'Pablo Ortega… the actor?' asked Calderón.

'Yes, he's just moved here,' she said. 'He's not very happy.'

'That doesn't surprise me.'

'Of course, it was you, wasn't it, Juez Calderón, who put his son in jail for twelve years?' said Consuelo. 'Terrible case that, terrible. But I didn't mean that when

I said… although I'm sure that's a contributing factor. There's a problem with his house and he finds the area a bit… dead after living in the centre of town.'

'Why did he move?' asked Falcón.

'Nobody in the barrio would talk to him any more.'

'Because of what his son did?' said Falcón. 'I don't remember this case…'

'Ortega's son kidnapped an eight-year-old boy,' said Calderón. 'He tied him up and abused him over several days.'

'But didn't kill him?' asked Falcón.

'The boy escaped,' said Calderón.

'In fact it was stranger than that,' said Consuelo. 'Ortega's son released him and then sat on the bed in the soundproofed room he'd prepared for the kidnap and waited for the police to arrive. He was lucky they got to him first.'

'They say he's having a hard time of it in prison,' said Calderón.

'I can't find any pity for people who destroy the innocence of children,' said Consuelo, savagely. 'They deserve everything they get.'

Madeleine Krugman returned with the telephone number. She was now wearing sunglasses as if protecting herself from her own painful whiteness.

'No name?' said Falcón, punching the number into his mobile.

'My husband says his name is Carlos Vázquez.' '

'And where's your husband?'

'At home.'

'When did Sr Vega give you this number?'

'Before he went to join Lucia and Mario on holiday last summer.' 'Is Mario the child who slept at your house last night, Sra Jiménez?'

'Yes.'

'Do the Vegas have any family in the Seville area?'