serious conditions like lymphatic cancer and leukaemia. They have no idea what the problem is. She's thirteen years old, Javier, thirteen.'
Ramirez lit a cigarette and smoked with one arm across his chest as if he was holding himself together. He talked about the tests as if he'd already confirmed to himself that she had something serious and the terrible words of future treatment were creeping into his vocabulary – chemotherapy, nausea, hair loss, crashing immune system, risk of infection. Footage came to Falcon's lurid mind of huge-eyed children beneath the perfect domes of their fragile craniums.
His cigarette suddenly tasted foul to Ramirez, who crushed it out and spat the smoke into his lap as if it was responsible for his child's health. Falcon talked him down, reminded him that these were just tests, to stay calm and positive and that he could take any time off that he needed. Ramirez asked to be put to work to stop his endlessly revolving thoughts. Falcon brought him into his office, took another two aspirin and briefed him on the Vega deaths.
Perez and Ferrera turned up just after 8 a.m. The other two squad members, Baena and Serrano, were out doing a door-to-door. Falcon decided to move on two fronts. He would conduct a house search at the Vega property while Ramirez made a start on Rafael Vega's place of business, interviewing the project managers, the accountant and visiting all the construction sites. They would also have to work on finding the missing gardener, Sergei, and getting more information on the Russians seen by Pablo Ortega on La Noche de Reyes visiting the Vegas' house.
'Where do we look for Sergei?' asked Perez.
'Well, you can find out if there are any Russians or Ukrainians working on Vega's building sites and ask them, for a start. I doubt he's unique.'
'If we want to search Vega's office, from what you've said about Vazquez, we're going to need a warrant.'
'And we won't get one from a judge unless we can prove suspicious circumstances, for which we'll have to wait until we get the autopsies,' said Falcon. 'I'm going to have to take someone from Lucia's family down to the Instituto to identify the bodies. I'll pick them up probably around midday and see if that scrap of photograph we found in the barbecue means anything to any of them.'
'So until then we rely on the kindness of Sr Vazquez?' said Ramirez.
'He's already told me to talk to the accountant and given me his details,' said Falcon, who turned to Ferrera. 'Did you get anything more on those number plates?'
'What plates?' asked Ramirez.
'Somebody followed me home last night in a blue Seat Cordoba.'
'Any ideas?' asked Ramirez, while Ferrera called the traffic police.
'Too early to say, but they didn't seem too bothered by me or that I saw their plates.'
'They were reported stolen off a VW Golf in Marbella,' said Ferrera. 'Nothing more.'
Falcon and Ferrera picked up the crime scene photographs from Felipe and Jorge and went down to the car. Cristina Ferrera always dressed as if she was about to disappear without trace. She never used make-up and had one piece of jewellery: a crucifix on a chain. Her face was wide and flat with a nose that calmed the traffic of freckles across it. She had watchful brown eyes that moved slowly in her head. She made no physical impact and yet she had a strong presence which had impressed Falcon in her interview. Ramirez had passed over her photograph on the grounds of looks alone, but Falcon's curiosity was piqued. Why should an ex-nun want to become a member of a murder squad? Her prepared answer was that she wanted to be part of a group that was engaged on the side of Good against Evil. Ramirez had warned her that there was nothing theological about murder work, that in fact it was illogical – the result of breakdowns and short circuits in society – and nothing to do with chariot battles in heaven.
'The Inspector Jefe was asking for my reasons as someone who'd been thinking of becoming a nun,' she'd said, coolly. 'It was my naive belief then that the next best institution after the Church where I could do some good was the police force. My ten years on the streets of Cadiz have taught me that that is possible only on rare occasions.'
Falcon had wanted to give her the job there and then, but Ramirez wasn't finished.
'So why did you leave your vocation?'
'I met a man, Inspector. I fell pregnant, we got married and had two children.'
'In that order?' asked Ramirez, and Ferrera had nodded without taking her brown eyes off him.
So, a fallen angel, too. A Bride of Christ who'd found herself more mortal boots. Falcon had made his decision. The transfer from Cadiz had been slow but the few days she'd been with his squad had convinced him that he'd made the right choice. Even Ramirez had taken her out for a coffee, but that was how things changed. Ramirez, with his daughter's mystery illness, had found himself searching for spiritual sustenance rather than the corporeal version he usually hunted for amongst the courts' secretaries, the bar flirts, shopgirls and even, so Falcon suspected, some of the hookers that crossed his path.
Ferrera drove. Falcon preferred to lose himself in vague thoughts that might lead to better ideas. They drove to Santa Clara in silence. Falcon liked her for that resistance to the Andaluz gene for talking nonstop. His thoughts moved in a slow sickly loop. How men were changed by crisis. Ramirez had gone to church. Falcon had never been attracted to it. It made him feel fraudulent. He, like Sr Vega, had gone to the river, whose draw, he had to admit, was not always positive. There had been times when it offered him an alternative solution and he'd had to pull back and rush home to the comfort of whisky.
They pulled up outside the Vegas' house. Falcon used the remote to open the gates to the driveway. The air conditioning was still on in the house. He gave Ferrera a guided tour of the two crime scenes, the rest of the house and the garden with Sergei's accommodation. He profiled the two victims as they progressed. They returned to the crime scenes and went through the police photographs. Falcon filled in what he knew about the lead up to the crisis, but did not particularly emphasize murder or suicide. He wanted Ferrera to look at the crime scenes from the point of view of a woman, to think herself into Luda Vega's mind by going through her effects and then relive her actions.
He went into Vega's study and sat at the desk below the bullfight poster. The laptop had been removed and was in the lab. There was only the phone and the tape outline of the position of the laptop on the desk. He looked down the list of pre-programmed numbers on the phone. There were office numbers and Vazquez's direct line as well as the Krugmans' and Consuelo's. The last number was void. He picked up the phone and pressed it.
'Your telephone number has been selected in our grand draw,' said Falcon. 'I'm happy to inform you that you and your wife have won a prize. All you have to do is give me your name and address and I will tell you where to go to pick up your wonderful prize.'
'Who are you?' asked the voice in heavily accented Spanish.
'Name and address first, please.'
A hand went over the receiver. Muffled voices came down the line.
'What's the prize?'
'Name and -'
'Tell me the prize,' he said brutally.
'It's a watch for you and your -'
'I've got a watch,' he said, and slammed down the phone.
Falcon made a note to ask Vazquez about these Russians. The desk drawers revealed nothing unusual. The Heckler & Koch had been removed for tests. He opened up the filing cabinets with the keys he'd found the day before. He flicked through the files for telephone, bank, insurance. They were catching on something underneath – a leather-bound loose-leaf diary and address book.
The diary was private. The entries were minimal. Most of the time there was just an 'X' marked next to the hour and they were mostly night-time meetings. Falcon went back to Noche de Reyes and found that there was an 'X' marked there, too. The first daytime meeting was in March with 'Dr A'. In June there were meetings with Dr A and another with Dr D. In the address section he found a list of doctors – Medicos Alvarez, Diego and Rodriguez. He flicked through the diary and found that Dr R was the last doctor to see Vega. He called and arranged to talk to him around midday.
He went through the address section of the book, which contained only names and telephone numbers. Raul
