The Hermit
Page 42
For a brief, brief moment, he considers returning to Denmark. He could leave without telling anyone. He could live in a little house in North Jutland – far from Annette and the girls – raising chickens, ploughing snow, driving a taxi, and tuning pianos. Annette would wonder why the money’s coming from some place new, but she probably wouldn’t even care. Just as long as he keeps sending her money, stays far away, and doesn’t contact the girls. But he can never go back to Denmark. He knows that. He studies his hand. Twenty years ago he exchanged his finger for a new life far away. There are no trade-backs. Besides, he’s quit Denmark in the same way one quits smoking or gawking at girls in bikinis. He’s grown too old. Not completely, but more and more.
He considers other possibilities, places to sleep, live, spend the night, park the car. None are any good.
And what about Beatriz? She can’t stay in the flat. In all likelihood, Sunglasses has told Palabras about the woman in the bed, and even though Palabras couldn’t possibly know who it was, or how she got there, he would doubtlessly suspect that Erhard was hiding something.
Ema.
He checks off possible and impossible places to go and eventually narrows his list to one: Hotel Olympus, the abandoned hotel south of Las Dunas. Partly because he can drive all the way around the building and sneak into the unfinished car park. Should anything happen, there’s a second exit with access to a narrow footpath that he’s crossed before and which leads to the beach. The Greek company responsible for building the hotel abandoned its shell in such great haste that it left tools, cement-mixers, and materials worth thousands of euros behind. Anything of value has long since been nicked and sold on the black market, but to the delight of the homeless who live there, the water and electricity have not been shut off. One of the homeless, Guillermo Trajo – best known as the man who looks like a woman – once told Erhard that he watches TV and blows his hair with a hairdryer. He can put Beatriz on the backseat and park the Mercedes close to the distribution board, and in that way the respirator and the catheter will both have access to electricity. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s the best he’s got.
But he needs to pick up Beatriz now, before Sunglasses and the downstairs neighbour and Palabras break into the flat to find her. Or before they lose their patience and come looking for Erhard.
He grabs his briefcase and leaves the office as if he’s going home.
– Did you get my message? Ana says.
Erhard looks at her.
– Someone called and left a message yesterday. It’s on your desk.
He returns to his desk and finds a yellow Post-it note. He doesn’t know how he could’ve overlooked it.
Juan Pascual = P.
He goes back to Ana. – What is this?
– I don’t know, but he asked me to write it down for you. It took him a long time to spell it. I think he was dyslexic.
– Who was it that called?
– Simón or Simone, something like that. I was so busy trying to write that other name that I didn’t really get his.
So he’d called after all. Juan Pascual was Señor P, the ship’s mate who’d boarded the Seascape Hestia. The man from Fuerteventura, as Simao had said. Mean and pissed.
– He lives here on the island, this Juan Pascual. Can you look him up for me?
Ana taps a few keys. – Maybe. Not everyone is listed. Assuming he spelled the name correctly, there’s only one Juan Pascual, and he lives here in Corralejo.
She snatches the Post-it note from Erhard and writes the address under Pascual’s name.
– 15 Lago de Bristol. Weren’t those buildings torn down?
– Possibly. Some of the addresses here are old.
He nods, then leaves the reception area. Ana watches him go. – I don’t mean to interfere, but…
He pauses. – What?
– It’s OK to dress like that for the drivers, they don’t even notice, but don’t you think you should change your clothes before you go to your meeting?
Erhard glances down at himself. His shirt is wrinkled, and there’s a huge brown stain – which looks like sauce or shit – in the centre of his chest. He hadn’t noticed that, or even considered his clothes since the scuffle in the flat. He’d rather come across to Ana as unaffected, deliberate, but instead his irritation gets the best of him. That feeling of his returns: he’s a piece in a giant puzzle. – I’m not going to that meeting, Ana. I’ve got other things to worry about besides that shitty meeting.
Alarm creases her face. – Should I postpone it? she asks softly.
– Of course you should. Postpone the rest of the week while you’re at it.
– What’s happened? she calls out after him.
On his way to the car he hatches a plan to get Beatriz out of the flat and into his car. It’s a horrible plan, but it’s the only one he can think of in a rush. The car park in the basement is out of the question, so he needs to walk right in the front door and use the stairwell. That’s the only way, maybe, that he’ll be able sneak past the downstairs neighbour. But he needs some assistance. From one of the city’s most ridiculous charlatans. Silón, the man who sells briefcases.
65
Silón’s shop is directly opposite the entrance to his building; it’s so close that when one exits, one can see through the shop and the muddle of paraphernalia that Silón sells – discount bags and cases in garish colours, inflatable animals, woven beach mats – and directly out to the car park behind the shop. Erhard knows that, if he parks in that lot, he’ll have to walk about thirty metres from the lift to his car. Through the store. Silón sells large, very large, square suitcases, some with wheels.
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 be
tter 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.
– 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.