‘You might not have heard, Señor Spinola,’ said Falcón. ‘Marisa Moreno was murdered last night. They used her own chain saw on her. Cut off her hand. Cut off her foot. Cut off her head.’
The small triumph disappeared from Spinola's face and what was left behind was not sorrow or horror but a very live kind of fear.
16
Consuelo's house, Santa Clara, Seville – Monday, 18th September 2006, 16.15 hrs
Consuelo had found an old mobile phone, but with a flat battery, which she was now recharging. She reckoned half an hour would give her enough juice. Voices reached her from downstairs. She was nervous about making the call in the house. If something happened and she had an emotional reaction, they would hear her and that might affect Darío's safety.
The patrolman at the front door did not move as she passed him. She saw that his head was resting on the wall. He was asleep. In the kitchen, the sound man and the family liaison officer were having one of those endless Sevillano conversations about everything that had ever happened to them and their families. Consuelo made some coffee, served them and took her own into the living room. She watched the second patrolman sitting by the pool. He was slumped in his chair. It was 40°C out there. He, too, must be asleep. Time leaked by until she could bear it no longer.
Back upstairs. The phone had recharged enough. She entered the phone number from the email into the memory, not sure, in her emotional state, that she could rely on her brain to remember it. She called the service provider and set up a pay-as-you-go account for twenty-five euros. She changed into some flat pumps, slipped back downstairs, past the first patrolman, past the kitchen and out through the sliding doors. She walked the length of the pool. The patrolman didn't move. At the bottom of the garden there was a rough break in the hedge where a gate led to the adjoining property. It was rusted and had never been opened as far as she knew. She vaulted over it and found herself at the back of her neighbour's pool house.
She called the number. It rang interminably. She breathed back her fear, apprehension and rampant agitation, but when the answer came it was still like cold steel in the stomach.
‘Diga.’
Nothing came out of her paralysed throat.
‘Diga!’
‘My name is Consuelo Jiménez and I've been told to call this number. You're holding my –’
‘ Momentito.’
There was muffled talk. The phone changed hands.
‘Listen to me, Señora Jiménez,’ said a new voice. ‘Do you understand why we have taken your son?’
‘I'm not sure who you are.’
‘But do you understand why your son has been taken from you?’
Put like that she nearly broke down.
‘No, I don't,’ she said.
‘Your friend, Javier Falcón, the inspector –’
‘He is not my friend,’ she said, blurting it.
‘That's a pity.’
She wasn't sure why he should have said that: sad because they'd split up, or a shame because he could be useful?
‘You need friends at a time like this,’ said the voice.
‘Why do I need him?’ she asked. ‘He is the cause of all this.’
‘It's good that you understand that much.’
‘But I don't understand why you have taken my son because of his investigations.’
‘He was warned.’
‘But why my son?’
‘I am in no doubt that you are a good person, Señora Jiménez, but even you, in your business, must understand the nature of pressure.’
‘The nature of pressure,’ she said, her mind blank.
‘Direct pressure is always met with resistance. However, indirect pressure is a much more complicated business.’
Silence, until Consuelo realized that her response was required.
‘And you want me to apply … some indirect pressure. Is that it?’
‘There was a car accident on the motorway between Jerez and Seville a few days ago in which a Russian named Vasili Lukyanov was killed,’ said the voice. ‘Inspector Jefe Falcón was put in charge of this accident because there was a lot of money in the boot – eight million two hundred thousand euros – and a number of disks, which contain footage of men and women in compromising situations. We would like the money and the disks returned to us. If you are successful in persuading Inspector Jefe Falcón to act for you, then no harm will come to your son. He will be released, you have my word on that. If, however, you decide to involve other agencies, or your old friend calls on other resources, then your son will still come back to you, Señora Jiménez, but piece by piece.’
The line went dead. Consuelo vomited a horrible bilious liquid that burned her throat and nostrils. She wheeled around under the big, white sky and fell back against the pool house, panting, sweat streaming down her face and neck. She wiped her nose, coughed, sniffed. Blurted out some more tears and frustration. Remembered the patrolman by the pool. Pulled herself together. She got back into her own garden. Slipped into the house. Up the stairs. She stripped and stood under the shower. The first solid thought to form in her mind was: had she just done something very stupid?
‘Where are you?’ asked Falcón.
‘I'm with Inspector Ramírez at the Jefatura,’ said Cristina Ferrera. ‘We're typing up the report on Marisa Moreno.’
‘Did you get anything apart from the paper suits?’
‘A witness. A twenty-three-year-old woman saw three men in Calle Bustos Tavera, but she's a bit hazy about the time. She thought it was around midnight, which probably sounds about right. She was going home early, felt sick in a club on La Alameda.’
‘Did she get a good look?’
‘She lost her nerve, didn't like the … not so much the look of them, because she couldn't see much down there at night. It's unlit. But she didn't like the feel of the situation. She made a detour to avoid them.’
‘Height, weight, frame?’
‘Two guys about the same height, one eight-five to one ninety metres, who looked around the hundred-kilo mark. The third guy was very short and stocky. She said he was noticeably wide and muscular. Thick neck. She thought he might have been a bodybuilder. One of the taller guys was carrying a full bin liner. The other thing was that, although she couldn't see their features, she knew they weren't Spanish. Something to do with their head shape.’
‘The description of that last guy is very interesting,’ said Falcón. ‘That squares with a witness description I've got to the double killing in Las Tres Mil.’
‘We picked that up on the police radio.’
‘Tell Ramírez that the two bodies in the drug dealer's apartment in Las Tres Mil are connected to what he's doing. Anibal Parrado is the instructing judge for both cases. We'll all meet within the Edificio de los Juzgados this evening, time to be arranged. What about those three businessmen's names I gave you to check out?’
‘Juan Valverde is in Madrid right now and Antonio Ramos is in Barcelona, but where they're going to be is a different matter. Their personal assistants have been told not to give out that kind of information,’ said Ferrera. ‘So I lifted all their data from their ID files and sent it to a friend of mine in the Comisaría General de Información, who works in counter terrorism. They've got access to airlines, trains, private jets, and can find out if these people are moving around at all in the next few days … assuming they've made bookings. They'll check out the American consultant, Charles Taggart, too. I got his data from the visa office. I couldn't find out where he is at the moment. He's not directly employed by I4IT Europe. All I can say is that he wasn't in their office in Madrid, nor in Horizonte's Barcelona office.’
‘I didn't really mean for you to go into that kind of detail,’ said Falcón. ‘We need to talk to those men face to face. I just didn't want to go to Madrid and find they were in Frankfurt.’
‘I thought it was more sinister than that,’ said Ferrera. ‘Still, my friend will get all the information and you can use it against the
m if they start getting difficult. Inspector Ramírez wants a word.’
‘Just to warn you, Javier,’ said Ramírez, ‘Comisario Elvira has been on the phone asking where you are. And I've just seen your friend and mine, the Jefe Superior Andrés Lobo; after giving me one of those “fuck off” salutes of his, he also wanted to know where you were.’
‘Why don't they just call me?’
‘In my experience, they never do that when they're going to give you a kicking,’ said Ramírez. ‘Upset anyone recently?’
‘Have you heard of a guy called Alejandro Spinola?’
‘That smarmy fucker.’
‘So you've met him?’
Pause.
‘No,’ said Ramírez, as if that was obvious. ‘I just know a smarmy fucker when I see one. And I know he works in the mayor's office and he's the Juez Decano's son … so I don't call him a tosser to his face.’
‘He introduced Marisa to Esteban Calderón.’
‘Aha!’ said Ramírez, as if the whole case had fallen open into his lap. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
‘We had a very interesting little fencing match,’ said Falcón. ‘He's a bit of a maestro. I'm beginning to think it might mean that the June 6th conspiracy is still alive and moving on another front, or that perhaps it was attempting to develop two spheres of influence – parliament and the mayor's office.’
‘And they blew it with trying to control the regional politics so now they're trying to infiltrate the mayor's office?’ said Ramírez. ‘Don't you think you might be reading too much into very little, Javier?’
‘I can smell something on Spinola,’ said Falcón. ‘That guy is an operator and he's ambitious. I get the impression that in his family circle Esteban Calderón has been held up as the paragon of intelligence and capability. And Alejandro has spent his life trying to prove himself equal. He didn't have the brains to become a lawyer, but he's got other qualities.’
‘And he's used them to fuck up his cousin?’
‘It wouldn't surprise me.’
‘Hold on a sec,’ said Ramírez. ‘Cristina has just told me you've been given the summons. Elvira does want to see you, and it seems to be pressing.’
‘And that in itself is a symptom,’ said Falcón. ‘The forces are gathering. Tell the Comisario I'll be there as soon as I can.’
Consuelo sat in a T-shirt and pants, hair wet, face lit by the computer screen. She had been stupid and impetuous; now she was going to slow down, consider her next move more carefully than her first. She had written down the dialogue from the phone call, as best she could remember it, on the computer. She read it over, made adjustments each time her memory flung up another half-remembered phrase.
The work had a dampening effect on her hysteria. After her shower, she'd got dressed with the notion that she would call Javier, go straight out to meet him and confront him with the latest development. Only when she reached for the phone did she realize that this was what was expected of her. She'd stripped off, just in case the impetuosity struck again, and sat down to start doing some serious thinking.
She began by answering the kidnapper's question: Why had Darío been taken? Because they didn't like the intrusion of Javier's investigations. In kidnapping Darío they knew that she would call directly on Javier's position and experience in criminal investigations. Perhaps they had expected that Javier would not give her the reason behind Darío's kidnap and would become directly involved in trying to find the boy. This would divert Javier's attention from his investigation that so concerned them. But Javier had insisted on the Crimes Against Children squad being involved in the kidnapping, which meant that the Russians' application of indirect pressure had not had the desired effect. Now she was being used as their agent to draw Javier into Darío's predicament. They wanted her to use her considerable influence with Javier, who would be feeling profoundly guilty, to induce him to corrupt himself by stealing back their money and the disks from the Jefatura. Their strict condition, that there should be no involvement of other agencies and resources or it would result in harm to Darío, might mean they had informers in the Jefatura. If Javier was caught stealing evidence he would be immediately suspended from duty, and that would be a good result for the Russians.
This was the first logical chain of thought she'd managed since Darío had been snatched. It gave her strength, she felt her brain tightening around the problem.
So far I've done exactly what you expected me to do, she thought. You've sweated me for forty-eight hours until I was so desperate I'd do anything you asked. Now it's my turn to show you what sort of an opponent you've decided to take on.
Comisarios Lobo and Elvira, Falcón's bosses. The odd couple. The Beast and the Accountant. The former, with his thin dark lips in a cumin complexion, looked as irritated as if he had sand in his teeth, while the latter restored even greater order to his already well-organized desk.
‘What cases are you working on at the moment, Javier?’ asked Elvira mildly, while Lobo stared on, leaning slightly forward as if it would take only the slightest provocation to make him violent.
‘The murder of Marisa Moreno is my primary concern, as I believe it's linked to the two murders in Las Tres Mil.’
‘You were seen recently in Madrid, where you spoke to Inspector Jefe Luis Zorrita about “digging around” in Esteban Calderón's case,’ said Elvira. ‘Which, as you know, comes up for trial here in Seville at the end of the month.’
‘What's all that about, Javier?’ asked Lobo, unable to restrain himself any longer.
‘Politeness.’
‘Politeness?’ said Lobo. ‘What the fuck has politeness got to do with anything?’
‘I was telling Inspector Jefe Zorrita that I was going to look at Marisa Moreno. I'd read the case notes and listened to the Calderón interview, and there were some anomalies which merited attention. I was informing him because it might have an impact on his case, which as you've just …’
‘And after the meeting with Zorrita, where did you go?’ asked Elvira. ‘The driver of the patrol car said you “hid” in the back seat.’
‘I had some CNI business which I'm not able to discuss with you.’
‘You are, and have been, under a great deal of strain,’ said Elvira, wanting to move things along to the conclusion he already had in mind.
‘We have an agreement with the CNI about your secondment to their duties,’ said Lobo, who wanted to run this meeting without Elvira.
‘If you do, I don't know what it is.’
‘The essential element is that your work for them must not have a deleterious effect on your duties as the Inspector Jefe del Grupo de Homicidios,’ said Elvira. ‘If it does, then we have to decide where your resource would be better concentrated, so that you can be relieved of some of that pressure.’
‘The CNI have made inquiries as to the work stress you're under here,’ said Lobo.
‘Have they? You mean Pablo has spoken to you?’
‘Higher than Pablo,’ said Lobo.
‘As your commanding officer,’ said Elvira, ‘I am in possession of your career records, where it is clearly documented that you suffered a serious nervous breakdown in April 2001 and did not return to full duties until the summer of 2002.’
‘Which was four years ago and I think you'll agree that, not only were the circumstances extremely unusual, but also that I've made a full recovery to the point of successfully conducting one of the most complex and demanding investigations in the history of the Seville Jefatura, that of the Seville bombing three months ago,’ said Falcón. ‘And, I might add, at the same time I made some very delicate interventions for the CNI, which resulted in the prevention of a major terrorist attack in London.’
‘We also understand that your partner, Consuelo Jiménez, has seen her youngest child kidnapped two days ago,’ said Elvira.
‘Which reminds me: you can take the police guard off my house in Calle Bailén. I don't need protection,’ said Falcón.
‘It w
as a temporary measure,’ said Elvira.
‘Don't tell me, Javier, that all this isn't enough stress for even such a man as yourself to bear,’ said Lobo. ‘We all know the promise you made to the people of Seville on TV last June and, whilst we don't know the ins and outs of the CNI work, they have made inquiries to us about your mental reliability. Added to that, three murders for your department to investigate and the kidnapping of Darío Jiménez…’
‘And what if I tell you that it's all connected?’ said Falcón.
‘The intelligence work as well?’ asked Elvira.
‘That is an inevitable development from the situation that occurred back in June,’ said Falcón. ‘Pressure is being applied in the most inventive way possible to get someone to do what is against their nature. I am responsible for that person being in that position. I cannot desert him.’
‘But what has it got to do with what is happening here in Seville?’ asked Lobo.
‘I'm not sure, other than that the same situation exists here: pressure is being applied to all sorts of people to get them to perform,’ said Falcón. ‘And I include this meeting.’
Lobo and Elvira looked at each other and then at Falcón.
‘This meeting?’ said Lobo, with the threat level in his voice close to red.
‘You're just transferring to me what's been applied to you,’ said Falcón.
‘If you mean by that that the CNI have been in touch with us …’
‘Not just the CNI.’
‘I don't understand why you're resurrecting the Calderón case,’ said Elvira, his discomfiture making him testy. ‘Is it because of your ex-wife?’
‘It seems,’ said Lobo, irritated by Elvira's departure from the script, ‘that it's not just the CNI who are concerned about your mental state. I had a call from the Juez Decano complaining about your interruption of a press conference in the Andalucían parliament in order to question his son about how exactly he introduced Marisa Moreno to Esteban Calderón. He seems to think, and I agree, that it was unnecessary harassment.’