'Given the choice…' said Falcón.

The lawyer appeared in the doorway, his dark brown eyes set hard in his head.

'You have no right -' he started.

'This is a murder investigation, Sr Vázquez,' said Falcón. 'Sra Vega is upstairs on the bed, she's been suffocated with a pillow. Any idea why your client should have one of these in his study?'

Vázquez blinked at the gun.

'Seville is one of those curious cities where the wealthy and privileged people of Santa Clara are separated from the drug-ridden disadvantaged ones of the Poligono San Pablo by a small barrio, the paper factory and the Calle de Tesalónica. I imagine he had it for his own protection.'

'Like the security cameras he didn't bother to switch on?' said Falcón.

Vázquez looked at the inert recorders. His mobile went off playing the first few bars of Carmen. The lawmen grinned at each other. Vázquez went down the hall. Calderón closed the door and Falcón knew what he'd suspected as he'd shaken the Juez's hand that morning – there was news and it was relevant to him.

'I wanted you to hear this from me,' said Calderón, 'and not the rumour machine in the Jefatura or the Edificio de los Juzgados.'

Falcón nodded, his larynx suddenly paralysed.

'Inés and I are getting married at the end of the summer,' said Calderón.

He'd known this was coming but the news still rooted him to the floor. It seemed like minutes before his feet, moving at the pace of a diver's on the ocean floor, brought him close enough to shake Calderón's hand. He thought about gripping the judge's shoulder in comradely fashion but the bitterness of his disappointment filled his mouth with the taint of a bad olive.

'Congratulations, Esteban,' he said.

'We told our families last night,' said Calderón. 'You're the first outsider to know.'

'You'll make each other very happy,' said Falcón. 'I know.'

They nodded to each other and disengaged.