Blood Wedding (11 page)

‘You were going to tell me how you ended up in the cops?’

‘To be honest I’m still not really sure. But you can probably blame Jorge. It had never crossed my mind. I was at a really low ebb with parents finally divorcing . . . and I’d split with girlfriend. Life going nowhere, and not even knowing where it should be going. Couldn’t decide if I wanted to be in Spain or Britain, be British or Spanish. Drinking much too much, and to be honest, smoking too much pot.’

Linda sniffed disapprovingly.

‘Well, to cut a long story short I was really depressed, and decided to take a walk in the hills behind the Abadía, and as I was walking back Jorge stopped to give me a lift. One thing led to another. He talked me out of depression, and we became friends. It was Jorge who suggested the police. Said he’d seen a police advert for university graduates.’ Max laughed. ‘He kept going on to me about the importance of having sensitive, progressive police now that Spain was a democracy, and how it would be a good thing all round. Well, nothing else came up, and I thought, why not, give it a try, and I just drifted into it. Still not sure I made the right decision.’

‘So different to me. Never even thought about anything else. So apart from looking after Martín and me, and writing a report on the Muslims here, what else are you doing?’

‘I’m in Homicide, but I do a bit of community liaison work with the Muslims. Right now I’m involved in a really sad case. Pretty Muslim girl, Edinburgh University history student, found dead in Diva. Body under a bridge at the bottom of a ravine. I’ve been asked to help out. I knew her, and her family. It’s the first time I’ve actually known the victim – before, they were simply victims. It’s hard to stay detached.’

‘Bit unusual, straying from your patch?’

‘Yes. But a tricky one for the local police. She was British and Muslim. So it makes sense to ask me to help.’

Max glanced at her finger. ‘Still wearing your ring?’

Linda laughed. ‘Yes. I decided to keep the ring. Keeps randy cops at bay. If I ever remarried, I don’t think I’d marry another cop again. It’s funny how cops keep everything in the family. Must be because we think differently to ordinary folk, always asking questions. Suppose we need someone who knows how we think.’

She looked sad, sighed, and then smiled. ‘You, you don’t seem a cop. Too open.’

‘No? My family’s not exactly standard. Mum’s a musician, and Dad now runs a wine business in Barcelona.’

Linda glanced at her watch. ‘Oops. Better go. Getting on, and I’ve got to look my best for the meeting.’

‘I’ll show you back to your hotel.’

‘Thanks. But I’ll be okay. It’s just a bit further along Gran Vía on the other side, isn’t it? A lovely morning. You’re sweet – but don’t try so hard to impress. Doesn’t work.’

Max watched her leave. As she left, she turned and saluted, a reminder of her superior rank. Nice bottom.

Max walked slowly back to his flat, thinking about Linda. That was an odd comment on Lorca. Maybe he’d misheard. The only Franco supporters these days were like the old man in the open air market in Plaza Larga, selling key rings with a portrait of Franco. But she definitely flirted with him . . . and progress might be possible if he played his cards right. There was just time for a quick shower, pack the computer and get back to the office.

Max arrived at the conference room at exactly four. Davila was already there.

‘Everything go to plan, Max?’

‘Yes, but Inspector Sánchez didn’t come on the tour. Upset stomach . . . and he may not make it to the meeting.’

‘No matter. I’m told she’s the one who makes the decisions. I’m going for a coffee. Let me know if you need anything.’

Max went to the front and set up the computer. He tested PowerPoint, and ran through his notes. Max disliked the conference room: it was all air conditioning, AV equipment and artificial light. The long mahogany table had been moved to the side, and the coffee urns, cups, water jugs and glasses placed upon it. There was a portrait of the King and Queen and the Spanish flag behind the podium. He began to feel nervous. It was his first big presentation. He patted his pocket to check his inhaler was there. It was. He had better go to the toilet, straighten the tie, comb the hair. A splash of cold water on the face would help. A black coffee would also help.

Max returned at quarter to five. The Jefe Superior de Andalucía Oriental, Pedro Cifuentes, and the head of the Policía Nacional of Granada, Comisario Bonila, had arrived together, their medals glistening on their crisply pressed uniforms. General López from the Guardia Civil was easing his way towards the great ones, followed by Teniente González up from Diva. All the other officers began to drift in, anxious to impress. The mutual admiration society was in session.

At exactly five, Linda and Martín arrived. Martín sat down heavily and began writing. Linda carefully did the rounds, beginning with the top rank and working down. She ignored Max until Davila introduced him.

‘You two of course met earlier.’

Max bent over, and shook hands. An expensive perfume.

‘Yes. It was most gracious of the Sub-Inspector to meet us at the airport. And I appreciated his tour of Granada. Most informative.’

And with that she moved on.

Cifuentes opened the proceedings, welcoming all those present and especially the guests from the CGI, the Anti-Terrorist Operations Group. He turned to Linda.

‘I knew your father well, served under him briefly. A most distinguished officer. We are honoured to have you here with us. Our anti-terrorist unit here is busy, and we like to think they and we keep on top of the brief. We already have monthly coordinating meetings of all units. But we look forward to hearing your advice on how we might improve our coordination, intelligence gathering, and cooperation with the CGI.’

He was followed by General López, then Comisario Bonila, and then the heads of all the police divisions had their three minutes. Then it was Linda’s turn. She stood up, went to the front. Her voice, though soft and low, projected clearly.

‘Gentlemen. Thank you all for coming.’

Max noticed she spoke without notes.

‘General Martínez, our head of CGI, ordered both Inspector Sánchez and myself to visit all the police zones to personally assess the effectiveness of counter-terrorist activities. General Martínez will be reporting back to the PM. As you know, the PM regards the anti-terrorist fight as top priority. Spanish support for the war in Iraq has increased the possibility of a terrorist attack on Spanish soil, and all the branches of the security forces have to be on full alert.’

She smiled at General López, and continued.

‘The PM, the Ministerio del Interior and the CGI are concerned that anti-terrorist coordination is perhaps not all it should be. Traffic police, for example, could be crucial, and it is vital they report any suspicious vehicles immediately. Instant sharing of information and full cooperation is essential. My task, with help from Inspector Sánchez, is to ensure that all the units and all the regions are up to scratch.’

Linda paused, and waited.

‘Granada is our first visit because we see it as key. We have intelligence from the Americans that a major terrorist operation is being planned right here in Andalusia. Where, when, what, how, we don’t know. But the intelligence is reliable. So we are concentrating on preparations in Andalusia and Granada in particular.’

As reliable as the claim of weapons of mass destruction, thought Max.

‘We also have intelligence that Islamist terrorists have made contact with ETA and a joint action by them may be possible.’

How convenient, thought Max. But not bloody likely. Why would a bunch of Basque separatists chum up with Al-Qaeda – more likely to shoot each other than cooperate.

‘So I’m here to learn what you are doing, what you are planning to do, and to ensure that all the mechanisms for cooperation are in place. We also want increased surveillance of all the local Muslim groups, and reports on their activities. We are looking forward to hearing your preliminary report and assessment of the dangers of Islamist terrorists obtaining a foothold here in Granada.’

She smiled at the assembled audience, saluted the top brass, and walked briskly to her seat in the front row.

‘Inspector Jefe Davila,’ called Comisario Bonila, now chairing.

Davila stood up, his bald head glistening in the artificial light, his moustache newly trimmed, the ruddy colour of his face betraying a fondness for brandy and cigars.

‘Um. Well, yes. Oh,
perdóname,
Comisario.’

And he turned, and saluted.

‘Bienvenidos Generales y todos.
It fell to my department to prepare this report. We had not been given much warning so I apologize for it being rough and ready. We are very overstretched at the moment, and um, well, yes, we will need extra resources if we are to combat these new threats.’

Davila stopped, took out his handkerchief, and wiped his brow.

‘We are however pleased that we did manage to have a young officer appointed some time back to our Homicide Division who is also helping us with our relations with the Muslim communities. He is an officer who studied at the famous Centre for Arabic Studies here in Granada as well as, um, at a university in Britain. And Sub-Inspector Romero kindly agreed to prepare the report on the various Islamic groups here in Granada.
Muchas gracias.’

Max walked smartly to the podium, and placed his notes on the lectern. As he cleared his throat, he checked his pocket. The inhaler was still there.

‘Gentlemen, Inspectora Jefe Concha, I would first like to thank Inspector Jefe Enrique Davila for all the help and advice he has given in the compilation of this report.’

Davila’s advice was to keep it bland, non-political and not disturb anybody, particularly anybody important. The real help for the report had come from the librarian at the Centre for Arabic Studies.

‘Granada is known as the Islamic capital of Europe, a not inaccurate description. Here we have not only a large concentration of Muslims, but also some of the most important centres of Islamic learning in Europe.’

Max paused, and pressed the Remote. He turned, and with his laser-pointer highlighted the first paragraph.

‘The divisions in the Muslim world are as complicated and at times as bitter as those in Christianity. It is easy to become a Muslim. All a person needs to do is make a declaration, freely and sincerely, a
Shahadah,
literally bearing witness, that “I testify that there is no deity worthy of worship but God and I testify that Muhammad is the messenger of God.”’

Max smiled. ‘In Christianity, we have Catholics and Protestants. In Islam, the two great divisions are between the Sunni and the Shi’a. The Shi’a are very much the minority, concentrated in Iran, southern Iraq and Lebanon. Most Muslims in Granada are Sunni, but we do have Shi’a. There seems to be no enmity between the two groups here, but that could change as tensions increase in the Middle East. It is mainly Sunni Muslims who take part in the protests against the war. However, opinion polls show that over ninety per cent of Granadinos are opposed to the Iraq war, so being anti-war does not tell us much about the politics of the protestors.’

Linda and Davila looked disapproving.

‘The Shi’a, as we know from Iran, can be very hardline and have a more centralized religious authority. And although the Shi’a were the first to use suicide bombers – both in the Iran/Iraq war and in Lebanon – my personal assessment is that the Shi’a community here in Granada is very unlikely to become involved in any acts of violence, although that could change depending on political developments in the Middle East.

‘The Sunni community here is more complicated. Internal divisions within them are intense.’

Max turned and highlighted a text. ‘One of the most important divisions is between the more rigid, puritanical, fundamentalist sects such as Wahhabism, the sole creed in Saudi Arabia, and those advocating
ijtihad,
a rethinking of Islam for modern times. But for the majority of Muslims, Islam is a road map for life-community, ritual and rules around which to structure daily life. In that respect, it very much resembles Catholicism, but they have no Pope, no bishops.’

There was a slight murmur.

‘Because there is no central religious authority among the Sunni, each learned scholar can claim he alone interprets the Qur’an correctly. There are thus many Mullahs, Imans, Sheikhs and Ayatollahs with their own followers. This makes it difficult for us to pinpoint who might become terrorists. Religion and politics are much more interwoven than in modern-day Christianity. Advocates of political violence are usually fundamentalists, but not necessarily so. Political objectives are crucial.’

Max paused. Linda looked bored.

‘We have legal and illegal immigrants from nearly all the Islamic countries, especially Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria. Granada is also a magnet for students from Islamic countries. We have evidence that some radical Islamic groups have a presence on our campuses.’

Max paused, turned, and highlighted a list of organizations. ‘These groups are dangerous. They can and do cooperate. It is unlikely that they will attack Spain – their objectives are very much related to their own countries. However, we maintain a careful watch over all members of these groups.’

Max noticed Linda shake her head. He paused, moved to the side table, filled his glass and took a swig of water.

‘Islam is the fastest-growing religion in Andalusia, through migration and also European converts to Islam who see Granada as a special place. There are conflicts between the Islamic immigrants and converts, each tending for example to worship in different mosques. It is mainly the converts who form some of the more exotic Islamic sects. And the most violent conflicts are often between these groups.’

A chair scraped. Max stopped. Inspector Martín Sánchez stood up, his face a pale green in the artificial light. ‘Sorry. Stomach bug. Have to go. Be back.’

He clambered across various bodies, and almost ran out of the room.