The Silent and the Damned. Robert Thomas Wilson

way?’

      ‘Rafael seemed to be completely stable,’ said Consuelo. ‘Lucía was the unstable one. She was a depressive, with occasional bouts of manic compulsive behaviour. Have you seen her wardrobe?

      ‘A lot of shoes.’

      ‘Many of them were the same design and colour, as were her dresses. If she liked something she’d buy three straight off. She was on medication.’

      ‘So, if he was in crisis, given his nature, he would be unlikely to turn to anyone outside the family and he wouldn’t have been able to talk to his wife.’

      ‘The restaurant business has taught me not to judge people’s lives from the outside. Couples, even crazy ones, have ways of communicating, some of which are not attractive, but they work.’

      ‘What about their domestic situation? You saw that, too.’

      ‘I did, but a third party always changes the dynamics. People start behaving.’

      ‘Is that a general or specific observation?’

      ‘I meant it specifically but it can be applied generally,’ she said. ‘And that felt like the second time you’ve tried to insinuate that I might have been having an affair with Sr Vega.’

      ‘Did it?’ said Falcón. ‘Well, I didn’t mean to be specific. I was just thinking that under those stressful circumstances a lover might have been a possibility, and that would have changed mental and marital landscapes.’

      ‘Not Rafael,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He’s not the type.’

      ‘Who is the type?’

      She tapped a cigarette on the box, lit it and blew smoke at the glass.

      ‘Your Inspector Ramírez is the type,’ she said. ‘Where is he, by the way?’

      ‘He’s taken his daughter to have some medical tests.’

      ‘Not serious, I hope.’

      ‘They don’t know,’ said Falcón. ‘But you’re right about Ramírez, he was always a player…combing his hair for the secretaries in the Edificio de los Juzgados.’

      ‘Maybe the work he did gave him an eye for the vulnerable,’ she said. ‘That’s another definition of the type.’

      ‘But not, apparently, Rafael Vega. The Butcher.’

      ‘You said it. That’s a pastime that really doesn’t go with lovemaking: “Do you want to see my latest cuts?”’

      ‘What did you make of all that?’

      ‘I used him. His beef always tasted better. Almost all the steaks served in my restaurants are cut by him.’

      ‘And psychologically…?’

      ‘It ran in the family. I don’t think it’s any more than that. If his father had been a carpenter…’

      ‘Of course, some spare-time cabinet making. But butchery…?’

      ‘It gave Lucía the creeps, but then…she had her sensitivities.’

      ‘She was squeamish, as well?’

      ‘Squeamish, nervous, depressed, unable to sleep. She used to take two sleeping pills a night. One to knock her out and then another when she woke up at three or four in the morning.’

      ‘Bulletproof windows,’ said Falcón.

      ‘She needed total silence to sleep. The house was hermetically sealed. Once you were inside there was no sense of the outside world. No wonder she was a little crazy. Sometimes when she opened the door I expected a rush of air as if the pressures were different inside.’

      ‘In a world of glibness and fun she doesn’t sound like much fun,’ said Falcón.

      ‘There you go again, Javier. That’s number three,’ she said. ‘Anyway, she was glib. She used the material and the trivial to hold her life together. She found relationships complicated. Even Mario could be too much for her at times, which was why she was so happy for him to come over here. But that’s not to say he wasn’t the focus of her life.’

      ‘So how did Sr Vega fit into his family?’

      ‘I don’t think they were expecting a child. I didn’t see them much at that time, but I seem to remember it was a shock,’ she said. ‘Anyway, a marriage changes after a child. Perhaps you’ll find that out for yourself one day, Javier.’

      ‘You pretend not to understand what I’m doing but you know I have to do this. I have to look for the weaknesses and vulnerabilities in a situation,’ said Falcón, sounding oversensitive even to himself. ‘My questions can be ugly, but then it’s not so nice to have a double murderer out there leaving a crime scene to look like a suicide pact.’

      ‘It’s OK, Javier, I can take it,’ said Consuelo. ‘Despite the attractions of the detective/suspect dynamic I’d rather you eliminated me from your inquiries with whatever ugly questions you have to ask. I have a good memory and I did not enjoy being accused of Raúl’s murder.’

      ‘Well, these are just the preliminaries. I’m hoping for some harder facts on which to base my suspicions about the way in which the Vegas died. So you’ll be seeing me again.’

      ‘I look forward to it.’

      ‘How did you get into the grounds of the Vegas’ house?’

      ‘Lucía gave me the code to open the gate.’

      ‘Did anybody else know that?’

      ‘The maid. Probably Sergei. I’ve no idea, but the Krugmans’ garden butts on to the Vegas’ and there’s a gate at the bottom, so they would have access. As for Pablo Ortega, I don’t know.’

      ‘Sergei?’ said Falcón. ‘You said he was a Russian or Ukrainian. That’s a bit unusual.’

      ‘Even you must have noticed the number of Eastern Europeans around these days,’ said Consuelo. ‘I know it’s wrong, but I think people prefer them to Moroccans.’

      ‘What do you know about Madeleine Krugman?’

      ‘She’s friendly in the way that Americans are…immediately.’

      ‘You could say the same of the Sevillanos.’

      ‘Perhaps that’s why we get so many Americans here every year,’ said Consuelo. ‘I’m not complaining, by the way.’

      ‘She’s an attractive woman,’ said Falcón.

      ‘Rafael’s never had it so good in your eyes,’ she said. ‘Anyway, all men think Madeleine Krugman is attractive – even you, Javier. I saw you looking.’

      Falcón flushed like a fifteen year old, grinned and ran through a range of displacement activity. Consuelo gave him a sad smile from the sofa.

      ‘Maddy knows her power,’ she said.

      ‘So she’s the femme fatale of the barrio?’ asked Falcón.

      ‘I’m trying to edge her out,’ said Consuelo, ‘but she’s got a few years on me. No. She just knows that men melt around her. She does her best to ignore it. What’s a girl supposed to do when everybody from the gas man to the fishmonger to the Juez de Instrucción and the Inspector Jefe de Homicidios seem to have lost control of their lower jaws?’

      ‘What about Sr Krugman?’

      ‘They’ve been married a long time. He’s older.’

      ‘Do you know what they’re doing here?’

      ‘Taking a break from living in America. He works for Rafael. He’s designing, or has designed, a couple of his projects.’

      ‘Were they taking a break after 9/11?’

      ‘That