Lobo. They didn't keep him waiting.
Falcon talked them through the contents of the safe- deposit box and read out the pertinent decodes which contained the assassination instructions and the target. The two men sat in stunned silence.
'And who would have known about this, apart from the obvious people in the regime?' asked Lobo. 'I mean, do you think the Americans knew anything about it?'
'They knew something about Vega,' said Falcon. 'Whether they knew any or part of this detail, I have no idea, but I doubt it. I now believe Flowers when he said that they didn't know what they were looking for. They were just hoping that it was nothing that would reflect badly on them or the administration of the time.'
'Do you think the Americans could have been involved in killing Vega, or are you satisfied that he was either murdered by Marty Krugman or committed suicide?'
'Mark Flowers has given me an enormous amount of information. The only problem is that I don't know what's true and what isn't,' said Falcon. 'There's a part of me that believes that they weren't involved in his murder because this is what they wanted to find out – the contents of the safe-deposit box, which they never found. But I also think that Flowers might have decided to stop the uncertainty and been a party to taking Vega out.'
'Case closed?' said Elvira.
Falcon shrugged.
'What else?' said Lobo, eyeing the dossier on Falcon's lap.
He handed it over. As Lobo read each page he handed it to Elvira. Both men glanced up nervously as they worked through the catalogue of abuse. When they finished, Lobo was looking out across the park, as he used to do when he occupied this office. He talked to the glass.
'I can guess,' he said, 'but I'd like you to tell me what you want.'
'My minimum requirement from all the crimes that were committed in the Montes finca was that Ignacio Ortega should go down,' said Falcon. 'That was not possible. I don't agree with it, but I understand why. This is a separate case. Nothing that happened in the Montes finca will surface in this family abuse case. I want a Juez de Instruction to be appointed – not Juez Calderon, of course. I want to arrest Ignacio Ortega and I want him to face these charges and any others we might be able to bring after talking to those on the list of names supplied by Salvador Ortega.'
'We're going to have to discuss this and get back to you,' said Lobo.
'I don't want to put any undue pressure on your discussion, but I do want to remind you what you said to me in your office yesterday.'
'Remind me.'
'You said: 'We need men like you and Inspector Ramirez, Javier. Don't be in any doubt about that.''
'I see.'
'Inspector Ramirez and I would like to make the arrest tonight,' said Falcon, and left.
He sat alone in his office, aware of Ramirez and Ferrera waiting for news. The phone rang, he heard them jump. It was Isabel Cano, asking if she could have a response to the letter she'd drafted to send to Manuela about the house on Calle Bailen. He said he hadn't read it, but it didn't matter because he'd decided that if Manuela wanted to live in the house she was going to have to pay the market value, less the agency commission, and there would be no discussion on the matter.
'What's happened to
'I've hardened inside, Isabel. The blood now rifles down my cold, steel veins,' said Falcon. 'Did you ever hear about the Sebastian Ortega case?'
'He's Pablo Ortega's son, isn't he? The one who kidnapped the boy?'
'That's right,' said Falcon. 'How would you like to handle his appeal?'
'Any strong new evidence?'
'Yes,' said Falcon, 'but I should warn you that it might not make Esteban Calderon look very good.'
'It's about time he learnt a bit of humility,' she said. 'I'll take a look.'
Falcon hung up and sank back into the silence.
'You're confident,' said Ramirez, from the outer office.
'We are men of value, Jose Luis.'
The phone went in the outer office this time. Ramirez snatched it to his ear. Silence.
'Thank you,' said Ramirez.
He hung up. Falcon waited.
'Jose Luis?' he said.
There was no sound. He went to the door.
Ramirez looked up, his face was wet with tears, his mouth drawn back, tight across his teeth as he fought the emotion. He waved his hand at Falcon, he couldn't speak.
'His daughter,' said Ferrera.
The Sevillano nodded, thumbed the huge tears out of his eyes.
'She's all right,' he said, under his breath. 'They've done every test in the book and they can't find anything wrong with her. They think it's some kind of virus.'
He slumped in his chair, still squeezing fat tears out of his eyes.
'You know what?' said Falcon. 'I think it's time to go and have a beer.'
The three of them drove down to the bar La Jota and stood in the cavernous cool and drank beers and ate strips of salt cod. Other police officers came along and tried to strike up conversation but didn't get very far. They were too tense. The time clipped round to 8.30 p.m. and Falcon's mobile started vibrating against his thigh. He put it to his ear.
'You're all clear to arrest Ignacio Ortega on those charges,' said Elvira. 'Juan Romero has been appointed the Juez de Instruction. Good luck.'
They went back to the Jefatura because Falcon wanted to make the arrest in a patrol car with flashing lights, to let Ortega's neighbourhood know. Ferrera drove and they parked outside a large house in El Porvenir which, as Sebastian had described, had gate posts topped with concrete lions.
Ferrera stayed in the car. Ramirez rang the bell, which had the same electronic cathedral chime as Vega's. Ortega came to the door. They showed him their police IDs. He looked over their shoulders at the parked patrol car, lights flashing.
'We'd like to come in for a moment,' said Ramirez. 'Unless you'd rather do this in the street?'
They stepped into the house, which did not have the usual headache chill of fierce air conditioning but was completely comfortable.
'This air conditioning…' started Ramirez.
'This isn't air conditioning, Inspector,' said Ortega. 'You are now in a state-of-the-art climate-control system.'
'Then it should be raining in your study, Sr Ortega.'
'Can I offer you a drink, Inspector?' asked Ortega, mystified.
'I don't think so,' said Ramirez, 'we won't be staying long.'
'You, Inspector Jefe? A single malt? I even have Laphroaig.'
Falcon blinked at that. It was a whisky that Francisco Falcon had favoured. There was still a lot of it in his house, undrunk. His own tastes were not so eclectic. He shook his head.
'Do you mind if I drink alone?' asked Ortega.
'It's your house,' said Ramirez. 'You don't have to be polite for our sakes.'
Ortega poured himself a cheap whisky over ice. He raised his glass to the policemen. It was good to see him nervous. He picked up a fat remote with which he controlled his climate and started to explain the intricacies of the system to Ramirez, who butted in.
'We're bad losers, Sr Ortega,' he said.
'I'm sorry?' said Ortega.
'We're very bad losers,' said Ramirez. 'We don't like it when we see all our good work go to waste.'
'I can understand that,' said Ortega, covering his nervousness at Ramirez's looming, aggressive presence.
