'You have to talk to the other side,' he said. 'Play for time.'
Consuelo looked suddenly exhausted. The years piled into her face. The muscles in her jaw tensed. She reached for the phone, this call more difficult now that she knew for certain they were holding Dario. She gritted her teeth and dialled the number.
'You know, Javier, don't you, that if anything happened to Dario, I wouldn't be able to live with it. Even after all Alicia's work, he still means too much to me. He's not just Dario, my baby, he's the two I lost as well. I think it might be the end of me… This is Consuelo Jimenez,' she said into the phone, 'and I'd like to speak to my son.'
'You've taken your time.'
'There've been complications.'
'All right, tell me your complications, Senora Jimenez, but don't let them be from the Inspector Jefe. He is the whole reason behind this. If he hadn't stuck his nose into our business, none of this would have happened.'
'The first is the money,' said Consuelo, hunched over the desk, her whole body tensed against the simmering violence coming down the line. 'The money has already been transferred from the Jefatura to the Banco de Bilbao. The Inspector Jefe has no authority over it. Only his commanding officer can get that money out.'
'That is very simple… not complicated at all,' said the voice, and Consuelo's shoulders relaxed a notch. 'You will raise the money yourself, Senora Jimenez.'
Silence.
'Do you seriously think I can lay my hands on eight million euros in the space of…?'
'Eight million two hundred thousand euros, Senora Jimenez,' said the voice. 'That shouldn't be a problem. I know two of your restaurants here in Seville are leased, but the other two you own outright. There's been a property boom. Those two buildings are easily worth three million euros now, so there's only a further five million to raise. Be creative. We know you're good at that.'
'I can't -'
'You can, Senora Jimenez. Eight million two hundred thousand for your child's safe return. I really don't think that's too much to ask.'
Consuelo blinked. This was not going according to plan. Her left hand started to tremble.
'It will take time,' she said.
'We're in no hurry. We can afford to keep your son alive for a week,' said the voice. 'Your friend, though, the Inspector Jefe, he will have to bring us the disks today. Yes, today. It is today already. He will bring us the original disks by midday today as a demonstration of good will.'
'The original disks? Why do you need the originals? Why not copies?'
'Because we want the originals,' said the voice. 'All understood. No more complications.'
'There is one more complication,' said Consuelo, dredging for all reserves of strength. 'I need proof that you are holding my son.'
'Proof!'
'I need you to ask him about his mark.'
'His mark!' roared the voice.
'Ask him about his mark. He will tell you everything you need to know to prove to me -'
'You want proof -' said the voice, total threat.
'We have been approached by another group who claim that they are the ones holding my son. I therefore need you to prove to me…'
'I'll prove to you, Senora Jimenez. Listen -'
A child's voice. Distant, but in the same room as the phone.
'Mama, Mama, Mama.'
'Dario!' screamed Consuelo.
A blurt of foreign language.
'Listen, Senora Jimenez.'
'Mama, Mama. No, no, no -'
The voice was muffled. A hand placed over the mouth. There was an audible clipping noise like shears going through the bones of a roast chicken, and then screaming, piercing horror screams of a child not just in pain, but in terrible shock at what had just been done.
'That was the small toe, Senora Jimenez. We won't bother to send that to you. Only later… the bigger parts. If you decide to make that necessary.'
21
Consuelo Jimenez's restaurant, La Macarena, Seville – Tuesday, 19th September 2006, 00.15 hrs
Consuelo fell off her chair, slid under the desk as if she'd been dragged there by some unseen riptide. She hid in the footwell, held on to her face, squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her body. She strained against the pain until a creaking sound developed in her throat, but however hard she tried she could not get those horror screams out of her head. They were in there now for eternity and they'd torn something in her. That connective tissue, which holds us together and binds us to others, had just been slashed at with a hooligan's mindlessness.
Falcon crawled towards her.
'Don't touch me!' she screamed, kicking at him with her heels. She didn't want loving. She didn't want tenderness or pity. What she wanted was someone to string her up by her ankles, slit her throat and bleed her into oblivion. She wanted to take the violence meted out to her child on to herself.
An immense silence settled in the room. It was so quiet that for the first time they heard diners off in the restaurant beyond the soundproofed door. Like faint choral singing. They sat on the floor. The chair fallen on its side. Consuelo's hands clutched to her chest, knees up to her face. Falcon on the outside looking in. No tears from her. This was beyond tears. She stared into the wood grain for an age.
'The voice was right,' she said quietly. 'We have no idea who we're dealing with. No rules. No code. No reason. It's like trying to negotiate more time from Death.'
'And the voice wanted us to find that out for ourselves,' said Falcon.
'The voice is cruel,' she said, 'but not quite as cruel as the other voice.'
'The other voice is speaking from a position of weakness.'
'I'm talking about the voice inside my head,' said Consuelo. 'I am beyond reason, Javier. You cannot hear what we've just heard and stay reasonable. What chemicals those screams have released into my bloodstream, I do not know, but I am not the same. I have irrevocably changed in the space of quarter of an hour.'
'Don't let it make up your mind.'
'You're used to this, Javier.'
'Nobody gets used to this,' he said, thinking about Marisa Moreno, the grey foot in the black lake, the head on the wooden statue.
'The only way to deal with a monster like Donstov,' said Consuelo, fists clenched, knuckles white with rage, 'is to set the dogs on him.'
'And Dario?'
'I can't think that he'd be in any more danger than he is now.'
They stood. She brushed herself down, sat on the edge of the desk.
'I'll get hold of the disks,' said Falcon.
She could see the damage it was doing him to go against the grain, but that he was willing. From her side there wasn't a scintilla of doubt.
'You know that once we've taken this road there's no going back,' said Falcon. 'And there might be no coming back either. You've got two other sons to…'
'Do you want me to sign a release form?' she said, eyes locked on to his.
'I'm not going to fail you, Consuelo,' said Falcon. 'I would corrupt myself. I would even hand over the money, if I had it. I would ruin my career. I'd let them drum me out of the force to spend the rest of my days in jail and ignominy, if I could be certain that Dario would come out of this all right.'
She held his face, kissed him.
