The Hermit (53 page)

He enters through the backdoor and glances around the miserable shop. As usual following siesta, Silón is out front smoking small, hand-rolled fags that smell like something other than just tobacco. Erhard hopes the man has smoked so much that he’s easier to persuade. He’s sitting with his back to Erhard, shouting at someone farther down the street. He knows everyone in the city, or wishes he did. Erhard rings the bell, and Silón hops off his stool just as Erhard had hoped he would and comes running into the shop. At first he seems agitated, the dark circles beneath his eyes darker than normal, but as soon as he sees Erhard, he relaxes and grins almost apologetically.

– Raúl’s friend, he says, gesturing for Erhard to have a look around.

– I need a very large suitcase, the biggest you have.

Silón points at a red one hanging from a wire attached to the ceiling.

– No, I’d like one that’s more like a chest.

They turn to the wicker trunk in the centre of the room, which is stuffed with small bags of swimmys, beach balls, and stuffed dolphins. – It’s my display trunk, Silón says. – I can’t. What would I do with all those things?

– I’ll give you 100 euros for it.

– Two hundred.

– One hundred and fifty.

Silón has already begun to empty it. He pours everything, dust and grime included, into a cardboard box.

– And I’m going to need your help carrying it.

Silón shows him how easy it is to carry. But it has no wheels. Silón appears to be stoned or perhaps just tired, and that’s fine with Erhard. It would be best if he doesn’t remember this tomorrow.

– No, wait here. When I come back down in the lift, I’ll need you to help me take it to my car.

– Are you moving out?

– Just some books.

– You have a lot of books, Silón says, edging behind the counter.

– I’ll pay you when I come down, and once you’ve helped me to the car.

– OK, Raúl’s friend, he says, without realizing what he’s getting himself into.

Erhard lifts the trunk. Silón is stronger than he looks; it isn’t nearly as light as Erhard had hoped, and the trip upstairs is difficult. Once again he considers taking the lift, but he’s certain that the noise will alert his neighbour. It would be better to wait until he’s ready and Beatriz is in the trunk. The neighbour will think he’s going up to the flat then, not down. That’s what he’s counting on, anyway.

– Keep an eye out for me. Over there, Erhard says, pointing at the stairwell. – I’ll be down in three to five minutes.

He readies his keys and grabs the suitcase. Then he walks out of the shop and swiftly crosses to the stairwell.

As he’s peering down the street in the direction of the harbour, he spots Charles, Emanuel Palabras’s broken-legged henchman, standing not ten metres from the stairwell. His back to Erhard, he’s scrutinizing the neighbouring cafe’s selection of ice cream, visible in the refrigerated display counter decorated with a purple flamingo. But just as Erhard’s wondering how fast a man in a leg cast can run, Charles turns and stares directly at him. He doesn’t seem gruff or particularly agitated. In fact, he waves at Erhard. Which scares Erhard even more. So much so that he fumbles with his keys and practically stumbles over the trunk, which suddenly seems huge and square.

Charles is heading his way.

Erhard makes a snap decision to drop the trunk and run, but instead of heading directly through Silón’s shop, he bolts down the street and right into someone wearing sunglasses. Although it’s the middle of the day and the sun is shining, and the street is teeming with people, Erhard steels himself to fight and scream like a feral cat. Then the man lifts his sunglasses and rests them on his head, studying Erhard intently. They’re not the same kind of sunglasses, and it’s not the same man; it’s Hassib, the young policeman. Another, older officer is with him. Erhard has seen him before, but he doesn’t know his name.

– I told you I wasn’t through with you, Hassib says, as if they’ve just had a long conversation. Erhard doesn’t know whether he’s afraid or relieved to see him.

– Can we talk another day? Erhard says, glancing towards Silón’s shop. To see whether Silón’s still there and to see in the reflection of the shop window what has become of Charles.

– I’ve come to take you in, Erhard Jensen.

– Jørgensen, my name is Jørgensen. You don’t want to bring in the wrong person, do you?

– Potatoe, potato, Hassib says. – You’re the one I’m looking for. You were the one in the flat when we found Beatrizia Colini.

– But why me? Erhard says, trying to draw the conversation out, so he can determine what’s become of Charles.

– Where were you going with that trunk?

– Nowhere. Up to the flat.

– You look like someone in a hurry to get away.

– I’m hungry. I thought I’d go shopping.

Erhard hears how ridiculous he sounds given that he dropped the trunk and ran.

– You need to come with us.

– Only if I’m arrested.

– Just come along with us, Jensen, the other officer says.

– You’re wasting your time. I’ve told you. Beatrizia was my friend. I haven’t done anything to her.

– Others tell a different story. That’s what we wish to discuss with you. We want to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.

– Just a moment, Erhard says, turning towards Silón’s shop and gazing down the street. Charles is gone. He must have been able to run after all, despite his broken leg. – You’ll have to drive me back again.

– We’ll see.

66

It feels wrong to be used to the Palace. Maybe he’s not used to it, exactly. But the reverence is gone. Neither the arched ceilings nor the predominant Renaissance style impress him any longer. Now he notices everything else: telephone cords in unmanageable knots under the desks, overfilled bookshelves made of cheap metal, chipped plaster, office furniture of various origins, tottering rubbish bins. Above all else, he notices the lack of daylight. No windows, no doors. The air is stiflingly warm like in a pizzeria.

They pass the table where he once sat opposite Hassib, then enter a boxlike room in the centre of the building. He hasn’t even taken a seat before they start in on him. Hassib does all the talking, while the older man leans against the wall checking his mobile phone.

– Tell me about the last time you saw Raúl Palabras.

Erhard tries to recall. – It was the night, the morning, before he disappeared.

– The night of Saturday, 21 January?

– That sounds about right. It’s hard for me to remember such details.

– And you haven’t seen him since?

– No.

– Raúl Palabras hasn’t visited you since that day?

– Is that a question?

– Has he or has he not?

– No. He hasn’t.

– You just said that you don’t recall.

– I can’t remember the date, or the details of what I was doing, but I know that I’ve not seen Raúl since the day I found Beatrizia Colini in his flat.

– You’re certain of that?

– Yes.

– He hasn’t visited you in Majanicho?

– He’s visited me out there, sure, but not after all this with Beatriz. C’mon.

– Did you collaborate with Raúl Palabras by hiding him in your house while you lived in his flat?

That was a new one.

– No, Erhard says, startled at the notion. – You can drive out there and see for yourself.

– We have.

– Did you find him?

– Raúl asked you to move into the flat. In fact, he also asked you to get rid of Señorita Colini.

– No. None of that is true.

– How would you explain moving from your house, a shed, let’s be honest here, and into one of the city’s most luxurious flats?

– Emanuel Palabras asked me to move in until Raúl returned. The man was grieving, so I thought, Why not?

– So you helped a poor father in need? Hassib laughs.

The older officer, still absorbed by his mobile, doesn’t join in the laughter.

– Well, I guess you could say that.

– That’s not how Emanuel Palabras remembers it, the older officer suddenly interjects. Hassib gives Erhard a chilly stare.

– What?

– Señor Palabras would also like to know why his son let you move into his flat.

– Then he’s lying. Palabras was the one who…

– But we’re more interested in Raúl, where he is now, and we believe you know, Hassib says.

– I don’t know where Raúl is. I swear…

– That won’t help you, Hassib says. – I hate it when people swear. Usually means they’re lying.

– I’m not lying. Raúl Palabras was my friend.

– Stop, Señor Gorsensen. Now listen to me. No more excuses. We have a witness who saw Raúl Palabras at your place in Majanicho on 20 January.

– I don’t know anything about that.

– The same day you found his girlfriend, supposedly after having fallen down a stairwell.

– I don’t know what he was doing out there. I haven’t seen him.

– The witness reports the two of you were having an argument.

– Who’s the witness? A goat? Who the hell walks around out there and randomly finds two men arguing?

– So you were arguing?

– No. Your witness, whoever it is, must be mistaken.

– But you met with Raúl Palabras?

– No, for God’s sake.

– Relax, the older officer says, stepping forward.

– It’s possible that Raúl was at my place without my knowledge. It’s possible someone saw him. I can’t refute that, but I know I haven’t…

– Sure, sure, Hassib says.

– He’s my friend. I’d also like to know where he is. He left the country.

– How do you know he left the country?

All of a sudden Erhard is no longer sure. Had Papa Palabras told him? – I think your colleague Bernal was the one who told me that. He’d been spotted in the airport.

– That’s news to me. Have you heard that? Hassib asks, turning to the other officer, who just grunts.

– We’ve also heard that you and Raúl Palabras were involved in a scuffle on 17 January, the Tuesday a few days before he disappeared. What was that about?

Erhard is caught off guard. – I don’t know what you’re talking about.

– You don’t know. Hassib glances at a sheet of paper. – A young musician was beaten up, his clothes were burnt, and his money and mobile were stolen. By an older gentleman with four fingers on his left hand.

Erhard stares at the tabletop, his misgivings making his heart pound too fast. The musician apparently went to the police and gave his own peculiar version of the events. He hadn’t expected that. That case could link him to Alina.

– What happened to him sounds terrible, but I don’t know anything about it.

Hassib laughs. – Must be another older gentleman with four fingers.

– I’m sorry, young Hassib, but it wasn’t me.

– What were you doing here at the station on 29 January?

Erhard can’t remember the date.

– Let me help you remember. We ran into each other at the front door.

The day he stole the cardboard box filled with newspaper fragments.

– I was delivering a package, he says.

– That someone had asked you to drive where?

– I can’t remember.

– You said Morro Jable. Does that sound right?

– Yes, if you say so.

– Who asked you to deliver it?

– I don’t know, someone named García.

– That’s interesting, Gorsensen. Hassib glances at his colleague. – But funnily enough, no one here at the station or in Morro Jable requested a package or received a package that day.

– Quite a mess, Erhard says. He doesn’t know how he might begin to explain. – I was just doing what I was told. García in Morro Jable accepted the package right outside the station.

Hassib blinks. – So you’re saying that one of our officers is lying to me? Telling me they haven’t received a package that you delivered?

– What do I know? They’re your colleagues. I don’t know why they’re lying.

Hassib sucks air through his teeth. – You’re the one who’s lying, you fucking old idiot. The more you lie, the deeper you bury yourself in shit.

Erhard buries his head in his hands. It’s as though his face is connected to the policeman’s hands by hooks and wires, and every time Hassib jabs his arms or slams his desk, Erhard is pulled in all directions at once.

– Were you in love with Beatrizia Colini?

A new tack, Erhard thinks.

– She was like a daughter to me.

– Were you in love with her?

– No. But I was very fond of her.
Am very fond of her
, he thinks to himself.

– It must’ve been difficult for you with a woman like that, eh? To look but not touch?

– What do you mean?

– Come on, Gorsensen. A
pibón
like that with knockers out to here. My colleagues tell me there were racy rumours about her down at the Yellow Rooster.

Hassib’s just saying that to provoke him, but Erhard can’t help but picture Beatriz; she could be very provocative, bordering on vulgar, with her long nails and her bright red lipstick, or the way the edge of her bra was visible. But always in an innocent way.

– I don’t know anything about that. For me she was a friend, nothing more. I was twice her age.

He has to strain to remember to keep it all in the past tense.

– You’ve been strangely busy recently, haven’t you?

– I’m a director now, Erhard says, though he’s pretty sure that’s not what Hassib is referring to.

– Travelling around, meeting with journalists in odd places.

The police aren’t as misinformed as Erhard had presumed, and it unnerves him. – It has nothing to do with that.

– To do with what?

– With Raúl. I went to Tenerife to talk to some people.

– What kind of people?

Erhard holds Hassib’s gaze. He has a powerful urge to tell him everything. About the boy on the beach, Alina, Emanuel Palabras, Beatriz, the hijacking. Everything. But he’s afraid that it’ll sound too incoherent, too crazy. So he keeps his mouth shut, and waits for Hassib to turn away.

– When were you last on Tenerife?

– Um, a few days ago.

– When were you on Tenerife before that?