Havana Black by Leonardo Padura

. He’s also been the unluckiest in the family. He was in jail for ten years.”
    â€œWhat did he do?”
    â€œMoney problems in the firm he worked for.”
    â€œFraud?”
    â€œAre we talking about Miguel or Fermín?”
    â€œMiguel, of course . . . But I need to know more. Who is Adrian, for example?”
    â€œWhat’s he got to do with any of this?”
    The Count effortlessly allowed patience to come to his aid. He had to wave his cape at the bull in each confrontation and, without goading, try to guide it to the right pen.
    â€œNothing as far as I can see. But as he was with you today . . .”
    â€œAdrian used to be my boyfriend, thousands of years ago. My first boyfriend,” and something seemed to loosen the moorings of millennial woman.

    â€œYou’ve carried on being friends?”
    She almost smiled as she said: “Friends . . .? We haven’t seen each other for ten years. I have nothing here, and nothing there either. But I like talking to him: Adrian is a calm man who reminds me of what I once was and makes me think of what I might have been. That’s all.”
    â€œI understand the car your husband was driving belonged to your brother, Fermín?”
    â€œYes,” she replied, looking at the Count. “A ’56 Chevrolet Fermín inherited from an uncle of mine, one of my mother’s brothers. They confiscated the one the government gave him when he was jailed, in order to set an example . . . Is that the kind of thing you wanted to know?”
    He lit a cigarette. It was pleasant being there, your back to the sea, opposite the Rampa, the night still young, in the company of that edible blonde. But a dead man floated on that still-becalmed ocean, like a dark, infinite mantle.
    â€œThat and much more . . . For example, do you think your husband’s death was prompted by another husband’s jealousy or something of the sort?”
    â€œAre you mad? That was no jealous husband, more like a savage who – ”
    â€œIt is a possibility though, isn’t it?”
    â€œNo, of course not. That wasn’t Miguel’s style. He was more the romantic sort and besides . . . Well, recently he couldn’t . . . if you get me?”
    â€œPerhaps it was something that happened a long time ago and that he resurrected . . .” the Count continued, warming to Miriam’s confiding tone.
    â€œI’ve already told you it wasn’t, but you can think whatever you want. That’s why you’re a policeman, even why they pay you to be one.”

    â€œTrue, but not enough,” confessed the Count trying to relieve the tension before heading off in another direction. “And what other reason did Miguel have, apart from his sick father, to risk returning to Cuba after leaving the way he did?”
    She looked him in the eye and the policeman saw such a profound gaze he could have lost himself in its pursuit.
    â€œI don’t understand you.”
    He was now the one to sigh, looking for the least stony path. “I mean did he return to resolve something he’d left hanging when he defected . . . Or perhaps to salvage something very important that he’d left behind . . .”
    â€œI see where you’re coming from. What sign are you?”
    The Count breathed out before replying: “Libra . . . Is that what you wanted to hear?”
    â€œAlmost. You seem more a Sagittarian.”
    â€œBut I’m a classic Libra, I swear to you . . . Was he after something?”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œA very peculiar Matisse, for example. Or perhaps even a Goya. I don’t know, something worth much more than a few Tiffany lamps . . .”
    She turned her head to look at the sea for a moment. The sea was still there, she seemed to be confirming, before saying: “If that was why he came, he’d have told me . . . And do you think I’d tell you?”
    â€œI’ve no idea, it all