There were still no keys by the time he arrived at the house, which gave time for an ambulance to turn up, followed by Calderon and finally Felipe and Jorge from the Policia Cientifica.
A neighbour found the spare set of keys at 7.20 a.m. and Falcon and Calderon entered the house, both wearing latex gloves. They went in to the large room at the back of the house with books lining the far wall. In the middle was a desk, which consisted of a sheet of three-centimetre-thick glass supported by two squares of black wood. There was an iMac, which was switched on with the ‘desktop’ showing. On the back wall behind the desk were four high-quality reproductions of the Falcon nudes. Between the desk and this wall Ramon Salgado was lying on his side attached to a high, ladder-backed, armless chair. One wrist was trapped underneath him, the other was secured so that the hand ported down the back leg of the chair. One bare ankle was tied to the front leg of the chair and the other was high up in the air with a length of cord looped around the big toe. The cord ran up to a light fitting in the ceiling that consisted of four spotlights attached to a metal strip. Concealed in the metal strip was a small pulley. The cord ran through that and back down to Salgado’s neck, which looked as if it might be broken. The cord was pulled tight so that Salgado’s head, lolling on his neck, did not make contact with the ground. On closer inspection of the pulley they found it had been jammed by a knot in the cord.
‘As soon as the chair went over,’ said Falcon, ‘he was a dead man.’
Calderon stepped around the blood on the floor.
‘What the hell was happening in here before that?’ he asked.
The Medico Forense, the same as for Raul Jimenez, appeared at the door.
This was the first time Falcon had seen someone he knew murdered. He couldn’t get it out of his head, the last occasion he’d seen Salgado, drinking manzanilla in the Bar Albariza. Now, to see him inanimate, his blood all over the floor, the gross indignity of the manner of his death, he winced with guilt at his dislike of the man. He moved further toward the book-lined wall to be able to look into Salgado’s face. He could see that the cheeks were blood- streaked and stuffed full, gagged by his socks. The collar of his shirt was soaked, heavy with blood. The eyes stared up at Falcon and he flinched. In the coagulating blood on the floor he saw what he’d dreaded: a small flap with fine hairs.
Photographs were taken and Felipe and Jorge began taking samples of blood from every spatter mark on the floor until a path had been cleared for the Medico Forense to kneel by the body. He muttered his comments into his dictaphone — a physical description of Salgado, a catalogue of the injuries sustained and the probable cause of death.
‘… loss of blood due to head injuries caused by the flailing of the victim’s head against the sharp edges and corners of the chair back … eyelids removed … evidence of asphyxiation … possible broken neck … time of death: within the last eight hours …’
Falcon handed Calderon his mobile and played him the message that had been left at 2.45 a.m. Calderon listened and passed it on to the Medico Forense.
‘ “You know what to do”?’ Calderon repeated Sergio’s instruction to Salgado, mystified.
‘This pulley isn’t something installed by the killer,’ said Falcon. ‘It was already there. Somehow Sergio knew that Salgado had a predilection for auto-strangulation. He was telling him how he could end it all by taking his sexual proclivity beyond the limit.’
‘Auto-strangulation?’ asked Calderon.
‘To be on the brink of asphyxiation during a sexual experience intensifies the moment,’ explained Falcon. ‘Unfortunately the practice has its dangers.’
A patrolman came to the door. A policeman from the station down the road wanted to speak to Falcon about a break-in he’d investigated in Salgado’s house two weeks ago. Falcon joined the policeman in the hall and asked where the entry point had been.
‘That was the strange thing, Inspector Jefe, there was no evidence of a break-in and Sr Salgado said that nothing had been stolen. He just knew that somebody had been in his house. He was convinced that they’d spent the weekend here.’
‘Why?’
‘He couldn’t tell me.’
‘Does the maid come in at the weekends?’
‘No, never. And the gardener only comes at weekends during the summer to water the plants. Sr Salgado liked his privacy when he was at home.’
‘He’s away a lot?’
‘That’s what he told me.’
‘Did you check the house?’
‘Of course. He followed me around.’
‘Any weak points?’
‘Not on the ground floor, but there’s a room at the top of the house with its own roof terrace and the lock on that door was almost useless.’
‘What about access?’
‘Once you were up on the garage roof almost anybody could have made it up there,’ said the policeman. ‘I told him to change the lock, put a bolt on the door … They never do …’
Falcon went up to the top of the house. The policeman confirmed that the door and lock were the same. The key had come out of the lock and was lying on the floor. The door rattled in its frame.
In Salgado’s study the medical examination was over and Felipe and Jorge were back on the floor taking blood samples. Falcon called Ramirez, filled him in, and told him to bring Fernandez, Serrano and Baena down to El Porvenir. There was a lot of work to do just interviewing the neighbours before they left for work.
