Page 70 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

“Jerk or not, you smiled.”

“It was an involuntary reflex! Anyway,” she went on, “you’re going to have to bite the bullet, and we’re going down into that damn forbidden bookshop of yours tonight. Both of us. That’s an order.”

“You’re upset about something, I can tell. And don’t tell me it’s that crème brûlée.”

“It’s a sabayon,” she shot back. “Nothing like crème brûlée. No, it’s… well, last night, while I was reading Salinas’s notebook, I had this weird feeling that I was being watched.”

“You mean, like your house is haunted?”

“I’m serious, Mitch! I went to the window and I thought I could see someone sitting in a car parked on the street.”

“You thought you saw? Or you’re certain?”

“If I were certain, I’d have said so.”

“What kind of car?”

“Unmarked.”

“If the police are staking out your house, then we’re both suspects,” Mitch said. “Did you find anything interesting in the notebook?”

“Just confirmation of what your clerk told us. Salinas was negotiating the outcomes of his trials in advance, making shady deals with his colleagues: I lose one, you lose the next. They traded wins like favours, and Salinas’s were worth double. Usually, the opponent would throw the match. The day after he died, he was set to prosecute a big case – which he’d already rigged, of course.”

“How?”

“He’d convinced the defence attorney to ‘forget’ to present a piece of evidence that would have cast serious doubt on his client’s guilt,” Anna revealed.

Mitch remembered the phone call he’d overheard while hidden in the prosecutor’s closet.

“Well, at least his murder spared one innocent life,” he said, deciding not to tell Anna about what he’d heard.

“That’s one way of looking at it, I guess. But there’s more: just a few hours before Salinas took his final bow, he had a visitor. Someone who didn’t have an appointment, just showed up at his house. He wrote in his notebook that he felt indebted to this person, for a past favour, and he regretted that he couldn’t return it now, because, and I quote, ‘times have changed’.”

“Do you think…” Mitch began slowly.

“That there’s a link between that visitor and your case? If Salinas hadn’t died just after, I’d say it was a stretch. But given the circumstances, I’m really starting to wonder.”

“And he didn’t name the visitor?”

“No. Not even the faintest clue.”

But Anna was lying. She had read every word: Visit from my neighbour: very frustrating conversation. Though I owe him, I couldn’t grant his request. There’s no case against the man he wants back behind bars. It’s no fault of mine, but times have changed.

“Doesn’t help much.” Mitch sighed.

“On the contrary,” countered Anna firmly. “We have proof that someone came to see Salinas only a few hours before he died, which the police don’t seem to know, or are pretending not to know. This visitor has to be the number one suspect.”

“Well, sure, but if his mailman dropped off a letter that morning, that doesn’t make him a killer.”

“Unless the letter was laced with poison, one that could be absorbed through the skin.”

“What are you, an expert on poisons?” Mitch asked, startled.

“Kind of,” Anna replied, turning back to her sabayon.

Mitch grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. One sleeve was turned inside out, and he struggled to force his arm through it. He was on edge – not because of Anna’s disturbing speculations but because, ever since leaving the clerk’s office, he was becoming increasingly obsessed with the idea of finding out who he’d given Fahrenheit 451 to.

“You might be annoyed with me right now,” Anna said, “but we’re still checking out that room of yours after I finish this recipe. Let’s say six o’clock. Oh – and I assume you don’t have any news about your ex?”