‘How did you get to work?’
He faltered, stumbled over the beginner’s question.
‘By bus.’
Ramirez took over and tied him in knots about bus routes. Lucena clung to his lie until Falcon quietly put the print-out from the CCTV tapes into his hands.
‘Is that you, Sr Lucena?’ he asked.
He jiggled his head in nervous affirmation.
‘What subject do you lecture in at the university?’
‘Biochemistry.’
‘So you’d probably be working from one of those buildings on Avenida de la Reina Mercedes?’
He nodded.
‘Very close to Heliopolis, where Sra Jimenez is moving to?’
He shrugged.
‘In your faculty would it be easy to get hold of such a chemical as chloroform?’
‘Very easy.’
‘And saline solution and scalpels and cutting scissors?’
‘Of course, there’s a laboratory.’
‘You see those figures in the bottom right-hand corner of the picture … what do they say?’
‘02.36. 12.04.01.’
‘Who were you going to see in the Edificio Presidente at that time?’
He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Can we talk about this in private?’ he asked.
‘We’re all interested parties here,’ said Ramirez.
‘Twenty-five minutes after you entered that building Raul Jimenez was murdered,’ said Falcon, who saw now that Lucena, rather than considering him as a persecutor wanted him as a friend. It was the woman he feared.
‘I went to the eighth floor,’ said Lucena, throwing his hands up.
An unexpected answer, which had Ramirez reaching for his notebook.
‘The
‘Orfilia Trinidad Munoz Delgado,’ said Ramirez.
‘She must be ninety years old,’ said Sra Jimenez.
‘Seventy-four,’ said Ramirez. ‘And there’s Marciano Joaquin Ruiz Pizarro.’
‘Marciano Ruiz, he’s the theatre director,’ said Falcon.
Lucena nodded up at him.
‘I know him,’ said Falcon. ‘He’s been to see my father, but he’s …’
Ramirez, like some mugging comic actor, took a quick step back, stared down at Lucena. Falcon used his mobile to call Fernandez, who told him that there’d been no reply from the Ruiz apartment when he’d called that afternoon.
‘He’s not in today,’ said Lucena. ‘He dropped me off at work and went to Huelva. He’s rehearsing Lorca’s
The air thermals changed in the room. Sra Jimenez charged out of her chair before there was any chance of intervention. Her hand swung back and made nasty contact with the corner of Lucena’s head. It wasn’t a slap, more of a thud. All those rings, thought Falcon.
Blood trickled down the side of Lucena’s face. The front door slammed. Heels split the paving stones.
‘I don’t get it,’ said Ramirez, more relaxed now that the woman was out of the room. ‘Why were you fucking her if you’re a …’
Lucena took a packet of tissues out, dabbed his forehead.
‘Can you just explain that to me?’ said Ramirez. ‘I mean, you’re one or the other, aren’t you?’
‘Do I have to put up with this imbecile?’ Lucena asked Falcon.
‘Unless you want to spend a long time down at the Jefatura, yes.’
Lucena got to his feet, put his hands in his pockets, walked to the centre of the room and turned to Ramirez. His weakness had been replaced by an aristocratic, vindictive smoothness of the sort employed by fops who’ve been asked for the satisfaction of a duel.
‘I fucked her because she reminded me of my mother,’ he said.
