The Blind Man of Seville

‘He was in the photographs in Jiménez’s study.’

‘Who was he in bed with?’

‘They weren’t those sort of …’

‘I’m joking, Inspector Jefe,’ said Lobo. ‘You probably saw a lot of other funcionarios in those photos.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Did you see me?’

‘No, Comisario.’

‘Because I’m not in them, Inspector Jefe,’ he said, walking quickly to his desk.

They sat down; Lobo clasped his hands as if about to crush small heads.

‘You weren’t here at the time of the 1992 Expo?’ he said.

‘I was in Zaragoza by then.’

‘A very different situation existed here at Expo ‘92 than at the Barcelona Olympics. There, I’m sure you will recall, the Catalans made a profit. Whilst here, the Andalucians made a staggering loss.’

‘There was talk of corruption.’

‘Talk!’ roared Lobo savagely. ‘Not just talk, Inspector Jefe. There was corruption. There was so much corruption that if you weren’t making millions it was an embarrassment. Such an embarrassment that those who hadn’t managed to stuff their pockets went out and hired Mercedes and BMWs to make it look as if they had.’

‘I didn’t realize.’

‘And it wasn’t just the locals. The Madrileños were down here in force, too. They could see a certain attitude was prevailing. A slackness. A lack of attention to detail that could be financially exploited.’

‘How is this relevant ten years later?’

‘Do you remember how many people were brought to book over that?’

‘I don’t recall, Comisario.’

‘None!’ said Lobo, whacking the desk with his clasped hands. ‘Not one.’

‘Hermanos Lorenzo,’ said Falcón. ‘Construction.’

‘What about them?’

‘Raúl Jiménez had a business relationship with them, which terminated in 1992.’

‘Now you’re beginning to understand. Raúl Jiménez was on the Expo de Sevilla Committee. He was on the board of directors responsible for the development of the site. Hermanos Lorenzo was not the only construction company he was connected to.’

‘I’m still not sure how this can be relevant to his murder nearly ten years later.’

‘Possibly it isn’t. I doubt there will be any connection. But you’ll be stirring up the shit pot, Inspector Jefe. Nasty things will come to the surface.’

‘And Comisario León?’

‘He doesn’t want any unpleasant surprises. You must tell me if you come across “sensitive” information and … no leaks, Inspector Jefe, or we’ll all be broken on the wheel.’

Another reason why Lobo’s men liked him was his unique ability to help them understand the seriousness of a situation. Falcón got up to leave, headed for the door knowing that there was something else, that Lobo always liked to spring things on his men as they were leaving. It made a more lasting impression.

‘You probably thought, with all your experience in Barcelona, Zaragoza and Madrid, that your application to a second division murder city like Seville would be well received.’

‘I don’t take anything for granted, Comisario. Politics plays its part in every appointment.’

‘I had to work very hard on your behalf.’

‘Why did you do that?’ he asked, Lobo unknown to him before he arrived.

‘For that very unfashionable reason that you were the best man for the job.’

‘Then I thank you for it.’

‘Comisario León was a great admirer of the tenacious talents of Inspector Ramírez.’

‘As am I, Comisario.’

‘They keep in touch, Inspector Jefe … informally.’

‘I understand.’

‘That’s good,’ said Lobo, suddenly cheerful. ‘I knew you would.’

7 (#ulink_df86e9a4-a014-584d-a660-ac9f9cb2b5d3)

Thursday, 12th April 2001, Edificio de los Juzgados, Seville

‘I think Eloisa Gómez let him in,’ said Ramírez as they crossed the river.

‘Baena and Serrano haven’t got anybody outside the Edificio Presidente,’ said Falcón. ‘And I prefer that scenario to the killer climbing up the lifting gear and hiding in the apartment for half a day, even though it was empty apart from a short visit from Sra Jiménez. Was the girl scared?’

‘Didn’t say a word to me after we finished the interrogation.’

‘Does she believe us?’

‘Who knows?’

The Edificio de los Juzgados was next to the Palacio de Justicia, just opposite the Jardines de Murillo. It was well past five o’clock when Falcón and Ramírez parked up at the back of the court building. Falcón, who hated to be late, wanted to break the comb that Ramírez was putting through his black, brilliantined hair into ten little pieces. His murderous glare had no effect on the Inspector, who considered that they were early and his coiffure a priority — there could be secretaries about.

The two men in their dark suits, white shirts and sunglasses went to the front of the dull grey building — the monochrome of justice in the garden city. They put their briefcases through the X-ray machine and showed their ID. The place was quiet; almost everything happened in the morning. They went upstairs to Juez Calderón’s office on the first floor. The building was dark, even grim, on the inside. Nothing pretty about justice even when it was good and true.

Ramírez asked about Lobo and Falcón told him that pressure was already coming down from Comisario León and mentioned the corruption angle. Ramírez looked bored.