Blood Wedding (28 page)

Anita was in the living room, back to him, on the floor putting papers into folders and carefully sticking labels on the folders.

He coughed, and she turned.

‘Didn’t want to wake you, you were so sound asleep. You looked as peaceful as a baby. So I decided to just get on with this task while you slept. Almost finished.’

‘Thanks. I need another shower.’

‘I have to go soon, Max. I’m meeting my sister after her class finishes. She has some crisis or other – boyfriend problems probably.’

‘Okay. But you must stay for a meal sometime. I’m quite a good cook.’

‘That would be nice. I’ve left some pasta for you. All you have to do is heat it up.’ Anita stood up, pulled her skirt down, and straightened her blouse.

‘Well thanks, Anita,’ said Max shyly. ‘It’s nice working with you.’

‘You too, sir . . . Max. Certainly a pleasant change from that pig, González.’

Max laughed, ‘He’s a real swine in every sense of the word, isn’t he?’

Anita smiled back at him, ‘Better go now. Same time tomorrow morning?’

‘Yes. Oh – there’s one thing you could do for me. I’ve run out of pyjamas. You couldn’t pick me up a pair, light cotton?’

Anita eyed him carefully. ‘Medium, I’d say. I think blue would suit you.’

‘Okay. Blue it is.’

Anita giggled. ‘If you have no pyjamas, better be careful – that María will be back to make your breakfast tomorrow morning.’

Max watched her leave. It hadn’t taken her long to get over her shyness. The pasta she had made, chicken with a cream sauce, was delicious. He enjoyed a quiet evening, listening to a birthday present from his mother, a boxed set of Handel’s Oratorios. He remembered to put his bathrobe on before going to bed. It would be too hot to sleep under the sheet. He hoped María had not misinterpreted Paula’s advice that he liked being fussed over.

When he awoke, Max noticed that someone had put a glass of fresh water by his bed. It was needed: his throat was parched. He wrapped his bathrobe carefully around him, and ventured out. María was in the kitchen, preparing his breakfast.

‘I checked up on you,’ she said. ‘My, you do sleep peacefully, like a baby. I thought you might be thirsty, so I put some water by the bed.’

‘Thanks,’ said Max. Forget privacy – he clearly had been taken over.

‘I’m off to the coast tomorrow. I’ve spoken to Anita, such a nice girl, and she says she’ll get you breakfast from tomorrow when she comes at ten, and get you anything you need. She phoned me to remind you she’ll be late today. Getting the pyjamas,’ and with that she looked Max over. ‘I agree, I think blue would suit you.’

Is nothing sacred? thought Max. ‘María, you’ve been wonderful. I couldn’t have managed without you,’ he lied.

‘Not a problem. I like to be a solution.’

Anita arrived at eleven.

‘I had to look all over. I couldn’t find the right shade of blue. I showed them to María, and she said they were just right, the colour of your eyes.’ Anita looked at Max closely. ‘Do you want to try them on now? The shop assistant said they would change them if they are not right.’

‘No. No, they’re perfect,’ said Max taking them out of their wrapping. ‘I’m sure they’ll fit just right.’ Max hastened to change the subject. ‘Have we got everything in order now?’

‘Not quite. But shouldn’t take too long.’

They classified everything, side by side. It took longer than they thought. They were interrupted by phone calls from both Bonila and Davila, stressing the importance that something should be found. Over the next two days, they went through everything, sitting at Max’s table. Anita built up a cross-referencing database. They listened to all the transcripts again. They discussed the tones of voices, the hesitations, any doubts. They listened together to Leila’s interview tapes. They read her emails. They read her poems, the bits and pieces of her novel. Max translated all the English into Spanish. They noted down everything that needed to be rechecked. They noted down everything they agreed might be dubious.

‘Well, where are we?’asked Max.

Anita consulted her notes. ‘There’s no real alibi for Hassan Khan or Javeed Dharwish except each other. We should recheck with the waitress at Al Andaluz, and go over their times again. I’ve agreed to do that.’

‘Fine.’

‘You’ve said you’re unhappy with the chess game, and you will give more thought to it.’

‘Yes – I’ll ask Jorge’s opinion.’

‘Nobody followed up on that English family who left the day Leila died. We both agreed they could be involved or could have seen something. You’ll need to do that.’

‘Yes, but you need to get on to the land registry or the electricity board – find their Spanish bank and get UK contact details for them.’

‘I can do that next week.’

‘Fine . . . then I will phone them. What else?’

‘We know from her emails to Shona Monroe that Leila had fallen in love with some handsome, married man. I drew a blank with the hint of scandal concerning Leila and a married man in the local Muslim community, so it could still be one of them – or anybody for that matter. So I’d better pursue that one further.’

‘Okay. Sounds good.’

‘Um . . . sir . . . I noticed that nobody checked up on the lunch your cousin Juan had with Leila in Granada or indeed his statement on his whereabouts at the time of Leila’s death. We all seemed sure he’s not in the frame . . . sir . . . but . . .? And González did say we should check with the restaurant.’

‘Yes. I agree we should check everything.’

‘Your cousin did volunteer the information about that lunch with Leila. And it tallied with the statement we have from the librarian in Diva.’

‘Statement? Don’t remember that. Remind me.’

Anita consulted her file. ‘Here it is. It’s León’s notes, so the grammar’s not great. León asks Ricardo, the Diva librarian, when did he last see Leila. Ricardo replies, ‘Let me see now. Didn’t see her again for some time after she interviewed me. Yes, I remember now. Thought it a bit odd at the time. I was in Granada, and gone to
La Posada Duende
for lunch, and who should I see there but Leila having lunch with Juan? So I went over, got an update from Leila on the thesis, and asked Juan to give my respects to Doña Paula.’

‘Hmm. Juan’s coming here for an evening meal. It would be nice if you could come as well. We could sort of ask him, informally, then,’ interrupted Max.

‘Thanks. That would be nice.’

‘What else?’

‘There’s Leila’s mobile which turned up in that hippy guy’s van.’

‘Jim Cavendish?’

‘Yes. León was meant to check out the numbers on it. I’d better go and dig up his report . . . if he’s done one.’

‘Could be important.’

‘I agree. I think González and León are so sure it’s Hassan Khan they’ve ignored other things.’

‘They certainly have. They’re in charge, but it could look bad for them if they’ve been inefficient. That only really leaves her thesis notes and thesis material. I’ll have to go through that, and you can then chase up anything I might come across. See the librarians again, things like that.’

‘There’s also Jim Cavendish. His Spanish is good, so I could try and talk to him again. He says Leila talked to him about her thesis so he might remember something.’

‘I should also track down Shona Monroe just in case Leila mentioned something else to her,’ said Max. ‘Nothing for it, I suppose, but for me to plough through her thesis stuff. At least it’s on an interesting topic.’

‘I can’t really help you on that, Max. But if you give me a list of queries then I could follow them up.’

Max noticed Anita had relaxed sufficiently to call him Max without stammering over the sir first. They were getting on fine. But he decided not to tell Anita about the sweet wrapper, the one matching Juan’s mint. That was something he wanted to pursue on his own.

Juan called to say he could come over on Friday, and Max invited him and Anita for an evening meal. He would cook, Anita would do the shopping and Juan would bring the wine.

Max got up early on Friday to prepare the stock for the
zarzuela
. Anita arrived at nine in the evening, bang on time, wearing a long, simple white dress with a copper and lapis lazuli necklace around her throat. The white of the dress and the blue of the necklace set off the olive sheen of her skin and her jet-black hair. It was the first time Max had seen her out of her uniform. She looked stunning. There was a faint touch of lipstick. Pity, thought Max. But nobody’s perfect.

‘That’s a lovely necklace,’ said Max.

‘Yes, it was my mother’s. Dad had got it for her in Chile.’

Juan arrived late as always. ‘I went up to La Bodega Valdivieso to get half a dozen of his best. These are really special.’ He opened the wine, sniffed appreciatively, poured three glasses, took his own and swirled it around gently, then took a sip.

‘Divine,’ he said. ‘Right temperature, right taste, right perfume, right everything. So, Max, what’s the surprise you’ve cooked up for us? This invalid dodge seems okay, especially if you can get someone so pretty to look after you.’

Anita laughed. ‘We’ve been working really hard, and fortunately no need for much nursing – he’s recovering well. But he really likes it when someone makes his breakfast.’

‘He always did. I remember when we went camping. It was always me who had to make the coffee in the morning, and get the breakfast ready.’

‘I can’t imagine you both camping.’

‘We did it quite often. We even did Mulhacén from the Güejar side, and then across to Capa. That was some trip. Started off on a bright sunny day, and then got caught in a blizzard. Fortunately we had all the gear and we were on the path down . . . but the family went frantic. Paula got a helicopter out to look for us.’

‘That’s dangerous. Some tourists died last year up there.’

‘Yes. But they didn’t have the right gear. Mind you, Max here got so exhausted I ended up having to drag him down the mountain.’

Anita and Juan chatted happily, nibbling the tapas of salted almonds, olives with coriander and fennel seeds, and marinated
manchego
cheese. Max stayed in the kitchen, preparing one of his specials. He kept having to call Anita for help. He found himself doing that even when he could have managed. Juan would be putting on the charm, and Anita seemed so innocent. Finally the meal was ready.

‘Put the candles on, and the lights out. Then you two had better carry it all through,’ Max called out.

‘Oh, Max. This looks marvellous,’ said Anita.

‘Looks are only part of it,’ said Juan. ‘The taste is what really matters.’

They sat down, and looked expectantly at the
zarzuela
, a fine reddish gold colour from the saffron and tomato.

‘Anita managed to get me the best fish from the market,’ said Max. ‘There’s monkfish, small squid, gurnard, a flounder, lobster, mussels, king prawns and scampi. And a good slug of
anís
liquor.’

They tucked in with vigour.

‘Don’t pig yourself totally,’ said Max. ‘I’ve made some honey baked figs to go with that nice hazelnut ice cream.’

At the end of the meal, Anita went into the kitchen to prepare Max’s best Costa Rican coffee, bought for another occasion. Juan took out two cigars.

‘Managed to find these in that little place on la Calle Elvira,’ he said. ‘Good quality Cuban. Probably smuggled.’ He took out a cigar cutter, carefully cut the ends off, lit one, puffed, and passed it to Max, and then repeated the task with his own. They both drew in slowly, and released the smoke together.

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Max. ‘It reminds you of the time you were in that brothel in Havana. Remember, I’ve heard all your tales.’

Juan laughed. ‘No. I was going to say she’s quite a girl, this Anita of yours. I think she quite fancies you.’

‘We’re just colleagues, that’s all,’ responded Max.

‘More fool you.’

Anita, who had been a surprisingly long time, entered with the coffee. ‘Done most of the dishes, Max. I’ll finish what’s left after the coffee. I noticed some good port, sweet wine, and
anís
in the kitchen. Fancy something with your coffee?’

‘That’s a white port I bought,’ said Juan. ‘For me, a white port.’

‘For me as well,’ added Max.

Anita returned with three white ports.

‘Well . . . are you getting anywhere?’ asked Juan, sipping his port.

‘The Leila case, you mean? Not really. What do you think, Anita?’

‘We’ve been so thorough, it’s getting boring. We’ve a list of things to chase up. By the way, Juan, one of them is the name of the restaurant in Granada where you and Leila had lunch.’

‘The restaurant? I don’t see the relevance of that.’

‘Neither do we. But we made a list of everything that should be checked.’

‘Yes,’ added Max. ‘I didn’t know you had lunch with her in Granada until León mentioned it.’

Juan looked at them both carefully, paused as if considering his words. ‘No? It was nothing important. I just happened to be in Granada and bumped into Leila. So I suggested we meet for lunch in El Duende, you know, grandpa’s favourite restaurant, Max. If I remember rightly all . . . all . . . she talked about was her thesis.’

‘Did she say anything that struck you?’

‘About her thesis, you mean? No, nothing I can remember. We bumped into the librarian from Diva there. What a coincidence. But what’s all this? I’m not a suspect, am I?’

‘Of course not,’ said Anita. ‘Max and I agreed we had to chase up everything, however irrelevant it might seem. These are the questions we had to ask.’

‘You had me worried for a minute,’ joked Juan. ‘Did I ever tell you the time I got arrested in Chile when I was visiting our cousins?’

‘Yes, frequently,’ said Max.

‘But I’ve never heard that tale,’ said Anita.

Juan didn’t need another excuse, and launched into his epic. Max kept interrupting with jokes of a dubious taste. Anita kept laughing.

‘Sorry, folks,’ Max finally interrupted. ‘A lovely evening, but my head’s going again. Better not overdo it.’

‘You two get on really well, don’t you,’ commented Anita.

‘I had to,’ said Max. ‘He was an awful bossy elder cousin. Always sure he was right. My mother called him Don Juan of Austria.’