tonight?’ she said quietly, teasing.
They hadn't discussed his staying over. It was part of the new coming together. No assumptions.
‘I've been praying for luck,’ he said. ‘Has Our Lady been good to me?’
Another hesitation.
‘I'll tell Darío,’ she said. ‘But once you've made a promise like that, you've got to be prepared for him to jump on your head at eight in the morning.’
‘Where shall we meet?’
She said she'd arrange everything. All he had to do was meet her in the Bar La Eslava on the Plaza San Lorenzo and they'd take it from there.
Calm restored. He nearly felt like a family man. Consuelo's two older boys, Ricardo and Matías, hadn't been so interested in him. They were fourteen and twelve. But Darío was still keen on the idea of a dad. The boy had brought him closer to Consuelo. She could see that Darío liked him and, although she would never say it, Darío was her favourite. He also distracted them from the seriousness of what they were trying to do, made them feel more casual, less anxious.
And with that thought, sleep finally claimed him.
He woke up sitting in the carriage in the Santa Justa station, with people shuffling out of the train. It was just after 11.30. He left the station, drove to Calle Hiniesta. Falcón wanted to have Marisa sleeping uneasily with the knowledge that after their chat this afternoon he'd taken an anonymous threatening phone call and that he wasn't scared by it.
As he parked at the back of the Santa Isabel church he saw that the light was on in her penthouse apartment, the plants were lit up on her roof terrace. He pressed her buzzer.
‘I'm coming down,’ she said.
‘This is Inspector Jefe Javier Falcón,’ he said.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, annoyed. ‘I'm on my way out.’
‘We can discuss this in the street, if that's what you want.’
She buzzed the door open. He took the small lift up to her floor. Marisa let him in, closing down her mobile, nervous, as if she'd just asked her date to delay his arrival unless he wanted to meet the police.
‘Going somewhere special?’ asked Falcón, taking in her long, tight turquoise dress, her coppery hair down to her shoulders, the gold earrings, the twenty-odd gold and silver bangles on her arm, an expensive scent.
‘A gallery opening and then dinner.’
She closed the door behind him. Her hands were uneasy at her sides. The bangles rattled. She didn't ask him to sit down.
‘I thought we had a long talk this afternoon,’ she said. ‘You took up an hour of my work-time and now you've moved in on my relaxation…’
‘I had a call from a friend of yours this afternoon.’
‘A friend of mine?’
‘He told me to keep my nose out of your business.’
Her lips opened. No sound came out.
‘It was a couple of hours after we talked,’ said Falcón. ‘I was on my way up to Madrid to see another friend of yours.’
‘I don't know anyone in Madrid.’
‘Inspector Jefe Luis Zorrita?’
‘There's the confusion,’ said Marisa, dredging up some boldness. ‘He's no friend of mine.’
‘He's as interested as I am in your story,’ said Falcón. ‘He's told me I can dig away to my heart's content.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she said, her brow puckering with fury. ‘Story? What story?’
‘We all have stories,’ said Falcón. ‘We all have versions of these stories to suit every occasion. We've got one versionof your story, which has put Esteban Calderón in prison. Now we're going to find the real version, and it'll be interesting to see where that puts you.’
Even with the armour of her beauty, her lithe sexuality encased in the aquamarine sheath, he could see that he'd got under her skin. The fever had started. The uncertainty behind the big, brown eyes. His work was done. Now it was time to get out.
‘Tell your friends,’ said Falcón, making powerful eye contact as he walked past her to the door, ‘that I'll be waiting for their next call.’
‘What friends?’ she said to the back
They hadn't discussed his staying over. It was part of the new coming together. No assumptions.
‘I've been praying for luck,’ he said. ‘Has Our Lady been good to me?’
Another hesitation.
‘I'll tell Darío,’ she said. ‘But once you've made a promise like that, you've got to be prepared for him to jump on your head at eight in the morning.’
‘Where shall we meet?’
She said she'd arrange everything. All he had to do was meet her in the Bar La Eslava on the Plaza San Lorenzo and they'd take it from there.
Calm restored. He nearly felt like a family man. Consuelo's two older boys, Ricardo and Matías, hadn't been so interested in him. They were fourteen and twelve. But Darío was still keen on the idea of a dad. The boy had brought him closer to Consuelo. She could see that Darío liked him and, although she would never say it, Darío was her favourite. He also distracted them from the seriousness of what they were trying to do, made them feel more casual, less anxious.
And with that thought, sleep finally claimed him.
He woke up sitting in the carriage in the Santa Justa station, with people shuffling out of the train. It was just after 11.30. He left the station, drove to Calle Hiniesta. Falcón wanted to have Marisa sleeping uneasily with the knowledge that after their chat this afternoon he'd taken an anonymous threatening phone call and that he wasn't scared by it.
As he parked at the back of the Santa Isabel church he saw that the light was on in her penthouse apartment, the plants were lit up on her roof terrace. He pressed her buzzer.
‘I'm coming down,’ she said.
‘This is Inspector Jefe Javier Falcón,’ he said.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, annoyed. ‘I'm on my way out.’
‘We can discuss this in the street, if that's what you want.’
She buzzed the door open. He took the small lift up to her floor. Marisa let him in, closing down her mobile, nervous, as if she'd just asked her date to delay his arrival unless he wanted to meet the police.
‘Going somewhere special?’ asked Falcón, taking in her long, tight turquoise dress, her coppery hair down to her shoulders, the gold earrings, the twenty-odd gold and silver bangles on her arm, an expensive scent.
‘A gallery opening and then dinner.’
She closed the door behind him. Her hands were uneasy at her sides. The bangles rattled. She didn't ask him to sit down.
‘I thought we had a long talk this afternoon,’ she said. ‘You took up an hour of my work-time and now you've moved in on my relaxation…’
‘I had a call from a friend of yours this afternoon.’
‘A friend of mine?’
‘He told me to keep my nose out of your business.’
Her lips opened. No sound came out.
‘It was a couple of hours after we talked,’ said Falcón. ‘I was on my way up to Madrid to see another friend of yours.’
‘I don't know anyone in Madrid.’
‘Inspector Jefe Luis Zorrita?’
‘There's the confusion,’ said Marisa, dredging up some boldness. ‘He's no friend of mine.’
‘He's as interested as I am in your story,’ said Falcón. ‘He's told me I can dig away to my heart's content.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she said, her brow puckering with fury. ‘Story? What story?’
‘We all have stories,’ said Falcón. ‘We all have versions of these stories to suit every occasion. We've got one versionof your story, which has put Esteban Calderón in prison. Now we're going to find the real version, and it'll be interesting to see where that puts you.’
Even with the armour of her beauty, her lithe sexuality encased in the aquamarine sheath, he could see that he'd got under her skin. The fever had started. The uncertainty behind the big, brown eyes. His work was done. Now it was time to get out.
‘Tell your friends,’ said Falcón, making powerful eye contact as he walked past her to the door, ‘that I'll be waiting for their next call.’
‘What friends?’ she said to the back
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