candidate as he was only seven years younger than me. It was unfortunate that we fell out over the matter.'
'That's not what was written in the newspapers,' said Ramirez. 'They were reporting that these two senior members of your party were not pushing themselves forward but were, in fact, pushing for Jesus Alarcon to take over. What I was wondering was, what happened between then and now to bring about this sudden change of heart?'
'I'm quite flattered to find you so knowledgeable about my party,' said Rivero, who regained some strength by reminding himself that these men were homicide detectives and not from the sex crimes squad. 'But didn't you tell me you were here to talk about something else? It's late; perhaps we should press on.'
'Yes, of course,' said Ramirez. 'It was probably just malicious rumour anyway.'
Ramirez sat down, very pleased with himself. Rivero looked at him steadily over the rims of the gold specs he'd just put on. It was difficult to know what was burning inside him. Did he want to know what this rumour was, or would he prefer Ramirez just to shut the fuck up?
'We're looking for a missing person, Don Eduardo,' said Falcon.
Rivero's head whipped away from Ramirez to focus on Falcon.
'A missing person?' he said, and some relief crept into the corner of his face. 'I can't think of anybody I know who's gone missing, Inspector Jefe.'
'We're here because this man was last seen in your household by one of your maids,' said Falcon, who had spoken each word clearly and slowly so that he could watch the accumulation ease into Eduardo Rivero with the intrusiveness of a medical probe.
Rivero was a practised politician, but even he could not relax and animate himself through the progression of this sentence. Perhaps because it was a line that he'd dreaded hearing and had forced to the bleakest region of his mind.
'I'm not sure who you could be talking about,' said Rivero, clutching at the rope of hope, only to find frayed cotton threads.
'His name is Tateb Hassani, although in America he was known as Jack Hansen. He was a professor of Arabic Studies at Columbia University in New York,' said Falcon, who removed a photograph from his inside pocket and snapped it down in front of Rivero. 'I'm sure you'd recognize one of your own house guests, Don Eduardo.'
Rivero leaned forward and planted his elbows on the desk. He glanced down, stroked his chin and massaged his jowls with his thumb, over and over, whilst ransacking the furniture of his brain for the inspiration that would take him to the next moment.
'You're right,' said Rivero. 'Tateb Hassani was a guest in this house until last Saturday, when he left, and I haven't seen or heard of him since.'
'What time did he leave here on Saturday and how did he depart from these premises?' asked Falcon.
'I'm not sure when he left…'
'Was it daylight?'
'I wasn't here when he left,' said Rivero.
'When was the last time you saw him?'
'It was after lunch, probably four thirty. I said I was going to take a siesta. He said he would be leaving.'
'When did you wake from your siesta?'
'About six thirty.'
'And Tateb Hassani had already gone?'
'That is correct.'
'I'm sure your staff will be able to confirm that.' Silence.
'When did you last see the cosmetic surgeon, Agustin Cardenas?'
'He was here this evening…for dinner.'
'And before that?'
Silence, while monstrous abstractions boiled up, loomed, subsided and loomed again in Rivero's nauseated mind.
'He was here on Saturday evening, again for dinner.'
'How did he arrive for dinner?'
'In his car.'
'Can you describe that car?'
'It's a black Mercedes Estate E500. He'd just bought it last year.'
'Where did he park his car?'
'Inside the front doors, below the arch.'
'Did Agustin Cardenas stay the night here?'
'Yes.'
'What time did he leave on Sunday?'
'At about eleven in the morning.'
'Were you aware of that car leaving your house at any time between Agustin Cardenas's arrival and his departure on Sunday morning?'
'No,' said Rivero, the sweat careening down his spine.
'Who else was present at that dinner on Saturday night?'
Rivero cleared his throat. The water was getting deeper, winking at his chin.
'I'm not sure what this could possibly have to do with the disappearance of Tateb Hassani.'
'Because that was the night that Tateb Hassani was poisoned with cyanide, had his hands surgically removed, his face burnt off with acid and his scalp cut away from his skull,' said Falcon.
Rivero had to clench his buttocks against the sudden looseness of his bowels.
'But I've already told you that Tateb Hassani left here before dinner,' said Rivero. 'Maybe four hours before dinner.'
'And I'm sure that can be corroborated by the domestic servants on duty here at the time,' said Falcon.
'We're not accusing you of lying, Don Eduardo,' said Ramirez. 'But we must have a clear idea of what happened here, in this house, in the hope that it will explain what happened later.'
'What happened later?'
'Let's take it step by step,' said Falcon. 'Who attended the dinner, apart from yourself and Agustin Cardenas?'
'That will shed no light on the disappearance of Tateb Hassani, because HE HAD ALREADY LEFT THIS HOUSE!' roared Rivero, hammering out the last six words with his fist on the desk.
'There's no need to upset yourself, Don Eduardo,' said Ramirez, leaning forward, full of false concern. 'Surely you can understand, given that a man was murdered and brutally dealt with, that the Inspector Jefe has to ask questions that may appear mystifying but which, we can assure you, will have a bearing on the case.'
'Let's go back a step,' said Falcon, to make it sound less unrelenting. 'Tell me who prepared Saturday's dinner and who served it.'
'It was prepared by the cook and it wasn't served. It was brought up to the room next door and laid out as a buffet.'
'Can we have those employees' names please?' said Falcon.
'They left straight afterwards and went home.'
'We'd still like their names and phone numbers,' said Falcon, and Ramirez handed over his notebook, which Rivero refused to accept.
'This is an infringement…'
'Tell us what happened after the dinner,' said Falcon. 'What time did it finish, who left and who stayed, and what did those who stayed do for the remainder of the night?'
'No, this is too much. I've told you everything that's relevant to the disappearance of Tateb Hassani. I've cooperated fully. All these other questions I consider to be outrageous intrusions into my private life and I see no reason why I should answer them.'
'Why was Tateb Hassani a house guest of yours for five days?'
'I told you, I'm not answering any more questions.'
'In that case, we must inform you that Tateb Hassani was suspected of terrorist offences, directly linked to the Seville bombing. His handwriting was on documents found in the destroyed mosque. You were therefore harbouring
