Valls nodded slowly.
‘You did the right thing. Go on.’
‘And finally, in reference to Your Excellency’s last request, taking advantage of the death throes and moral agonies of that despicable Salgado, I was able to persuade him, in his delirium, to confess where he’d hidden the copious booty from his criminal activities in the service of Freemasonry and Marxism.’
‘So, you think he’s going to die?’
‘Any moment now. I think he’s already commended himself to Saint Leon Trotsky and is awaiting his last breath to rise into the politburo of posterity.’
‘I told those animals they wouldn’t extract anything out of him by force,’ Valls muttered under his breath.
‘Technically, I believe they extracted a gonad or a limb, but I agree with you, sir, that with vermin like Salgado the only possible method is applied psychology.’
‘So then? Where did he hide the money?’
Fermín leaned forward and adopted a confidential tone.
‘It’s complicated to explain.’
‘Don’t beat about the bush or I’ll send you down to the basement to have your vocal cords refreshed.’
Fermín then proceeded to sell Valls that outlandish plot he’d obtained from Salgado’s lips. The governor listened incredulously.
‘Fermín, let me warn you that if you’re lying you’ll be deeply sorry. What they’ve done to Salgado won’t even be a foretaste of what they’ll do to you.’
‘I can assure Your Lordship that I’m repeating, word for word, what Salgado told me. If you like I’ll swear on the irrefutable portrait of Franco that lies on your desk.’
Valls looked him straight in the eye. Fermín held his gaze without blinking, just as Martín had taught him to do. Finally, having procured the information he was looking for, the governor removed his smile as well as the plate of pastries. Without any pretence at cordiality, he snapped his fingers and the two guards came in to lead Fermín back to his cell.
This time Valls didn’t even bother to threaten Fermín. As they dragged him down the corridor, Fermín saw the governor’s secretary walking past them and stopping outside Valls’s office.
‘Governor, Sanahuja, the doctor in Martín’s cell …’
‘Yes. What?’
‘He says Martín has fainted and thinks it might be something serious. He asks for permission to go to the medicine cabinet and get a few things …’
Valls stood up in a fury.
‘’So what are you waiting for? Go on. Take him there and let him have whatever he needs.’
16
Following the governor’s orders, a jailer was left posted in front of Martín’s cell while Dr Sanahuja treated him. The jailer was a young man of about twenty who was new to the shift. The night shift was supposed to be covered by Bebo, but instead that novice had inexplicably turned up, looking incapable even of sorting out his bunch of keys and more nervous than any of the prisoners. At about nine o’clock the doctor, noticeably tired, walked over to the bars of his cell and spoke to him.
‘I need more clean gauze and some antiseptic.’
‘I can’t abandon my post.’
‘And I can’t abandon a patient. Please. Gauze and antiseptic.’
The jailer stirred nervously.
‘The governor doesn’t like it when his instructions are not followed word for word.’
‘He’ll like it even less if anything happens to Martín because you’ve ignored me.’
The young jailer assessed the situation.