Falcón went home for lunch. The heat and Nadia's story had ruined his appetite, but he managed two bowls of chilled gazpacho and a chorizo sandwich. He spoke to Encarnación to find out if she'd let anybody in the house yesterday. She said she hadn't but that she had left the front doors open for an hour in the morning to try and circulate some air. He went up to bed and drifted off into a doze in which his mind played back disturbing versions of the day's interviews, which culminated with a view into a cell whose walls bore the faint, bloody prints of human hands. He dragged himself to the shower to wash away the appalling sense of dread that had accompanied the last image. The water poured through his hair and over his lips and the thought came to him that it was time to stop being the detective monk and to immerse himself in life.
On the way to the Jefatura he took a call from Alicia Aguado, who'd already listened to the Sebastián Ortega tapes. She was interested in talking to him if Pablo Ortega was happy and the prison authorities amenable.
Falcón told her about the discussion he'd had with Pablo Ortega that morning, how the actor had been reluctant to allow something that might result in the deterioration of Sebastián's already fragile state of mind.
'Well, there's bound to be some history between those two,' she said. 'Just as there was between Sebastián and his mother who abandoned him twice, in divorce and death. I'm sure Pablo Ortega knows that if his son is willing to talk to us they'll both end up on the couch. The expression he used – "stirring things up" – won't just be in his son's mind, and that will be making him uncomfortable. Perhaps I should meet him. He's probably got some fame paranoia and won't like it if just anybody starts rummaging about in his private thoughts.'
'I'm going out that way this evening. I'll drop in and see him again,' said Falcón.
'I'm free tomorrow morning, if he wants to have an informal meeting.'
From the car park of the Jefatura he could see that the offices of the Grupo de Homicidios were full. Everybody was reporting back after a long week on the hot streets. As he headed for the rear entrance he glanced up at Montes's office and found the man standing there at his window. His stomach was straining against his white shirt, his tie was down his chest. Falcón gave him a short wave. He did not react.
The noise coming from his office had the excitement of the impending weekend, August and the holiday season about it. The squad was about to lose Perez, Baena and Serrano for two weeks, which was going to mean a lot more footwork for the three left behind. He expected to find them all in shorts with cold beers in their hands in full readiness, but they were sitting on desk corners, smoking and chatting. Falcón stood at the door, smiling and nodding.
'Inspector Jefe!' shouted Baena, as if he was three beers ahead of the game.
Perez and Serrano gave extravagant salutes. He was going to have to wait until Perez came back from holiday before he tore a strip off him about failing to search the Vegas' garden properly.
'So the holidays have started,' said Falcón.
'We filed our reports,' said Perez. 'We spent the whole afternoon out at the bus stations and Santa Justa. Carlos even went out to the airport for you as a going- away present.'
'No Sergei?'
'The girl was as close as we got,' said Serrano.
'That guy's just going to disappear,' said Baena. 'I would if I had the Russian mafia chasing my ass.'
'Did you have any luck with the other residents of Santa Clara?'
'Hardly anybody was around,' said Perez. 'Cristina called all the private security companies and most of the people are away. Those we did interview had seen nothing.'
'Did you manage to start work on the key we found in Vega's freezer?'
'Not yet. By the time I'd dropped Nadia off the banks were all shut.'
'OK. Start work on that on Monday morning,' said Falcón. 'What about the ID trace on Rafael Vega?'
'Nothing yet, but Cristina and I had an interesting talk down at Vega Construcciones this afternoon,' said Ramírez, 'with Golden Boy, the accountant. He was responsible for getting the computer system installed and he's been having a closer look at some of the projects.'
'What is Golden Boy in Vega Construcciones?' said Falcón. 'Is he just Francisco Dourado, accountant, or is he something more?'
'He thinks he should have been made the finance director by now… but he hasn't,' said Ramírez. 'Rafael Vega was not prepared to let go of the money, or rather, he was not happy for someone to know that much about his business.'
'So he's the book-keeper.'
'Exactly, but since Vega's death he's had freedom of access. He had it before, but he was too scared about getting caught. As I said, he knows the computer system inside out and Vázquez isn't IT savvy enough to stop him.'
'So what are we looking at?' said Falcón. 'Do we have any names for a start?'
'Vladimir Ivanov and Mikhail Zelenov,' said Ferrera, handing over two photos and profiles of the Russians. 'These came through just now from Interpol.'
Vladimir Ivanov (Vlado) had a tattoo on his left shoulder, was fair-haired, blue-eyed with a scar under his jawline on the right side of his face. Mikhail Zelenov (Mikhas) was dark and heavy (132 kg) with green eyes that were just slits in the fat of his face. Their illegal activities covered the full spectrum of mafia activity – prostitution, people-trafficking, gaming, internet fraud and money-laundering. They both belonged to one of the main mafia gangs – Solntsevskaya – which had more than five thousand members. Their sphere of operation was the Iberian peninsula.
'On the two projects which those guys are involved in, there are two sets of books,' said Ramírez. 'The first ones have been prepared by Dourado, based on figures given to him by Vega. The second set have been kept by Vega himself and they show how the projects are really being run.'
'Money-laundering has arrived in the Seville construction industry,' said Falcón.
'The Russians are pretty well financing the whole thing. They supply all labour and materials. Vega Construcciones supplies the architect, the engineers and the supervising site workers.'
'So, who owns the building and what did Rafael Vega get out of it?'
'The ownership details are with Vázquez,' said Ramírez. 'All property deeds and deals are handled by him. We haven't moved on him yet. I thought we should talk first. All we know at the moment is that it's a joint project, with all the cash coming from the Russians and the expertise from Vega… There has to be some balancing out somewhere.'
'Vega is providing the shell through which the whole thing can work,' said Falcón. 'So that's significant. But we'll have to fix up a meeting with Vázquez tomorrow. The two of us.'
'What about me?' asked Ferrera. 'I was involved in this part of the investigation, too.'
'I know you were, and I'm sure you've done good work,' said Falcón. 'But Vázquez needs to feel the full weight of seniority in this case. We might even have enough to apply for a search warrant. I'll call Juez Calderón.'
'So what am I going to be doing?' said Ferrera.
'We're losing three men as from tonight,' said Falcón. 'By tomorrow morning we'll all be foot soldiers.'
'But I'll be the only one actually on my feet.'
'We have to find Sergei. He's sixty hours ahead of us now, which means we've probably lost him, but he, at the moment, is our only possible witness. There's got to be one last push at his possible escape routes. I'll ask Juez Calderón if we can put his photo in the press.'