The Blind Man of Seville

‘Does she believe us?’

‘Who knows?’

The Edificio de los Juzgados was next to the Palacio de Justicia, just opposite the Jardines de Murillo. It was well past five o’clock when Falcon and Ramirez parked up at the back of the court building. Falcon, who hated to be late, wanted to break the comb that Ramirez was putting through his black, brilliantined hair into ten little pieces. His murderous glare had no effect on the Inspector, who considered that they were early and his coiffure a priority — there could be secretaries about.

The two men in their dark suits, white shirts and sunglasses went to the front of the dull grey building — the monochrome of justice in the garden city. They put their briefcases through the X-ray machine and showed their ID. The place was quiet; almost everything happened in the morning. They went upstairs to Juez Calderon’s office on the first floor. The building was dark, even grim, on the inside. Nothing pretty about justice even when it was good and true.

Ramirez asked about Lobo and Falcon told him that pressure was already coming down from Comisario Leon and mentioned the corruption angle. Ramirez looked bored.

Calderon was not in his office. Ramirez slumped in a chair and played with a gold ring he had on his middle finger which was set with three diamonds. The ring had always bothered Falcon, too feminine for the mahogany muscularity of Ramirez.

‘We’re going to have to make something of that time-wasting maricon, Lucena,’ said Ramirez brutally, ‘or we’re going to look like incompetents in our first meeting with the new boy.’

Falcon let his eyes ripple over the book-lined room. Ramirez stretched out.

‘You know, I think even if you fuck both women and men, that deep down you’re a maricon,’ he said.

‘Even if it was just a one-off?’ said Falcon.

‘It’s not something you can experiment with, Inspector Jefe. It’s in your genes. If you can even think about it … you’re a maricon.’

‘Let’s not get into this with Juez Calderon.’

The young judge arrived at a quarter to six, sat at his desk and got straight down to business. He was now in the role of the Juez de Instruccion, which meant that he had ultimate responsibility for the direction of the case and bringing the necessary evidence for a conviction successfully to court.

‘What have we got?’ he asked.

Ramirez yawned. Calderon lit a cigarette, chucked the pack at Ramirez, who took one. They smoked while Falcon wondered how these two men had got to know each other … until he remembered the football. Betis losing 4–0 on the day the killer shot his movie of Raul and his sons. Where did that ease come from? He tried to remember if he’d ever had it. He must have done and lost it somewhere in his youth when his work had become too serious, or perhaps he’d become too serious about his work?

‘Who’s going to begin?’ asked Calderon.

‘Let’s start with the body,’ said Falcon, and gave a resume of the autopsy.

‘How did he think the eyelids were removed?’ asked Calderon.

‘Initial incision by scalpel, and the cutting done by scissors. He thought it was a good job.’

‘And we think this was done to force him to watch something on the television?’

‘The severity of the self-inflicted wounds would suggest that the man was horrified by what had been done to him as well as what he was being forced to watch,’ said Falcon.

‘I’d go along with that,’ said Calderon, unconsciously fingering his eyelids. ‘Any thoughts on what the killer showed him?’

Ramirez shook his head. No room for that sort of conjecture in his hard cranium.

‘I think we only know our own worst nightmares, not those of others,’ said Falcon, trying not to be patronizing.

‘Yes, I hate rats,’ said Calderon cheerfully.

‘My wife can’t be in the same room as a spider,’ said Ramirez, ‘ … even if it’s on television.’

The two men laughed.

‘This is something a little stronger than a phobia,’ said Falcon, stuck in the schoolmaster role. ‘And conjecture isn’t going to help us right now, we need to concentrate more on motive.’

‘Motive,’ said Calderon, nodding the task into himself. ‘You’ve spoken to Sra Jimenez?’

‘She gave me her motive for killing her husband or having him killed,’ said Falcon. ‘Their marriage was not successful, she had a lover, and she and the children would inherit everything.’

‘The lover,’ said Calderon, ‘did you speak to him?’

‘We did, because he was recorded as entering the Edificio Presidente about half an hour before Raul Jimenez was murdered. He’s also a lecturer in biochemistry at the university.’

‘Opportunity and expertise,’ said Calderon.

‘As well as access to chloroform and lab instruments,’ said Ramirez, so that Calderon had to check him for irony or stupidity.

‘So?’ asked Calderon, hands open, waiting for the obvious.

Falcon gave him the bad news that Lucena was on his way up to Marciano Ruiz’s apartment on the eighth floor.