Page 53 of The Bookshop of Forbidden Books

It felt like fate had wanted them to meet – like when two people who both hate opera and steamed broccoli meet and can’t believe their luck in finding each other.

* * *

He caught the first morning train and arrived in the city much earlier than usual. The cat didn’t even deign to open an eye as he crossed the courtyard. Mitch had woken up in the middle of the night, thinking of the state of the bookshop’s back room and realizing that Verner and Madame Ateltow would be using it for their secret rendezvous later today.

There was nowhere to sit down, nowhere to put a cup of tea, not even a lamp to light up their conversations. Both of them had passed the age of standing around awkwardly staring at each other. Their long-awaited assignation was on the verge of becoming a disaster – and it would be entirely his fault.

He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. First, he moved all the boxes that were strewn about the room and stacked them neatly against one wall, then he vacuumed the rug. He considered heading down to the basement to haul up some furniture but quickly abandoned the idea – too much hassle. Instead, he cleared off one of the shop tables and dragged it into the back room. Next, the stepladder and the stool from behind the counter were drafted into service as chairs. Verner and Madame Ateltow wouldn’t be able to sit at eye level, but it would just have to do.

Mitch’s gaze fell on the two chipped mugs he used for his afternoon coffee. They really didn’t cut it. He rushed over to the café where he usually had breakfast and managed to borrow a proper tea set. Next was a trip to the grocery, where he bought a box of Earl Grey tea, a pack of biscuits, a bag of sugar, a small carton of milk, and a paper tablecloth printed with Santa Clauses. It wasn’t anywhere close to Christmas, but the grocer only stocked such items during the holiday season, and this leftover one from last winter was all he had left.

Shortly before noon, Mitch carefully arranged the storeroom table with two porcelain cups, a teapot, the electric kettle, the box of biscuits, a little pitcher (which he’d been using as a pencil pot) for the milk and two teaspoons. All he had left to do was empty the mop bucket and fill it with water for the bouquet of flowers Monsieur Verner would surely be bringing Madame Ateltow. Standing back, Mitch surveyed his work and felt very pleased with himself.

Verner showed up first, dressed in a green English-style suit that included a mustard-yellow plaid vest and a pair of burgundy loafers. Mitch ushered him into the back room, suggesting that he take a seat on the stepladder, which was less comfortable than the stool.

Madame Ateltow arrived a few minutes later, wearing a white chiffon dress that suited her beautifully. She’d pinned up her hair with a mother-of-pearl comb. Mitch had never seen her wearing makeup before; she looked radiant, at least ten years younger. She glanced out the window furtively as if checking to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Mitch gave a discreet nod toward the storeroom. Taking the hint, she vanished behind the door.

Out of respect, Mitch stayed as far away from the back room as he could.

At twelve thirty, a police van escorted by a black sedan pulled up in front of the bookshop. Eight officers burst through the front door. The only plainclothes officer (an inspector, presumably) informed Mitch that he was under arrest. Two of the officers seized his arms and pinned them behind his back, while a third cuffed his wrists. The inspector recited his rights at the same time: Mitch was being charged with murder. He had the right to remain silent, and anything he said could and would be used against him in a court of law.

Before Mitch could even get a word out, he’d been shoved toward the door.

“The evidence against you is overwhelming,” the inspector added coldly as he steered Mitch into the van.

As the convoy sped off, sirens wailing, toward the central police station, Mitch felt as if he’d been plunged into a nightmare – yet again.

Chapter 21

The Confession

Mitch was sitting on a chair, hands cuffed behind his back. The inspector facing him was silent, slowly flipping through a case file, nodding from time to time to add weight to the silence. The performance had been dragging on for ten long minutes when the cop finally pulled out a black-and-white photo – an image from a security camera feed – and slid it across the table.

“This man, sitting on a bench in the courthouse, right across from the courtroom. Do you recognize him?”

The picture was slightly blurry, but Mitch was in the perfect position to know exactly who the man was – and since anything he said could be used against him, he kept his mouth firmly shut.

“Alright, then,” said the detective, clicking his tongue. He laid three more photos down in front of Mitch.

“And here, in the courthouse parking garage. Any idea who that might be?”

In the first shot, Mitch was walking down the ramp that led to the underground levels. In the second, he could be seen hiding behind a metal post. The third photo showed him from behind, walking back up the ramp to the street.

“Still nothing?” the inspector drawled, clearly losing patience. “Maybe a close-up will help jog your memory.”

This time, it was crystal clear. Mitch was perfectly recognizable.

“So what? Is it illegal to go to the courthouse, or park your car there?”

“No, it’s not – if you have a car. The problem is, we didn’t find a single vehicle registered in your name. So what the hell were you doing in that garage?”

The inspector’s face might as well have been carved from granite. His suit jacket strained across his broad shoulders, making him look even more imposing. Cufflinks gleamed at his wrists as if he polished them every morning after shaving and before shining his shoes. Everything about him reflected the desire to impress.

“I remember now,” Mitch said. “It was pouring that day. I took shelter. That’s not a crime either, last I checked.”

“Let’s say I buy that. Now what if I told you that Prosecutor Salinas was murdered three days ago? Still want to play dumb?”

“I didn’t know. How could I know that?”