Blood Wedding (33 page)

Max looked at the postmark – five days ago. That’s why nobody answered the phone. He’d have to return and talk to them as soon as they were back.

‘Thanks, Encarnita. That’s a pretty card.’

‘She’s my best friend. We’ve each got a teddy bear, and they’re good friends as well.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Jane can speak English and Spanish.’

‘You must learn more English.’

‘Yes. Yes. No. No. Uncle. See I speak English. Why do you speak English as well as Spanish,
tito?’

‘My mother – your
Tía
Flora – is Scottish, and they speak English in Scotland. So I grew up speaking English and Spanish.’

There was a meow outside the door.

‘That’s David. He wants some milk,’ said Encarnita.

‘Okay. Give me a kiss first.’

Encarnita kissed him on both cheeks before running off.

Max had a shower, dressed, and went down for a late breakfast. Paula was waiting for him, looking pale and in pain.

‘I’ll get you breakfast, Max. Sleep well?’

‘Like a log. But let me help. You don’t look well.’

‘I’m getting these pains in my leg. The doctor’s giving me painkillers, but once they wear off the pain comes back if I try to walk or stand for too long.’

‘In which case I’ll get my own breakfast, and I’ll bring you a coffee.’

‘No, I can’t have that. Men shouldn’t be in a kitchen. Do you know, Juan sometimes has to cook for himself.’

Max laughed.
‘Abuela
, I thought you had become a bit of a feminist.’

‘It’s just I don’t like having a man in my kitchen. Your
abuelo
never went inside it, you know.’

‘Times have changed.’

‘I know, but I still like some traditions,’ and with that she went into the kitchen, returning some minutes later with a tray of toast and peach jam, and two large cups of
café con leche
.

‘I made this last week from our own fruit.’

‘Lovely.
Abuela
, I’ve been thinking about that leg of yours. You must have it checked by an expert. It could be you’re needing a hip replacement.’

‘Dr Muro never mentioned that.’

‘I know . . . which is why you should ask him to make a hospital appointment for you. I’ll go with you, if you want.’

‘Oh, dear. I suppose I should. I would hate it if I couldn’t walk.’

There was a car hoot outside the house.

‘That will be Anita,’ said Max. ‘I have to return to Granada.’

‘So soon. Invite her in for a coffee.’

Max went out, and returned with Anita, looking shy. But within a few minutes she was telling Paula all about her sister. Max left to collect his things. When he returned Paula and Anita were in deep conversation.

‘We are discussing you, Max. Anita says you don’t look after yourself properly. I told her you never really did, and I was just telling her about the time you had a black eye, you remember . . . from that bully at school, and you painted both eyes, pretending to be a Red Indian.’

Anita laughed. ‘We’d better go. Thanks for the coffee.’

‘Come round again soon. I can tell you so much about Max. He was always in trouble as a boy, so many scrapes.’

Max and Anita both kissed Paula, and left.

‘Remember, get that leg seen to,’ called Max as he turned to wave goodbye.

‘She’s quite something,’ said Anita as they left Diva on the winding road down to Granada.

‘Yes, she is,’ replied Max. ‘Well . . . what did Ricardo say?’

‘Not much. But Leila phoned about a week before her death to thank him for giving her the contacts for the Guardia Civil archive. She thought she had found something important which might throw some light on Lorca’s and Antonio’s deaths.’

‘Did he say what?’

‘No. And he never heard from her again.’

‘I’ll have to get into that archive and see what I can find.’

‘You still think it might have something to do with her death?’

‘Don’t know, but worth checking. By the way I found this scrap of a sweet wrapper on the bank near where Leila was killed. Could you give it to González for me?’ said Max handing over the plastic bag with the silver-coloured wrapper in it.

Anita took the bag. ‘Shouldn’t you have handed this in immediately, sir?’

‘Yes. But I forgot. Looks like it’s been around for a while.’

‘Okay, sir. Oh, Max. González told me as the case is over, there’s no more need to go to Granada. This will be my last trip.’

‘Could you do one more thing for me: let me know when that English family return.’

‘Sure.’

Max gazed out of the window as the car sped on its way to Granada. He finally broke his silence. ‘I’ve really enjoyed working with you.’

‘Me too, sir.’

No more was said until the car turned the corner on to the old Murcia road. Max coughed. ‘Perhaps we could have dinner together some evening?’

‘That would be nice.’

And they fell silent again. The car turned into the Albayzín before Max ventured: ‘I’ll ring you sometime about that dinner then?’

‘Yes, do that. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘We could go to El Duende. It’s not all bulls’ tails. They do really nice chicken.’

‘El Duende sounds fine.’

Anita kissed him awkwardly on the cheek before saying goodbye.

Oh, thought Max.

La nina va en el columpio
De norte al sur,
De sur al norte.

The girl on the swing
Goes from north down to south,
From south up to north.

Frederico García Lorca,
Columpio
(
On the Swing
)

After another good night’s sleep, Max felt his energy beginning to return. He decided to go round to the archive of the Guardia Civil as soon as it was open. The archive was in the basement of an old building in one of the older parts of the city, El Realejo. Max walked to the Albayzín car park, cleverly concealed under a public garden. He got in his car, drove slowly down to Gran Vía, and just before Plaza Nueva, turned round the enormous statue of Isabel la Católica y Colón, giving her blessing to Christopher Columbus, into El Realejo.

The tide of building restoration had finally now reached this area. There was scaffolding everywhere as seventeenth- and eighteenth-century mansions metamorphosed into apartments and hotels. Max glanced briefly at the fresco portrait of Isabel la Católica on the façade of the Dominican church – this time with love-rat husband, King Ferdinand. Max stopped the car, and parked outside an important-looking building marked
La Guardia Civil
. A clerk finally answered the bell at reception, and agreed to contact the archivist working in the basement. Five minutes later, a youngish woman emerged, still wiping her hands on her overall.

‘Sub-Inspector Romero, I’m Penélope Díaz. What can I do to help you?’

Max explained about Leila’s death, and what they knew about her research.

There was a gasp of dismay. ‘I didn’t know. I’ve been away on holiday. She was such a lovely, lively girl. She was going to be a good researcher. What a waste. What an awful waste.’

‘Do you know what she was looking for?’ asked Max.

‘August 1936, of course. She was so lucky to be here just at the right time.’

‘So how did you work?’

‘The archive only recently opened, and we’ve just started cataloguing, so the whole thing’s still a real mess. It’s going to take years to get it sorted. So Leila would just work through each box and list the contents. She was such a help. Oh dear . . . this is so sad.’

‘Did she find anything?’

‘Yes, actually . . . she thought she had struck gold. There was some good stuff . . . she was really excited.’

‘So what had she come across?’

‘There were some real gems . . . lists of orders to shoot people . . . material from some of the prisoners who were shot . . . last letters that were never delivered . . . poems.’

‘A gold mine then.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Anything on Lorca?’

‘Not directly, but there was stuff on some of his friends.’

‘Did she think there was anything which would add to our understanding of Lorca’s last days? The question of who betrayed him?’

‘Well, that would be finding the Holy Grail.’

‘Her thesis notes emphasize the role of members of Acción Popular. Did she find anything on that?’

‘I don’t know. Unfortunately I was going on holiday, and the archive was closing for three weeks. I let her take home some boxes so she could work on them while we were shut.’

‘Really?’

‘I know you’re not meant to. But she signed out for them, and the deal was she would catalogue the stuff for us, and return them when we reopened. I was going to call her to find out how she was getting on. Do you have the boxes?’

‘No. We don’t. Have you any idea where she might have taken them?’

‘No. As I said, it was just before I went on holiday. I knew she was staying in Diva.’

‘We’ve gone though all her things at her father’s house, and they’re not there.’

‘Maybe she kept them somewhere in Granada. She sometimes stayed overnight in Granada. I know that because we went out for a meal together one night.’

‘You don’t know where?’

‘No, afraid not.’

‘Could I see the part of the building where she was working?’

‘Of course.’

Max followed Penélope down a flight of dingy stairs. They came to a heavy door with large brass handles. Penélope took her keys out and opened the doors to a cavernous room. She flicked a switch. The electric bulb flickered for a while before casting a dim, yellowy light over boxes, stacked high to the ceiling.

‘I think this used to be a wine cellar.’

Max looked round him. ‘How did Leila know where to begin?’

‘Well, things are more or less stacked by year. But that’s not guaranteed. And the Civil War period is the worst of all. We need to go through the contents of each box – and half of it doesn’t match the year on the label. We’re a long way from computerizing any of this. 1936 is roughly over here.’

‘It’s such a jumble . . . difficult to know anything is missing,’ commented Max.

‘Very much so. I should have her signing-out slips somewhere here. We put it in an exercise book. Yes, here it is.’

She showed Max the book. He opened it. The only entry was in Leila’s hand, ‘5 Boxes of 1936. 17/07/2003. Leila Mahfouz.’

‘Tells us nothing,’ said Max.

‘Sorry . . . it was my last day. And I wanted to get away early. So I just let her take the boxes with this entry. Can’t tell you any more.’

‘Thanks. You’ve been really helpful. I’ll get them back to you as soon as possible.’

Max drove to his flat: his ribs were fine. As he entered the flat, the phone rang, and he almost had to run to pick it up in time.

‘González here. Just to let you know – that sweet wrapper you found at the scene of the crime matches some mints in one of Hassan’s pockets. Great work.’

‘Any fingerprints or anything on it?’

‘No, nothing. Been in the open too long. But it’s unusual. The mints are from Morocco. And there aren’t many of those around. If we put everything together, the arrow of guilt points straight at young Hassan. Sending everything to Falcón today. I’m sure he will then send it on to
el Juez del Juicio
, and with a bit of luck he’ll pass it on to
los magistrados
. They’ll find the evidence conclusive enough to close the case.’

‘Bit hasty, I think. Anything on Javeed Dharwish?’

‘No. Nothing. Top brass want a result. There’s not much doubt about it. We’ll be having a big press conference soon. It’s important you’re on the top table for that one so we can officially thank the cooperation of the Granada police.’

‘I’ll see what can be done.’

Not much time left, thought Max. His phone rang again.

‘It’s Anita. Have you heard the news?’

‘Yes, Gonzo phoned.’

‘Just to let you know – the English family are back.’

‘I’ll be over as soon as I can.’

‘Do you want me to fetch you?’

‘No. I should get back to driving myself now.’

‘Be careful.’

‘Don’t worry. I will. I’ll come over this evening when it’s cooled down. I’ll give you a ring.
Chao.’

Max was thirsty. He also needed something to eat. He went to the fridge. He still had some of the goodies that Juan had bought: the cured salmon looked tempting. He finished his meal, and was just about to take his siesta when the phone rang.

‘Bonila here. You’ve heard the news, I presume.’

‘Sí
, Teniente González phoned.’

‘Yes. Good work, and congratulations. Teniente González said your assistance had been invaluable. We’re always pleased to help. The Teniente said you still thought he might be a bit hasty. We really do need a quick solution to this case. There’s been a lot of media coverage. And it will help our force with the Navarro business. So you’re our man for the press conference. Get us some glory. And emphasize the friendly cooperation between the Granada and the Diva police forces, such cooperation being the sign of the times – terrorism and all that.’

‘We don’t know it’s connected to any terrorist plot.’

‘But it could be. And we need to stress that investigation is still ongoing. Inspectora Jefe Concha phoned to emphasize that.’

I bet she did, thought Max. ‘I’ll do my best, sir. But I still think we should interview Javeed Dharwish first. Any news?’

‘We’ve been in touch a number of times with our British counterparts. But for all the cooperation they give us, we might as well be talking to a brick wall.’

‘We should say there might be a terrorist link.’

‘We’ve done that already. But as long as they think they’re safe, they’re quite happy to let potential terrorists wander the streets of London. So I don’t think we can wait for them to find Javeed Dharwish.’

‘I understand your point, sir. But I still think we are rushing things a bit.’

‘We have to, Max. That bastard from Murcia is due next week.’

‘Okay, sir. I’ll go to Diva this evening, and see what help I can give.’

‘That would be useful. The sooner everything is wrapped up the better from our point of view.’