Page 67 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

He leaned forward slightly. “Now – if you promise absolute discretion, I might have something you’ll want to see.”

The clerk glanced toward the door, making sure the corridor was empty.

“His notebook,” he whispered, pushing back his chair. “Funny how fate works. The day before his death, Salinas left it here by mistake. He was always giving me useless errands – asking me to read transcripts out loud so he could jot down whatever caught his attention.”

“The police didn’t confiscate it?” Anna asked, shocked.

“They don’t know it exists. Otherwise, believe me, you wouldn’t be getting your hands on it.”

He opened a drawer, took out a dark blue leather notebook and placed it on the desk.

“Odd fellow, that inspector,” he commented. “Much more interested in the killer than the victim. Didn’t seem to care who Salinas was, or the life he led. If I were in his shoes, I’d have started there. But then again, I’m no policeman.”

During his trial, Mitch hadn’t given much thought to the clerk scribbling in the corner, recording it all. Now, as he took the prosecutor’s notebook, he shook the man’s hand with genuine gratitude.

“As you can imagine, Salinas had more than one of these books. Your case is too old to appear in this one. But who knows – you might find what you’re looking for.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “By the way – can I ask whose name was on the file behind me, the one that made you turn so pale?”

“Old acquaintance,” Mitch said simply.

“Would you like to see your file? It’s against protocol, but the court owes you that much. Drop by tomorrow – I’ll pull it from the archives.”

* * *

“Who was the old acquaintance?” Anna asked as they left the courthouse.

“Mathilde.”

“Your Mathilde?”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“What do we do now?” Mitch asked.

“I’ll go through Salinas’s notebook as soon as I can. When you come back here tomorrow, try to find out anything you can about your ex’s case. Her run-in with the law might tell us something. She could have been Salinas’s informant – which would explain why her file’s still lying around after all this time instead of being in the archives.”

Anna had a mountain of work ahead of her, so she suggested they meet for dinner – not at her place, or his, but at a restaurant, like a normal couple who weren’t living in constant fear that one of them would be arrested at any moment.

* * *

“Is your walk-in fridge fixed?” Mitch asked when they finally sat down that evening at a restaurant in the city centre.

Anna had tossed her bag on the floor and collapsed into her chair, clearly wiped out.

“I’m touched that you’re worried about it,” she replied, grabbing a menu.

She studied it silently for a long time, her expression more sceptical than surprised. Mitch began to wonder whether she was having trouble choosing what to eat or conducting corporate espionage. But when she suggested he order the ravioli and a vegetable tian while she went for the daily special, it became clear this was research.

“The whole mechanism had to be replaced,” she complained at last. “It cost me a fortune. At this rate I’ll go bankrupt before I even open the place.”

She dropped the menu back impatiently. “The chef here is either a fraud or he knows nothing about the chemistry of food.”

Mitch had no idea what she meant, but he suspected he was about to find out.

“A human palate can’t distinguish more than three flavours at a time,” she said, irritated. “It’s a biological limit. So selling ‘five-spice duck’ is either ignorance or a scam. Either way, it’s an insult to the customer.”

“I’ve got some savings I don’t need. I could—”