'I'd have come before now,' said Falcon, sitting down, 'but, as you've probably realized, I've been busy.'

Calderon took a long, careful look at him and lit another cigarette, the third of his second pack of the day. The guard set down the tray and left the room.

'And what could possibly make you want to come and see the murderer of your ex-wife?'

'Alleged murderer of your wife.'

'Is that significant, or are you just being accurate?'

'This last week is the first time I've had since June to think and… do some reading,' said Falcon.

'Well, I hope it was a good novel and not the transcript of my interview with my Grand Inquisitor, Inspector Jefe Luis Zorrita,' said Calderon. 'That, as my lawyer will tell you, was not my finest hour.'

'I've read that quite a few times and I've also gone over Zorrita's interview with Marisa Moreno,' said Falcon. 'She's been to see you a number of times, hasn't she?'

'Unfortunately,' said Calderon, nodding, 'they've not been conjugal visits. We talk.'

'About what?'

'We were never very good at talking,' said Calderon, drawing hard on his cigarette. 'We had that other language.'

'I was just thinking that maybe since you've been in here you might have developed some other communication skills.'

'I have, but not particularly with Marisa.'

'So why does she come to see you?'

'Duty? Guilt? I don't know. Ask her.'

'Guilt?'

'I think there might be a few things she regrets telling Zorrita about,' said Calderon.

'Like what?'

'I don't want to talk about it,' said Calderon. 'Not with you.'

'Things like that little joke you had with Marisa about the "bourgeois solution" to costly divorce:… murder your wife.'

'Fuck knows how that bastard Zorrita squeezed that out of her.'

'Maybe he didn't have to squeeze too hard,' said Falcon calmly.