The Silent and the Damned aka The Vanished Hands

'You're not coming, Inspector Jefe?'

'I've a question for Sra Krugman.'

Calderon made it clear he would wait.

'You must go off and do your work, Juez,' said Maddy, giving him a dismissive little wave.

A herd of emotions ravaged Calderon's face. Hope, delight, disappointment, longing, jealousy, anger and resignation. They left him trampled. He stumbled down the remaining stairs unable to coordinate his feet.

'Your question, Inspector Jefe?' she said, her look as level as the sea's horizon.

He asked to see the shots of Sr Vega in his garden again. She went into the darkroom and laid the prints out on the table. Falcon pointed to the top corner of the shots.

'Smoke,' he said.

'He was burning stuff,' she said. 'He quite often burnt papers down there.'

'How often?'

'Since the beginning of the year… quite a lot.'

'And all your shots are…'

'From this year,' she said. 'Although he didn't become a regular down at the river until March.'

'You knew he was disturbed by something,' said Falcon, annoyed by her now.

'I told you, it's not my business,' she said. 'And you seem to be confused yourself as to whether it's suicide or murder.'

He turned without a word and headed for the door.

'He's a very sensitive and intelligent man, the Juez,' she said.

'He's a good man,' said Falcon. 'And he's a happy man, too.'

'They're a rarity once they get over thirty,' said Maddy.

'Why do you say that?'

'I see more men down at the river than I do women.'

'Women have a talent for remaining connected to the world,' said Falcon. 'They find it easier to talk.'

'There's no secret to it,' said Maddy. 'We just get on with it. Men, like Marty for instance, get sidelined by trying to answer unanswerable questions. They allow things to complicate in their minds.'

Falcon nodded and set off down the stairs. She stood at the top, folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall.

'So, why is the Juez so happy?'

'He's getting married later this year,' said Falcon, without turning.

'Do you know her?' she asked. 'Is she nice?'

'Yes,' said Falcon, and he turned to the door.

'Lighten up' she said in English. 'Hasta luego, Inspector Jefe.'

Chapter 6

Wednesday, 24th July 2002

Falcon understood those words perfectly and he strode back to the Vegas' house in a fury that was only broken by the sight of the maid walking off towards Avenida de Kansas City. He caught up with her and asked her whether she'd bought any drain cleaner recently. She hadn't, ever. He asked her when was the last time she'd cleaned the kitchen floor. Sra Vega, who was obsessed with the idea that Mario would catch germs from a dirty floor, had insisted that it was done three times a day. Mario had already gone across to Consuelo Jimenez's house before she cleaned the floor for the last time yesterday evening.

The ambulance containing the two bodies pulled away as he arrived back at the Vegas' house. The front door was open. Calderon was smoking in the hallway. Felipe and Jorge nodded to him as they left with their forensic kits and evidence bags. Falcon closed the door behind them against the heat.

'What did you ask her?' said Calderon, pushing himself away from the wall.

'I saw from the barbecue that Vega had been burning papers. I wanted to see if he was burning anything in the shots she had taken of him,' said Falcon. 'He was.'

'Is that all?' said Calderon, both accusing and mocking.

Falcon's anger came back to him.

'Did you get anywhere with her, Esteban?'

'What do you mean?'

'You were over there for half an hour with your mobile switched off. I assumed you were talking about something with an important bearing on the investigation.'

Calderon dragged hard on his cigarette, drew in the smoke with a rush of air.

'Did she say what we talked about?'

'I heard you talking about her photographs as I came up the stairs,' said Falcon.

'They're very good,' said Calderon, nodding gravely. 'She's a very talented woman.'

'You're the one who called her a 'paparazzo of the emotions'.'

'That was before she talked to me about her work,' he said, flicking his cigarette fingers at Falcon. 'It's the thinking behind the photographs that makes them what they are.'

'So they're not Hola! with feelings?' said Falcon.

'Very good, Javier. I'll remember that one,' said Calderon. 'Anything else?'

'We'll talk after the autopsy reports have come out,' said Falcon. 'I'll meet Sra Vega's sister off the AVE and take her to Sra Jimenez later this evening.'

Calderon nodded without knowing what Falcon was talking about.

'I'll talk to Sr Ortega now… he's the other neighbour,' said Falcon, unable to resist the sarcasm.

'I know who Sr Ortega is,' said Calderon.

Falcon went to the front door. By the time he turned back Calderon was already lost in labyrinthine i thoughts.

'I meant what I said this morning, Esteban.'

'What was that?'

'I think you and Ines will be very happy together,'] said Falcon. 'You're very well suited.' 'You're right,' he said. 'We are. Thanks.' 'You'd better come with me,' said Falcon. 'I'm going to lock up now.'

They left the house and parted ways in the drive. Falcon shut the electric gates with a remote he'd picked up from the kitchen. The entrance to Ortega's house was to the left of the Vegas' driveway and covered by a large creeper. He watched Calderon from its shade. The man hovered by his car and appeared to be checking his mobile for messages. He headed off in the direction of the Krugmans' house, stopped, paced about and gnawed on his thumbnail. Falcon shook his head, rang Ortega's bell and introduced himself over the intercom. Calderon threw his hands up and went back to his car.

'That's the way, Esteban,' said Falcon to himself. 'Don't even think about it.'

The smell of raw sewage had already reached Falcon's nostrils as he stood by the gate. Ortega buzzed him in to a stink gross enough to make him gag. Large bluebottles cruised the air as threatening as heavy bombers. Brown stains crept up the walls of the corner of the house where a large crack had appeared in the facade. The air seethed with the busy richness of decay. Ortega appeared from around the side of the house which overlooked the lawn.

'I don't use the front door,' said Ortega, whose hand grip was bone-cracking. 'As you can tell, I have a problem with that side of the house.'

Pablo Ortega's whole body expressed itself in that handshake. He was compact, unyielding and electric. His hair was long, thick and completely white and fell below the neck of his collarless shirt. His moustache was equally impressive, but had yellowed from smoking. Two creases ran from the entradas of his hairline to his eyebrows and had the effect of pulling Falcon into his dark brown eyes.

'You've only just moved in, haven't you?' asked Falcon.

'Nine months ago… and six weeks later, this shit happens. The house used to have two rooms built over a cesspit, which holds the sewage for the four houses you can see around us. Then the previous owners built another