The Blind Man of Seville. Robert Thomas Wilson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      ‘I think it would help me to gauge what a monster he was.’

      Falcón shuddered, split by the contradictory emotions of Raúl Jiménez being a monster and a memory of his own father playing at being one. What terrible slavering faces he pulled as he devoured him. His father had no inhibition because there was little in his world that demanded personal control and several times Javier had worn a toothmark embedded in his back for days.

      ‘Are you all right, Inspector Jefe?’

      He hoped he hadn’t been pulling one of his father’s huge-tongued, gargoyle faces.

      ‘Unfinished thoughts,’ he said.

      ‘Where were we?’

      ‘Almería, 1964,’ said Falcón. ‘You didn’t mention how your mother took all this moving around.’

      ‘As far as her health was concerned, she was fine. If she was unhappy she didn’t show it to us or to him. There was no such thing as wives having a say in those days, anyway. She just got on with things.’

      ‘Your father was building the hotel?’

      ‘I should tell you about Marta at this stage. You remember what I said about how she loved to care for things?’

      ‘Cats.’

      ‘Yes, cats. Once we left Tangier she transferred all that on to Arturo. My mother could have left Arturo’s upbringing to Marta. She did everything for him. He was her life. It’s curious, isn’t it? Marta never had dolls. They were bought for her, but she never took to them. She was more fascinated by living things. Strange, don’t you think, for someone so uncomplicated?’

      ‘Perhaps she didn’t have a developed imagination.’

      ‘Possibly. Imagination is a complex thing, but then so is life.’

      ‘She probably wasn’t reading anything into it.’

      ‘I used to wonder what went through her mind.’

      ‘And you don’t any more?’

      ‘She barely said a word for the first twenty years. Then something remarkable happened. Over the years the staff have changed there. It’s a sign of the times that not many young people want to become mental health workers and so those jobs are being filled by immigrants. In María’s case there was a Moroccan boy who came in with a kitten he’d found and something must have clicked in her. She became animated. It must have brought back the early days, the houseboys and the cats.’

      ‘She spoke?’

      ‘Not words. She articulated something, nothing intelligible. She hadn’t used her vocal cords for decades. It was the start of something though. There’s been little progress since then. She doesn’t “say” anything to me when I go there. Maybe I’m too powerful a reminder of the original trauma.’

      ‘Did her doctors know what that trauma was?’

      ‘Not until three years ago, and not the full story.’

      ‘Three years ago?’

      ‘When I could even approach talking about it myself. They’d been asking me who Arturo was. She’d got that far. And I referred them back to my father, who denied that there had been anybody of that name in family circles, which was not true. My mother’s father was called Arturo. Did I tell you they died?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘The year before Arturo was born, both my mother’s parents died within three months of each other. She had cancer. He had a heart attack. I think it must have been why my mother was prepared to risk having another.’

      ‘What did you tell Marta’s doctors?’

      ‘My psychoanalyst clarified everything for them later in a letter, but at that stage I told them he was a younger brother who’d died.’

      “Which he had done,’ said Falcón, ‘hadn’t he?’

      ‘I suppose in your line of work you are quite conversant with the nature of pure evil,’ said Jiménez.

      ‘I’ve come across bad things and mad things, but I’m not sure that I’ve ever come across “the nature of pure evil”. Everything that I’ve investigated has been criminal and therefore comprehensible. Once you start talking about evil then we are on metaphysical ground.’

      ‘And that,’ said Jiménez, ‘is beyond the remit of the Inspector Jefe del Grupo de Homicidios de Sevilla?’

      ‘I’m not a priest,’ said Falcón. ‘Had I been, it might have helped, because your father’s murder was the most shocking of my career. When I saw his face and realized what had been done to him I was aware of being in the presence of something very powerful. I am normally quite dispassionate in my work, but this affected me. It’s not something I would want my superior officers to know about.’

      Jiménez sat sideways in his chair, one leg crossed over the other. He flexed his hand open and shut. Falcón thought he might want to know what had happened to Raúl, but didn’t want to ask.

      ‘The evil mind has a deep understanding of human nature,’ said Jiménez, after some moments. ‘It is a mind quite happy pottering about amongst revenge and betrayal, nurturing them. It knows instinctively where and how to strike and reach the very heart of … things. They didn’t kill my father, which would probably have been just. They didn’t rape and murder my mother or my sister or me, which would have been unjust and cruel. They did the one thing that they knew would successfully tear my father’s family apart. They took Arturo. They just took him one day and we never heard from him or them ever again.’

      Jiménez blinked rapidly, lost in the vast wasteland of his incomprehension.

      ‘You mean they kidnapped him?’

      ‘On the way to her school Marta would always take Arturo to his. On the way back she would pick him up. One day he wasn’t there and he wasn’t at home either. We scoured the town while my mother called my father at the site. He was six years old. Still a baby really. And they took him.’

      Jiménez stared up at his family photographs as if their richness was tainted by this poisonous memory. His bottom lip trembled. His Adam’s apple leapt in his throat.

      ‘Didn’t the police get anywhere?’ asked Falcón.

      ‘No,’ said Jiménez, the word coming out like a ghost’s breath.

      ‘Normally when a child goes missing …’

      ‘They got nowhere, Inspector Jefe, for the simple reason that they were given no information.’

      ‘I don’t understand.’

      Jiménez leaned across the desk, which creaked; his eyes bulged from his head.

      ‘My father reported the abduction, told them it was a mystery, and within twenty-four hours we had left Almería,’ said Jiménez. ‘I don’t know whether it was because he was terrified that these people might strike СКАЧАТЬ