The Silent and the Damned (40 page)

Falcón's mobile vibrated on his thigh. He went up the corridor to take the call from Ramírez.

'The FBI have come back with a perfect match on Vega,' he said. 'Size, age, eye colour, blood group all fit and he's a Chilean national. They sent a picture back of him with more hair and a full beard. The shot was taken in 1980 when he was thirty-six years old. He's ex-Chilean military, ex-DINA and he was last seen in September 1982 when he absconded from a witness protection programme.'

'Why was he being protected?'

'It says that he testified in a drug-trafficking case, that's all.'

'Do they give a name?'

'His original name, that is prior to the witness protection programme, was Miguel Velasco.'

'Send those details to Virgilio Guzmán at the
Diario de Sevilla.
He said he'd got contacts who can give a profile on any Chilean military or DINA personnel,' said Falcón. 'Any news on Krugman?'

'Nothing yet,' said Ramírez. 'Expect a call from Elvira, he's looking for you.'

Falcón didn't make it back to the session before Elvira called. He told him that after a discussion with Comisario Lobo they had decided that nobody from within the Jefatura was going to be used to monitor Sra Montes's movements. An agent from Internal Affairs was being sent down from Madrid and he would report directly to Elvira on the matter. Falcón was relieved.

Alicia Aguado hadn't managed to draw the interview back to Ignacio since he'd taken Ramírez's call. They were talking about Sebastián's mother's death and its effect on him, and the lack of effect on his father. It had resulted in him leaving home and moving into an apartment his father had bought nearby.

'Were you still seeing your uncle at that stage?' asked Aguado. 'Wasn't he someone…?'

'I would never have spoken to
him
about my mother. He was
not
sympathetic to her. He would have derived satisfaction from hearing of her death.'

'You don't think very much of your uncle.'

'We have different sensibilities.'

'What was your uncle like as a father?'

'Ask Salvador.'

'He was a surrogate father to you.'

'I was scared of him. He believed in discipline and total obedience from any child that came into his orbit. He could get angry like you would not believe. The veins stood out on the side of his neck. He had a lump that would come up on his forehead. That's when we knew to hide.'

'Did you talk to your father about your uncle's violent behaviour?'

'Yes. He said he'd had a hard childhood and that it had marked him.'

'Was your uncle ever violent with you?'

'No.'

Alicia Aguado finished the session at that point. Sebastián was reluctant to let her go. Falcón called the guard and picked up the audio tape of the session. They went back to the car in silence. She said she would sleep on the way back. She didn't wake up until they arrived at Calle Vidrio. They went upstairs. She was groggy.

'He tired you out,' said Falcón.

'Sometimes it's like that. The psychologist feels under more pressure than the patient.'

'You seemed perplexed by his pulse at the beginning.'

'To start with he didn't react when I was certain he should have been hitting emotional blips. He seemed to be able to divorce the mental from the physical. I thought he was drugged at first. It'll get better. I'm sure I can open him up. He likes me enough to want to do it.'

He gave her the tape and went back down to the car. As he was about to move off, Inés called him. She was jittery.

'I know I shouldn't be calling you about this,' she said, 'but I know you saw Esteban today.'

'We had a meeting on the Rafael Vega case this morning.'

'Did he seem all right to you?' she asked. 'It's none of my business, I know, but…'

'He looked tired and seemed distracted.'

'Did you talk about anything else apart from the case?'

'I was with Inspector Ramírez,' said Falcón. 'Is something wrong?'

'I haven't seen him since early Saturday morning. He hasn't been back to the apartment. He's turned his mobile off.'

'I know Juez Romero spoke to him on Saturday morning from the crime scene at Pablo Ortega's house,' said Falcón.

'What did he say?' she said urgently. 'Where was he?'

'I don't know.'

'We were supposed to be having Sunday lunch with my parents, but he cancelled. Too much work.'

'You know how it is if he's got a busy Monday morning,' said Falcón.

'His secretary says he hasn't been back to his office since lunch time.'

'That's not so strange.'

'It is for him.'

'I don't know what I can say, Inés. I'm sure he's OK.'

'It's probably nothing,' she said. 'You're right.'

She hung up. He drove back to Calle Bailén and showered and changed. Consuelo asked him over for supper. He left in the dark, listening to the news. The winds had dropped in the Sierra de Aracena and the fire around Almonaster la Real had been brought under control. Three thousand hectares had been burnt and four isolated homes destroyed. Arson was suspected.
A
shepherd had been arrested. There was to be a full Inquiry starting tomorrow.

He parked outside Consuelo's house. The Krugmans' house was in darkness. On the way to the front door his mobile rang. Ramírez.

'I don't know if this is relevant, but I've just had a call from the Jefatura. They know we're looking for Sr Krugman. A woman has called in from an apartment building in Tabladilla. As she came into her building she noticed a tall foreigner in the foyer. He was sweating and nervous and looking at his watch. He followed her upstairs and stopped on the second floor while she continued to the top floor. He was standing outside an apartment, which she knew was empty because the woman was away on holiday. Twenty minutes later she heard a gun shot from the apartment below hers, which was the same one the foreigner was looking at. They've sent a patrol car round there.'

'Do we know the name of the owner of the apartment where the shot came from?'

'Wait a second…'

Falcón sweated standing in the street.

'I think this
is
relevant,' said Ramírez. 'The apartment belongs to one Rosario Calderón.'

Falcón explained the problem to Consuelo. She listened to him as if he was diagnosing a disease – comprehending without taking it in. He asked if she'd heard from her sister and the children. She said a police officer had turned up to look after them late morning. He kissed her and got back in the car. She closed her front door before he pulled away.

The Jefatura informed him that three more cars had been sent to the incident, which was in an apartment block on Calle Tabladilla at the intersection with Calle del Cardenal Ilundain. 'I don't want any cars parked in view of the incident, and no crowds,' said Falcón. 'All exits should be manned, including the underground garage, if there is one. No member of the public should be allowed into the building. Put two men on the roof and two in the stairwell above and below the incident. Evacuate everybody in the apartments above, below and opposite. All the occupants of the other apartments should be told to stay put. And get someone with binoculars into an apartment in the block opposite with a clear view of the incident.'

They confirmed his orders back to him and told him that the apartment did belong to Juez Calderón's sister and that she was currently away on holiday in Ibiza.

The advertising on Avenida de Kansas City flashed past as he headed back into the city. He had to get right across to the other side of town, but there was little traffic and in twenty minutes he'd been allowed through a police cordon and was parked on Calle Tabladilla, opposite a government building about fifty metres down from the incident. The street was empty apart from patrolmen sticking close to the shops underneath the long stretch of the development. One of the men told him that it was all quiet. He radioed through to his partner in the apartment block opposite looking for a view point. He was in apartment 403 overlooking Calle Tabladilla.

It was an oppressive night and the sweat gathered in Falcón's hair as he crossed the street to the grey, stone-clad apartment block with its chrome balconies. It was the kind of place where a young, well-off professional would buy. He took the lift up to the fourth floor and was let in by a young guy in a pair of shorts who had no interest in what was going on. A movie was showing on the television. He sat on the sofa with his girlfriend, drinking beer.

The patrolman was out on the balcony, his binoculars trained across the street. He handed them to Falcón. There was a lot of greenery overhanging the balconies of the apartments opposite, most of which were shuttered. The incident was easy enough to find. It was in the only apartment with any lighting. There were no internal blinds or curtains drawn. There was about 1.50 metres of wall between a large window and the sliding doors out on to the balcony. Calderón and Maddy Krugman were sitting side by side on the sofa. The judge held himself rigid, feet and knees together, arms folded tightly across his chest. Maddy Krugman was almost lying down on the sofa in an absurdly relaxed fashion. They were both dressed as if they were about to go out to dinner. Judging by the direction they were looking, Marty Krugman was standing in front of them with his back to the wall separating the window from the balcony. He came into view for a second. He had no jacket, there was a dark strip of sweat down the back of his creased shirt and he had a gun in his left hand.

The movie on the television finished and was replaced by ads. The young guy came to the doors out on to the balcony.

'What's going on over there?'

'Just a domestic situation that's got out of control,' said Falcón.

'We heard the gunshot – I thought it was on the movie.'

'What time?'

'Just after ten.'

It was now 10.40 p.m. Falcón surveyed the interior walls of the apartment. He found the bullet hole in the wall above Maddy Krugman's head. She obviously hadn't taken her husband seriously enough and had been reminded that this was neither a game nor a replica gun. He called Comisario Elvira and gave his report.

'What's Krugman's mental state been like in the interviews you've conducted?'

'He's an intellectual with an obsessive streak, prone to ranting but controllable. He listens. He's normally civilized and sophisticated, but he's become more disturbed over the past few days, probably as a result of his wife's liaison with Juez Calderón. If he's psychotic it's uncontrollable jealousy that's tipped him over the edge,' said Falcón. 'We've been getting on fine. There's mutual respect. I'd like to go in there and try to talk him down.'

'All right. Call him on the fixed line first. Tell him you're going to knock on the door. No surprises. Garcia, from the Antiterrorism squad, is coming down there and he's bringing a marksman with him. Wait until they arrive.'

'Krugman's not a terrorist.'

'I know that now, but I didn't know that then. I alerted Garcia when the information was imperfect. Anyway, he's got experience in these situations.'

Garcia made contact a few minutes later. Falcón sent the patrolman to bring him up. He came out on to the balcony with the marksman, who seemed satisfied with the angle and went back inside to assemble his gun.

'You're going in?' asked Garcia.

'I know the gunman.'

'There'll be three of you and him on his own. He'll have to keep an eye on you, which will give me possibilities out here.'

'I think I can talk this man down. He's not crazy or on drugs.'

'That's good, but if he does lose control there's not much opportunity for a marksman from out here without endangering the lives of the hostages.'

'What are you saying?'

'It would be better to storm the apartment.'

'I don't think it'll come to that.'

They worked out some emergency signals for Falcón and he made the call to the apartment. Maddy answered the phone before Marty could exert his control over the development. Falcón asked to speak • to her husband.

'It's for you,' she said ironically and held out the phone to Marty.

'I still haven't spoken to the Russians,' said Krugman, chuckling. 'I'm busy.'

'I'm outside, Marty,' said Falcón, leaving the apartment and heading downstairs.

'I thought the shot might attract some attention,' he said. 'This was supposed to be a private thing, but Maddy can be headstrong and I just had to show her I wasn't playing games. Anyway, what can I do for you, Inspector Jefe?'

Falcón crossed the street and started going up the stairs to Calderón's sister's apartment.

'I want to come in and speak to you. I'm right outside the apartment door. Will you let me in?'

'I suppose you've got some kind of SWAT team out there with you?'

'No, it's just me.'

'The street is very quiet.'

'It's been cleared for everyone's safety, that's all,' said Falcón. 'We don't want anybody getting hurt, Marty.'

'People have already been hurt,' he said.

'I realize that -'

'No, I mean really hurt… physically,' said Marty. 'This isn't what you think it is.'

'Then what is it?'

'It's private. We're beyond any mediation.'

'I'm not here to mediate.'

'Then you must have come to bear witness to the destruction of people's lives.'

'No, I certainly haven't come for that,' said Falcón. 'I've just come to hear you out.'

'I told Maddy they don't make cops like you back home,' said Marty. 'They like people with square heads that fit neatly into vices. It's easier to narrow their minds that way. They don't see colour or any gradations, just black and white.'