Robert Wilson - The Hidden Assassins

'This is Alpha-2-0, we're down by the river now, just off the Torneo at the back of the bus station in Plaza de Armas. I can confirm that we have a male in his early forties attempting to dispose of an unidentified body. You'd better get the Inspector Jefe de Homicidios down here.'

'Give me the car registration number.'

'SE 4738 HT.'

'Fuck me.'

'What?'

'That's the same number given to me by the guy who reported the incident. I don't fucking believe this.'

'Who's the owner of the vehicle?'

'Don't you recognize him?'

The patrolman called out to his colleague, who passed a torch over Calderon's face. He was barely recognizable as human, let alone a specific person. His face bore the contortions of a particularly agonized flamenco singer. The patrolman shrugged.

'No idea,' the patrolman said, into the radio.

'How about Juez Esteban Calderon?' said the operator.

'Fuck!' said the patrolman and dropped the mouthpiece.

He shone his own torch in the man's face, grabbed him by the chin to hold him still. Calderon's agony slackened off with surprise. The patrolman let a sly grin spread across his face before he went back to the car. Falcon had to claw his way out of sleep like an abandoned potholer, desperately trying to reach a star of light in a firmament of blackness. He came to with a jerk and grunt of disgust, as if he'd been spewed up by his own bed. The bedside light hurt him. The green digits on his clock told him it was 5.03. He grappled with the phone and sank back into his pillow with it clasped to his ear.

The voice was of the duty officer in the communications centre of the Jefatura. He was babbling. He was speaking so fast and with such a heavy Andaluz accent that Falcon only picked up the first syllable of every other word. He stopped him, got him to start again from the top.

'We have a situation down by the bus station at the Plaza de Armas. Behind the bus station, down by the river near the Puente de Chapina, a man has been apprehended attempting to dispose of a body. We have a positive identification of the owner of the vehicle used to bring the body to that point, and we have a positive ID of the man who was attempting to dispose of the body. And the man's name, Inspector Jefe, is…Esteban Calderon.'

Falcon's leg spasmed as if some high voltage had shot up it. In one movement he was out of bed and pacing the floor.

'Esteban Calderon, the judge? Are you positive?'

'We are now. The patrolman at the scene has checked the ID and read the number back to me. That and the car's registration confirm the man as Esteban Calderon.'

'Have you spoken to anyone about this?'

'Not yet, Inspector Jefe.'

'Have you called the Juez de Guardia?'

'No, you're the first person. I should have-'

'How was the incident reported?'

'An anonymous phone call from a guy who said he was walking his dog down by the river.'

'What time?'

'It was timed at 4.52 a.m.'

'Is that when people walk their dogs?'

'Old people who can't sleep do, especially in this heat.'

'How did he report it?'

'He called in on his mobile, told me what he was seeing, gave me the registration number and hung up.'

'Name and address?'

'Didn't have time to ask him.'

'Don't talk to anyone about this,' said Falcon. 'Call the patrolmen and tell them there is to be radio silence on this matter until I've spoken to Comisario Elvira.'

The bedroom seemed to fill up with the catastrophe of scandal. Falcon went out on to the gallery overlooking the patio. The morning was warm. He felt sick. He called Elvira, gave him some seconds to wake up and then told him the news in the most measured tone he could muster. Falcon broke the ensuing silence himself, by telling Elvira how many people, at this point, knew what had taken place.

'We have to get him, the body and the car off the street as soon as possible, whatever happens,' said Elvira. 'And we need a judge and a Medico Forense to do that.'

'Juez Romero is reliable and neither a friend, nor enemy, of Esteban Calderon.'

'This mustn't look like a cover-up,' said Elvira, almost to himself.

'This isn't something that can be covered up,' said Falcon.

'We have to do things absolutely by the book. The investigation might have to be taken off your hands, given Esteban Calderon's status.'

'I think it better for me to initiate the proceedings,' said Falcon.

'Let's go for normal procedure, but nobody, absolutely nobody, is to talk about this. We must have no leaks until we can get a press statement together. I'll speak to Comisario Lobo. Tell the communications officer to make the usual calls but not, under any circumstances, to inform the press. If it gets out before we're ready there'll be hell to pay.'

'The only person we can't control is the anonymous caller who reported the incident,' said Falcon.

'Well, he shouldn't know who it was he was reporting, should he?' said Elvira.

This was too big a scandal to contain. Elvira was asking too much. This was going to come sweating out of the Jefatura walls. Falcon called the communications centre, gave the instructions and asked the officer to call Felipe and Jorge to the crime scene. He showered, standing under the drilling water, trying to think of any plausible, innocent explanation for Calderon being discovered down by the river with a dead body.

It was 5.30 and the dawn was well advanced by the time he walked across the Plaza de Armas to the incident. The traffic on the Torneo was still very light. A patrol car had parked at the top of the ramp and some cones had been put out to stop any traffic from turning down the road. The duty judge was already at the scene, as was a police photographer, who was taking some shots. Jorge and Felipe arrived and were allowed down the ramp.

There was no sign of Calderon. Two patrolmen were making sure no early-morning joggers came past the scene along the riverbank. The duty judge told Falcon that Calderon was sitting in the back of the patrol car with one of the policemen who'd first come across the incident.

'We're just waiting for a Medico Forense to arrive and inspect the body.'

A set of tyres squeaked at the top of the ramp and a car rolled down and parked up. The Medico Forense got out with his bag. He was already dressed in a white hooded boiler suit and had a mask hanging from his neck. He shook hands, put on gloves, and they proceeded to the body. An ambulance arrived with no siren or flashing lights.

The Medico Forense used a scalpel to cut the tape wrapped around the body. He worked from the feet up to the head. He laid open the hessian sheet. The head wrapped in the black bin liner looked sinister, as if the body had been the subject of some sexual deviancy. Falcon started to feel dizzy. The Medico Forense murmured into his dictaphone about the heavy bruising on the torso. He put his scalpel through the cooking string at the neck of the body and eased away the bin liner. A darkening at the edges of his vision made Falcon clutch at the duty judge's sleeve.

'Are you all right, Inspector Jefe?' he asked.

Under the bin liner the head was wrapped in a towel. The front was white, with blood smears over it. The Medico Forense lifted up one corner of the towel and folded it back. The outline of the face was visible, as under a shroud. He pulled away the other corner of the towel and Falcon dropped unconscious to the floor, with the features of his ex-wife imprinted on his retina. Falcon came to on the ground. The duty judge had managed to catch him and break his fall. The paramedics from the ambulance were over him. He heard the duty judge above their heads.

'He's in shock. This is his ex-wife. He shouldn't really be here.'

The paramedics helped him up. The Medico Forense continued to murmur into his dictaphone. He checked the thermometer, made a calculation and muttered the time of death.