Blood Wedding (22 page)

He entered the meeting room. Linda, as always, sat at the head of the table, laptop ready. There were no signs of tiredness now. She summarized the evidence, praised Max for finding a few vulnerable points among the suspects, and emphasized the importance of what they were doing. The PM personally wanted to be kept informed of any developments.

‘So what we have to do is keep pounding away at the weak link. We keep questioning all the others, but we concentrate on Hassan Khan. We have to toughen up our act with him. I’ve consulted the senior officers here, and they have agreed we should call in this Argentinian on your force, a . . .’ Linda consulted her notes. ‘
Sí
. Inspector Ernesto Navarro . . . I’m told he had experience of tough questioning and getting information when he was in Argentina.’

Max exploded. ‘Tough questioning? Torture, you mean. Human rights groups in Argentina are trying to get him extradited back to Argentina to stand trial over the disappearance of a couple of school kids.’

‘There’s no proof,’ interrupted Davila. ‘It was a difficult period for the police with Communist guerrillas and all. Navarro says the accusations are false, and the Human rights groups in Argentina are Communist fronts.’

‘He would say that, wouldn’t he?’

‘Sub-Inspector Romero, I’ve told you before to keep your politics out of the police force. Navarro has experience of getting information out of suspects. And that is what we need now.’

‘I will not sit by and allow any physical abuse of the suspects,’ interjected Max angrily.

Linda, her voice steady and calm, came in. ‘Who said anything about physical abuse? This is democratic Spain, and not Argentina under the military. We will abide by our rules. But we need someone who can scare Hassan Khan into confessing what was planned. Max – you now agree something was being planned, don’t you?’

‘I’m uneasy about them,’ muttered Max. ‘There could be something there. I just don’t know.’

‘Which is why we need Navarro to help us find out. I’ve asked him to organize the questioning routine. Inspector Sánchez and I have to return to Madrid for some top-level consultations. Comisario Bonila has agreed we let Inspector Navarro take charge of interrogations.’

She turned to Max. ‘Inspector Jefe Davila has had a request from Teniente González for you to help him with his inquiries in Diva. You are needed there.’

‘
Sí
, Max,’ came in Davila. ‘There may something with this English hippy, and you, speaking English, are needed. That’s an order. Report back to me in two days’ time. Is that understood?’

How convenient, thought Max. They want me out of the way. He gritted his teeth. ‘Yes, sir.’

Linda took over again. ‘Good. We all know where we stand. Inspector Sánchez and I will be back in two days. Good luck to you all. Remember if we get results I’m sure the PM can help with extra resources. And who knows – there might be some promotions.’

With that she stood up, saluted, and left.

‘Max, I suggest you leave straight away,’ said Davila. ‘Teniente González is expecting you.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Max looked at Martín, who nodded. Max saluted, and left the office. He went straight to the Bar Alonzo, ordered a coffee, and waited for Martín to come. Twenty minutes later Martín entered, and came over to Max.

‘What’s going on?’ said Max. ‘Navarro is bad news. What’s planned?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Martín. ‘I’m out of the loop. I’m being hauled back to Madrid tomorrow. It’s all highly political. That bastard, Miguel Allende, the PM’s personal National Security adviser, is behind this. He’s a real poison dwarf. But Miguel and Linda go back years. They need something positive from all this. A little bird told me the Socialists have opened a line with ETA to discuss a ceasefire if the Socialists win. So the PP need to show the Socialists are weak on terrorism. The stakes are really high. Be careful, Max. I’ll tell you if I find out anything. I really must go now. We mustn’t be seen together.’

‘What are they planning to do with Hassan?’

‘I don’t know. They can’t be too crude – it could backfire on them. I’ve warned Bonila that a scandal would blow up in their faces. But it sure as hell won’t be a friendly conversation with coffee and cakes. I’m worried about that kid: too much pressure and he might crack totally. And that won’t do anyone any good. Let me know if you hear anything. I’ll see some of my political contacts back in Madrid. Right. Have to go. Take care.’

Max finished his coffee, a worried frown creasing his forehead. He took out his mobile and made a quick call. He had to see Jorge. Max walked back to the police car park, got into his car, and drove along the Sacromonte road to the Abadía. Jorge was waiting for him, outside the huge, ancient door.

‘Let’s go into the garden,’ he said. ‘It’s quiet and peaceful there. Sounds like you need both. I know it’s early, but I’ve got that bottle of Cartojal straight from Malaga I promised.’

‘Thanks. I could do with a small glass.’

They sat by the fountain, its water spouting out of the mouth of San Miguel. Max sipped his wine slowly and appreciatively. The gentle splashing of the fountain, and the wine, calmed him down. He turned to Jorge and told him the whole story, beginning with the death of Leila.

‘I’m really worried. One man is already dead. And what will happen to Hassan Khan I don’t know.’

‘It’s a nasty business,’ commented Jorge. ‘The terrorist threat is real, and we’ve brought it home to Spain. It makes no sense. The Brits are determined to play Robin to the USA’s Batman, but you’d have thought we would know better. But here we are – part of the invasion – so we’ve made our country a target. You said you have doubts about the innocence of these men?’

‘No evidence. Just a feeling that something isn’t right. I didn’t think so at first. But now I’ve interviewed them all, there’s something really fishy.’

‘That’s a worry. But torture won’t help anyone find the truth.’

‘Absolutely. So what can I do?

‘You have to go to Diva. I’ll call the Association for Muslim Rights and the human rights groups in Granada. With the Anti-Terrorism Law there’s not much we can do. But a few questions, leaked to the press of course, will do no harm. I’ll make sure nothing can get back to you. Best you left now. Thanks for coming to me. Keep me informed.’

Max got up, embraced Jorge and left. At least he had done something. And he felt the better for having done so. He drove straight to the police station in Diva. González was in his office.

‘Come in, Max. Thank you for coming over immediately.’ González gave a wolfish smile as he spoke.

The fat bastard’s in the know, thought Max. He’s in the loop.

‘No problem, sir. What can I do to help?’

‘We interviewed this hippy guy, Jim Cavendish. Says he met Leila at the bar El Gato, and then they went to Felipe’s bar for a gig, and then saw the sun rise at El Fugón. Very romantic. He says he didn’t fuck her, but believe that if you like. He claims at about two in the afternoon he drove her back to Diva and dropped her off at the church. Says she must have left her mobile in his van then.’

‘That squares with everything we know,’ said Max. ‘So what’s the problem?’

‘No real problem. But he’s a lying bastard. We found a stack of hashish in his van, and more in his shack. So there could be a drug connection. We’d like you to interview him to see if you can get any more.’

‘But you said his Spanish is good, so I’m unlikely to find out anything new.’

‘Maybe. But it’s a cultural thing. We might have missed something.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Down in the cell. We had to let him go. But we’ve arrested him again on drug charges.’ González looked at his watch. ‘It’s a bit late now. You can interview him first thing tomorrow.’

‘I’d prefer to do it now so I can get back to Granada as soon as possible.’

‘Not possible. He’s asked for his lawyer to be present. So we arranged it for tomorrow morning.’

Max flushed with anger. They were determined to keep him in Diva, come what may.

‘Okay. I hope he doesn’t have a broken rib,’ he said testily.

‘Now why would he have that?’ replied González calmly. ‘He hasn’t tried to escape, has he?’

Max glowered at González, and left the office. He had the whole evening with nothing to do. He went to the bar, El Paraíso , and ordered a brandy and coffee.

‘Unlike you,’ commented the waiter. ‘Something wrong?’

‘No. Nothing.’

Max looked at his watch. Should he visit Paula? Good idea. A visit now, and maybe she wouldn’t make such a fuss if he couldn’t get over on Sunday.

Max drove along the Jola road. He slowed as he passed the ravine where Leila’s body had been found. He stopped the car and walked back to the low concrete parapet. The forensics guys had already had a good root round, so he would be unlikely to find anything – but a second look wouldn’t cost anything. He clambered down the bank and went under the bridge, looking around carefully. Nothing. As he scrambled back up, the evening sun glinted on something silver. Max stopped and leaned over to pick it up with a handkerchief. It was a sweet wrapper. Max dropped it in an evidence bag and stowed it in his pocket.

When he arrived at Paula’s, he rang the bell, and waited. Nobody came. He rang again. Nobody. Most odd. Paula seldom went out. After the third ring, he heard footsteps. Paula opened the door.

‘Max! What a surprise! I wasn’t expecting you until Sunday.’

‘Can’t make it this Sunday. Police duties. As I was in Diva I thought I’d come round to see you. Hope you’re not going deaf,
abuela.
I rang three times.’

‘I was absorbed in my computer. Did you know – I can play music on it? It’s amazing. Max, I think I’ve made contact with someone who was with Antonio. Leila will be so thrilled. Oh!’ She dabbed her eyes with her apron. ‘I still think it could be her when the phone rings. Who killed her, Max, who killed her?’

‘I wish I knew,
abuela.
Still got nowhere. It’s a real mystery. I’ve been through her computer. There are a couple of things we’re chasing up. But nothing definite.’

Max followed Paula into the kitchen. He offered to make the coffee, but Paula refused. She still believed men should have nothing to do inside a kitchen.

‘Querido,
you’re looking tired,’ she said as she handed over his
cafe con leche.

‘I’m fine. Too much work, that’s all. So what is it you’ve found?’

‘You remember that website Leila found for me, the one run by La Asociación para la Recuperación de la Memoria Histórica? Well, they have something called a Notice Board. People were putting up messages – does anyone know anything about my
abuelo
who disappeared in Toledo on such and such a date . . . that sort of thing. I thought I would do the same. So I put a notice on it. Does anyone have any information on Antonio Vargas, last seen in Diva, Andalusia, on 17
^th
August 1937? He is believed to have gone to hide in a shepherd’s hut above Banjaron. But nothing more has ever been heard of him.’

Paula paused, her hand shaking with excitement. ‘I didn’t expect a reply. Then today I heard from Beatrice, a lady in Ceret, in France. She said she is the daughter of a Spaniard, Manuel Paz, though most people used his nickname – El Gato.’

‘Wow.’

‘Her father escaped to France with his young brother during the Civil War. He married her mother, but couldn’t settle.’

‘Could he be Diva’s El Gato?’

‘It’s possible . . . can you imagine it?’

‘So what did she say?’

‘Her uncle is still alive – a bit younger than me.’

‘Can he help you?’

‘He told her that he and his brother had been hiding just outside Banjaron. She thinks he may have known Antonio.’

‘That’s amazing.’

‘Max – my heart’s on fire. I need to send a photo of Antonio. Have you heard about scanning? Could you do it for me? I’d ask Juan, but he gets grumpy whenever I mention what I’m doing. He’s got a lot of his
abuelo
in him. I’ve a lovely photo of Antonio – you know, the one with Lorca. And I’ve also got one of Antonio and me together.’

‘I can do that.’

‘Don’t tell Juan about any of this.’

‘Course not.’

‘It would have been so nice if Leila could have seen this. She would have been thrilled. What happened here was so real for her. As if we were family.’

Max stood up, and put his arms round Paula, and gave her a big hug. ‘Of course,
abuela.
But don’t raise your hopes too much. After all these years . . . well.’

‘I know. But I feel I’m close to something.’

The front door opened and shut. Juan appeared at the kitchen door.

‘Max! What a surprise! Didn’t expect you till Sunday.’

‘I know. Can’t make it Sunday. As I had to be in Diva, thought I’d come over. How are the kids?’

‘Fine. Well, not really. Usual scrapes and scraps. Isabel’s fine. They’re at the coast for a few days. I heard they had arrested someone over Leila’s death.’

‘Not really. The guy who might have been the last person to see her alive has turned up. I’m to interview him tomorrow, but I think there’s nothing on him. Oops. Shouldn’t have said that.’

‘That’s okay. You’ll stay for a meal? Be like old times,
abuela.
You, me and Max in the kitchen.’

Juan looked around the old kitchen and smiled. The mark from Max’s football was still on the ceiling. ‘God . . . I remember the tales you used to tell us here. You could terrify us when we were little.’

He smiled affectionately at Paula. ‘You got any of the nice
cocido
left? Poor old Max looks as if he hasn’t eaten properly for days.’

Paula laughed. ‘Sit down, boys. Sorry about the
cocido.
But I’ve got your favourite white anchovies for you to nibble on. Then I’ll see what else I can find. There’s still some of your wild boar in the freezer. Juan, open a bottle of the best Rioja. I feel like a small glass myself.’

Juan tried to steer the conversation to the latest news on the terrorists, but Max gave nothing away that wasn’t already in the papers. It was a happy evening, one of the best for quite a while. Paula fussed and mothered, convinced they weren’t being fed properly, probing to see if Max had invited that nice policewoman out yet. Disappointed that he hadn’t. Was that because he had another girl? Max tried to explain that he was too busy, but Paula wouldn’t believe that. Another bottle of wine appeared. Juan slowly became his old, animated self, full of opinions and bad jokes. Soon he and Max were skirmishing like old times, each trying to cut through the defences of the other, hoping to score the final thrust. As always it ended in a honourable draw. Finally Paula, in tears of laughter, called it to a halt.