Page 35 of His Worst Crime

“But didn’t Ernest say we were out of danger?”

“He needed to be walked twice a day. Maria didn’t know and I only came in by chance this afternoon. The vet’s with him now. If you’re down at the Delta, I’m sure he’ll be fine…”

“No, I’ll drive back this evening. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left him.”

“As you want, but Ernest and I have it covered, honestly. And ah, David… can we expect to see you again?”

David just stared at the phone in his hand, which he held between them.

“I, ah… sorry.”

“Well, good luck with everything.” Her voice sounded more than slightly annoyed. “You could have given me a bit more notice.”

He went to speak, but the call had ended. They drove in silence for a while and then Ramon said:

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Well everything. You. The mystery. Do I get to know anything more about you?”

“I, ah… sorry.”

“Just like that? Sorry? That’s it? That’s the end? Bye, Ramon. Thanks for all the fish.”

“What?”

Ramon shrugged. “It’s a line from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

“Oh.”

They drove in silence after that.

twenty

Ramon stared at the highway as he drove, the endless miles scrolling past underneath his tires. It felt like the last twenty-four hours, all he’d done was drive, drive, drive. That brief idyll with David had been a dream, now he was sure of it. He looked over at the passenger seat where the guy had pretended to sleep and not the slightest vestige of his presence remained. No smell, not a single blond hair, no imprint from his breath on the glass. Maybe he’d simply imagined that they’d actually come down to the Delta together, made love, ridden the horses—it was all a fever dream. He must be sick and delirious, hallucinating the bubble of bliss they’d shared together. In reality it had never happened.

He passed a highway sign for Vilafranca del Penedés—another forty minutes and he’d be back in Barcelona, that entire ephemeral utopian dream firmly in his rear-view mirror. He wanted to rage, cry, bang the steering wheel, get into bed, pull the covers over his head and never emerge again. He did none of the above, just kept driving, following the white line that glowed beneath his headlights.

What would he even say to Carme about David when they saw each other? He felt embarrassed, foolish that he’d been taken for a ride, had trusted, had hoped. Why had he ever imagined that this one might be different! Carme had lost an employee she’d trusted who’d let her down. She was angry, he knew. But she’d look at him with compassion, pity. Stupid Ramon, putting his faith in another man who’d turned out to be as fickle as they all were. And how would he explain to her that he’d somehow reconnected with David after the boy had left Carme’s without so much as an explanation? His was a betrayal of trust in their friendship of over twenty years. Carme and he told each other everything, always had, until some cute English kid appeared on the scene, and then Ramon ran off with him down to his farm behind her back.

The truth was he hadn’t even thought about getting in touch with Carme when David reappeared at her stables. In the middle of the night! It hadn’t so much as crossed his mind, and he a policeman! What was David doing there? Saying goodbye to Boira? At midnight? In stables that were locked up? And all Ramon had thought about was having sex with him. Taking him down to the Delta to fuck and ride horses?

They’d said goodbye at a gas station. After returning Desdemona, thanking the owners, taking Ferro back to the masia and turning him loose in his paddock, throughout all of which they’d barely said a word to each other. Then David grabbed his pack, and Ramon a few things he’d needed to take back to Barcelona. He hadn’t asked where David was headed, just needed to fill up with gas, vaguely imagining that David would travel back to Barcelona with him. Instead, he found him outside the pickup when he returned from paying for the gas, his pack on his back. Their farewell had been brief:

“You off?”

David nodded.

“Ah… thanks… for everything…. Sorry.”

Ramon just shook his head and climbed back into the pickup. Fuck romance. The last sight he saw of David was in his rear-view mirror, the boy’s golden hair shining almost orange under the gas station’s horrible lights. He accelerated onto the highway that would take him back to Barcelona.

And now he needed to forget him, wipe him from his mind, go on, be a good policeman the way he was trained, find some…. No, no one else. He couldn’t imagine finding anyone else, not after this. He was done with love. It just messed you up and left you hurting. He didn’t want that anymore. He’d tried it, done his best, given it his best shot. Men were unreliable. Perhaps he was as well. No matter. He needed to get his mind on Estel and forget this whole episode. This was actually a valuable lesson. He wouldn’t get caught again. Now he was free to… live his life… how? Alone, self-sufficient, capable, invulnerable. Maybe not happy, but who was happy nowadays anyway? This world wasn’t a place where many people were happy. The best you could hope for was to get by.

Damn, he was sick of driving though! Two and a half hours down to the Delta, the same back. An hour each way to la Platja del Trabucador. Finally he saw the offramp that would take him up and over the back of Montjuïc, past the cemetery without having to head into the heart of Barcelona. Ten minutes later, he was pulling into La Foixarda Stables. Maria’s, Carme’s, and Ernest’s cars were all in the parking lot. It was nearly ten at night. He went straight to the box where Estel was being kept and found them all there. The horse was standing, but his leg was obviously swollen. Ernest was just finishing applying a fresh dressing. When Maria saw him her face fell and she began gushing:

“Ramon, I’m so sorry! I didn’t get the message. I was meant to be away climbing this weekend. I thought you knew?”