The Hidden Assassins

27

Seville-Thursday, 8th June 2006, 09.28 hrs

The pressroom in the Andalucian Parliament building was filled to capacity, and there were more people outside in the corridors. The double doors had been left open. It was inconceivable to Falcon that something hadn't leaked. The heaving level of interest in a routine press conference could not be so vast.

The gravity of the revelations had brought Comisario Lobo to the conference and his glowering presence was a comfort. Lobo commanded respect. He induced fear. Nobody took his huge frame and coarse cumin complexion lightly. He was the most senior policeman in Seville and yet he seemed to be a man just managing to keep the lid on an extremely violent temperament.

On the raised platform were six chairs set behind two tables, on which had been placed six microphones. The six stars of the press conference-Comisarios Lobo and Elvira, Juez del Rey, the Magistrado Juez Decano de Sevilla Spinola, Inspectors Jefe Barros and Falcon-were standing in the wings, occupying themselves with the folded lengths of card on which their names were printed. Del Rey had arrived only five minutes earlier, having taken a cab straight from the Estacion Santa Justa. He looked remarkably calm for a man who'd been woken up at 6.15 in the morning and told to catch the next AVE train to Seville and take control of the largest criminal investigation Andalucia had ever seen.

At exactly 9.30 Lobo led them out, like a cadre of gladiators being presented to the public. There was a clatter of shutters and flickering of flashes from the photojournalists. Lobo sat in the middle, held up a large finger and surveyed his audience, who instantly battened down to total silence.

'The prime objective of this press conference is to introduce the new team who will be conducting the investigation into the Seville bombing, now referred to as 6th June.'

He presented each member of the team, explaining their role. There was a human tremor at the introduction of Sergio del Rey as the new judge directing the investigation, which meant that Falcon's role was lost in the aftershock.

'Where's Juez Calderon?' shouted a voice from the back of the room.

Lobo's huge finger was raised once again, this time with a slightly admonishing edge to it. Silence fell.

'The Magistrado Juez Decano de Sevilla will now explain the reason behind the change in our Juez de Instruccion.'

Spinola stood up and gave a similar, terse and factual description of the events of the early morning down by the Guadalquivir river as Elvira had done an hour earlier. When he'd finished there was a missed beat and then a roar, as of a crowd in an enclosed basketball arena who'd just witnessed a heinous foul. Their hands came out waving pens, notebooks, and dictaphones. When their shouting failed to penetrate they started screaming, like maddened traders in the bear pit of a crashing bourse. It was impossible to hear any questions. Lobo stood. The Colossus of the Jefatura made no impact. The scandal was just too vast, and the herd too demented, to care about his immense authority. The journalists rushed the platform. Falcon was grateful for the barrier of the table. Lobo was decisive. The six men left the stage just managing not to break into a run for the door at the back. Barros was the last man out and he had to wrest his arm from the clutches of a woman's bloodred nails. The door was shut and locked by security. The journalists hammered from the other side. The double doors seemed to swell, as if they might be about to burst open.

'There's no talking to them,' said Lobo. 'And, anyway, there's nothing to be said beyond that statement. We'll hold another press conference later and ask them to present their questions beforehand.'

They left the building and all except Lobo, Elvira and Spinola were driven back to the pre-school. Juez del Rey still hadn't completed his reading of the case file, which was already huge. He said he'd need until midday to complete it and then he would like a meeting with the investigating team.

Falcon called Dr Pintado, the Medico Forense who'd handled the unidentified corpse from the dump, and asked for Miguel Covo's number, saying he had to see anything that the sculptor had been able to accomplish as soon as possible. Pintado said that Covo would call if he had anything to show.

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.

'I don't let many people in here,' said Covo. 'They get spooked.'

'By the silence, I imagine,' said Falcon. 'One would expect so many faces to be expressing themselves.'

'It reminds people too much of death,' said Covo. 'My talent is not artistic. I am a craftsman. I can recreate a face, but I cannot give it life. They are inanimate, without the motivation of soul. I embalm people in wax and clay.'

'The faces coming out of the rock seem animated to me,' said Falcon.

'I think I've started to feel the restraint of my own mortality,' said Covo. 'Let me show you our friend.'

To the right of the block of stone was a table with what looked like four heads under a sheet.

'I made up four copies of his faceless head,' said Covo. 'Then I made a series of sketches of how I thought he looked. Finally, I started to build.'

He lifted the sheet off the first head. It had no nose, mouth or ears.

'Here I'm trying to get the feeling for how much skin and fat would cover the bones,' said Covo. 'I've looked at the whole body and estimated the extent of his covering.'

He lifted the sheet off the next two heads.

'Here I've been working with the features, trying to fit the nose, mouth, ears and eyes together on the face,' said Covo. 'The third one, as you've probably noticed, is more decisive. Once I've reached this stage I do more sketches, working with hair and colour. This fourth figure I made last night. I painted him and attached the hair just this morning. It's my best guess.'

The sheet slipped off to reveal a head with brown eyes, long lashes, aquiline nose, sharp cheekbones, but with the cheeks themselves slightly sunken. The beard was clipped close to the skin, the hair long, dark and flowing and the teeth white and perfect.

'I'm only worried that I may have got carried away,' said Covo, 'and made him too dashing.'

Falcon took photographs, while Covo made a selection from the sketches of other possible looks. By 11 a.m. Falcon was heading back across the river to the Jefatura. He had the sketches scanned and the image of the victim transferred to the computer. He called Pintado and asked him to email the dental X-rays. He put together a page with the corpse's approximate age, height and weight, the information about the hernia op, tattoos and skull fracture. He called Pablo, who gave him the email address of the right man in the CNI in Madrid who would distribute it to all other intelligence agencies, the FBI and Interpol.

Ramirez called just as he was leaving.

'I've spoken to the vascular surgeon at the hospital,' he said. 'He's identified the hernia mesh taken from the body as one known by the trade name SURUMESH, made by Suru International Ltd of Mumbai in India.'

'Does he use them?'

'For inguinal hernias he uses a German make called TiMESH.'

'You're learning stuff, Jose Luis.'

'I'm completely fascinated,' said Ramirez, drily. 'He tells me Suru International would probably supply hospitals through medical supplies wholesalers.'

'I'll speak to Pablo. The CNI can get a list from Suru International.'

'Then they've got to contact the hospitals supplied by those wholesalers. It's quite possible that a hospital takes meshes made by a number of different manufacturers. Then there are the specialist hernia clinics. This is going to take time.'

'We're moving on a lot of fronts,' said Falcon. 'I have a face to work with now. We have dental X-rays. I'm thinking more about America. He had orthodontic work done-'

'Most inguinal hernias occur over the age of forty,' said Ramirez. 'Dr Pintado estimates the guy's hernia op as three years old. So we're only looking at, say, the last four, maximum five years of hernia operations. Maybe two and a half million ops worldwide.'

'Keep thinking positively, Jose Luis.'

'I'll see you next year.'

Falcon told him about the meeting with Juez del Rey at midday and hung up. He sent another email about Suru International to his contact in the CNI. He got up to leave again. His personal mobile vibrated, no name came up on the screen. He took the call anyway.

'Diga,' he said.

'It's me, Consuelo.'

He sat down slowly, thinking, my God. His stomach leapt, his blood came alive. His heart beat loudly in his head.

'It's been a long time,' he said.

'I saw the news about Ines,' she said. 'I wanted to tell you how sorry I am and to let you know that I'm thinking of you. I know you must be very busy…so I won't keep you.'

'Thank you, Consuelo,' he said, willing something else to come to mind. 'It's good to hear your voice again. When I saw you in the street…'

'I'm sorry for that, too,' she said. 'It couldn't be helped.'

He didn't know what that meant. He needed something to keep her on the phone. Nothing seemed relevant. His mind was too full of the corpse, hernia meshes and two and a half million ops world-wide.

'I should let you go,' she said. 'You must be under a lot of pressure.'

'It was good of you to call.'

'It was the least I could do,' she said.

'I'd like to hear from you again, you know.'

'I'm thinking of you, Javier,' she said, and it was all over.

He sat back, looking at the phone as if her voice was still inside it. She'd kept his number for four years. She was thinking of him. Do these things have meaning? Was that just social convention? It didn't feel like it. He saved her number.

The car park at the back of the Jefatura was brutally hot, the car windscreens blinded by the sun in the clear sky. Falcon sat in the car with the air conditioning blasting into his face. Those few sentences, the sound of her voice, had opened up a whole chapter of memory which he'd closed off for years. He shook his head and pulled out of the Jefatura car park. He headed for El Cerezo the back way, via the Expo ground, crossing the river at the Puente del Alamillo. He arrived at the bombsite at the same time as Ramirez.

'Any news about the electricians?' asked Falcon.

'Perez called. They've been through seventeen building sites. Nothing.'

'What's Ferrera doing?'

'She's chasing down witnesses who might have seen our friend with the hernia being dumped in the bin on Calle Boteros.'

They went into the pre-school. Juez del Rey was alone, waiting for them in the classroom. They sat down on the edges of the school desks. Del Rey folded his arms and stared into the floor. He gave them a perfect recap of the major findings of the investigation so far. He didn't use notes. He got all the names of the Moroccan witnesses correct. He had the whole timetable of what had happened in and around the mosque, in his head. He'd decided to make an impression on the two detectives and it worked. Falcon felt Ramirez relax. Calderon's replacement was no fool.

'The two most significant recent developments in the investigation concern me the most,' said del Rey. 'Ricardo Gamero's suicide and the belief that his source was working as a double agent.'

'We had a sighting of Gamero by a security guard in the Archaeological Museum in the Parque Maria Luisa,' said Falcon. 'We've got a police artist working on some sketches of the older man he was seen talking to.'

'I'll call Serrano,' said Ramirez, 'see how that's going.'

'I'm not convinced that a sense of failure at preventing this bomb attack from taking place was enough to drive a man like Gamero to suicide,' said del Rey. 'There's something more. Failure is too general. Feeling personally responsible is what drives people to kill themselves.'

'The police artist didn't have much luck with the security guard last night,' said Ramirez, coming back from his call. 'He's been with him again this morning. They should have something by lunchtime.'

'I'm not convinced by Miguel Botin as a double, either,' said del Rey. 'His brother was maimed by an Islamic terrorist bomb, for God's sake. Can you see someone like that being turned?'

'He was a convert,' said Falcon. 'He took his religion very seriously. It's difficult to know what sort of impression a charismatic radical preacher could make on someone like that. We have the example of Mohammed Sidique Khan, one of the London bombers, who was transformed from a special needs teacher into a radical militant.'

'We don't know what the relationship between Miguel Botin and his injured brother was like, either,' said Ramirez.

'I'm also uncomfortable about the electricians and the fake council inspectors. I don't buy the CNI line that they were a terrorist cell. The CNI seem to me to be trying to cram square information into a round hole.'

There was a knock at the door. A policeman put his head round.

'The forensics have been working their way through the rubble above the storeroom in the mosque,' he said. 'They've found a fireproof, shock-proof metal box. It's been taken to the forensic tent and they thought you might like to be there when they open it.'