The Silent and the Damned aka The Vanished Hands

'And how has it been, working here?'

'This is very personal, Inspector Jefe,' said Marty, 'but if you must know it's been going fine.'

'You're nearly twenty years older than your wife. Has that ever presented any problems?'

Marty shifted in his seat, the first sign he'd shown of any discomfort in the whole interview.

'Maddy has an effect on men. A predictable and boring effect. The first connection I made with Maddy was up here -' he said, tapping his forehead. 'I surprised her and I still do. Now, you can call this syndrome whatever you like – father/daughter, teacher/pupil – but all I know is that it works and it will continue to work, because unlike all the other guys I'm not and never have been focused solely on her pussy.'

'So what happened with Reza Sangari was… unpredictable,' said Falcon, feeling the tension build in the room.

Marty Krugman sat back in his chair with his long artistic hands folded over his lean stomach. He fixed Falcon with his dark, embedded eyes and nodded.

'Are you a jealous man, Sr Krugman?'

Silence.

'Does it annoy you to see your wife talking to other men, laughing with them, being interested in them?'

More silence.

'Was there something that surprised you after you discovered your wife's betrayal with Reza Sangari?'

Marty frowned, searched his head. Leaned forward.

'What is this something that you're talking about?'

'That you, the intellectual, the political animal, the man of ideas and thoughts, could be… passionate?'

'What happened between Maddy and Reza Sangari was what the French call un coup de foudre, a lightning strike that set something on fire and which burnt itself out. By the time somebody killed Reza Sangari whatever happened between him and Maddy was just smoke, ash and embers. That's the nature of passion, Inspector Jefe. It burns hard and fast and consumes too greedily for mere sex to keep it satisfied. So once the sex has run its course the passion flames out and, if you're lucky, you survive the fall.'

'That's true if it was just sex,' said Falcon. 'But if it was something more…'

'What are you trying to do here, Inspector Jefe?' said Marty. 'Your probes are in. I can feel them. They're hurting. They're stirring up memories that I'd rather let lie. But what are you getting out of it?'

'Sr Vega used to take your wife to bullfights,' said Falcon, determined to drive his point home. 'How did you feel about that?'

'If two intelligent people want to watch such a disgusting spectacle as the torment of a dumb animal, that is their business and they can do it without me.'

'Your wife told me that she was surprised at how quickly she became accustomed to the sight of blood and the violence,' said Falcon. 'She perceived a sexual aspect to the drama.'

Marty shook his head in disbelief.

'Would you describe your marriage as quite open, Sr Krugman? By that I mean you don't appear to see the necessity of establishing yourself as a couple in society. You're quite happy for your wife to spend time with Sr Vega or other men. She was independent in Connecticut. She had her own work and freedom…'

'What 'other men'?' said Marty, opening his hands, welcoming the exchange.

'Juez Calderon, for instance,' said Falcon.

Marty blinked at the information. As the name slid cleanly into Krugman's mind, Falcon realized that this was news to him.

'Maddy has different energies and pursuits to mine. She can sit by the river for hours taking photographs. That's her world. She also likes the street and bar life of Seville. I don't have time for that. She likes the animation and constant sense of theatre about the people. I am not someone who can bring that alive for her. Rafael was happy to show it to her, as I'm sure is the judge. I have no desire to stop her enjoying herself. To try would be destructive.'

The words came out like a pre-prepared statement from an administration under pressure.

Chapter 19

Sunday, 28th July 2002

In the morning Falcon was woken by a call from Ignacio Ortega, who he'd finally managed to contact late the previous night and who had now arrived in Seville. He wanted to visit his brother's house. They arranged to meet at midday.

Falcon and Consuelo had a breakfast of huevos rancheros. She was still stunned after hearing about Pablo Ortega's death. The local news on the radio featured Ortega's suicide and an item about a massive forest fire, which had started last night and was now burning out of control near a town called Almonaster la Real in the Sierra de Aracena. Consuelo turned it off. She didn't need her Sunday ruined any more than it was.

At midday Falcon crossed the road, let himself in to Pablo Ortega's garden and opened up the house. He turned on the air conditioning, shut the door to the room where Pablo had died and jammed a damp towel at its base in an attempt to reduce the terrible stink. He checked the fridge for beer.

Ignacio arrived and knocked at the sliding doors. They shook hands. He looked younger than Pablo, but not by much. He was bald but hadn't made the drastic error of trying to plaster his still dark hair from one side over to the other, although the idea had possibly occurred to him. He was slimmer and fitter than his brother but had no presence whatsoever. This was a man who would disappear in a room and Falcon understood why he'd asked his brother to come to his business functions. He badly needed to borrow some charisma.

Ortega apologized for ruining his Sunday but he'd felt a need to see the place where his brother had died. Falcon said he was going to be busy the following day and mentioned the identification of the body and where that would take place. They agreed a time. Falcon offered him a drink and they opened up a litre bottle of Cruzcampo from the fridge. The beer seemed to make Ignacio emotional. He had to wipe away tears and stare at the floor.

'You were close,' said Falcon.

'He was my only brother,' said Ignacio, 'but I didn't see much of him. He was a famous man travelling the world, while I sold and installed air-conditioning systems. Our paths didn't cross that often.'

'You must have seen him more often since Sebastian's trial. He hasn't been working so much and there's been this problem with the house.'

'That's true,' said Ortega, pulling out a pack of Ducados and lighting one. 'He'd been going through a rough time, but… I tried to help him with this problem. I sent someone round the other day. I can't believe… it just seems so strange that he's not here.'

'I went to see Sebastian in prison yesterday,' said Falcon.

Ignacio looked up with watery eyes as if he was going to get more information.

'That was a difficult relationship,' he said. 'Father and son.'

'Any reason for that?'

'Our own father… he was a very difficult man.'

'In what way?'

'He'd had a hard life,' said Ignacio. 'We don't know what happened to him exactly. There was nobody left to tell us except him, and he never talked about anything. Our mother only told us that his village was caught up in the Nationalist advance during the Civil War and that the Moors did terrible things to people. As far as Pablo and I were concerned the worst thing they did was to let him survive.'

'Pablo was the eldest?'

'Our parents married the year the war ended and Pablo was born the year after that.'

'And you?'

'I was born in 1944,' he said.

'Those were hard times in this part of the country.'