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The first in Robert Wilson’s Seville series, featuring the tortured detective Javier Falcon.The man is bound, gagged and dead in front of his television.The terrible self-inflicted wounds tell of his violent struggle to avoid some unseen horror. On the screen? In his head? What could make a man do that to himself?
It's Easter week in Seville, a time of passion and processions. But detective Javier Falcón is not celebrating. Appalled by the victim's staring eyes he is inexorably drawn into this disturbing, mystifying case. And when the investigation into the dead man's life sends Javier trawling though his own past and into the shocking journals of his late father, a famous artist, his unreliable memory begins to churn. Then there are more killings and Falcón finds himself pushed to the edge of a terrifying truth…
448 pages, Hardcover
First published January 3, 2003
It is an irony not lost on me that here we are in Tangier, captives of the International Zone of Morocco, in the cockpit of Africa, where a new kind of society is being created. A society in which there are no codes. The ruling committee of naturally suspicious European countries has created a permissible chaos in which a new grade of humanity is emerging. One that does not adhere to the usual laws of community but seeks only to satisfy the demands of self. The untaxed unruled business affairs of the International Zone are played out in its society's shunning of any form of morality. We are a microcosm of the future of the modern world, a culture in a Petri dish in the laboratory of human growth. Nobody will say, 'Oh, Tangier, those were the days,' because we will all be in our own Tangier. That is what we have been fighting like dogs for, all over the world, for the last four decades.
Four o'clock brought him round into a permanent dark wakefulness [in which] the wooden beams in his vast house groaned like other less fortunate inmates in a distant part of the asylum. [pp106-107]
. . . legs and buttocks raw from sitting in his uncontrollable urine. [p1]
He walked straight into Falcón's eyes and caught the blue flash of his lover's. [p52]
As he spoke his eyes darted about under cover of some heavy, dark eyebrows, which his wife was not keeping under control. [p90]
. . . he lowered himself into a chair in front of his doctor, hesitant as a man with elephant haemorrhoids that ran from nose to tail. [p177]
The sound of sizzling nylon reached him as she sawed her legs together. [p258]
He searched the inside of his head, reached for a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. [p264]