Blood Wedding (43 page)

They looked at each other. Max poured another glass of wine.

‘Max . . .’ began Anita.

‘I don’t know, Anita. He’d been drinking that day. I remember that. He stank of booze. And he was crunching mints like a squirrel.’

‘To hide the smell of the booze?’

‘Probably. And . . .’ Max’s voice rose in excitement, ‘the mints were in silver paper.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I’m beginning to think that half of Diva were sucking mints in silver wrapping that day.’

‘Okay . . . we jumped to conclusions with Juan, but it’s still evidence,’ said Anita.

‘What else have we got . . . He was on edge that night, wasn’t he?’

‘Very. But that’s pretty standard when he’s been drinking. So I didn’t think anything of it.’

‘What else . . . He really didn’t want me around,’ said Max.

‘But he doesn’t like you anyway.’

‘True. But when we were reviewing the case, he kept pushing us all to agree it was an accident.’

‘Even when it was obvious – even to León – it couldn’t have been a simple accident.’

Max put some more points in the notebook.

‘Okay, Anita. Could it have been González?’

‘What have we got?’

Max looked at his notebook. ‘He denies he had any contact with Leila when we can prove he did. We don’t know for sure where he was at the time of her death, and immediately after. He had silver-wrapped mints. He had been drinking . . . and we know he has a nasty temper. He pushed the accidental death hypothesis very hard, even though someone had tried to hide the body.’

‘And,’ added Anita, ‘he tried everything to pin it on Hassan.’

‘Yes, he did,’ said Max. ‘But . . . this wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. We wouldn’t even get an investigating judge to pursue it further. We don’t have a motive.’

Max looked at his watch. ‘Nearly eight,’ he said. ‘Let’s finish the wine, and then wander down to Felipe’s. Hey. That could be useful. That’s where Gonzo left his car the night of Leila’s death.’

They drank the last of the bottle.

‘Whoops, better not have much more. I’d get completely tiddled, and then who knows what might happen,’ laughed Anita.

‘Just as well you’re with a gentleman,’ smiled Max.

They walked down the track to the river at the bottom of the valley, turned left and crossed over the bridge to Felipe’s bar.

‘Hola
, Anita,’ Felipe said, kissing her on both cheeks as they entered, ‘Max, nice to see you. We got some really good
choto
in this morning. Cook’s got
Choto al Ajillo a la Granadina
nearly ready to serve. You two here on business?’ he asked, giving them both a sly look.

‘Sort of,’ said Max. ‘Can you give us a corner table, away from the smoke?’

‘Sure. Or you might prefer outside.’

‘Yes. Outside would be nice.’

‘Follow me.’

He led them to the far corner of the outside terrace, close to a climbing yellow rose.

‘It will be all over town, won’t it?’ said Anita. ‘I mean you and me here together . . . and not in uniform.’

‘Yes,’ replied Max. ‘But we’ll keep them guessing we’re on police business – which we are.’

Felipe returned with the wine list.

‘One of your good Riojas,’ said Max without looking at the list.

Felipe returned in a minute, uncorked the bottle and poured two generous portions in their glasses.

‘No more than one bottle,’ said Anita. ‘I have to walk back up the track.’

‘Don’t worry . . . I can always carry you,’ laughed Max.

The young goat was a little bony, but the smooth spicy sauce, enriched with wine vinegar and the kid’s liver, was, as Felipe claimed, exquisite.

Felipe came over at the end of the meal. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

‘Excellent,’ replied Max. ‘Felipe, do you remember the night the Muslim girl, Leila, was killed?’

‘Sure I do. She’d been here the night before when we had a band on. Beautiful girl, and a great dancer as well. It’s not often you see one of the Muslim girls dancing away and letting themselves go. You know what that bastard González has done? Ordered me to stop having late night gigs or else he’d shut me down. Claimed some neighbours had complained, but I don’t believe that. The miserable sod just doesn’t like young folk having a good time.’

Max and Anita looked at each other.

‘González left his car here on the Saturday, didn’t he?’ asked Leila.

‘Yes. The fat bastard started drinking midday, and he was as pissed as a fart when I closed at four. I persuaded him not to drive. So he had to walk back to his bungalow. He was furious, but he couldn’t have got the key in his ignition. The rain came down after so he would have got soaked. Serves the bastard right.’

‘You said bungalow,’ said Max. ‘You mean his place on the Jola road?’

‘Yes. He’d been on his land round the back. Kept muttering it could be worth a fortune unless someone tries to screw him. But he was definitely going back to his place on the Jola road. Needed to sleep it off.’

Max and Anita looked at each other again.

‘Do you remember what time he set off?’ asked Anita.

‘Yes. It was before the rain came down. About ten past four, I’d say . . . I had to give one of the girls a run to the bus stop.’

‘Thanks, Felipe,’ said Max.

‘What’s all this about?’ asked Felipe. ‘You got the bastard who killed the girl, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ replied Max. ‘Just doing a bit of research on how country bars deal with customers who’ve come by car and had a bit to drink. Hoped I might have a bit of fun with González. But no chance.’

Anita flushed slightly.

‘Felipe, I don’t want this getting back to Gonzo . . .’

‘Sin
problema
, Max.’

‘Gracias
, Felipe . . . lovely meal.’

Felipe left.

‘Gonzo’s bungalow is on the far side of the Jola bridge,’ mused Anita. ‘If he left here at ten past four . . . walking . . . he could easily have been on that bridge at five.’

‘“It was five, exactly five in the afternoon.”’

‘What’s that?’

‘Oh, nothing. Just a line from Lorca.’

‘Lorca?’

‘The key thing is . . . González could have been on the bridge at the time of Leila’s death.’

‘Could have been. But we don’t know he was.’

‘No, we don’t.’

‘He’d say he was on his land here – which was why he didn’t answer his mobile when we were trying to get hold of him.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Max. ‘The walrus.’

‘The what?’

´The walrus of course – “And why the sea is boiling hot.” Jane’s walrus. Look,’ said Max excitedly. He took out the notebook and the biro, and crudely sketched a walrus. ‘Encarnita’s friend, Jane, said she saw a man who looked like a walrus. Look – this is González with his bald head, droopy moustache and fat belly. See the resemblance?’

‘You’re right. But I still can’t see a judge giving us permission to proceed. All González has to do is stick to his original story. Told Felipe he was going back to his Jola place, then saw it was about to rain, so went to his little hut close by here. The walrus thing wouldn’t stand up for a second. I don’t expect Jane could pick him out in an ID parade’

‘I suppose not,’ said Max sadly.

‘And where’s the motive? There isn’t one.’

There was silence.

‘Land,’ exclaimed Max. ‘Of course. Land.’

‘I don’t get it,’ said Anita.

‘Land. That’s the motive. González was hoping to get his land rezoned. It would be worth a fortune if he got permission to build houses on it. As it stands it’s purely agricultural land – he can’t even replace his hut with a decent house.’

‘Max, I bet this was El Gato’s land. Gonzo’s grandfather must have got his hands on it after he killed El Gato.’

‘It’s not worth much now. But with building permission . . .?’

‘And Leila must have found out that this land used to belong to El Gato. She went through the land registry for the period with a fine-tooth comb.’

‘So Leila would have phoned González to discuss it with him. That’s the connection.’

‘Right. If Gonzo was getting the land rezoned, he would have been furious with anyone who might have threatened his deal.’

‘So maybe he gets a letter from someone on Saturday morning . . . He goes into Felipe’s to drown his sorrows. Felipe chucks him out of the bar, and he has to walk home. Runs into Leila on the bridge. They start arguing, and Leila ends up down the ravine. Whether he killed her deliberately or accidentally, we’ll never know. But that he killed her, I’m sure.’

‘Max . . . that’s it. But what do we do? We could end up in real trouble,’ said Anita.

‘I’ll keep you out of it, Anita,’ said Max. ‘Hell, it’s really late. Let’s sleep on it.’

‘Sleep?’

Max paid. They set off back along the track while bats hunted overhead. Max had forgotten his torch. They missed the turning and had to follow a dry stream to get back to
el cortijo
.

‘I desperately need a strong coffee,’ said Anita.

‘So do I. I’ll put the kettle on.’

After the coffee, Anita smiled shyly at Max. ‘Where’s the bathroom? I’ll go and get changed.’

‘Over there,’ said Max. ‘I’ll be in the bedroom.’

Max went into his small bedroom, put the pillow up, and lay down on the bed. Anita appeared in the doorway, the light from the living room illuminating her black hair.

‘How do I look, Max? Do you like my nightdress?’

‘You look gorgeous,’ Max said. ‘And the nightdress is beautiful. But you’d look even more beautiful without it.’

‘Is that an order, sir?’ she said.

The nightdress fell to the floor. Anita swayed towards Max.

‘Any more orders, sir?’

They both awoke with the chirping of the sparrows.

Max prepared breakfast. He made sure the coffee was strong. Anita was shy, hesitant, not sure what to say. Max kissed her, leaning over the breakfast table.

She smiled, and kissed him back. ‘We could go back to bed,’ she said. ‘After all, it is our day off.’

‘You’re right. It is our day off. We’ll discuss the case further after lunch.’

Lunch was a simple affair – tortilla with aspirins. Neither could face more alcohol, so Max opened a litre bottle of cold mineral water.

‘What do we do, Max?’ asked Anita.

‘We check up a few things this afternoon I’ll go to the land registry to see if I can find anything on González’ land.’

‘I can walk to the Jola bridge so we get an accurate timing. I want to pick up a few things from my flat.’

‘That would be good. Remember to walk slowly. He was drunk at the time.’

‘No problem with that. In this heat there’s no choice.’

At five they left. Before Max opened the gates, he gave Anita a lingering kiss. Max got into his car. Anita grimaced, and began to walk.

‘I’ll phone you later,’ Max called as he waved goodbye. He drove straight to the town hall, managed to find a parking space in one of the side streets, and went down the stairs to the land registry. He requested to see
el cadastro
, the land ownership map, and then asked the filing clerk to bring him
la escritura
, the title deeds of González’ plot. He skimmed back through the various owners – Gonzo, Gonzo’s dad, Gonzo’s grandfather . . . Capitán Vicente González . . . and then to . . .? Yes. Manuel Paz. It had belonged to El Gato. He looked at the date of change of ownership: 1947. There was a small note in the margin: ‘Due to the lack of claimants by any of the deceased’s family, this land has been given to Capitán Vicente González in recognition of his services to the state.’ Max looked at the official stamp and signature – it was that of the grandfather of a rightwing notary family in the town.

That can’t be legal, he thought. I bet they didn’t put any notices in
el BOE
, the
Official State Bulletin
, or make any effort to contact El Gato’s next of kin.

He returned
la escritura
to the filing clerk, and left. Best not be seen by González – the police building was not far from the town hall. He got in his car, and drove out to
el Camping
, ordered a beer, and sat on the terrace. He needed time to think. He was on his second beer when his mobile rang.

‘Max, it’s Anita. I walked slowly. He definitely could have been on the bridge. Any luck your end?’

Max explained about the title deeds.

‘It’s beginning to look like him,’ said Anita.

‘Anita,’ said Max, ‘I think I have to go right to the top on this one. I’ll go straight to Bonila, and give him a report. I won’t mention you. I also think it’s best if we don’t see each other until it’s over.’

‘Oh,’ said Anita, ‘I was looking forward to seeing you tonight.’

‘Best not, love. I don’t trust González.’

‘Okay. If you think it best.’

‘I’ll give you a ring as soon as I’m in Granada. Big hug.’

‘Big hug to you, Max.’

Max looked at his watch. Best drive over to Granada now. The drive down to Granada was relatively traffic-free. He drove round to the Albayzín car park, left his car in his allotted space, and walked down to his flat. He made himself a quick tuna salad, phoned Anita, watched some TV and went to bed early. He slept badly. How would Bonila react? He really should go to his boss, Davila, first, but Davila would certainly hum and haw, say leave it with me and do nothing.

The next morning Max went to his office, and rang Bonila’s secretary to ask for an appointment. Surprisingly Bonila was free in half an hour.

‘Come in,’ Bonila called out when Max knocked on his door. ‘Max . . . good to see you. What can I do for you?’

Max explained, his voice faltering at times. Bonila sat upright in his chair, his face stony.

Max concluded, ‘I think the circumstantial evidence is very strong, sir. But I was unsure how I should continue.’

‘Continue?’ said Bonila. ‘Continue on what?’

‘On the case, sir.’

‘What case? I see no case. The case was archived, and closed satisfactorily.’

‘But this new evidence, sir?’

‘I see no evidence. I see a lot of unfounded suppositions, some wild speculation, and the impugning of a good officer’s reputation. It could cost you your job, you know. I think you’ve let a little bit of fame affect your judgement. I’m most disappointed in you, Max. I’ve had my doubts about your reliability, and this nonsense confirms my doubts. Moreover, you have gone behind the back of your commanding officer. You know the rules. You should have reported to him first. However, given your recent good record, I’ll pretend that this conversation never happened. Do you understand me?’