Havana Blue

Havana Blue by Leonardo Padura Read Free Book Online

Book: Havana Blue by Leonardo Padura Read Free Book Online
Authors: Leonardo Padura
just make me a list of the guests and tell me where everybody works and if you’ve got some way of contacting them. All those you remember. And were other important people there apart from the deputy minister?
    â€œSure, the minister was there, but he left early, at around eleven, because he had an engagement elsewhere.”
    â€œAnd did he talk to Rafael?”

    â€œThey said hello to each other but that was all. To each other, I mean.”
    â€œUh-huh. And did he talk to anyone by himself?”
    She thought for a moment. Almost closed her eyes and he looked away. He preferred playing with the ash on his cigarette and finally crushed the butt-end. He was at a loss what to do with the ashtray and was afraid to revisit the story of the Sargadelos vase. But he couldn’t avoid Tamara’s smell: she smelled clean and tanned, of lavender and wet earth and above all of woman.
    â€œI think he spoke to Maciques, his office manager. They spend their lives talking of work; and at parties I have to put up with Maciques’s wife; if only you could see her, she’s taller than a flagpole . . . Well, you should hear her. The other day she discovered cotton is better than polyester, and now she says she just loves silk . . .”
    â€œI can imagine what she’s like. And who else did he talk to?”
    â€œWell, Rafael was out on the balcony a good while, and when he came back in Dapena was just arriving, a Spaniard who’s always doing business in Cuba.”
    â€œHold on,” he asked and looked for his notepad. “A Spaniard?”
    â€œWell, a Galician actually. His full name is José Manuel Dapena. Some of the business he does involves Rafael’s enterprise but particularly the Foreign Trade department.”
    â€œAnd you say they talked?”
    â€œWell, I saw them both come in from the balcony. I don’t know if there was anybody else.”
    â€œTamara,” he said and started playing with the catch on his pen, creating a monotonous tick-tack, “what are these parties like?”
    â€œWhat parties?” She seemed surprised and at a loss.

    â€œWhat are these parties like that you go to with ministers, deputy ministers and foreign businessmen?”
    â€œI don’t know what you mean, Mario; like any other party. People talk, dance, drink. I’m not sure what you’re after. Keep your pen still please,” she begged, and he knew she was upset.
    â€œAnd don’t people get drunk, swear and piss off the balconies?”
    â€œI’m in no mood to play games, Mario, please.” And she pressed her eyelids, although she didn’t look tired. When she took her fingers away, her eyes shone even more brightly.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he replied and returned his pen to his shirt pocket. “Tell me about Rafael.”
    She sighed and shook her head at something only she was aware of and glanced towards the picture window that looked over the interior garden. How theatrical, he thought, and following her gaze he could just discern the artificial, slightly darkened colour of the ferns proliferating beyond the Calobar glass.
    â€œYou know, I’d have preferred another policeman. I find it hard going with you.”
    â€œSo do I with you and Rafael. What’s more, if your husband hadn’t gone missing, I’d be at home reading and free until Monday. Now I just want him to turn up quickly. And you’ve just got to help me, right?”
    She made as if to get up, but then sank back into the sofa. Her mouth was now a pencil line, the mouth of someone in disagreement, only softening when she looked at Sergeant Manuel Palacios.
    â€œWhat can I tell you about Rafael? You know him too . . . He lives for his work. He didn’t get where he is by only doing what he liked, and the best thing about him is that he enjoys working like a dog. I think he’s a good leader, I really do, and everyone says he is. He’s
in great

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