The Hidden Assassins by Robert Wilson

Author:Robert Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: HarperCollins

The news of Gamero’s suicide had so disconcerted Falcón he’d left Curado with barely another word. Now, as he drove across town, ideas occurred to him and he called Curado on his mobile.

‘Have you heard of someone called Ricardo Gamero?’

‘Should I?’ he asked. ‘Was he at Informáticalidad?’

Maybe that had been too lurid an idea.

‘I want you to do something for me, David,’ said Falcón. ‘I want you to call your old friend at Informáticalidad—Marco…?’

‘Marco Barreda.’

‘I want you to tell Marco Barreda that you had a visit from the Inspector Jefe del Grupo de Homicidios, Javier Falcón. The same cop who’s investigating the Seville bombing. I want you to tell him what we discussed in a “thought you’d like to know” sort of way. Nothing sensational, just matter of fact. And tell him what my last question to you was.’

‘About Ricardo Gamero?’

‘Exactly.’

The Médico Forense was already up the ladder, carrying out his preliminary examination of Ricardo Gamero’s body, as Falcón arrived on the crime scene. There was no doubt that he was dead. The CGI agent who’d found him, Paco Molero, had checked for a pulse. Even if Gamero had survived jumping off his window ledge with a rope tied around his neck, he would not have lived for long. On the floor were twelve empty trays of paracetamol. Even if they’d got him to hospital and pumped his stomach, he would probably have remained in a coma and died of liver failure within forty-eight hours. This was not attention seeking. This was an experienced policeman making sure. His apartment had been locked and chained. His bedroom door was also locked, with a chair tilted under the handle.

Falcón shook Inspector Jefe Barros’s hand.

‘I’m sorry, Ramón. I’m very sorry,’ said Falcón, who’d never lost anybody from his squad, but knew that it would be terrible.

Two paramedics manoeuvred the body on to the ladder and pulled it up through the bedroom window. They laid him out on his living-room floor while the forensics went through the bedroom. Falcón asked the instructing judge for permission to search the body.

Gamero was wearing suit trousers and a shirt. He had a wallet in one pocket, loose change in another. As Falcón turned the body to check the back pockets, the head lolled with sickening flexibility. There was a ticket to the Archaeological Museum in the right-hand back pocket. Falcón showed it to Inspector Jefe Barros, who couldn’t get rid of the dismay in his face. The ticket had today’s date on it.

‘He’s a citizen of Seville,’ said Falcón. ‘He doesn’t need to buy a ticket to get into this museum.’

‘Maybe he didn’t want to show his ID,’ said Barros. ‘Stay anonymous.’

‘Was that where he met his informers?’

‘They’re taught not to follow a routine.’

‘I’d like to talk to the agent who found him—Paco Molero?’

‘Of course,’ said Barros, nodding. ‘They were good friends.’

Paco was sitting at the kitchen table with his face in his hands. Falcón touched him on the shoulder, introduced himself. Paco’s eyes were red.

‘Were you worried about Ricardo?’

‘There’s been no time for that,’ said Paco.

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