Blood Wedding (15 page)

‘They’re all well. Aunt Jessie and Uncle Bob are going on a cruise to the Canaries from Greenock. I have no idea how they are paying for it. Doing it just to show off, if you ask me.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. They probably needed a rest. What with family, and both working, they deserve a break.’

‘Are you saying my music job isn’t tiring?’

‘Of course not. I’m sure you could do with a rest. When I win the lottery, I’ll treat you.’

‘Are you sure you’re fine? You should settle down, you know. Paula worries about you. And she thinks you’re too sensitive for that job in the police.’

‘I sometimes wonder as well, mum, what I’m doing in the police. Nice to know you all think I’m too sensitive for the job. But I can cope.’

‘Okay. Speak to you next week. Love you lots.’

‘Love you too, mum.’

Max put the phone down, and went to the fridge, pulled out the bottle of wine, and poured himself a generous glass. It would be dad next. It might have been easier to have lunch with Paula. Two hours later the phone rang.

‘Dad. How are you?

‘Max, I just had a phone call from the
abuela
– she was telling me all about the murder in Diva. Said she’s very worried about you. I know what she’s like, Max, she’s my mother, but she just wouldn’t stop. Apparently, you’re very depressed about the girl’s death, the heat’s bad for your asthma, and you’re coming down with something serious.’

‘That’s impressive, but I’m perfectly okay. Just have a lot of work. You know how Paula exaggerates – and for the record I wasn’t deeply in love with her, and her death hasn’t left me in a state of bad shock. Changing the subject, how’s the wine business?’

‘Good. It’s picking up. The northern Europeans are really developing a taste for Spanish wine and the order book is full.’

‘That’s excellent . . . so did you get the flat?’

‘Yes, a bit expensive, but the Barrio Gótico can only go up in value – and I’ve got a spare room now.’

‘Dad, you know I’d love to come and see you in Barcelona. Soon as I get some time off, I’ll be up.’

‘We could go to a match.’

‘That would be fantastic.’

‘
Hasta la vista,
my son.’

‘Give my best to Montserrat. See you.’

One more of the family to go. And just as Max was finally concentrating on his report, the phone rang.

‘
Hola
, Juan, I’m fine. A hangover, that’s all – a night out in the Platería. You know . . .’

‘So who’s the lucky girl?’

‘You don’t know her, Juan, fortunately.’

‘So . . .?’

‘No, I didn’t get my leg over, if that’s what you’re thinking. But as the whole family would like to see me married with three children and a nice safe job like teaching – well, a guy’s got to start somewhere.’

‘I suppose you could put it like that but Paula—’

‘Juan, I love Paula dearly, but I want to go to Hannigan’s to watch the football! I just wish you’d all give me a break. If I don’t go now it will be Susanna next, and you know what my sister’s like.’

‘Okay, have a Guinness on me. You sound as if you need it.’

Max was just about to leave when the phone rang again!

‘
Abuela
! Sí, Mum, dad and Juan have all phoned . . . I know you are worried about me.
Sí, sí,
they phoned – all is well. Stop worrying. You do a great job keeping the family together. But I’ve got to rush now – the football is just about to start.’

‘But Maximiliano . . . Why is football so much more important than family?’

‘Don’t know,
abuela.
I
promise
you that I won’t miss lunch next Sunday.
Buenas noches.
Sleep well.’

Max put the phone down, and almost ran out of the flat. Hannigan’s was full when he got there. He joined the queue for the Guinness, grabbed his pint, and managed to find a space from where he could view the screen, a friendly: Spain v. Austria. It was a source of great disappointment to all Spaniards that the national Spanish football team never lived up to expectations. Tonight was no exception: a draw, two each. Didn’t augur well for the European cup.

Apaga tus verdes luces:
Que viene la benemirita.

Put your green light out:
The Civil Guard is coming.

Frederico García Lorca,
Romance de la Guardia Civil Española

Monday morning, another scorcher. Max went straight to Davila’s office with his report on the murder case.

‘This is getting a lot of press coverage,’ commented Davila. ‘Pretty girl, Muslim and British. The left-wing papers are saying could be a racially motivated murder. What do you think?’

‘Not likely, sir. For a start, she was definitely not a poor, downtrodden immigrant. There was some anti-Muslim graffiti near the Diva mosque, but that seems to have been a one-off. As you will see from my report, sir, the main suspect at the moment is a young British Muslim.’

‘Hmm. See if you can move on this one. With all the press coverage, it would be good for us to solve the case quickly. The foreign press are getting interested as well. So a bit of glory could come our way. Help me in the staffing review. You’re not needed until the Friday afternoon strategy meeting, so spend all your time on this. Oh, don’t forget – you can claim full mileage.’

‘Shall do, sir. I’ll go over straight away.’ Max turned to leave.

‘One more thing,’ said Davila. Max turned round. ‘You’re late with your job evaluation form. This is not the first time. I will have to mention this in my staff assessment and development report on you.’

‘Sorry, sir. I have finished it. Just have to run it through the spellchecker. You’ll have it as soon as I’m back from Diva.’

Max saluted again, went to the car park and set off for Diva, a route he felt he could do blindfolded. Just past the Bobadil restaurant his mobile rang.

‘Dígame. Sí,
Ahmed. What can I do for you?’

‘Hassan Khan was arrested last night, and taken to the Diva police station!’

‘Oh.’

‘He’s been beaten up by the police!’

‘I’m on my way to Diva now.’

‘I’ve contacted Javeed, and his lawyer.’

‘Okay. I’ll be with you in about half an hour. Thanks for phoning.’

Fuck! This could make the front pages – and the TV. Davila wouldn’t be pleased.

Max arrived at the Diva police station to find a small group of men outside. He recognized some of them from Leila’s funeral. Ahmed was inside, waiting for him.

‘He’s got cuts and bruises all over his face, and possibly a broken rib as well. Javeed and his lawyer are with him now.’

‘Where’s González?’ asked Max.

‘In his office, I think.’

Max went straight in without knocking.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing? We’ll have the press all over us, and once this gets out there’ll be protests across the province.’

González, surprisingly calm, looked straight at Max. ‘No need to worry. Picked him up yesterday – a witness claims he saw him on the Jola road just before the time of the murder. This morning the kid tried to do a runner. Then he attacked us, and we had to defend ourselves.’

‘Defend yourselves? How come there’s not a mark on you?’

‘Not so. León there has a cut lip, and I’ve got a nasty bruise on my leg. We’re compiling a report to send to Judge Falcón at the moment. The fact he made a bolt for it makes him all the more guilty, doesn’t it?’

‘Maybe. If he did try and make a bolt for it?’

‘Calling me a liar then?’

Max bit his lip. ‘No. Of course not.’

‘What’s happening now?’

‘That Javeed whatever his name is and that smart-arse lawyer of his are with the kid. I hope they see sense. Won’t do them any good otherwise. You should use your influence. They’re in the interview room.’

‘Okay. I’ll go and talk to them.’

Max walked along the corridor, knocked on the door, and entered. Hassan was slumped on a chair, holding his side, his face bruised and cut. He had been crying. Javeed and Gabriel the lawyer were conferring in a corner.

‘Sub-Inspector Romero,’ he announced.

Javeed turned to him. ‘Oh, yes, the officer from Granada. This is disgraceful. I trust you’ll throw the book at these officers. We will, of course, press charges.’

Max looked at Hassan again. ‘I think the first thing we should do is have the young man examined by a doctor. Has anyone called an ambulance?’

‘Yes. Teniente González has called for one. It should be here any minute. In my opinion, a clear case of police brutality, probably racially and religiously motivated,’ said the lawyer.

‘There’s no evidence of that,’ said Max. ‘I’ve been told that the young man was trying to escape, attacked two police officers, and they responded in self-defence.’

Max looked at Hassan’s hands: no signs of resistance there.

‘You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?’

Max didn’t believe it either. But any doubts were to be pursued within the police, not outside.

There was a knock on the door. It was Anita Guevarra.

‘The ambulance has arrived.’

Javeed and Gabriel helped Hassan into the ambulance, then got in after him with León. Javeed turned to Max. ‘We’ll go to the hospital in Motril with Hassan Khan. Then we’ll be back. At this point we won’t be making any statements to the press. That can come later.’

Max and Guevarra stood watching the ambulance disappear.

‘Can we talk alone later?’ asked Max quietly. Paula was right – Anita was pretty, though she’d look better without the uniform.

‘Sure. Where?’

‘Lunch at the Camping at two. González and León would never go there.’

‘Sí.’

They entered the room where González and León were waiting for them.

‘I’ve persuaded Señor Khan’s friends not to make a press statement now.’ Not quite true, but might as well get credit for something. ‘They say they want to press charges – police brutality, racism, religious bias.’

‘What for? Defending ourselves? They don’t have a leg to stand on.’

‘You’d better go to the health centre, and let the doc look at these famous wounds. Get a report and some photos of your injuries while you’re at it.’ Max looked González straight in the eye. ‘This ain’t the old days, you know.’

‘More the worse for that. But I’m glad you see how right we are.’

Max snorted. He noticed a smudge of blood on the ring on González’ finger. ‘Better clean your ring. Be unfortunate if it were León’s blood.’

He had the satisfaction of seeing González blush.

‘I’ll deal with the crowd outside. Then I’m going for lunch. Can we have a meeting at four?’

‘Four should be okay.’

Max went outside. Ahmed was with the men. Max went up to them. There was a hostile murmur as he approached.

‘Okay. It seems there was a scuffle when Hassan Khan tried to escape. In that scuffle, two police officers received minor injuries, as did Hassan Khan. Hassan Khan has been taken to the hospital in Motril for a check-up. We will be making a formal statement later.’

There was a hiss of disbelief. There were shouts: ‘Liar!’ ‘Cover up!’

Ahmed came up to Max. ‘I don’t believe this. I don’t believe you believe it. It’s just not credible Hassan would try to escape, and assault two police officers.’

‘Ahmed, there will be a thorough police investigation.’

‘A whitewash?’

‘You know that’s not true. I will do my best, but it won’t help anyone, especially Hassan, if this goes all over the press.’

The men around Ahmed began to press forward. Ahmed held up his arms.

‘Calm,’ he said. ‘Aggression won’t get us anywhere. Go home.’ He turned to Max. ‘You will keep me informed?’

‘Sure.’

Max waited until all the men had left, and then went back inside the police station. The black horseshoe on the door shone in the noonday sun. Anita Guevarra was waiting inside.

‘I’d better phone Granada. I could do with a cup of coffee first.’

‘I’ll get you one, sir.’

‘
Gracías
.’

The coffee was welcome. He finished it slowly before phoning Davila. The response from Davila was as expected.

‘Look, Max, this could be awkward. Keep as much from the press as possible. Back González to the hilt. Judge Falcón, I’m sure, will back him. Try and see if some deal can be made with the lawyer. We don’t want a lawsuit, do we? But let me know as soon as possible what really happened.’

‘I will do my best, sir,’ replied Max.

‘By the way, Max, you’ve done well so far. Keep it up. It’s all good experience. I could modify my staff assessment report, you know.’

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll do what I can.’

Would Jorge approve? Probably. He was a realist, had always advised Max to fit in on the minor issues, and only break ranks on really important problems. The question now was, is this a minor or major issue?

Max sought out Guevarra.

‘Let’s go for lunch now. I think we should take our own cars in case González sees us.’

They arrived at the Camping car park within five minutes of each other. The terrace of the Camping overlooked the Diva valley, green and fertile, and the rounded hills of the Sierra Contraviesa, its benign goddess. They settled for a shady corner. Max decided to go for the
menú del día.
Guevarra asked for an avocado salad. She looked shy and timid. A bottle of wine would cheer her up.

Max called the waiter over. ‘
Una botella de vino blanco, por favor. Vino de las Alpujarras
.’

Max smiled at Guevarra.
‘Salud,
Anita.’ He raised his glass to her. ‘Señora Romero, my grandmother, phoned me to say you had interviewed her. She told me that it was a long interview, but that you were very nice and sympathetic.’

‘It was good to meet her. She gave me a lot of information, but I ended up being interviewed myself.’

‘
Sí,
that’s my
abuela.
She still treats me like a kid, phones me twice a day to make sure I’m eating properly and keeping my flat clean.’

Guevarra laughed, and relaxed.

‘So what happened back in there?’

‘Don’t honestly know, sir.’

‘Call me Max, everyone else does.’