called Sra Jiménez on his way over to the Krugmans to tell her about Sra Vega's parents and the imminent arrival of Lucia's sister from Madrid. Mario had collapsed with exhaustion and was now sleeping. She asked him over for a drink in the heat.
'I've still got things to do,' he said.
'I'll be here all day,' she said. 'I'm not going to work.'
Marty Krugman answered the door stretching as if he'd been dozing on the sofa. Falcón asked after the judge. Marty pointed upstairs and dragged himself back to his sofa, barefoot, his jeans hanging off his backside. Falcón followed the sound of voices speaking English.
Calderón was quite fluent and had the eagerness of a leaping puppy.
'Yes, yes,' he said. 'I can see that. The sense of deracination is palpable.'
Falcón sighed. Art conversations. He knocked on the door. Maddy tore it open with a sardonic smile on her face. Calderón's eyes behind her right shoulder were staring, wild with dilated pupils. It put Falcón on the back foot for a moment.
'Inspector Jefe,' she said. 'Juez Calderón and I were having
such
an interesting conversation, weren't we?'
Falcón apologized for interrupting but the judge was needed to sign off the second body. Calderón pulled himself together piece by piece, as if he was picking up his clothes in a strange woman's bedroom.
'Your mobile was switched off,' said Falcón.
Maddy raised an eyebrow. Calderón looked around the room to make sure he was leaving nothing incriminating. He gave an uncomfortably protracted goodbye speech whilst holding on to Sra Krugman's hand, which he kissed at the end. He shambled down the stairs like a schoolboy with a decent report in his satchel and stopped halfway.
'You're not coming, Inspector Jefe?'
'I've a question for Sra Krugman.'
Calderón made it clear he would wait.
'You must go off and do your work, Juez,' said Maddy, giving him a dismissive little wave.
A herd of emotions ravaged Calderón's face. Hope, delight, disappointment, longing, jealousy, anger and resignation. They left him trampled. He stumbled down the remaining stairs unable to coordinate his feet.
'Your question, Inspector Jefe?' she said, her look as level as the sea's horizon.
He asked to see the shots of Sr Vega in his garden again. She went into the darkroom and laid the prints out on the table. Falcón pointed to the top corner of the shots.
'Smoke,' he said.
'He was burning stuff,' she said. 'He quite often burnt papers down there.'
'How often?'
'Since the beginning of the year… quite a lot.'
'And all your shots are…'
'From this year,' she said. 'Although he didn't become a regular down at the river until March.'
'You
knew
he was disturbed by something,' said Falcón, annoyed by her now.
'I told you, it's not my business,' she said. 'And you seem to be confused yourself as to whether it's suicide or murder.'
He turned without a word and headed for the door.
'He's a very sensitive and intelligent man, the Juez,' she said.
'He's a good man,' said Falcón. 'And he's a happy man, too.'
'They're a rarity once they get over thirty,' said Maddy.
'Why do you say that?'
'I see more men down at the river than I do women.'
'Women have a talent for remaining connected to the world,' said Falcón. 'They find it easier to talk.'
'There's no secret to it,' said Maddy. 'We just get on with it. Men, like Marty for instance, get sidelined by trying to answer unanswerable questions. They allow things to complicate in their minds.'
Falcón nodded and set off down the stairs. She stood at the top, folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall.
'So, why is the Juez so happy?'
'He's getting married later this year,' said Falcón, without turning.
'Do you know her?' she asked. 'Is she nice?'
'Yes,' said Falcón, and he turned to the door.
'Lighten up' she said in English.
'Hasta luego,
Inspector Jefe.'
Chapter 6
Wednesday, 24th July 2002
Falcón understood those words perfectly and he strode back to the
'I've still got things to do,' he said.
'I'll be here all day,' she said. 'I'm not going to work.'
Marty Krugman answered the door stretching as if he'd been dozing on the sofa. Falcón asked after the judge. Marty pointed upstairs and dragged himself back to his sofa, barefoot, his jeans hanging off his backside. Falcón followed the sound of voices speaking English.
Calderón was quite fluent and had the eagerness of a leaping puppy.
'Yes, yes,' he said. 'I can see that. The sense of deracination is palpable.'
Falcón sighed. Art conversations. He knocked on the door. Maddy tore it open with a sardonic smile on her face. Calderón's eyes behind her right shoulder were staring, wild with dilated pupils. It put Falcón on the back foot for a moment.
'Inspector Jefe,' she said. 'Juez Calderón and I were having
such
an interesting conversation, weren't we?'
Falcón apologized for interrupting but the judge was needed to sign off the second body. Calderón pulled himself together piece by piece, as if he was picking up his clothes in a strange woman's bedroom.
'Your mobile was switched off,' said Falcón.
Maddy raised an eyebrow. Calderón looked around the room to make sure he was leaving nothing incriminating. He gave an uncomfortably protracted goodbye speech whilst holding on to Sra Krugman's hand, which he kissed at the end. He shambled down the stairs like a schoolboy with a decent report in his satchel and stopped halfway.
'You're not coming, Inspector Jefe?'
'I've a question for Sra Krugman.'
Calderón made it clear he would wait.
'You must go off and do your work, Juez,' said Maddy, giving him a dismissive little wave.
A herd of emotions ravaged Calderón's face. Hope, delight, disappointment, longing, jealousy, anger and resignation. They left him trampled. He stumbled down the remaining stairs unable to coordinate his feet.
'Your question, Inspector Jefe?' she said, her look as level as the sea's horizon.
He asked to see the shots of Sr Vega in his garden again. She went into the darkroom and laid the prints out on the table. Falcón pointed to the top corner of the shots.
'Smoke,' he said.
'He was burning stuff,' she said. 'He quite often burnt papers down there.'
'How often?'
'Since the beginning of the year… quite a lot.'
'And all your shots are…'
'From this year,' she said. 'Although he didn't become a regular down at the river until March.'
'You
knew
he was disturbed by something,' said Falcón, annoyed by her now.
'I told you, it's not my business,' she said. 'And you seem to be confused yourself as to whether it's suicide or murder.'
He turned without a word and headed for the door.
'He's a very sensitive and intelligent man, the Juez,' she said.
'He's a good man,' said Falcón. 'And he's a happy man, too.'
'They're a rarity once they get over thirty,' said Maddy.
'Why do you say that?'
'I see more men down at the river than I do women.'
'Women have a talent for remaining connected to the world,' said Falcón. 'They find it easier to talk.'
'There's no secret to it,' said Maddy. 'We just get on with it. Men, like Marty for instance, get sidelined by trying to answer unanswerable questions. They allow things to complicate in their minds.'
Falcón nodded and set off down the stairs. She stood at the top, folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the wall.
'So, why is the Juez so happy?'
'He's getting married later this year,' said Falcón, without turning.
'Do you know her?' she asked. 'Is she nice?'
'Yes,' said Falcón, and he turned to the door.
'Lighten up' she said in English.
'Hasta luego,
Inspector Jefe.'
Chapter 6
Wednesday, 24th July 2002
Falcón understood those words perfectly and he strode back to the
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