'I'll drink to that,' he said, and they clinked glasses.
'A question -' she said. 'Not about your investigation, but it is connected to what happened… before. It's something I think about every day since Raúl's past came out.'
'I know what you're going to ask.'
'You do?'
'I've thought about it myself.'
'Go on, then.'
'What happened to Arturo?' said Falcón. 'Is that it? What happened to Raúl's little boy?'
Consuelo came round the table and took his face in both her hands and kissed him hard on the lips. The voltage slammed through his spine and earthed itself down the chair legs.
'I knew it,' she said, and let him go, running her fingertips across his cheeks so that nerves flashed all over his body.
Falcón wondered if this physical invasion had changed him. He saw himself, hair frizzed and clothes smoking. He had the taste of her on his mouth. Things started up inside him, small bits of machinery which turned cogs and ran belts setting bigger wheels in motion, thrusting drive shafts forward, which were geared to pull back some vast unused piston, rusted into its chamber.
'Are you all right, Javier?' she asked as she reached her end of the table. 'I'll get the main course while you decide how we're going to find out what happened to Arturo Jiménez.'
He gulped down half a glass of wine which nearly choked him. Stay calm. Consuelo returned with two grilled pieces of steak an inch thick. Blood oozed from the meat into a potato confection and a salad. More Basque rioja was put in his hand and a corkscrew. He pulled the cork, poured the wine. He wanted to get her down on the floor amongst the chair legs, find out what was under the blue crepe. Stay calm. He watched her waist, hips, buttocks move around the table. His eyeballs felt hot. His cooling system was shot. She sat back down.
He drank. He was drunk.
'How are we going to find Arturo?' she asked, unaware of the turmoil on the other side of the table. 'I've never even been to Morocco.'
'We should go,' he said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.
'What are you doing this summer?'
'I'm free in September.'
'Then in September we shall go,' she said. 'The estate of Raúl Jiménez can pay the expenses.'
'This steak is fantastic.'
'Hand cut by Rafael Vega,' she said.
'My God, he knew what he was doing.'
'You're not concentrating,' she said.
'There's too much happening to me at once,' he said, slugging down more wine. 'I think I'm reaching critical mass.'
'Don't go off in here,' she said, 'I've just had the decorators in.'
He laughed, poured more wine.
'We should start a charity,' he said, 'which specifically looks for missing children.'
'There must be one already.'
'We'll use retired policemen. I know just the man. He's the Inspector Jefe of the Grupo de Menores and he's coming up for retirement.'
'Slow down, Javier,' she said. 'You're talking too much, you're eating too quickly, you're drinking like a fish.'
'More wine?' he asked. 'We need more wine.'
'You'll be drunk and incapable if
Their eyes met across the table and stuff that was far too complicated to be talked about was instantly understood. Falcón dropped his knife and fork. Consuelo stood up. They kissed. She pushed her hands up under his shirt. All sorts of personal hygiene matters tore through his brain. He eased the zipper down her back, ran his finger along the furrow of her spine and encountered no underwear. His thighs shuddered. Her hands found his back. Adrenalin careered around his system.
Steady on, he thought, or I won't have even got out of my trousers.
She saved him.
'Not here,' she said. 'I don't want la puta americana nosing around with her camera.'
She led him upstairs, holding him by the wrist.
'You know I haven't done this for a long time,' he said, following the two dimples in her lower back.
'Nor have I,' she said. 'Perhaps we should turn up the air conditioning.'
* * *
Chapter 15
Saturday, 27th July 2002
In bed Consuelo Jiménez was as he had expected her to be - exciting, demanding and unrelenting. In one of the several cigarette breaks she'd revealed that this had been her first sex since she'd been with Basilio Lucena on the night her husband, Raúl, had been murdered. Since then she'd been concentrated on the children.
'I had an AIDS test, too,' she said, 'when I found out about Basilio's promiscuity. You know, I haven't had much luck…'
Falcón turned his head on the pillow to find her dark eyes close to him.
'It was negative,' she said.
This was how they'd talked, which had fascinated Falcón. He couldn't remember lying in bed with a woman and talking about anything and everything. Even in the two big relationships in his life, lying in bed had never been a time for honesty but for some acting role whose lines he wasn't sure of and a part he was not suited to.
They woke up early and stickily in the morning.
Consuelo took him off for a shower and soaped him up with her body so that he had to support himself on the glass doors. She took advantage of his arousal, thrusting down on him so that the whole structure shuddered. They dressed looking at each other.
He stood in her kitchen with a coffee and toast drizzled with olive oil. His legs felt brand new, straight out of the factory. He didn't have even the scintilla of a hangover and yet three bottles of Basque rioja stood empty by the bin. Still he looked at her wordlessly, with big, risky things going through his head.
'I'd like to see you again,' he said.
'I'm glad we've got that out of the way,' she said. 'Since the invention of the mobile phone women haven't had to spend the day waiting, but now we know for certain that he didn't call.'
'You'll have to tell me how I can fit into your life,' he said.
'Yours is more complicated than mine.'
'You have children.'
'They're going away.'
'You'll follow them.'
'Later in August.'
'I have no control over my time at the moment,' he said. 'Something happens and I have to react.'
'Then call me when you have some time to spare,' she said. 'Unless… it's all taken up talking to your lawyers about Manuela so that you can't have dinner with me.'
He smiled. He was falling in love with her humour, her directness. He told her his idea about selling the house to Manuela and what Isabel Cano had advised.
'Take her advice,' said Consuelo. 'The best you can expect from Manuela is respect, and you get that by driving a hard bargain. I'll say this once, Javier, and then it's finished. You can listen or ignore. Get a valuation on the house, offer her a private sale less the agent's commission, and give her a week to respond before you put it on the open market.'
He nodded. This was what he needed in his life - simplification. He pulled her to him, kissed her through the smell of coffee and toast.
It was 9.30 a.m. He called Ramírez on his mobile.
'Have you made an appointment to see Carlos Vázquez this morning?' asked Falcón.
'What about the search warrant from Juez Calderón?'
'I couldn't get hold of him,' said Falcón. 'And I checked his office last night.'
'Then we'll just have to try and talk it out of Vázquez,' said Ramírez. 'I'll call you when I've set up the meeting with him. I've just put Sergei's face up on the computer - national and international.'
Falcón called Alicia Aguado to ask her if he could pick her up and bring her out to Santa Clara to meet Pablo Ortega later that morning. On the way back into town Ramírez told him that Vázquez would be in his office until midday. Falcón took down the address and said he'd meet him there in fifteen minutes.
He took a call from Cristina Ferrera.
'Nadia's gone,' she said. 'Two guys came round last night and picked her up and they didn'
t bring her back.'
'Has that happened before?'
'She's always back in the apartment by five or six in the morning,' said Ferrera. 'What do I do?'
'Unless there's someone who's prepared to give you a detailed description of the two guys - which I doubt - there's nothing you can do,' said Falcón.
Carlos Vázquez's offices were in the Edificio Viapol in a soulless part of the city on the edge of San Bernardo. Ramírez was waiting for him at the entrance. They went up in the lift. Ramírez stared into the side of his face.
'What are you looking at, José Luis?'
'You,' he said, grinning. 'I heard it in your voice. Now I've seen you in the same clothes you were wearing yesterday, it's confirmed.'
'What, exactly?' he said, thinking he'd be able to brazen this out.
'I am the expert,' said Ramírez, holding his huge fingers to his chest, nearly offended by his boss's effrontery. 'I can tell, even over the phone, that you've finally come to the end of a drought.'
'What drought?'
'Is it true… or am I a liar?' said Ramírez, laughing. 'Who is it?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
Ramírez's big, dark, mahogany face took up Falcón's vision. The individual rails of the Inspector's black pomaded hair stood out pin sharp.
'It wasn't la americana, was it? I've heard about her from Felipe and Jorge. They said she'd leave a man as hollow as a spare suit.'
'I think we should concentrate on what we're going to say to Carlos Vázquez, José Luis.'
'No, no, no, she's not the one. La americana is Juez Calderón's latest squeeze.'
'Who did you hear that from?' said Falcón. 'The guy's just announced his engagement, for God's sake.'
Ramírez laughed, a mirthless guffaw. The lift stopped. They went into Vázquez's offices to be confronted by a large painting of an abstract city-scape - vague lights and building outlines coming through fog. It struck Falcón that this was the sort of piece that Ramon Salgado might have sold.
'I'll lead this discussion,' said Falcón. 'I don't want you to instigate anything, because I know things you don't, José Luis. It's important.'
'And I know things you've never even thought about,' said Ramírez.
Falcón wanted to know what those things were, but one of Vázquez's junior lawyers was already on top of them. They were shown into Vázquez's office, which had a view of the back of the buildings on Calle Balbino Marron. Vázquez asked them to sit down while he continued to read through a document. There was a large map of Seville behind him on which the locations of various projects were shown in different coloured squares. Vázquez threw the papers in an out-tray and sat back. Falcón introduced Ramírez and Vázquez took an instant dislike to him.
'So I'm getting the full weight of the homicide squad,' he said.
'That painting in your reception area,' said Falcón. 'Who's it by?'
'That's an interesting question,' said Vázquez, lost for a moment.
'He likes to get warmed up first,' said Ramírez, smiling.
'It's by a German called Kristian Lutze. I understand it's an abstract of Berlin. He's done another one of
Cologne which hangs in the foyer of Vega Construcciones.'
'How did you and Sr Vega acquire them?'
'Through an art dealer here in Seville called Ramon Salgado. He… of course, you know, he was murdered.'
'How did Sr Vega know Ramon Salgado?'
Ramírez slumped in his chair, bored.
'I don't know,' said Vázquez.
'Not through you?'
'I have to confess that it's not really my interest. It was a gift from Rafael,' said Vázquez. 'I like cars.'
'What sort of cars?' asked Ramírez.
They looked at him. He shrugged.
'Can I smoke?' he asked.
Vázquez nodded. Ramírez lit up, sat back, hands behind his head.
'Is this social,' asked Vázquez, annoyed, 'or something else?'
'Sr Vega was running two projects with Russian partners,' said Falcón. 'Vladimir Ivanov and Mikhail Zelenov.'
'They aren't strictly partnerships,' said Vázquez. 'Vega Construcciones was contracted by two Russian clients to provide technical help. They were being paid for architectural plans, site engineers, gang supervisors and some equipment. On completion of the structure Vega Construcciones were also to be involved in the interior planning - air conditioning, electrics, lift installation, plumbing… that kind of thing.'
'These are unusual projects for Vega Construcciones,' said Falcón. 'Normally they do all the physical work while the partners supply the necessary finance and… in recent times, as far as I know, they've always retained a controlling percentage in the projects.' 'That's true.'
'Who owned the land on which the two Russian projects were being built?'
'The Russians themselves. They came to Rafael with the proposal,' said Vázquez. 'They are not Seville-based. Sr Zelenov has had some projects in Marbella and Sr Ivanov is in Vilamoura in the Algarve. It was easier for them to contract the work out than start up their own companies.'
'Are they linked, these Russians?' asked Falcón. 'Do they know each other?'
'I… I don't know.'
'So you dealt with them separately?' said Falcón.
'Two unusual deals with different Russians out of the blue,' said Ramírez, interested now.
'What's the point you're making?'
'All you've got to do is answer the questions,' said Ramírez.
'Could you show us on that map behind you where the two Russian projects are located?' asked Falcón.
Vázquez pointed out two green squares which were amongst a mass of orange. Falcón flipped through his notebook and went up close to the map.
'And what is unique about those two locations?' asked Falcón.
Vázquez looked at the map like a schoolboy who knows the right answer but whose confidence has been shattered by a brutal teacher.
'Even I can see it,' said Ramírez.
'I don't see what this has got to do with Rafael Vega's death,' said Vázquez, angry now.
'Just answer the question,' said Ramírez, putting a big meaty elbow on the desk.
'They are both in locations where all the other projects are being developed by Vega Construcciones,' said Falcón.
'So what?' said Vázquez.
'We've spoken to Sr Cabello. He pointed out that, of the properties he brought to Vega Construcciones on the back of his daughter's marriage to Rafael Vega, two held the key to the development of whole areas. One area owned by Vega Construcciones and the other by another developer, who without Sr Cabello's plot would be unable to develop it. When Sr Vega came into ownership that developer had to sell out to Sr Vega or… friends of Sr Vega. That's what those two Russian plots have got in common.'
Silence, apart from some flamboyant smoking by Ramírez, who was enjoying his boss's magic show.
'This is admirable footwork on your part, Inspector Jefe,' said Vázquez. 'But are we any closer to understanding what happened to Sr Vega?'
'Sr Vega's Russian friends were known mafiosi. We think they were using these projects to clean up cash they'd been making from people-trafficking and prostitution. Why was Sr Vega involved with these people and why was he giving them extremely advantageous deals?'
'You can't possibly prove any of this.'
'Perhaps your office was involved in the property deals. Possibly you have the deeds here and a record of payments made?' said Falcón.
'You could remind yourself now,' said Ramírez.
'The only documents I have are the contracts for the building of the projects, which are in the archives, and the person who runs that is on holiday.'
'So the property deals were done direct between the original owner of the land and the Russians?' said Falcón. 'Did Sr Vega ask the original owner to give the Russians a sweet deal, which he would make up to them elsewhere?'
'I really don't know, Inspector Jefe.'
&
nbsp; 'But we could have a look at the sale details of the other plots - which I assume, as Sr Vega's lawyer, you were involved in - and make a comparison of the prices paid,' said Falcón. 'You do have those details here, don't you, Sr Vázquez?'
'I told you, the person who runs the archives is…'
'It doesn't matter. We can, of course, talk to the original owners of the plots. That's just the fine detail that the court will require,' said Falcón. 'What we'd like to know is why Sr Vega was involved with these Russians and expediting their money-laundering operations.'
'I don't know how you can justify that remark,' said Vázquez. 'There are two projects with these Russians. There are two contracts. There are two clear sets of books which show the financial involvement of both parties.'
'We've been around to see these projects,' said Ramírez. 'They were looking a little bare of people without the illegal labour.'
'That's the Russians' problem, not Vega Construcciones.'
'In that case,' said Ramírez, 'maybe you can tell us why Sr Vega kept another set of books for these two projects - the official version for tax purposes and his private version, which was the reality.'
'You might also venture an opinion on why Sergei, the gardener, has disappeared since the discovery of the body,' said Falcón. 'And why Sr Vega was getting social visits from his Russian clients at his home on Noche de Reyes, for instance. Doesn't that sound a little more intimate than the usual business partner?'
'All right, all right, you've proved your point,' said Vázquez. 'You've discovered a Russian connection. But that is all. If you want to know things about that relationship then I can't help you because I don't know anything. All I can say is… ask the Russians, if you can find them.'
'How do you contact them?'
'I don't. I drew up the contracts. They were returned to me by Vega Construcciones, signed and stamped,' said Vázquez. 'And you won't find anybody in their offices who's spoken to them either.'
'They must have phone numbers, addresses, bank accounts?' said Ramírez.
'You think they're the Moscow mafia.'
'We know they are.'
'Well, maybe they are. And maybe they had good reason to kill a man who was facilitating their business needs, but I can't think what that reason would be,' said Vázquez. 'And I doubt you'll ever find out if there was a reason and that they did kill him. These people keep themselves well removed from the situation. As I said, I've never met them. So, Inspector Jefe, Inspector… it's all in your hands now. You know as much as I do. Now, I think that concludes our business for this morning so… please excuse me.'