I don’t want to go back to bed. I’m afraid to fall asleep, afraid of the nightmares.’

‘Then come.’

He led her, with his arm around her shoulder, to the sofa where he slept, lifted up the sheets and gestured for her to lie down.

‘And you?’

‘I’ll stay in the armchair. Maybe tonight I’ll start reading
Don Quixote
, and then I can impress my aunt tomorrow,’ joked Pablo.

‘You’d need to read a lot to impress her, she’s a walking encyclopedia of literature,’ she replied, unable to contain a yawn.

‘Go on, lie down.’

Ana lay down. Pablo covered her with the sheet. Ana looked at him.

‘If you want…’

‘No, I’d better not. You have a boyfriend, and…’

‘And he’ll be sleeping, like we should be.’

‘Fine, but I can assure you that you needn’t worry.’

‘About my honour? Spare me that nonsense, this isn’t a comic operetta.’

Pablo lay down beside her, being so careful as not even to brush against her that he almost sent her onto the floor. They laughed under their breath.

At some point Ana came closer to him, appreciative of his warmth, curling up into a ball when he ran an arm over her and nestled against her back.

In those scant two hours of sleep she didn’t have a single nightmare.

She woke up disoriented and confused. Pablo was sleeping, Beatriz wasn’t any longer; she heard noises from the kitchen. Had she seen them? How could she not have? She had even been past the side table because the copy of
Don Quixote
was no longer there. She gently extracted herself from Pablo’s embrace.

‘Don’t go yet,’ he said sleepily.

She got up anyway and headed towards the kitchen. She was expecting to see a severe expression on Beatriz’s face, but she found a melancholy smile.

‘I’ll make coffee while you get dressed,’ said Beatriz. ‘I grabbed several changes of clothes when I left my house, I can lend you one.’

Ana appreciated having something clean to wear. After washing and dressing, she went back to the kitchen. Pablo was already there. Going over the plan helped them overcome their initial embarrassment.

They worked out the right moment to head out to their appointment with Pepe the Spider. They didn’t want to arrive too early and risk being seen.

At five minutes to twelve they were at the entrance to the Atracciones Apolo, mingling with families and excited, rowdy groups of young people. They went in and stayed close to the door to the Autogruta, a roller coaster that sent you into a huge, pointy-toothed mouth and through scenes of heaven and hell. From where they stood they could hear the screams of the people who thought they were about to slam into a giant rock, or had just seen a mummy.

They didn’t see him arrive. All of a sudden, Pepe the Spider was simply there.

‘You left word that you needed me, Señorita Ana.’

‘I do, Pepe. I’m in a fix and I need your services.’

‘Let’s go somewhere we can talk.’

Ana and Pablo followed him to a small bench beside a stand that sold nuts and dried fruits. She and The Spider sat down. Pablo remained standing, keeping his eyes peeled.

‘Pepe, I’m going to tell you what I want you to do, but I won’t tell you why. If you don’t think it’s possible, let me know. I don’t want you to take too big a risk.’

‘Well, let me decide that. First tell me what you need.’

Ana showed him the bundle of papers and said, ‘It would mean leaving these papers in someone’s house, so that they can be easily found, for example, on his desk.’

‘And can you tell me who the person is, or is it better I don’t know?’

‘I have to tell you so that you can decide if you want to do it or not. I’d be asking you to plant these papers in the house of Joaquín Grau.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘He’s a public prosecutor.’

‘He’s never nicked me.’

‘Good. He’s a dangerous bloke.’

‘The ones who nabbed me are too. Look.’

He showed her a gap in his teeth.

‘From the last time?’

The Spider nodded his head.

‘You need to give me the address so I can see whether it’s a house I know how to get into or not.’

She gave it to him. The Spider screwed up his face and Ana realised that he was travelling through the city in his head. She waited in silence until The Spider looked at her again and said, ‘Piece of cake, Señorita Ana. When do you want me to send the little message?’

‘Could it be tonight?’

‘Of course. Can I ask you something in return?’ The Spider pulled an envelope out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘I got a letter from my girlfriend.’

Ana took the letter and began to read it very slowly. They brought their heads together so that only he could hear what it said.

70

The room was suddenly bathed in red. Rage escalated within him so powerfully that it plugged up his ears and he had to shout because he was afraid he would explode.

‘That son of a bitch!’

He scanned the letter again.

That swine had dared to break into his house to leave this carrion on his desk. This stinking letter that reeked of arrogance and, above all, of betrayal. How dare he threaten him? Him!

Joaquín Grau went through his study, sullied by the presence of that letter filled with veiled warnings. Before his eyes everything he had done for Fernando passed like the pages in a family photo album. Every step, every conversation, every recommendation, until he had him in Barcelona, preparing to fly even higher. It was like having taught a son to walk only for him to stamp all over his father.

And that mocking envelope impudently rested beneath a lit lamp, as if it were a love letter.

It was all so degrading.

He had to do something. Right away.

He dialled the home number. ‘Hello, Dolores. I want to speak to Fernando.’

‘He isn’t back yet. I think he had a meeting with some businessmen. He’ll be back for dinner.’

So he was still at the office.

‘Is it something urgent, Joaquín?’

‘No, don’t worry about it. It can wait until tomorrow.’

He said goodbye to her. Then he called one of his men.

‘Juanito, get the car out. Bring it to Ernesto so that he can drive; I need you in the back seat.’

Juanito had worked for him for fifteen years. He was large, strong and obedient.

They left soon after and parked the car near the Civil Government building.

They waited in silence. Neither of his two men dared open their mouths without permission, and he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

During the long wait, the possibility of pardoning him, if he handed over the papers, ran through his head, but he ruled it out. He had had them in his hands, he had seen them, he was contaminated.

Only one thing could save him: if he knew nothing of the matter, if the letter was a fake. But that was a preposterous idea. Who would do something like that, and why?

‘Start the engine, Ernesto.’

The car began to move. Soon they had caught up with him.

Grau lowered the window and called out to him. Fernando’s face twisted when he saw him.

‘What’s going on, Joaquín?’

‘I need to speak to you.’

‘They’re expecting me at home.’

‘It’s important. It won’t take long.’

Fernando had already stopped. Grau saw him glance at the street, as if looking for someone to ask for help. Meanwhile, Juanito had already got out of the front passenger seat and opened the rear door, inviting Fernando to climb in. Grau moved across. Fernando got into the car.

‘Come closer, Fernando. That way Juanito can fit in too.’

‘But wasn’t he in the front?’

Fernando tried to get out of the car, but hulking Juanito blocked his path while pushing him towards Grau. Juanito sat down and closed the door.

‘Let’s go, Ernesto.’

Grau noticed that Fernando’s breathing was panicky. He turned towards him.

‘What? Now that you have me face to face, you have nothing to say?’

‘What am I supposed to say?’

‘Don’t play the innocent with me. I know you better than your own mother.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s strange how suddenly you have such trouble understanding. Your letter, on the other hand, was very easy to grasp.’

‘What letter are you talking about?’

‘A letter in which you refer to certain papers.’

It was only a second, a flickering glance down towards his jacket pocket. It was so brief that perhaps not even he himself was aware he’d done it, but Grau saw it.

‘Juanito,’ he said. ‘See what he has in that pocket.’

Fernando, with terror in his eyes, made an instinctive gesture to protect it. A grave mistake. He struggled with Juanito, whose physical superiority won out. Juanito pulled out some papers that were crumpled from the skirmish.

Grau glanced at them. Then he looked at Fernando.

‘I wasn’t going to do anything with them, Joaquín. If you want I’ll give them to you. It’s not what it looks like.’

‘Of course; nothing is what it seems.’

Joaquín Grau stepped out of the car.

‘I’ll walk home. Air the car well before leaving it in the garage.’

He could still hear Fernando’s pleading voice, but he couldn’t make out the words. Then he heard a dull blow. Perhaps it was the door slamming. He didn’t know; he didn’t turn around.

EPILOGUE

There was nothing in the papers about Fernando Sánchez-Herranz’s body showing up in the Somorrostro dressed in women’s clothing. Such a deplorable and shameful fact couldn’t be seen amid the pomp and pageantry of the Eucharistic Congress that filled the newspaper pages, newsreels and radio hours.

The public prosecutor’s office, ‘out of respect for the family’s honour’, ordered that the investigation be conducted with the utmost discretion, which Castro clearly took as an order to do nothing at all.