The Silent and the Damned aka The Vanished Hands

'You don't see any connection between Sr Vega's death and the suicide of his neighbour?' said Ramírez.

'You haven't told me of one, apart from names in an address book and people appearing together in photographs,' said Calderón, stifling a yawn. 'Juez Romero said he couldn't see any either. The two deaths seem to be a coincidence, with the difference that there's no doubt in one case and some uncertainty in the other. An uncertainty which is in our minds and not in any evidence you've brought before me.'

'What about the note referring to a famous terrorist act?' said Ramírez.

'That is a slice of information as relevant to the court as his files on war crimes tribunals, or the fact that he kept a battered old car in a garage, or that he wasn't who he says he was. It's all information, but like the anonymous threats it's not connected to anything,' said Calderón. He turned to Falcón. 'You're not saying anything, Inspector Jefe.'

'Are we wasting our time with this?' said Falcón, weary of it all now that Calderón's listlessness had seeped into his own bloodstream. 'We might find more bits of fascinating information which supply neither witness nor motive. We're down to three people because of the holidays. We have a serious situation in the Jefatura…'

'I heard about that,' said Calderón, staring into his desk, hands clasped between his knees.

'Our chances of finding the only witness, Sergei, grow slimmer by the day. Do we finish with it or carry on? If we carry on, which direction should we take?'

'OK, you're annoyed. I can see you've done good work and found interesting information,' said Calderón, catching Falcón's tone and trying to get some enthusiasm into his voice. 'At the moment, in my mind, given the psychological profile of the victim – of which we have clear evidence from a doctor and Maddy Krugman's photographs – and even taking your new findings into consideration, I am still more inclined to believe that Vega killed his wife and then himself. If you can accept that, I will return a verdict of suicide. If you're still curious enough to carry on, I'll give you forty-eight hours.'

'To go in which direction?' asked Ramírez.

'Whichever you like,' said Calderón. 'Do you have any chance of talking to the Russians face to face?'

'They're in Portugal,' said Falcón. 'It's possible they'll come over to look at their investments.'

'Who would they contact?'

'Probably Carlos Vázquez.'

'There's a man with something to hide,' said Ramírez.

'What about finding out who Vega really is?' said Falcón.

'How?' asked Calderón, half turning back to the window.

The American connection,' said Falcón. 'Let's say he was living there twenty years ago, and that he had escaped from something and rebuilt his life. I've just remembered that detail in the autopsy report about the old plastic surgery. It seems a likely scenario. Maybe he had a criminal record or was known in some way to the FBI.'

'Do you have contact with the FBI?' asked Calderón.

'Of course.'

'So you're going to take my offer of forty-eight hours?'

On the way down from Calderón's office Falcón took a call from Elvira, who had just spoken to his boss, Comisario Lobo, and between them they'd decided that Falcón should run the investigation into Montes's suicide. Falcón asked Elvira if he could supply a good and responsive FBI contact who would help with the identification of Rafael Vega, and reminded him about the prison director.

In the car he called Carlos Vázquez and after being kept waiting for some minutes was told that he was out. The lawyer's offices were just up the road from the Edificio de los Juzgados. They decided to make an unscheduled visit.

'What's up with Juez Calderón?' asked Ramírez as they got into the car. 'We're not going to see a search warrant with his mind in that state.'

'I think he might have met his match,' said Falcón.

'La Americana's fucked his brains out?' said Ramírez.

'It might be a bit more serious than that.'

'She's done that to him?' said Ramírez incredulous. 'I thought Juez Calderón was more experienced than that.'

'Than what?'

'To fall down on rule number one,' said Ramírez 'and to fall down on it before he's even got married.'

'What's rule number one?'

'Don't get involved,' said Ramírez. 'That's the way to fuck up your entire life.'

'Well, he's involved and all we can do is…'

'Sit and watch,' said Ramírez, clapping his hands as if he was about to watch his favourite soap opera.

'Montes told me there were plenty of people who wanted to see Juez Calderón fall from grace.'

'Who?' said Ramírez, face bland with innocence, fingers to his chest. 'Me?'

They went up in the lift, Ramírez staring at the numbers of the floors as they lit up. His shoulders were humped up like the neck muscles of a wild bull.

'This time, Javier, I lead, you follow,' he said, and they stormed out of the lift straight past the receptionist, who held up a single purple talon in an attempt to stop them.

They did the same to Vázquez's secretary, who followed them into her boss's office. Vázquez was drinking water from a plastic cup and standing by the dispenser looking out of the window.

'In a murder investigation,' said Ramírez, in a voice full of pent-up rage. 'You never refuse to talk to the Inspector Jefe unless you want all kinds of shit to come down on your head.'

Vázquez looked pugnacious enough to square off against Ramírez, but even he could see that the Inspector was up for anything, including violence. He waved the secretary out.

'What do you want?'

'First question,' said Ramírez. 'Look into my eyes and tell me what you know about Emilio Cruz.'

Vázquez looked blank. The name meant nothing to him. They sat down.

'What provision did Sr Vega make for the running of his company in the event of his death?' asked Falcón.

'As you know, each project had Sr Vega, a company representative and an investor on the board. In the event of his death the projects would be managed by the remaining company representative, with the proviso that all financial and legal decisions be referred to a temporary board in the holding company, consisting of myself, Sr Dourado and Sr Nieves, who is the senior architect.'

'How long would this temporary state of affairs last?'

'Until a suitable director for the company was found.'

'Whose job is it to find such a person?'

'The temporary board.'

'Who do the clients refer to?'

'The temporary board.'

'And who would get the initial phone call?'

'Me.'

'So when did the Russians contact you?' asked Ramírez.

'They haven't.'

'Look, Sr Vázquez, it's been nearly a week since Sr Vega died,' said Ramírez, conspiratorial, friendly. 'There's a lot of money in those Russian projects, which are unmanaged. Do you really expect us to believe -'

'They're not unmanaged. They've still got the company representative looking after them.'

'Who is?'

'Sr Krugman, the architect.'

'That's a good choice,' said Falcón. 'The outsider.'

'Who does Sr Krugman get his instructions from?'

'He hasn't received any from me because I haven't heard from the client. He is just carrying on with the project.'