The Silent and the Damned aka The Vanished Hands

Chapter 31

Thursday, 1st August 2002

'Bad night?' asked Ramírez, looking out over the Jefatura car park.

'Bad dreams. Bad night,' said Falcón. 'I lay awake fantasizing about nailing the Russians.'

'Tell me.'

'I thought I'd go to Ignacio Ortega and ask to be put on the Russian payroll. Tell him I liked the look of the hundred and eighty thousand euros Sra Montes was caught with.'

'Was it that much?'

'That's what Lobo told me,' said Falcón. 'I could spin Ortega some line – that I could be the guy running the Grupo de Menores while they find a suitable replacement for Montes…'

'That would never happen for a start,' said Ramírez.

'Then I'd persuade him to set up a meeting with the Russians.'

'And he'd believe you?'

'Well no, but he'd do it anyway and then I'd find out where the meeting was to take place and secretly let you know.'

'I'm not even sure that this fantasy is B-movie quality.'

'The meeting would take place in a garage in the middle of nowhere. I'd be with Ortega. We'd be sitting around an oil drum waiting for the Russians. We'd hear a car coming from some way off. Then Ivanov and Zelenov would arrive. They'd give me a very ugly interview in which it was clear they didn't believe a word I was saying. And just when they'd got to the point of laughing at me, the garage door would crack open and you'd come in and blow them all away.'

'My kids could think of something better than that.'

'Maybe instead of you coming in blasting away we could think of something more subtle. The garage door would still crack open. It always does that. But you'd only cover them with your gun. I'd disarm them. Then the shutter to the main entrance of the garage would roll up and there would be police cars, with flashing lights – that's another thing that always happens. One of the police cars would reverse in. The Russians would be cuffed and, as they were being put into the car, they would turn to see us slapping Ortega on the back, shaking his hand, and they'd think that they'd been served up. By the time they reached the Jefatura the defence lawyer would already be there. The same one from the tape in Montes's finca. They'd be out in four hours. Then cut to Ortega's house. Ignacio sitting at his desk, listening to Julio Iglesias on his perfect sound system, eyes closed until an alien sound opens them and… the horror. Two silenced shots. Blood flowers on his white shirt and his face is ruined.'

'The audience would be drinking beers before the credits rolled,' said Ramírez.

Ferrera put her head round the door to say good morning.

'Let's have a talk,' said Falcón.

Ferrera backed into the outer office. Ramírez went to close the door.

'You too, Policía Ferrera,' said Falcón, and Ramírez narrowed his eyes at him. 'Close the door behind you.'

They sat around the desk.

'We're the voices of experience here,' said Falcón. 'And you, Policía Ferrera, are the voice of morality.'

'Is that in my role as ex-nun?'

'You're in,' said Ramírez. 'That's all that matters. So shut up and listen.'

'I think you've realized by now that there's a cover- up going on,' said Falcón. 'The crimes committed at the Montes finca are being covered up from both ends. Because of Montes's involvement, the Jefatura is vulnerable to attack from the politicians. There is fear amongst our masters that a major scandal, involving a number of figures from public life, may cause a collapse of faith, and they are determined to maintain the dignity and integrity of their institutions. The three of us know that what went on in the Montes finca was wrong and that the perpetrators should face justice and public shaming. Comisario Lobo has told me that everything that has happened at the finca will be documented. He has been unable to guarantee that any of it will be heard. He has only been able to assuage my sense of outrage by assuring me that no one involved in what went on in that finca will get away scot free. They will suffer loss of position, status and wealth.'

'I'm crying for them already,' said Ramírez. 'What about the media?'

'Virgilio Guzmán said they wouldn't touch it unless somebody else broke the story first,' said Falcón. 'He's ill and has had to go on medication.'

'What did I tell you about that guy?' said Ramírez.

'The Russians are untouchable. They've pulled their money out of the Vega projects. They've threatened Vázquez's family. Our only access to them is through Ignacio Ortega, and he isn't about to pass on our card. We have no physical evidence, even of their money- laundering operations, which is presentable in court. We couldn't justify arresting them even if we could get to them.'

'What chance have we got of taking Ortega down?' asked Ramírez.

'He is protected. That's how he survives. As we've seen from his secret filming in the finca, he has the dirt on everybody. That's why we've been cut off from all forensic information and everything has to be directed through Comisario Elvira. All we have now is the tape.'

'What tape?' asked Ferrera.

'The arsonists stole a television and video from the finca before they torched it. The video recorder was loaded with a tape which shows four men having sex with minors,' said Falcón. 'The original is with Elvira. We have retained a copy.'

'What about the Madrid newspapers?' asked Ramírez.

'That's a possibility, but we would have to give them the whole story and it would all have to be backed up with information we don't have access to. There would be no question of anonymity. We would be seen as having broken ranks with the Jefatura and we'd be out on our own, probably facing the end of our careers. There's also a lot that's unpredictable in using the media, even our own here. You put people with their backs to the wall and they will fight dirty. We could all end up getting hurt – your families too – and we still might not get the result we're looking for.'

'Let's send a copy each to their wives and get on with our lives,' said Ramírez.

'But we still wouldn't take Ortega down,' said Falcón.

Silence for some time, broken only by the metronome of Ramírez's huge finger thumping up and down on the edge of the desk.

'Something that would give me a lot of pleasure,' said Ramírez, looking up at the ceiling as if for divine inspiration, 'would be to give my old friend from the barrio a private showing of his part of the tape. That would mean I'd get to see his face, and then I would tell him that there was nothing I could do about it, but that he could have words with Ignacio Ortega.'

'Words?' asked Falcón.

'He'd kill him,' said Ramírez. 'I know that guy. He would not let anybody live with that kind of hold over him.'

Silence again. Cristina Ferrera looked up to find both men's eyes fixed on her.

'You're not serious, are you?' she said.

'And then I could arrest him for murder,' said Ramírez.

'I can't believe you're even asking me to contemplate thinking about such a thing,' said Ferrera. 'If you are serious, you don't need a moral guide, you need a full transplant.'

Falcón laughed. Ramírez joined in with a loud guffaw. Relief spread across Ferrera's face from the small nose outwards.

'Well, nobody can say we didn't consider every possibility,' said Falcón.

'I'm going back to the computer,' she said and left, closing the door behind her.

'Were you being serious?' asked Ramírez, leaning over the desk.

Falcón didn't move a muscle in his face.

'Joder,' said Ramírez. 'That would have been something.'

The phone rang very loudly, startling both men. Falcón snatched it to his ear. He listened carefully while Ramírez rolled an unlit cigarette in his fingers.

'You've made a very courageous decision, Sr Lopez,' said Falcón, and put the phone down.

'Some good news at last?' said Ramírez, putting the cigarette into his mouth.

'That was the father of the boy who was supposedly abused by Sebastián Ortega. The boy, Manolo, is on his way back to Seville now. He's going to come straight to the Jefatura and give a revised and completely true account of what happened.'

'That's not going to be much of a wedding present for Juez Calderón.'

'But you know what that means, don't you, José Luis?'

The unlit cigarette dropped into Ramírez's lap.

The phone rang again. This time it was Juez Calderón, confirming that he now had a signed search warrant for Vega's safe-deposit box, held in the name of Emilio Cruz at the Banco Banesto. Falcón picked up the box key and the two men left for the Edificio de los Juzgados. On the way out he told Ferrera that Manolo Lopez was going to arrive with his mother to make a revised video statement and that he wanted her to read the Ortega file, prepare the questions, and interview him.

They drove to the Edificio de los Juzgados. Calderón's secretary gave Ramírez the search warrant. They continued to the Banco Banesto and asked to see the manager. They showed their IDs and the warrant and were taken down into the vault. Falcón signed himself in and the manager accompanied them to the boxes. She inserted her key, turned it once and left them to it. Falcón used his key and they pulled out the stainless steel-covered box, which they put on a table in the middle of the room.

On top of the papers in the box was an old Spanish passport and some travel tickets. The passport was issued in 1984 and the photograph was of Rafael Vega, but it was in the name of Oscar Marcos. The tickets were held together by a paper clip and they were in date order. The first trip was from Seville to Madrid on 15th January 1986 and then back to Seville on 19th January. The next trip took place on 15th February 1986 and was by train from Seville to Madrid to Barcelona and finally Paris. On 17th February there was a train ticket from Paris to Frankfurt and on to Hamburg. On 19th February he went from there to Copenhagen and on 24th February he crossed into Sweden and went up to Stockholm. The return trip started on 1st March and was from Oslo to London by air. Three days were spent in London and then he flew to Madrid and took the train to Seville.

'This stuff,' said Ramírez, who was going through the papers underneath, 'must be in code, because they read like a child's letters to his father.'

Falcón called Virgilio Guzmán and asked him if he could come to his house on Calle Bailén immediately. They emptied the safe-deposit box and put the contents into a large evidence bag. Falcón told the manager the box was now empty, gave her a receipt and returned the key. They drove to Calle Bailén and Falcón read the letters while they waited for Virgilio Guzmán. Each letter had its envelope clipped to it. They were all posted from America to the postbox address in the name of Emilio Cruz. The letters made sense individually but not as a whole.

Guzmán arrived. He sat at the desk with the papers. He looked through the passport and then checked through the travel tickets.

'End of February 1986, Stockholm, Sweden,' he said. 'Do you know what happened then?'

'No idea.'

'On 28th February 1986 the Prime Minister, Olaf Palme, was shot as he came out of the cinema with his wife,' said Guzmán. 'The assassin was never found.'

'What about all those letters?' asked Ramírez.

'I've got somebody who can help me with decoding them, but I imagine they were his instructions for one last operation for his old friend Manuel Contreras,' said Guzmán. 'He had the perfect cover. He was fully trained. It was the kind of thing they did in Operation Condor all the time. No possible trail back to the Pinochet regime, and one painful thorn is finally removed from the President's hide. It's perfect.'

'So why would he keep all this stuff?'

'I don't know, except that killing the Prime Minister of a European country is no small thing and perhaps he might have felt the need for a bit of security in case things changed later on.'

'Like now?' said Falcón. 'The Pinochet regime is finished…'

'Manuel Contreras is in jail, having been betrayed by his old friend the General,' said Guzmán.

'And Vega thinks it's time to even the score. Show what the Pinochet regime was capable of?' said Falcón. 'It's the strategy of no return. You might put Pinochet away, but you finish yourself as well.'

'And that's what he did,' said Guzmán. 'He died with that note in his hand. You did what he wanted you to do. By investigating the crime you found his safe-deposit box key and now his secret will be revealed to the world.'

They photocopied all the letters from the safe-deposit box and Guzmán took them off to his code-breaking friend who, he revealed, was an ex-DINA man now living in Madrid.

'Know thine enemy,' said Guzmán, explaining the relationship. 'I'll scan these into the computer, e-mail them up to him and he'll read them like a book. I'll have an answer for you by this afternoon.'

Falcón and Ramírez returned to the Jefatura in time to meet Sra Lopez and Manolo, who was already at work on his video interview and enjoying Cristina Ferrera's company. By one o'clock the boy had finished and Falcón called Alicia Aguado. He played the statement to her over the phone and she agreed to put it to Sebastián Ortega.

Ferrera took a patrol car to the Poligono San Pablo to find Salvador Ortega, while Falcón drove Alicia Aguado to the prison. They showed Sebastián Manolo's video interview and he broke down. He then wrote his own fifteen-page statement detailing five years of abuse at the hands of Ignacio Ortega. Ferrera called to say that Salvador was now at the Jefatura. Falcón faxed Sebastián's statement through for Salvador to read. Salvador asked for a meeting with Sebastián.

Ferrera drove him out to the prison and he and Sebastián talked for over two hours, after which Salvador agreed to write his own statement. He also gave Falcón a list of seven names of other children, now adults, who'd suffered at his father's hands.

At five o'clock Falcón was eating a chorizo bocadillo and drinking a non-alcoholic beer when Virgilio Guzmán called, saying that he'd had the letters decoded and he wanted to e-mail him the translations. They proved to be a series of instructions to Vega. Where and when to go and pick up his passport in Madrid. The route he should take to Stockholm. Intelligence on the movements and non-existent security of Olaf Palme. Where to go in Stockholm to pick up the weapon. Where to dispose of the weapon after the hit, and finally his return route to Seville.

'I'm running with this story in tomorrow's paper,' said Guzmán.

'I didn't expect you to do anything else, Virgilio,' said Falcón. 'It's only going to hurt people who deserve to be hurt.'

By six o'clock in the evening Falcón had a dossier with the revised video statement from Manolo L6pez and the two from Sebastián and Salvador.

'And what happens if they block you on this?' said Ramírez, as he left the office.

'Then you'll be the new Inspector Jefe del Grupo de Homicidios, José Luis.'

'Not me,' said Ramírez. 'Tell them they'll have to look to Sub-Inspector Perez, when he gets back from holiday.'

As well as the three statements he took the contents of Vega's safe-deposit box and printed out the decodes of the letters from Guzmán's e-mail. He went up to see Comisario Elvira, who was again in a meeting with Comisario Lobo. They didn't keep him waiting.

Falcón talked them through the contents of the safe- deposit box and read out the pertinent decodes which contained the assassination instructions and the target. The two men sat in stunned silence.

'And who would have known about this, apart from the obvious people in the regime?' asked Lobo. 'I mean, do you think the Americans knew anything about it?'

'They knew something about Vega,' said Falcón. 'Whether they knew any or part of this detail, I have no idea, but I doubt it. I now believe Flowers when he said that they didn't know what they were looking for. They were just hoping that it was nothing that would reflect badly on them or the administration of the time.'

'Do you think the Americans could have been involved in killing Vega, or are you satisfied that he was either murdered by Marty Krugman or committed suicide?'

'Mark Flowers has given me an enormous amount of information. The only problem is that I don't know what's true and what isn't,' said Falcón. 'There's a part of me that believes that they weren't involved in his murder because this is what they wanted to find out – the contents of the safe-deposit box, which they never found. But I also think that Flowers might have decided to stop the uncertainty and been a party to taking Vega out.'

'Case closed?' said Elvira.

Falcón shrugged.

'What else?' said Lobo, eyeing the dossier on Falcón's lap.

He handed it over. As Lobo read each page he handed it to Elvira. Both men glanced up nervously as they worked through the catalogue of abuse. When they finished, Lobo was looking out across the park, as he used to do when he occupied this office. He talked to the glass.

'I can guess,' he said, 'but I'd like you to tell me what you want.'

'My minimum requirement from all the crimes that were committed in the Montes finca was that Ignacio Ortega should go down,' said Falcón. 'That was not possible. I don't agree with it, but I understand why. This is a separate case. Nothing that happened in the Montes finca will surface in this family abuse case. I want a Juez de Instruction to be appointed – not Juez Calderón, of course. I want to arrest Ignacio Ortega and I want him to face these charges and any others we might be able to bring after talking to those on the list of names supplied by Salvador Ortega.'

'We're going to have to discuss this and get back to you,' said Lobo.

'I don't want to put any undue pressure on your discussion, but I do want to remind you what you said to me in your office yesterday.'

'Remind me.'

'You said: "We need men like you and Inspector Ramírez, Javier. Don't be in any doubt about that."'

'I see.'

'Inspector Ramírez and I would like to make the arrest tonight,' said Falcón, and left.

He sat alone in his office, aware of Ramírez and Ferrera waiting for news. The phone rang, he heard them jump. It was Isabel Cano, asking if she could have a response to the letter she'd drafted to send to Manuela about the house on Calle Bailén. He said he hadn't read it, but it didn't matter because he'd decided that if Manuela wanted to live in the house she was going to have to pay the market value, less the agency commission, and there would be no discussion on the matter.

'What's happened to you?' she asked.

'I've hardened inside, Isabel. The blood now rifles down my cold, steel veins,' said Falcón. 'Did you ever hear about the Sebastián Ortega case?'

'He's Pablo Ortega's son, isn't he? The one who kidnapped the boy?'

'That's right,' said Falcón. 'How would you like to handle his appeal?'

'Any strong new evidence?'

'Yes,' said Falcón, 'but I should warn you that it might not make Esteban Calderón look very good.'

'It's about time he learnt a bit of humility,' she said. 'I'll take a look.'

Falcón hung up and sank back into the silence.

'You're confident,' said Ramírez, from the outer office.

'We are men of value, José Luis.'

The phone went in the outer office this time. Ramírez snatched it to his ear. Silence.

'Thank you,' said Ramírez.

He hung up. Falcón waited.

'José Luis?' he said.

There was no sound. He went to the door.

Ramírez looked up, his face was wet with tears, his mouth drawn back, tight across his teeth as he fought the emotion. He waved his hand at Falcón, he couldn't speak.

'His daughter,' said Ferrera.

The Sevillano nodded, thumbed the huge tears out of his eyes.

'She's all right,' he said, under his breath. 'They've done every test in the book and they can't find anything wrong with her. They think it's some kind of virus.'

He slumped in his chair, still squeezing fat tears out of his eyes.

'You know what?' said Falcón. 'I think it's time to go and have a beer.'

The three of them drove down to the bar La Jota and stood in the cavernous cool and drank beers and ate strips of salt cod. Other police officers came along and tried to strike up conversation but didn't get very far. They were too tense. The time clipped round to 8.30 p.m. and Falcón's mobile started vibrating against his thigh. He put it to his ear.

'You're all clear to arrest Ignacio Ortega on those charges,' said Elvira. 'Juan Romero has been appointed the Juez de Instruction. Good luck.'

They went back to the Jefatura because Falcón wanted to make the arrest in a patrol car with flashing lights, to let Ortega's neighbourhood know. Ferrera drove and they parked outside a large house in El Porvenir which, as Sebastián had described, had gate posts topped with concrete lions.

Ferrera stayed in the car. Ramírez rang the bell, which had the same electronic cathedral chime as Vega's. Ortega came to the door. They showed him their police IDs. He looked over their shoulders at the parked patrol car, lights flashing.

'We'd like to come in for a moment,' said Ramírez. 'Unless you'd rather do this in the street?'

They stepped into the house, which did not have the usual headache chill of fierce air conditioning but was completely comfortable.

'This air conditioning…' started Ramírez.

'This isn't air conditioning, Inspector,' said Ortega. 'You are now in a state-of-the-art climate-control system.'

'Then it should be raining in your study, Sr Ortega.'

'Can I offer you a drink, Inspector?' asked Ortega, mystified.

'I don't think so,' said Ramírez, 'we won't be staying long.'

'You, Inspector Jefe? A single malt? I even have Laphroaig.'

Falcón blinked at that. It was a whisky that Francisco Falcón had favoured. There was still a lot of it in his house, undrunk. His own tastes were not so eclectic. He shook his head.

'Do you mind if I drink alone?' asked Ortega.

'It's your house,' said Ramírez. 'You don't have to be polite for our sakes.'

Ortega poured himself a cheap whisky over ice. He raised his glass to the policemen. It was good to see him nervous. He picked up a fat remote with which he controlled his climate and started to explain the intricacies of the system to Ramírez, who butted in.

'We're bad losers, Sr Ortega,' he said.

'I'm sorry?' said Ortega.

'We're very bad losers,' said Ramírez. 'We don't like it when we see all our good work go to waste.'

'I can understand that,' said Ortega, covering his nervousness at Ramírez's looming, aggressive presence.

'What do you understand, Sr Ortega?' asked Falcón.

'Your work must be very frustrating at times.'

'Why would you think that?' asked Falcón.

Now that he'd caught their tone and found it unpleasant, Ortega turned ugly himself. He looked at them as if they were pathetic specimens of humanity – people to be pitied.

'The justice system is not in my hands,' he said. 'It's not up to me to decide which cases go to court and which don't.'

Ramírez snatched the remote from Ortega's hands, looked at the myriad buttons and tossed it on to the sofa.

'What about those two kids that we found buried up at the finca near Almonaster la Real?' said Ramírez. 'What about them?'

Falcón was appalled to see a little smile creep into Ortega's face. Now he knew what this was about. Now he knew that he was safe. Now he was going to enjoy himself.

'What about them?' asked Ortega mildly.

'How did they die, Sr Ortega?' said Ramírez. 'We know we can't touch you for any of that stuff, but, as I said, we're bad losers and we'd like you to tell us that one thing.'

'I don't know what you're talking about, Inspector.'

'We can guess what happened,' said Falcón. 'But we'd like to have it confirmed how and when they died and who buried them.'

'There are no traps,' said Ramírez, holding his hands open. 'You're well clear of any traps, aren't you, Sr Ortega?'

'I'd like you to leave now, thank you very much,' he said, and turned his back on them.

'We're going just as soon as you've told us what we want to hear.'

'You've got absolutely no right to barge your way -'

'You invited us in, Sr Ortega,' said Falcón.

'Go and complain to your friends in high places when we've gone,' said Ramírez. 'You could probably have us demoted, suspended without pay, thrown off the force… with all the contacts you've got.'

'Leave,' said Ortega, turning on them, snarling.

'Tell us how and when they died,' said Falcón.

'We're not going until you do,' said Ramírez, cheerfully.

'They committed suicide,' said Ortega.

'How?'

'The boy strangled the girl and then slashed his wrists with a piece of broken glass.'

'When?'

'Eight months ago.'

'Which was about the time that Inspector Jefe Montes started to drink even more than he was already,' said Ramírez.

'Who buried them?'

'Somebody was sent over to do that.'

'I imagine they're good at digging holes,' said Ramírez, 'Russian peasants. When was the last time you dug a hole?'

Ramírez had gone up close to Ortega now. He grabbed his hand. It was soft. He looked into his face.

'I thought not. No conscience at all… but maybe that will change in time,' he said.

'I told you what you wanted to know,' said Ortega. 'Now it's time for you to leave.'

'We're going now,' said Falcón.

Ramírez took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. He cuffed the wrist of the hand he was still holding. Falcón removed the whisky glass from the other. Ramírez joined them behind Ortega's back and clapped him on the shoulders.

'You're both finished,' said Ortega. 'You know that.'

'We're placing you under arrest,' said Falcón, 'for the repeated sexual abuse of your son, Salvador Ortega, and your nephew, Sebastián Ortega -'

Ortega's smiling face stopped Falcón mid sentence.

'You seriously think a heroin addict and someone who's been convicted of kidnapping and abusing a young boy have any chance of putting me away?' said Ortega.

'Things have changed,' said Falcón, as Ramírez put a huge hand on top of Ortega's head. 'The reason we wanted the boy and girl up at the finca to be prominent in your mind was so that you'd know that you've just been touched by vanished hands.'