The Silent and the Damned (19 page)

'Let's not get too excited about the Russians until we know who they are and we've seen the extent of their involvement from the accountant's reports. I know there's a lot of money-laundering going on in Marbella and places along the Costa del Sol, but so far all we've had here in Seville is a sighting by Pablo Ortega of a few Russians making a social visit seven months ago.'

'I was followed home on Wednesday night by a blue Seat with plates stolen in Marbella, and there's Russian and Ukrainian illegal labour on Vega's building sites,' said Falcón. 'There are enough questions over the state of the crime scene, the state of the body, the deceased's relationship with his son and potentially harmful outside influences to justify further inquiry.'

'OK, I take your point about the Russians. Let's try and work that up into something,' said Calderón. 'Sticking with the suicide angle for the moment, what about the boy?'

'Vega's domestic circumstances were not totally desperate. Even Sr Cabello, who has no love for his son-in-law, conceded that Vega was very fond of the boy,' said Falcón.

'He drank acid rather than shoot himself with a gun, which could indicate that he was punishing himself for unknown sins and protecting his son from possibly seeing a violent death. Maybe he killed himself precisely because there was something he couldn't bear his son to know about him,' said Calderón. 'If you had a son, Javier, what could you not bear him to know about you?'

'If he knew that I was a war criminal, I'd find it difficult to face him,' said Falcón. 'The difference between the war criminal and the murderer is that self-knowledge could be possible. Once history had moved on, the war criminal might see that he had been persuaded through a combination of political thought, national fervour and fear to have gone from being an ordinary man to becoming a merciless killer with a sense of duty to the regime and self-righteousness. Later in life, especially if he was being hunted down, he might reflect on what he'd done and feel a deep sense of shame. I could not imagine looking into my son's eyes and have him know that I was capable of such mercilessness.'

Silence. More smoking from the judge.

'We're doing what two law men should never do,' said Calderón.

'Back to business,' said Falcón. 'We found a false passport in one of Vega's freezers. It's Argentinian in the name of Emilio Cruz. We're checking that out and Rafael Vega's ID.'

Calderón nodded, crushed out his cigarette, lit another.

'Vázquez said that Vega's parents were "killed", implying they did not die of natural causes,' said Falcón. 'Who were they? What happened to them? That could be interesting.'

'For background, yes,' said Calderón.

'And there something else that's not in the report. I found a file in Vega's study entitled
Justicia.
Inside there were articles and downloads on criminal courts such as the ICC -'

'There's your war crimes, Javier.'

'- Baltasar Garzón and the Belgian justice system,' said Falcón. 'This is very specific material for someone in the construction industry, even if he did have an interest in current affairs. Put this together with the strange note in his hand at time of death and the false passport, and maybe we're looking at someone who had sensitive information which could do damage to people.'

'Both the Krugmans and Ortega mentioned some anti-American sentiment in their interviews,' said Calderón.

'It didn't seem to be as general as that. I think Vega's anger was more directed towards government. Marty Krugman even said he was pro-America.'

'Whatever, I only mentioned that because the US administration are against the ICC, which is directly related to the post 9/11 world, and there's Vega's weird note, as you said.'

'I read something about that in
El Pais
yesterday, but I didn't understand why.'

'The bland reason is that the US government doesn't want any of its citizens unfairly prosecuted,' said Calderón. 'The more piquant reason is that the world after 9/11 is in need of more policing. The cops are the US military. The Americans want to reserve the right to decide what's fair. They also don't want any member of the administration indicted for war crimes. They are the most powerful nation on Earth, they're exerting influence wherever they can. Plenty of people don't like their tactics – "If you don't support us, we'll cut military aid." But it's a complex world. Just as one person's freedom fighter is another's terrorist, so one person's fair military target is another's atrocity.'

'Then don't you think an interesting line of inquiry could be to look at why Vega had the remotest interest in the ICC and other judicial systems?'

'I don't know what he was expecting from it, because the ICC only came into being on 1st July this year and it can't look at crimes committed before that date. The Belgian justice system and Baltasar Garzón just means you've got to steer clear of Europe if you're worried about being indicted or arrested. So don't narrow your vision too much, Javier,' said Calderón. 'Keep concentrating on the details as well. Has any muriatic acid been found on the property?'

'Not yet. We haven't been able to fully search the property. My squad is spread all over the place trying to find Sergei as well as looking into Vega's business.'

'You know what I'm looking for: motive, suspect, reliable witness,' said Calderón. 'What I don't want to hear about are things that weren't there. If you don't find any muriatic acid it's only an indicator, it doesn't mean anything. No more… ghosts.'

Calderón did a passable imitation of a man drowning at his desk.

'This is why we don't like talking about our hunches in front of judges.'

'I'm being glib,' said Calderón. 'I know you're concentrated on the realities and the facts, but at the moment all we've got is nuance and hint – Russian mafia involvement, Vega's obsession with international courts, the Carvajal paedophile ring…'

'We haven't discussed that yet.'

'It's just names in an address book. Some of them are crossed out. There's no meat, Javier. There aren't even skeletons in here, they're just phantasms.'

'There you go again.'

'You know the meat I'm looking for and I'm not letting you launch a full murder investigation until I get it,' said Calderón. 'We'll reconvene for a case update early next week and if you still can't bring me anything that stands up in court then we'll have to move along.'

Calderón sat back, lit another cigarette – the man smoking more than Javier could remember – and became lost in his own thoughts.

'You wanted to see me alone,' said Javier, just to nudge Calderón out of his groove.

'Apart from not wanting Inspector Ramírez thumping me into submission -'

'He's more subdued these days,' said Falcón. 'His daughter's undergoing tests in the hospital.'

'Nothing serious, I hope,' said Calderón, on automatic, the news shooting past him while his mind wrestled with his own predicament. 'I didn't know that you and Inés were still in contact.'

'We're not,' said Falcón, who then gave an absurdly elaborate explanation of how he came to be in El Cairo with her.

'Inés seemed very nervous,' said Calderón.

'Look what happened the last time she got married,' said Falcón, opening his hands, opting to look ridiculous. 'She seemed to be worried that you were having doubts. I -'

'Why would she think I was having doubts?' asked Calderón, and Falcón felt the diamond bits of the judge's drilling mind cut into him.

'She thought you seemed nervous, too.'

'And what did you say to that?'

'That it was quite natural for a man to feel nervous under these circumstances. I myself had felt the same nervousness,' said Falcón. 'And nervousness is easily misinterpreted as doubt.'

'Did you doubt?' asked Calderón.

'I never doubted her,' said Falcón, the sweat streaming down his back.

'That wasn't the question, Javier.'

'I probably did doubt. In retrospect I was probably afraid of change, of my incapacity…'

'For what?'

Falcón's chair creaked as he writhed on the skewer of the judge's questions.

'I was a different man then, more distant,' said Falcón. 'That's why I go to the shrink.'

'And now?'

With that last light inquiry, Calderón's cycle was complete. Falcón was almost grateful to receive the implicit warning that he should keep his nose out of the judge's private life.

'It's a long haul,' he said.

Falcón sat at his desk replaying the dialogue. He was relieved that he hadn't brought up the internet downloads about Maddy Krugman. That might have turned Calderón savage. The judge knew that Falcón had seen something. But under their delicate personal circumstances Falcón couldn't start talking about Maddy's involvement in the FBI inquiry until he was certain of the facts. He pitied the two lives he saw on their way to destruction as he dialled his lawyer, Isabel Cano.

She agreed to see him for a maximum of ten minutes. He drove to her small office on Calle Julio Cesar and made his way past the three law students in the outer office. She greeted him in her bare feet. He sat down and laid out his proposal to her for cutting a deal with Manuela.

'Are you out of your mind, Javier?'

'Not always,' he said.

'You now want to give her everything we've been fighting over for the last six months. You're prepared to take a loss of, God knows, half a million euros. Why don't we throw in the contents as well?'

'That's not a bad idea,' said Falcón.

She leaned over the desk at him, long black hair, dark brown, almost black eyes, a beautiful, fierce and haughty Moorish look that could wither most of the fiscales in the courts at a hundred metres.

'Is that shrink still tinkering about in your head?'

'Yes.'

'Has there been a change in medication?'

'No.'

'You're still taking the drugs?'

He nodded.

'Well, I don't know what's going on in there, but it must be very loud,' she said.

'I don't want to live in that house any more. I don't want to live with Francisco Falcón. Manuela does. She's obsessed by the place… but she doesn't have the money.'

'Then she can't have it, Javier.'

'Just think about it.'

'I've thought about it and rejected it – instantly.'

'Think some more.'

'That's your ten minutes,' said Isabel, putting on her shoes. 'Walk me to my car.'

The law students fired questions at her as she strode through the office. She ignored them all. Her heels cracked across the marble foyer.

'I've got another question for you,' said Falcón.

'Let's hope it's cheaper than the last,' she said, 'or you won't be able to afford me.'

'Do you know Juez Calderón?'

'Of course I do, Javier,' she said, stopping dead in the street so Falcón knocked into her. 'Ah, now I get it. You're emotionally distraught about him and Inés. Let's forget this meeting ever happened and when you're calm we'll -'

'I'm not that emotionally distraught.'

'So what is it about Juez Calderón?'

'Does he have a reputation?'

'As long as your arm… longer than your leg… longer than this street.'

'I mean… with women.'

Falcón, who was staring eagerly into her face, saw all her fierceness disappear to be replaced by a vast hurt, which surfaced like a harpooned whale and disappeared. She turned away and pointed her keys at her car, whose lights flashed back.

'Esteban has always been a hunter,' she said.

She got in the car and pulled away, leaving Falcón on the pavement thinking that Isabel Cano had been happily married for more than ten years.

On the way to Ortega's house he took a call from Jorge, who told him that the paper used for the Inés print was of a different make and quality to the blank stock he'd given him. The news momentarily elated him until he realized that this proof of his sanity must also mean that someone had got into his home and planted the photo. Not only that, they also knew about him and his particular vulnerability. His blood felt sharp in his veins but he calmed his paranoia with the thought that everybody knew about him. Since the Francisco Falcón scandal his story was public property.

Pablo Ortega was coming back from walking his dogs. Falcón buzzed down his window as he drew alongside and asked if he could spare a few minutes. Ortega nodded grimly. Falcón 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 Falcón. '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 Falcón, wanting to keep things positive. 'I'd like to help with Sebastián's case.'

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

'I think I can help there, too,' said Falcón, 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 Sebastián about?'

'She
would try to find out why Sebastián 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 Calderón.'