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

Ignacio's hand rasped against his face as he rubbed the nascent bristles. He glanced at Falcón, a quick shift of the eye whites. It lasted only a fraction of a second but it added to Falcón's unease about this man. He began to think that the reason Ignacio had come round here was not so much to mourn his brother or to help Falcón, but to find out how much was known. It nagged at Falcón's mind that Pablo hadn't written a note to his only brother.

'There were a few,' said Ignacio. 'As I said, our paths didn't cross much. I was just an electrician and he was a famous actor.'

'How did Gloria persuade him to have a child?'

'She didn't. She just got pregnant.'

'Do you know why she left Pablo?'

'She was a little puta,' said Ignacio, some vicious- ness on his thin lips. 'She fucked around and then left the country with someone who would give her the fucking she wanted.'

'Are those your own observations?'

'Mine, my wife's, Pablo's. Anybody who met Gloria knew her for what she was. My wife saw it from day one. This was a woman who should not be married and she proved it by leaving everybody… including Sebastián.'

'And Pablo brought up his son on his own?'

'Well, he went away a lot, so a fair amount of the time Sebastián joined our family.'

'Were your kids the same age?'

'I got married young. Our kids were eight and ten years older,' said Ignacio.

'So after Gloria left, you were Sebastián's father a fair amount of the time.'

Ignacio nodded, drank some beer and lit another cigarette.

'That was all twenty years ago,' said Falcón. 'What about Pablo's relationships in that time?'

'I used to see him in Hola! magazine with women, but we never met any of them. After Gloria we only ever saw him on his own,' said Ignacio. 'You're asking a lot of questions about relationships, Inspector Jefe.'

'Failed relationships can make people suicidal, as can, for instance, the possibility of public shame.'

'Or financial ruin,' said Ignacio, pointing at the room with the cracked cesspit. 'Or the end of a great career. Or the accumulation of all these things in a man about to face retirement, maybe illness and certainly death.'

'Are you surprised he killed himself?'

'Yes, I am. He'd suffered a lot recently with his son's trial, moving house, the building problem here, his fading career, but he was dealing with it all. He was a mentally resilient person. He wouldn't have survived my father's beatings without having reserves. I can't think what would have made him take such drastic action.'

'This is a difficult question,' said Falcón, 'but did you have any reason to question your brother's sexual orientation?'

'No, I didn't,' he said, flat and hard.

'You seem very certain.'

'As certain as I can be,' said Ignacio. 'And remember he was a public figure with photographers on his back. They'd have loved to tell the world that Pablo Ortega was a maricdn.'

'But if something like that was about to be revealed, do you think he could have taken it? Would that have been enough to tip him over the edge, given his other problems?'

'You still haven't told me how he did it.'

Falcón gave him the gruesome details. Ignacio's body shook with emotion. He became ugly with grief. He buried his face in his hands, the cigarette burning out of the back of his fingers.

'Did Pablo ever show you his art collection?' asked Falcón, to ease him out of his distress.

'He showed it to me, but I didn't take much notice of that arty stuff he was into.'

'Did you ever see this piece?' asked Falcón, drawing the Indian erotic painting out from behind the Francisco Falcón landscape.

'Oof!' said Ignacio, admiring. 'Chance would be a fine thing… But doesn't that prove something to you, Inspector Jefe?'

'It's the only painting to feature a woman,' said Falcón, thinking that he'd gone off on the wrong tack here. This was not going to work with Ignacio Ortega.

'The painting in front of it,' said Ignacio, looking around his legs, 'that's got your name on it – Falcón.'

Something lit up in Ignacio's mind and Falcón realized with dismay that he'd possibly ruined the whole interrogation. Nobody had missed the story of Francisco Falcón.

'Now, Pablo did tell me about that business,' said Ignacio. 'He knew Francisco Falcón personally… and the thing about him was that he did turn out to be a maricon. And you're the Inspector Jefe, who, if I remember rightly, was his son.'

'No, he wasn't my father.'

'Now I understand. That's why you think Pablo's a maricon, isn't it? Because your father was one, too. You think they're -'

'He wasn't my father and I don't think that at all. It's a theory.'

'It's rubbish. The next thing you'll be telling me is that Rafael was one, too, and they were having a "relationship" and he couldn't bear -'

'Are you surprised that Pablo didn't leave you a letter?' asked Falcón, trying to retrieve the situation, wanting to needle Ignacio at the same time.

'I am… Yes, I am.'

'When was the last time you talked?'

'Just before I went away on holiday,' he said. 'I wanted to know if he'd made any progress on the cesspit, and I had someone in mind who might have a different approach to the problem.'

'When we gave Sebastián the letter from his father he batted it off the table, as if he didn't want to know. Then he broke down very badly and had to be wheeled back to his cell,' said Falcón. 'You were a father to him, as you've said, can you explain any of that? He seems to despise Pablo, and yet he was devastated by his death.'

'I can't tell you any more than I have already,' said Ignacio. 'All I can say is that Sebastián was a very complicated boy. It didn't help that his mother left him. It probably wasn't good for his father to have been away so much. I'm not qualified to explain that sort of reaction.'

'Have you been to see him in jail?'

'Pablo said he wasn't seeing anybody. I sent my wife out to the prison in the hope she could talk to him, but he refused to see her as well.'

'What about before he was sent to prison? He was a young man who didn't need looking after any more when Pablo was away. Did you see him then?'

'We saw him. He came for lunch sometimes when he was at the Bellas Artes… before he dropped out.'

'Why did he drop out?'

'It was a pity. Pablo said he was very good. There was no apparent reason. He just lost interest in it.'

'When did Gloria die?'

'Some time around 1995 or 1996.'

'Was that when Sebastián finished with his art course? He'd have been about twenty.'

'That's true. I'd forgotten that. He'd been seeing her every year since he was about sixteen. He'd go to the USA every summer.'

'He looked like her, didn't he? More like her than Pablo.'

Ignacio shrugged, a sharp jerk as if a fly was irritating him. Falcón could see the questions building up in the man's head.

'In the letter he wrote to you, Inspector Jefe, did Pablo mention me?'

'He put a note at the bottom asking that you be informed,' said Falcón. 'He might have posted something to you. If he did, we'd be very interested to see it.'

Ignacio, having sat on the edge of his seat the whole interview, eased back into his chair.

'I suppose he could have posted something to his lawyer as well,' said Falcón. 'Do you know which lawyer is holding the will?'

Ignacio hunched forward again at this question.

'Ranz Costa,' he said, his mind elsewhere. 'Ranz

Costa did the deed on this property, so I'm sure he's got the will.'

'I suppose he's on holiday?'

'He's my lawyer, too. He doesn't go on holiday until August,' said Ignacio, standing up, putting his beer down, crushing out the cigarette. 'Do you mind if I take a quick look around? Just to see my brother's place and things.'