The Ignorance of Blood (34 page)

‘Did you see inside the safe when Elvira opened it?’

‘Sure. We took the money out together.’

‘What was left in there?’

‘The disks from the car accident.’

‘Did you see the safe locked afterwards?’

‘Elvira locked it.’

‘No other copies of those disks were made?’

‘The guy from the Jefatura's IT department came to our office. He took one, sometimes two, images from each piece of footage, which best showed the faces of the participants, and that's all we have on the Homicide computer.’

‘What about the images you sent to me which I emailed to the CNI?’

‘They were cropped faces only. No visible fucking. If somebody could access your computer, those shots wouldn't
be much use to them,’ said Ramírez. ‘What's bothering you?’

‘Just making sure,’ said Falcón. ‘How did you and Pérez get on with El Pulmón's car?’

‘His bloody fingerprints were all over it and there was a bloody T-shirt on the back seat. All blood samples in the car correspond to the Cuban, Miguel Estévez,’ said Ramírez. ‘That was as far as we got on site. The vehicle's been taken down to the Jefatura so that the forensics can go over it tomorrow.’

Consuelo's mobile, the one she'd used to call the Russians, rang. Falcón glanced at her. She looked at the screen.

‘The restaurant,’ she said, and took the call.

‘Did anybody see El Pulmón leaving the vehicle?’ asked Falcón.

‘Not leaving the vehicle, but we've found an old guy who saw a man stripped to the waist, with a red stain over his chest and a dark stain on the front of his trousers, running down Calle Héroes de Toledo towards the centre of town.’

‘Work on it, José Luis,’ said Falcón. ‘We need El Pulmón.’

‘I've got Serrano and Baena on it. They were getting nowhere with the Narcs. I think this is a better bet. They'll be at it tomorrow morning, first thing.’

Falcón hung up. Consuelo finished her call.

‘That's not the mobile that Inspector Jefe Tirado is supposed to be recording?’

‘It's the one I used to call the Russians.’

‘Was that them?’

‘I gave the number to my restaurant manager before I came out.’

‘Haven't you got your regular mobile with you?’

‘The Russians aren't going to call me on that one. I left it at home.’

‘Who knows you're here?’

‘Nobody.’

‘What about the people in your house?’

‘They think I'm in bed,’ said Consuelo. ‘I went into my neighbour's garden, out through the front and took a cab here.’

‘You don't trust the good guys any more?’

‘I can't,’ she said, looking desperate.

‘All right,’ said Falcón, holding his hands up to keep her calm. ‘What did your restaurant manager want?’

‘Somebody came in off the street a few minutes ago, gave one of the waiters an envelope and said he was to make sure that it was given to me tonight.’

20

Consuelo Jiménez's restaurant, La Macarena, Seville – Monday, 18th September 2006, 23.25 hrs

The envelope lay on Consuelo's desk. She locked the door to her office and booted up the computer while Falcón put on latex gloves. The envelope was a jiffy bag with SRA JIMÉNEZ written on it in black felt-tip pen. Inside was a white envelope with the flap folded in, not stuck down. On a piece of white card was written: TO SPEAK TO DARíO CALL 655926109. He held it up to Consuelo, who had now accessed her home email account and opened the single message in the inbox.

‘This is timed at 22.20, about an hour after I left home,’ she said. ‘It says: “Our patience is not infinite. Call: 619238741.”’

‘So, both players at the table now,’ said Falcón. ‘One bluffing.’

‘We'll call the new people first,’ said Consuelo. ‘See what they want and how they ask for it. We might get an idea which group they're from.’

‘Make a demand,’ said Falcón. ‘You should ask to speak to Darío first. That's what they've offered, but they probably won't allow it. They won't want to give away too much too early. In a kidnapping such as this information will be released by degrees. “Do this and we'll tell you something
about him, do the next thing and we'll let you hear his voice …” Then they'll send a photo and finally they'll let you speak to him. We want to establish who is holding him, so we must ask for reasonable proof. Is there something about Darío that no ordinary person would know?’

‘He has a red birthmark on the underside of his left arm near the armpit. We call it his strawberry,’ she said.

‘Tell them to ask Darío about his mark and what he calls it,’ said Falcón. ‘Have you got a dictaphone?’

She dug out a small digital dictaphone. They tested it. She turned it on, wiped her damp palms with tissues, picked up the phone, switched on the loudspeaker, dialled the number. She took a deep breath, summoned the performance of her life.

‘Diga,’
said a voice.

‘My name is Consuelo Jiménez and I want to speak to Darío.’

‘Wait.’

The phone changed hands.

‘Señora Jiménez…’

‘I received a message telling me to call this number if I wanted to speak to my son, Darío. Would you put him on the line, please.’

‘There are some things we have to discuss first,’ said the voice, in perfect Castilian Spanish.

‘What things? You have my son. I have nothing of yours. There are no “things” to discuss apart from the return of my son, and that can be done after I've spoken to him.’

‘Listen to me, Señora Jiménez. I can understand that you are very anxious about your son. You would like to speak to him, that is natural, but there are certain things we must establish first.’

‘You are absolutely right –’

‘May I say, Señora Jiménez, that I admire your calmness in this situation. Most mothers I know would be incapable of speaking to me like this on the phone.’

‘I
would
cry, beat my breast and vomit with grief, if I thought that for one moment it would make any impression on you,’ said Consuelo. ‘But if you think I'm made of strong stuff, I
know
you're made of crueller stuff, and so human emotion is unlikely to move you to return my son. So this is what you get. Now, let's establish something before we go any further: I want to talk to my son.’

‘That is not possible at the moment.’

‘You see, you are already going back on your word,’ said Consuelo. ‘Your message is clear. It says –’

‘I know what the message says, Señora Jiménez,’ said the voice, with a bit of steel in it now. ‘I wrote it. But you must be patient.’

‘Don't talk to me about being patient. You will never comprehend the
im
patience of a mother who has had her child taken from her. So don't use that word again,’ said Consuelo. ‘If you won't let me speak to my son, which I regard as the ultimate proof that he is safe and well, then you must go to Darío and ask him about his mark and tell me what he says.’

‘His mark?’

‘Ask Darío, he will tell you all you need to know to convince me.’

‘One moment, please.’

A long silence.

‘Is there anybody there?’ she asked, after some minutes.

‘Please hold the line for a moment longer, Señora Jiménez,’ said the voice. ‘This is something for which permission is required.’

‘Permission?’

‘There is a higher authority in this matter. We are in contact with them now.’

More silence. After five long minutes the voice returned.

‘Señora Jiménez, do you understand the nature of the people you are dealing with here?’

‘If you mean: do I know you are members of a Russian
mafia group, then the answer is yes. Which group, I don't know.’

‘Perhaps your friend Inspector Jefe Javier Falcón knows,’ said the voice. ‘Yes, we know you're there, Inspector Jefe, we saw you enter the restaurant together.’

‘Are you associated with Leonid Revnik?’ asked Falcón.

‘That is correct,’ said the voice. ‘Señor Revnik has been away in Moscow. Since he took over the operations in the Costa del Sol some structural problems have developed in our organization in the Iberian Peninsula.’

‘You mean Yuri Donstov has assumed control of certain pieces of business in Seville and had poached Vasili Lukyanov.’

‘Señor Revnik was in Moscow for a meeting of the Supreme Council of the five most powerful Russian brigades with soldiers on the ground in Spain,’ said the voice. ‘They found that Yuri Donstov was responsible for the murders of two senior members of one of the brigades and has moved into trades where we have agreements with our Italian and Turkish friends about how certain things should be done. We cannot allow that. It was the unanimous decision of the Supreme Council that Yuri Donstov's operations be stopped and his group disbanded.’

‘This is all very interesting,’ said Consuelo, ‘but what about my son?’

‘You have to understand the geopolitical situation before we can get down to the discussion of the detail,’ said the voice. ‘And there is also the question of the Seville bombing.’

Silence.

‘I'm listening,’ said Falcón, and he was, with every cell in his body.

‘We are holding the men responsible for the making of that bomb and the positioning of it in the mosque.’

Falcón's heart rate doubled, he could feel it ticking in his throat. Something like greed came over him and he had to stop himself from snatching at what the voice was holding
out to him. He reminded himself that everything is calculated, nothing comes free. This was just bait.

‘And why would you be holding those men?’

‘You are the police, Inspector Jefe,’ said the voice. ‘You operate from the outside, trying to find your way in. We are on the inside where everything is much clearer.’

‘You're implying that Donstov was responsible for planting the bomb and that you disapproved of it.’

‘For an operation which would change the political landscape and destabilize a region, which has been a safe haven for a number of organizations for many years, Donstov would have needed the full backing of the Supreme Council. He did not have it. It was something done to his personal advantage.’

‘And Señora Jiménez's son, Darío?’ said Falcón. ‘Where is the boy in all this? What is your purpose in holding him?’

‘I think there's been a misunderstanding here, Inspector Jefe,’ said the voice. ‘We are not holding the boy. We vehemently disapprove of the involvement of civilians in our foreign operations. It brings unwelcome publicity and unnecessary attention from the police.’

‘You're
not
holding Darío!’ said Consuelo, unable to dampen the shriek in that negative. ‘So why are we talking to you?’

‘Certain things had to be established before we could proceed to look at the situation with your son,’ said the voice.

‘You said I could speak to him if I called this number.’

‘One of the most important things to establish is the nature of the people you are dealing with,’ said the voice. ‘Señor Revnik has rules, Señora Jiménez. He has a code of honour. It may not be the same as yours, or the Inspector Jefe's, but it is the reason why he is such a respected man in the world of
vory-v-zakone.
Yuri Donstov has no respect for these rules. He is an outsider. He does things which are only to his advantage. He is the sort of person who gives no thought to the nature of a man such as Vasili Lukyanov.’

‘But Lukyanov used to work for Señor Revnik,’ said Falcón.

‘Perhaps you are not aware of the extent of the disagreements between Señor Revnik and Vasili Lukyanov,’ said the voice. ‘Giving a man a beating when he is unable to repay a debt is permissible, but we draw the line at raping and beating a man's daughter. It proved very costly for Señor Revnik to extricate Lukyanov and his friend from that situation. Señor Revnik is even more furious now that he has returned from Moscow to find more than eight million euros and other property missing. You may not know this, Inspector Jefe, but nobody steals from a
vor-v-zakone.
There is only one punishment for that, which in this case has been carried out by the Ultimate Power.’

‘This is all very well,’ said Consuelo, who could feel herself being sidelined, ‘but if you're
not
holding my son then I am unclear as to what you are proposing.’

‘We
do
have a proposal,’ said the voice firmly. ‘The most important part of this proposal from your point of view is that you do not enter into negotiations with Yuri Donstov. He is probably offering to return the boy if the Inspector Jefe can get his hands on the money and some disks which were stolen by Lukyanov.’