The Silent and the Damned aka The Vanished Hands

Pablo Ortega was coming back from walking his dogs. Falcon buzzed down his window as he drew alongside and asked if he could spare a few minutes. Ortega nodded grimly. Falcon pulled the photograph out of his briefcase. Ortega held the gate open for him. The stink from the cesspit was as thick as a mud wall. They went around the house and into the kitchen. The dogs drank noisily.

'I've had some good news about the cesspit,' said Ortega, unable to sound delighted by it. 'One of my brother's contractors thinks he can rebuild without having to knock down all the rooms and he could do it for five million.'

'That's good,' said Falcon. 'I'm glad it's going to work out for you.'

They went into the living room and sat down.

'I might have some more good news for you,' said Falcon, wanting to keep things positive. 'I'd like to help with Sebastian's case.'

'It's no use you helping from the outside if Sebastian doesn't want to be helped from the inside.'

'I think I can help there, too,' said Falcon, taking the risk that Aguado would agree. 'I have a clinical psychologist who's looking at his case and might be prepared to talk to him.'

'A clinical psychologist,' said Ortega, slowly. 'And what would he talk to Sebastian about?'

'She would try to find out why Sebastian felt the need to incarcerate himself.'

'He didn't incarcerate himself,' said Ortega, leaping to his feet, throwing out a big dramatic hand. 'The state incarcerated him with the help of that cabron Juez Calderon.'

'But Sebastian didn't defend himself. He seems to have welcomed his punishment and failed to offer anything that might have reduced his sentence. Why?'

Ortega dug his fists into his expansive waist and drew in a massive breath as if he was about to blow the house down.

'Because,' he said, very quietly, 'he was guilty… It was just his mental state at the time that was in question. The court decided he was sane. I dispute that.'

'She will find that out from him,' said Falcon.

'What will she talk to him about?' said Ortega. 'The boy has a fragile mind as it is. I don't want her stirring up more trouble. He's already in solitary confinement. I don't want him feeling suicidal.'

'Have there been any reports from the prison that he might be?'

'Not yet.'

'She's very good at her work, Pablo. I don't think this will do him any harm,' said Falcon. 'And while she helps him clarify things, I'll look at various elements of the case

'Like what?'

'The boy he kidnapped – Manolo. I should talk to his parents.'

'You won't get anywhere there. The Ortega name cannot be spoken in that house. The father has suffered some sort of collapse. He can't work any more. They spread malicious gossip so that the whole barrio has turned against me. I mean, that is why I am here, Javier… and not there.'

'I have to talk to them,' said Falcon. 'It was the seriousness of Manolo's testimony that resulted in such a heavy prison sentence for Sebastian.'

'Why should he change it?' said Ortega. 'It's his testimony.'

'That's what I have to find out: whether it was his testimony or something that he was encouraged to say by others.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'He's a very young boy. At that age you do what you're told.'

'You know something, Javier, don't you?' said Ortega. 'What do you know?'

'I know that I want to help.'

'Well, I don't like it,' said Ortega. 'And I don't want it to rebound on Sebastian.'

'It can't get any worse for him, Pablo.'

'It'll stir things up…' said Ortega, repeating his fear. He started out angry but then softened. 'Can you just let me think about it for a bit, Javier? I don't want to rush into these things. It's delicate. The media has only just fallen silent. I don't want them on my back again. Is that all right?'

'Don't worry, Pablo. Take your time.'

Ortega blinked at the photograph whose corner Javier was flicking.

'Anything else?' he asked.

'I was confused,' said Falcon, throwing back the pages of his notebook, 'as to your relationship with Rafael Vega. You said: 'I knew him. He introduced himself about a week after I moved in here.' Does that mean you did know him before you moved here, or that you've only known him since you've lived in Santa Clara?'

Ortega was staring at the photograph face down on the table in front of Falcon as if he was a poker player and it was a draw card whose suit and number he wouldn't mind knowing.

'I did know him before,' he said. 'I suppose I should have said he reintroduced himself. I met him at some party or other. I can't remember whose…'

'Once, twice, three times?'

'It's not so easy for me to remember. I meet so many…'

'You knew Consuelo Jimenez's late husband,' said Falcon.

'Yes, yes, Raul. That would have been it. They were in the same business. I used to go to the restaurant in El Porvenir. That's what it was.'

'I thought the connection was your brother and his air-conditioning systems?'

'Yes, yes, yes, now I've got it. Of course.'

Falcon gave him the photograph, watching his face as he did so.

'Who are you talking to in that photograph?' asked Falcon.

'God knows,' said Ortega. 'The one you can't see is my brother. I know that from his bald head. This guy… I don't know.'

'It was taken at one of Raul Jimenez's parties.'

'That doesn't help. I went to dozens of functions. I met hundreds of… All I can say is that he wasn't from my profession. He must be in the construction industry.'

'Raul divided his friends up into celebrities and… useful people for his businesses,' said Falcon. 'I'm surprised you didn't appear in his celebrity photographs.'

'Raul Jimenez thought Lorca was a brand of sherry. He'd never been near a theatre in his life. He'd like to think of himself as a friend of Antonio Banderas and Ana Rosa Quintana, but he wasn't. It was all a publicity stunt. I was a… No, let's be accurate: I occasionally gave support to my brother by turning up at functions. I knew Raul and I'd met Rafael, but I wasn't exactly a friend.'

'Well, thank you for explaining that,' said Falcon. 'I'm sorry to have taken up your time.'

'I'm not sure what you're investigating here, Javier.

One moment we're talking about Rafael's suicide, the next you make it sound as if he's been murdered, and now you're looking at Sebastian's case. And that photograph… that must have been taken years ago, before I put on all this weight.'

'There's no date on it. All I can tell you is that it was taken before 1998.'

'And how do you know that?'

'Because the man you're talking to died in that year.'

'So, you already know who he is?'

Falcon nodded.

'I feel as if I'm being accused of something here,' said Ortega, 'when it's just that my memory has been shot to pieces since this business with Sebastian. I've never used a prompter in my life and then twice in the last year I've come to in front of the camera or on the stage, wondering what the hell I'm doing there. It's… ach… you don't want to know. It's silly stuff. Nothing a cop would be interested in.'

'Try me.'

'It's as if reality keeps breaking through the illusion I'm trying to create.'

'That sounds plausible. You've been through a difficult time.'

'It's never happened before,' said Ortega. 'Not even after Gloria left me. Anyway, forget about it.'