Blood Wedding (27 page)

‘Okay. If that’s what you want. But let me talk to one of the neighbours so they can pop in to check up on you.’

‘Thanks. But could you first go by police headquarters? I’d better tell Davila.’

‘Why not phone?’

‘No, I want to see him myself. I need to keep busy while I’m off sick.’

Juan parked the car in the police car park, walked through the public entrance, and returned shortly with Davila trailing behind.

‘My God, Max. What happened to you?’ Davila said.

‘Slipped and fell when I was out walking, and brained myself on a rock, sir. Broke a couple of ribs too. Sorry.’

‘How long’s the sick line for?’

‘Just out of Casualty, so I haven’t got the line yet, but the doc at the hospital said I should take a week off . . . maybe more.’

‘Pity. We really can’t afford to lose you. Navarro’s been suspended.’

‘Oh? What happened?’

‘Bonila says some evidence turned up suggesting Navarro gave the wink and nod to the prisoners to rape the boy.’

‘Heavens.’

‘I can’t believe it’s true either. But top brass are bringing in some tough nut from Murcia to do the investigation.’

‘It sounds a difficult time for the force, sir.’

‘It certainly is. Bonila’s not a happy bunny. It’s bloody bad timing to have you off sick.’

‘I know, sir. I was wondering, sir – seeing I’m quite capable of doing something useful at home – whether I shouldn’t go over the Leila Mahfouz case materials again.’

‘Hmm. I can see the value in that.’

‘Perhaps, sir, you could phone Teniente González and see if Cabo Guevarra might come and help me. She could bring over all the material, and if anything needs chasing up, she could do it.’

‘Be a long drive for her to come over every day though.’

‘Not really, sir. There’s a family flat in Granada.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Bit unorthodox, mind you. But we do need some progress on this case, and it is connected to that bunch of Muslims at the Centre. Be useful to us if it turned out to be one of them. Yes, I’ll put that to Bonila and see what he thinks. Certainly help us if we can link them to the murder.’

‘I wouldn’t want to jump to any conclusions, sir.’

‘No, no, of course not. They’ve all left the country now except for Hassan Khan. He still has to wait for a medical okay. Certainly be useful, Max, if you unearthed something involving him. Make the force look a lot better. We’ve had a bad press recently.’

‘I’d better go now, sir.’

‘Yes, of course. Certainly be useful. Good idea of yours, Max. By the way, Navarro is . . . um . . . thinks you might have had something to do with his suspension.’

‘Me, sir? What could I have done?’

‘Max – if you don’t know, how can I? But Bonila’s been asking me about you. Had to tell him the truth, and say you’re not a great team player – too fond of your own opinions. But cracking the Leila Mahfouz case could do you a bit of good, and if you can pin it on one of those Muslim guys . . . well . . .’

‘I’ll do my best, sir, to find the truth.’

‘The truth? Hmm. Off you go now. Find us something on those guys.’

Juan drove off. ‘Back to the Leila case then? I—shit,’ he said, as a motorbike swerved in front of him.

‘Sorry, Juan. My head’s aching. I really need a lie-down. Can you drop me at my flat, and then pick up a bit of food?’

‘Sure.’

Once inside his flat, Max took another painkiller, lay down on his bed and dozed off. When he awoke he found a note from Juan.

‘Max. Didn’t want to wake you. I’ve put all the food and drink away. I’ve spoken to your neighbour, María. She’ll call in to see if you need anything. I’ve put her phone number by your phone. She said make sure to phone her if you need anything or feel a little strange. Have to be back in Diva for an appointment. I’ll phone this evening. Paula’s sure to phone every five minutes. I’ll tell her you need to rest so at least she’ll only phone every hour.
Chao
. Juan.’

Max smiled. Juan really was one of the good guys.

He slept soundly until the next morning. The pain had lessened. There was a knock at the door that Juan had left unlocked, and María bustled in.

‘Max, how are you? Your cousin Juan came to see me. He’s charming. He told me what happened. Let me get you some breakfast.’

‘Thanks, María. But I’m sure I can manage.’

‘It’s no problem. What are neighbours for if they can’t help out in an emergency? I had a phone call from your
abuela
, asking after you. We had quite a gossip. I feel I know all your family. I know what happened when you fell out of that tree. Could have been really nasty. She said I’m to make sure you are fine, and that you quite like a bit of fussing over.’

Max sighed, no point in protesting. Blast Juan. What on earth made him give María’s number to Paula?

‘Thanks, María. Orange juice, toast and coffee would be just fine. And if you could get me an
El País
later, that would be great.’

‘No problems. As I always say, there are no problems, only solutions.’

Max was halfway through the second slice of toast when the phone rang.

‘Diga.’

‘Max, Davila here. I’ve spoken to Bonila. He’s already phoned González, and he’s agreed. Cabo Guevarra will be over later today. Bonila says if you find anything, let him know immediately.’

‘Will do, sir. Vale.’

It would be nice to see Guevarra, a pretty girl. Max looked round his flat – in a mess again.

‘María, you couldn’t straighten up the flat for me, could you? I’ve got a young colleague coming to see me this afternoon. Can’t have it looking such a mess, can I?’

María laughed. ‘Young and pretty, I bet. It’ll only take me twenty minutes to straighten this. It would help if you put things away.’

Cabo Anita Guevarra did not arrive until five in the afternoon. She entered with a box full of files.

‘How are you feeling, sir? What happened?’

‘Fine. Just slipped, one of those things.’

‘González says you were chasing a pretty sheep.’

‘He would, wouldn’t he?’

‘Here’s everything on the Leila Mahfouz case, sir.’

‘Thanks . . . and just call me Max.’

She smiled.

‘There’s some cold beer in the fridge. Grab a couple of cans, and let’s sit out on the terrace.’

Max put the cold can of beer to his forehead. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Got a huge bruise at the back of my head, gives me a headache all the time.’

‘I won’t stay long, sir . . . I mean Max. You look tired. Lovely view you have from here. Must be nice to live in the Albayzín itself.’

‘It has its advantages. Parking’s a bit of a pain. But you always have these great views. And in ten minutes from here you can be right out into the countryside. You can walk to the top of Mulhacén without touching a road.’

‘That would be some walk. A guy I know does the old track from Güejar into Granada most Sundays. Takes him nearly all day.’

‘Must do that sometime. I like to get out into the hills. Clears away the police blues.’

Cabo Guevarra laughed. ‘Well, you won’t be in the hills next week. So what’s the job you have for me, sir? Max?’

‘I want us to go over all the materials we have on the Mahfouz case again . . . thoroughly. Check all the statements, notes. See if we can spot any inconsistencies, chase up any loose ends. You’ll have to do any legwork.’

‘But we’ve been through everything pretty thoroughly.’

‘I know. But there’s no harm in doing it again. Teniente González tends to jump to conclusions. So he may have missed something.’

‘That’s true, sir . . . Max. He has his prejudices.’

Max smiled. She was still a bit shy and stiff, but they should get on. ‘I also want you to chase up Leila’s research. I have a feeling there might be something there.’

‘But she was doing historical research. I can’t see the relevance of that.’

‘Yes, I know. But there might be something we’ve overlooked. We don’t have much to go on.’

Max moved to reach for his can of beer. ‘Ouch,’ he gasped. ‘I never knew you used ribs so much.’

‘Here. Let me get it for you.’

She handed him the beer. ‘You don’t look too well. I think I should go now.’ She put a cool hand on Max’s forehead. ‘Perhaps you should lie down.’

‘You’re right. Could you get me my painkillers? They’re by the bed. I’ll take a couple of those.’

She returned with the bottle of pills. Max gulped down two.

‘Can I help you get into bed, sir?’

You sure could, thought Max. ‘No. I’ll be all right.’

‘Is there anything you need? Food? Drink?’

‘No, my cousin Juan did a load of shopping.’

She looked round the flat, and commented, ‘Very tidy for a single man. What time would you like me to come tomorrow?’

‘With all the roadworks, it’ll take you the best part of an hour to get in from Churriana. Let’s make it about ten.’

She looked at him closely, and said, ‘I could stay longer now, sir, and see you’re okay, if you want.’

‘No. I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep now.’

‘Okay. I’ll go now, sir . . . Max.’

She smiled sweetly, turned and left. She really had a nice swing of the hips. Max limped into his bed, made sure he had plenty of water by the bedside table, and curled up as best he could.

He woke with a start the next morning. There was a noise in the kitchen. He got out of bed cautiously. Hell. He had sweated like a pig in the night – his pyjamas were soaked. He looked round for some weapon. That bloody Navarro might be after him. The only possible weapon was a glazed Moroccan jug. That would have to do. He quietly tiptoed towards the kitchen, opened the door, jug in hand.

‘María. Oh. It’s you.’

María turned. ‘What are you doing with that jug?’

‘Just moving it to the . . . kitchen window sill.’

‘That’s not a sensible place. You’d be sure to break it there. My. You’re wringing with sweat. I’ll get you a towel and mop you down.’

‘No. Thanks. I’ll take a shower.’

‘Okay. Breakfast will be ready by the time you’ve finished.’

Max slunk into the bathroom, Moroccan jug still in hand. As he stepped out of the shower he heard two women’s voices, Anita and María. He looked round for his clothes. Blast. They were in the bedroom, and he’d have to cross the living room to enter his bedroom. The two women were still in the living room, having a good natter. He’d hung his pyjamas on the nail of the bathroom door, but, still soaked with sweat, they were even wetter now from the steam of the shower. Blast. The big towels were in the drawer of the bedroom cupboard . . . and all he had was a small towel. He put his ear to the door. They were still jabbering away. Nothing for it, except the small towel. Max opened the bathroom door, and put his head round.

‘Excuse me, ladies. I have to get to my clothes in the bedroom. Could you turn round while I slip past you.’

There was laughter. María replied, ‘We were just saying that as cops go, you’re not too ugly. I was telling Anita here that the seriously handsome one is your cousin, Juan. And he is so charming as well. But go on, we promise not to look.’

They both turned away, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls. Max slipped past them, and shut the bedroom door firmly. There was more laughter.

‘That was a small towel you had, Max,’ said María.

Max began to wonder if that bloody cousin of his had set him up. María was recently divorced, forty-something. Might have been okay if she hadn’t gone and dyed her hair blonde, and taken to putting on red lipstick. She also smoked, and Max had never gone out with a woman who smoked since the time he kissed a girl who tasted like an ashtray.

Once dressed, he returned to the living room with as much dignity as possible. María had left. Guevarra was still standing.

‘Come and join me for a coffee and something to eat,’ said Max.

‘Just a coffee, thanks. Had breakfast not that long ago. María is a nice neighbour. You’re lucky to have someone like her around. We were laughing about Paula. She had phoned María again this morning, and before she knew it María was telling her all about her divorce.’

‘Hmm.’ Max tried to sound as neutral as possible. He looked at Anita, and noticed that she did not wear lipstick nor did she dye her hair. Perhaps she’d stopped smoking.

After breakfast, Anita said, ‘Well, Max, where should we begin?’

‘Let’s classify what we’ve got. Once in order . . . I read it, you read it, and then we discuss it. That way we should miss nothing.’

It took them all morning just to get everything in order. At two Anita stopped, looked at her watch, and said,
‘Mira
. . . it’s two. Can I get you some lunch?’

‘That would be nice. It’s too hot to eat on the terrace. Juan did the shopping. I’m not sure what he bought.’

‘Let me look. Then I’ll rustle something up.’

She returned in a minute. ‘That was some shop your cousin did. Looks as if he raided the delicatessen in El Corte Inglés. There are a lot of juices and healthy stuff, and some really good wine. How about white anchovies, tuna and salad and a glass of white wine?’

Max smiled, one of his favourites – in spite of all his banter, Juan was really fond of him.

After the meal the headache started: the wine hadn’t helped. Anita glanced at him, and must have noticed the pain etched in his face.

‘You’d better lie down. I’ll finish the classifying. What’s the password for your computer? I’ll set up a system for cross-referencing on it.’

Max looked round the room: papers lying all over the floor.

‘Password – pilgrim204 – no capitals. We’d also better get some filing folders. If you go down to headquarters and ask for Cristina Boyas, she’ll be able to supply you with some. In fact, can you stock up with stationery in general? We could do with some coloured felt tips.’

‘Okay. I’ll do that. I need a breath of air. But you’d better write me a request of what we need.’

Max did so, and handed the note to Anita. ‘I’ll sleep whilst you’re away.’

It was comforting to know Anita was in his flat. She really was most attractive . . . and it looked like she’d stopped smoking. Max slept soundly. He awoke to find his fresh pyjamas sticky with sweat again. At this rate he’d run out of pyjamas. Better have another shower, and this time take a bathrobe. He looked at his watch. Jesus. Almost six o’clock. Then he remembered he only had two pairs of pyjamas. Max carefully tied his bathrobe.