Robert Wilson - The Silent and the Damned aka The Vanished Hands

'Inés seemed very nervous,' said Calderón.

'Look what happened the last time she got married,' said Falcón, opening his hands, opting to look ridiculous. 'She seemed to be worried that you were having doubts. I -'

'Why would she think I was having doubts?' asked Calderón, and Falcón felt the diamond bits of the judge's drilling mind cut into him.

'She thought you seemed nervous, too.'

'And what did you say to that?'

'That it was quite natural for a man to feel nervous under these circumstances. I myself had felt the same nervousness,' said Falcón. 'And nervousness is easily misinterpreted as doubt.'

'Did you doubt?' asked Calderón.

'I never doubted her,' said Falcón, the sweat streaming down his back.

'That wasn't the question, Javier.'

'I probably did doubt. In retrospect I was probably afraid of change, of my incapacity…'

'For what?'

Falcón's chair creaked as he writhed on the skewer of the judge's questions.

'I was a different man then, more distant,' said Falcón. 'That's why I go to the shrink.'

'And now?'

With that last light inquiry, Calderón's cycle was complete. Falcón was almost grateful to receive the implicit warning that he should keep his nose out of the judge's private life.

'It's a long haul,' he said.

Falcón sat at his desk replaying the dialogue. He was relieved that he hadn't brought up the internet downloads about Maddy Krugman. That might have turned Calderón savage. The judge knew that Falcón had seen something. But under their delicate personal circumstances Falcón couldn't start talking about Maddy's involvement in the FBI inquiry until he was certain of the facts. He pitied the two lives he saw on their way to destruction as he dialled his lawyer, Isabel Cano.

She agreed to see him for a maximum of ten minutes. He drove to her small office on Calle Julio Cesar and made his way past the three law students in the outer office. She greeted him in her bare feet. He sat down and laid out his proposal to her for cutting a deal with Manuela.

'Are you out of your mind, Javier?'

'Not always,' he said.

'You now want to give her everything we've been fighting over for the last six months. You're prepared to take a loss of, God knows, half a million euros. Why don't we throw in the contents as well?'

'That's not a bad idea,' said Falcón.

She leaned over the desk at him, long black hair, dark brown, almost black eyes, a beautiful, fierce and haughty Moorish look that could wither most of the fiscales in the courts at a hundred metres.

'Is that shrink still tinkering about in your head?'

'Yes.'

'Has there been a change in medication?'

'No.'

'You're still taking the drugs?'

He nodded.

'Well, I don't know what's going on in there, but it must be very loud,' she said.

'I don't want to live in that house any more. I don't want to live with Francisco Falcón. Manuela does. She's obsessed by the place… but she doesn't have the money.'

'Then she can't have it, Javier.'

'Just think about it.'

'I've thought about it and rejected it – instantly.'

'Think some more.'

'That's your ten minutes,' said Isabel, putting on her shoes. 'Walk me to my car.'

The law students fired questions at her as she strode through the office. She ignored them all. Her heels cracked across the marble foyer.

'I've got another question for you,' said Falcón.

'Let's hope it's cheaper than the last,' she said, 'or you won't be able to afford me.'

'Do you know Juez Calderón?'

'Of course I do, Javier,' she said, stopping dead in the street so Falcón knocked into her. 'Ah, now I get it. You're emotionally distraught about him and Inés. Let's forget this meeting ever happened and when you're calm we'll -'

'I'm not that emotionally distraught.'

'So what is it about Juez Calderón?'

'Does he have a reputation?'

'As long as your arm… longer than your leg… longer than this street.'

'I mean… with women.'

Falcón, who was staring eagerly into her face, saw all her fierceness disappear to be replaced by a vast hurt, which surfaced like a harpooned whale and disappeared. She turned away and pointed her keys at her car, whose lights flashed back.

'Esteban has always been a hunter,' she said.

She got in the car and pulled away, leaving Falcón on the pavement thinking that Isabel Cano had been happily married for more than ten years.

Friday, 26th July 2002

On the way to Ortega's house he took a call from Jorge, who told him that the paper used for the Inés print was of a different make and quality to the blank stock he'd given him. The news momentarily elated him until he realized that this proof of his sanity must also mean that someone had got into his home and planted the photo. Not only that, they also knew about him and his particular vulnerability. His blood felt sharp in his veins but he calmed his paranoia with the thought that everybody knew about him. Since the Francisco Falcón scandal his story was public property.

Pablo Ortega was coming back from walking his dogs. Falcón buzzed down his window as he drew alongside and asked if he could spare a few minutes. Ortega nodded grimly. Falcón pulled the photograph out of his briefcase. Ortega held the gate open for him. The stink from the cesspit was as thick as a mud wall. They went around the house and into the kitchen. The dogs drank noisily.

'I've had some good news about the cesspit,' said Ortega, unable to sound delighted by it. 'One of my brother's contractors thinks he can rebuild without having to knock down all the rooms and he could do it for five million.'

'That's good,' said Falcón. 'I'm glad it's going to work out for you.'

They went into the living room and sat down.

'I might have some more good news for you,' said Falcón, wanting to keep things positive. 'I'd like to help with Sebastián's case.'

'It's no use you helping from the outside if Sebastián doesn't want to be helped from the inside.'

'I think I can help there, too,' said Falcón, taking the risk that Aguado would agree. 'I have a clinical psychologist who's looking at his case and might be prepared to talk to him.'

'A clinical psychologist,' said Ortega, slowly. 'And what would he talk to Sebastián about?'

'She would try to find out why Sebastián felt the need to incarcerate himself.'

'He didn't incarcerate himself,' said Ortega, leaping to his feet, throwing out a big dramatic hand. 'The state incarcerated him with the help of that cabron Juez Calderón.'

'But Sebastián didn't defend himself. He seems to have welcomed his punishment and failed to offer anything that might have reduced his sentence. Why?'

Ortega dug his fists into his expansive waist and drew in a massive breath as if he was about to blow the house down.

'Because,' he said, very quietly, 'he was guilty… It was just his mental state at the time that was in question. The court decided he was sane. I dispute that.'

'She will find that out from him,' said Falcón.

'What will she talk to him about?' said Ortega. 'The boy has a fragile mind as it is. I don't want her stirring up more trouble. He's already in solitary confinement. I don't want him feeling suicidal.'

'Have there been any reports from the prison that he might be?'

'Not yet.'

'She's very good at her work, Pablo. I don't think this will do him any harm,' said Falcón. 'And while she helps him clarify things, I'll look at various elements of the case

'Like what?'

'The boy he kidnapped – Manolo. I should talk to his parents.'

'You won't get anywhere there. The Ortega name cannot be spoken in that house. The father has suffered some sort of collapse. He can't work any more. They spread malicious gossip so that the whole barrio has turned against me. I mean, that is why I am here, Javier… and not there.'