Robert Wilson - The Hidden Assassins

A call came through on his personal mobile. It was Angel. He should have turned the damn thing off.

'I was there,' said Angel. 'I've never seen anything like that in my life.'

'I thought we were going to have to fire tear gas at you lot,' said Falcon, trying to keep it light.

'This is a disaster for your investigation.'

'Juez del Rey is a very capable man.'

'You're talking to me, Javier-Angel Zarrias: public relations expert. What you've got on your hands is…'

'We know, but what can we do? We can't turn the clock back and bring Ines back to life.'

'I'm sorry,' he said, her name reminding him to be solicitous. 'I'm really sorry, Javier. I just got carried away with the madness in there. It must have been hard for you. Not even your experience could have prepared you for that.'

The saliva thickened in Falcon's mouth as the bitterness of his grief hit him again in another unexpected wave. He was surprised. He'd thought he'd rid himself of all emotional entanglements with Ines and yet here were these odd residues. He'd loved her, or at least he thought he'd loved her, and he was amazed at how that seemed to have stood the test of her cruelty and selfishness.

'What can I do for you, Angel?' he said, businesslike.

'Look, Javier, I'm not a fool. I know you can't talk about anything even if you did know what had happened,' he said. 'I just want you to know that the ABC is on your side. I've spoken to the editor. If Comisario Elvira needs help we're prepared to give our full support.'

'I'll tell him, Angel,' said Falcon. 'I've got to go now, I've got another call.'

Falcon closed down that mobile and opened the other. It was the sculptor, Miguel Covo. He had something to show him. He gave Falcon directions to his workshop. Falcon said he could be there in ten minutes. He called Elvira on the way and mentioned the conversation with Angel Zarrias.

'Nothing comes for free in this world,' said Elvira, 'but we are going to need all the help we can get. I've just read the autopsy report and…I'm sorry, Javier, I shouldn't have mentioned that.'

'I saw her,' said Falcon, his stomach lurching.

But he didn't want to hear it. He'd read autopsies before of battered wives and girlfriends and been stunned at the body's capacity to absorb punishment and still keep going. He tuned himself out from Elvira's voice. He really didn't want to know what Ines had suffered.

'…a civilized man, a respected and brilliant legal mind, a cultured person. We used to bump into each other at the opera. There's no telling, Javier. It's a terrifying thought that even these certainties cannot be trusted.'

'Perhaps I shouldn't have told you about Angel Zarrias's offer.'

'I don't follow you.'

'That's Angel Zarrias's talent. He has a genius for the manipulation of image.'

'The suspicion is going to be that we knew about Calderon's behaviour and condoned it with our silence because of his exceptional ability,' said Elvira, who seemed more panicked by the power of the media now that he'd lost Calderon, his brilliant front man. 'Things are going to come out once Inspector Jefe Zorrita starts digging. And then there'll be all the women he was…you know…'

'Fucking?'

'That wasn't the word I was after, but, yes, I understand it wasn't just one or two,' said Elvira. 'Less scrupulous newspapers than the ABC might get hold of them and there'll be more stories stretching back over the years…We'll all look complete idiots, or worse, for not having spotted the flaws in his character beforehand.'

'None of us did know about it,' said Falcon. 'So we shouldn't feel guilty about presenting our case. And it's the way of the world that these things have to be conducted through the media. But at least some good will come out of it.'

'How's that?'

'It will change people's perceptions. They'll now know that anyone can be an abuser of women. It's not the preserve of uneducated brutes with no self-control, but possibly civilized, cultured, intelligent men who can be moved to tears by Tosca.'

They hung up. Covo's workshop was near the Plaza de Pelicano, an ugly, modern square of 1970s apartment blocks, whose central sitting area had become a place where dog owners brought their pets to shit. Falcon parked outside Covo's studio in an adjacent compound of small workshops and took a digital camera out of the glove compartment.

'I used to keep it all in the house,' said Covo, as he led Falcon through a steel-caged door into a room that was completely bare of any decoration and had only a table and two chairs. 'But my wife started to complain when I worked my way into other rooms.'

Covo made some strong coffee and broke the filter off a Ducado and lit it. His head was shaved to a fine white bristle all over. He wore half-moon glasses with gold rims, so that he looked like an accountant from the neck up. He was slim with a nut-brown body, and his arms and legs were all sinew and wiry muscle. This was all visible because he wore a black string vest, a pair of running shorts and sandals.

'The only problem with this place is that it gets very hot in the summer,' he said.

They drank coffee. Covo didn't volunteer any more information. He studied Falcon's face, eyes flicking up and down, side to side. He nodded, smoked, drank his coffee. Falcon did not feel uneasy. He was glad to have a respite from the madness of the world outside in the company of this strange individual.

'We're all unique,' said Covo, after some minutes, 'and yet remarkably the same.'

'There are types,' said Falcon. 'I've noticed that.'

'The only problem is that we live in a part of Europe where there has been a lot of genetic exchange. So that, for instance, you will find the Berber genetic marker e3b both in North Africa and on the Iberian peninsula,' said Covo. 'Much as we'd like to, we're not going to be able to tell you where exactly your corpse comes from, other than that he is either Spanish or North African.'

'That's already something,' said Falcon. 'How did you find the genetic marker?'

'Dr Pintado has been calling in some favours from the labs,' said Covo. 'Your corpse has good teeth. You already know that he's had corrective work to make them straight; expensive and unusual for someone of his generation. The work was not done in Spain.'

'You've been very thorough.'

'I presumed that this man's death has something to do with the bomb, so I have been working hard and fast,' said Covo. 'The important thing is to work out how this affects the shape of the face and the overall effect of good teeth is impressive. Hair is also important, head and facial.'

'You think he was bearded?'

'The job they did with the acid was not as thorough as it could have been. I'm certain he was bearded, but that presents other problems. How did he keep it? All I can say is that it wasn't long and shaggy. The teeth perhaps indicate a man who cared about his appearance.'

'And he kept his hair long.'

'Yes, and he had high cheekbones,' said Covo. 'A prominent nose-part of the septum was still intact. I think we're talking about a rather striking individual, which was why they probably went to such lengths to destroy his features.'

'I'm surprised they didn't smash up his teeth.'

'They would have had to extract each one to make sure. It was probably too time-consuming,' said Covo. 'Let me show you what I've done.'

Covo stubbed out his Ducado after a last long drag and they went into the studio. Lights came on in certain areas. In the centre of the room was a block of stone from which a number of faces were emerging. They all gave the impression of struggle, as if they were inside the rock and nosing out into the world, desperate to be free from the stultifying substance. Around the walls, in the gloom, were the spectators. Hundreds of heads, some in clay, others frighteningly real in wax.