by P J Brooke
‘It’s sunny. Outside would be nice.’
Max sat on the terrace, looking across the Sacromonte valley to the Alhambra and the city. Strange how you could hardly see the cathedral when you were downtown, but from here it really dominated the city. Kiki brought out the beer and sat opposite Max. Kiki knew everyone and everything. He must have been handsome in his youth, and with his flowing hair and elegant silk jacket he still looked good.
‘So what brings you here on a fine Easter Saturday, Max?’
‘Looking for fresh air, sunshine and a glass of beer. After that accident last night on San Miguel Alto, I’m shattered.’
‘The Virgin of All Beings?’
‘Sí. That one.’
‘Have you heard anything about the girl who was hurt?’
‘I’ve spoken to her. It looks like she’s going to be all right.’
‘That’s good. But then those kids really shouldn’t be doing anything outside the official programme. The Archbishop’s already said the police should have banned their procession on health and safety grounds.’
‘He would.’
‘He does have a point, you know. Proper costaleros start training six months before Easter. And having half the costaleros girls … it’s asking for trouble.’
‘Well …’
‘Another cerveza?’ asked Kiki. ‘This one’s on the house.’
‘Muy amable, Kiki.’
Max sipped his beer thoughtfully. A small grey lizard flashed along the wall in front of him, and disappeared into a crack.
‘Kiki, I was just wondering. I’m trying to clear up a few loose ends on Paco Maya. A heart attack, you know, but when someone’s just out of jail we have to take a bit more care. Can you give me some background on the Espinosa and Maya clans?’
‘Sí, I know both the families. Greek tragedy, the lot of them.’
‘So what’s the story?’
‘That’s a long tale. How far back do you want me to go?’
Max laughed. ‘I should have known better than to ask a gitano about family history. No, just the recent history. It’s the rumours and gossip I’m interested in.’
‘Well, there’s a lot of talent in both families, and a lot of trouble. Muchos problemas.’
‘Sí, sí, I know about Lucía.’
‘That was so sad. The girl could have gone far. She really could, but the family were all messed up. Ever since her parents got rehoused to Almanjáyar, there’s been trouble. You know there’s a rumour that Paco, Mauricio and Gregorio were dealing?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘Probably just small-time, working for someone higher up the chain. Mostly cocaína. I’d heard the drugs were coming up from the coast around Nerja.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, apparently Paco and the Espinosa brothers fell out. It’s just hearsay. I don’t know for certain, but the story was that Paco was skimming the coca to sell on the side for himself. Then Paco and Lucía had a fight outside the Echavira club … and, well, you know what happened next.’
‘That’s useful.’
‘I’ve heard Paco hid a packet just before he got picked up after Lucía died. And the brothers want that cocaine back.’
‘And the word Asesino painted on Paco’s cave wall?’
‘Just kids, I think. The brothers wouldn’t be quite so stupid. They wouldn’t want to draw attention to themselves.’
‘Do you think they visited Paco before he died?’
‘Max, this sounds like someone’s thinking it could be murder.’
‘Not at this stage but – and this is confidential – Paco once did me a favour when he was inside, and I want to do the right thing by him. And so does Abbot Jorge.’
‘All right. This is for Jorge. One of the locals who drinks here says he thought he saw Gregorio and Mauricio drive by last Friday.’
‘Really? Would he testify to that?’
‘No way. And he’s not sure anyway.’
‘And Catalina? Would she do anything to harm Paco?’
‘Despite everything that happened, no. Paco was family.’
‘How about Señora Espinosa?’
‘La abuela. That woman could bite with her mouth shut.’
‘Did she want revenge?’
‘Sí, and she told everyone. Sounded like a broken record.’
‘Her sons?’
‘She nagged them to do something. They might have roughed up Paco a bit to keep her quiet, but kill him? I doubt it. They may be a pair of lowlifes, but they’re not that dumb, I tell you.’
‘Gracias, Kiki. Can you think of anything else?’
‘Max, I’ve probably said more than I should anyway. Another beer?’
‘No thanks. I’ve got to see Jorge soon.’
‘Remember me to the Abbot. And don’t wait so long next time.’
Max continued his walk. Beyond Kiki’s bar, the valley broadened out to market gardens and orchards full of blossom. Along the left-hand side of the road, Max could still pick out the remains of the processional crosses which once marked the route to the abbey of Sacromonte in its days of glory when pilgrims came in thousands to wonder at its relics and honour San Cecilio.
The tarmac road finally gave way to a dirt track that crossed Paco’s land on the way to the monastery of Jesús del Valle. Despite the rain, the hills on the left were still dusty, dotted with prickly pear cactus and clumps of grey-green agave lifting up their great poles of desert flowers. But on the right, the Alhambra side, which caught the rains, the trees glowed with new green leaves.
Max stopped at the track leading up to Paco’s cave. He walked to a large flat rock straddling a small stream, now running with water. At the foot of the rock, stuck in mud and reeds, was a torn page. He fished it out and examined it carefully. It looked like a child’s comic. The date was indecipherable. Max carefully stowed it in the inside pocket of his walking jacket.
It was time to set off back towards the Abadía. At the small bridge, Puente Maríano, he climbed the steep steps that wound their way up to the abbey, sitting atop the hill of Valparaíso. Max pulled the string on the ancient bell at the large carved chestnut door.
‘Max, amigo. Just in time for a drink of something good,’ said Abbot Jorge as he hauled the door open.
‘I need more than one,’ Max replied.
‘Let’s go to my study. I’ve still got a couple of bottles of Cartojal left.’
They went up to Jorge’s private study, the Abbot’s rough sandals slapping on the stone floor. The walls were lined with books. There was a simple crucifix on his desk, a nineteenth-century lithograph of the Abadía, and an eighteenth-century painting of El Cristo de los Gitanos on the walls. Max looked through the books while the Abbot uncorked a dusty bottle of the fine Málaga wine.
‘Two shelves on the Lead Books of Sacromonte. I never thought there’d be so much interest in them.’
‘Stands to reason, Max. Anything claiming to be such an early Christian text which emphasizes that the Arabs are beloved of God is bound to be hot stuff these days.’
‘So you think there’s more to come out about them?’
‘Somebody should write a thriller about them. It’s an amazing story.’
‘I’m sure somebody will.’ Max sniffed his wine. ‘This is really good.’
The Abbot put his glass down carefully on the small side table. ‘You have the look of someone who needs to tell me something. The accident at the Procession of the Virgin of All Beings?’
‘How’d you guess?’
‘My job. So what happened?’
Max explained about the accident, but didn’t go into details about his relationship with Margarita.
‘I see.’ said Jorge. ‘So the girl’s going to be all right. That’s good. She could have died.’
‘She was very fortunate.’
‘So you think those two guys might have deliberately let the palio go?’
‘I’m not sure, Jorge.’
‘My
view is that it was an accident. The costaleros simply didn’t have the training and couldn’t cope with the bad weather. And they should never have taken that route anyway.’
‘I tried to stop it, you know.’
‘I know, Max, and it’s not your fault. It was an accident and no one was badly hurt. Just let it go.’
‘I feel responsible …’
‘You’re bound to. But believe me, it’s not your fault. A little more vino?’
‘Please.’
‘Right, where have you got to with poor Paco?’
Max gave a brief summary.
‘So that’s how it is,’ said Jorge. ‘Remember: don’t let la policía sweep him under the carpet just because he’s a poor gitano.’
‘I won’t, Jorge. And neither will the new judge. But there was something you wanted to talk to me about?’
The Abbot frowned. ‘This is just between you and me.’
‘Venga, Jorge. It’s me you’re talking to.’
‘You know Jesús del Valle, don’t you?’
‘Like the back of my hand.’
‘Vale. The Church owns it, but the Abadía is responsible for managing it and getting rents if possible. Anyway, the whole lot fell into ruins and we did nothing about it. I don’t know why, but it doesn’t really matter now.’
‘I was there last week. It’s falling down.’
‘A while ago the Archbishop came to see me. A businessman had made an offer for the monastery buildings and its lands.’
‘Do you know who?’
‘The Archbishop wouldn’t say. The businessman wants to remain anonymous. But it’s a very good deal for the Church. He’s offered to give a large sum of money to a cofradia to help it repair the back buildings of the Abadía.’
‘You mean the buildings which were a school before the fire?’
‘Those.’
‘And the cofradía is?’
‘The Archbishop wouldn’t say. But in order to sell, the Archbishop needed my signature and the seal of the Abadía.’
‘I see. So you agreed?’
‘Sí. I’ve been waiting for years to get those buildings repaired.’
‘So what’s your problem, Jorge? It’s common knowledge that the monastery has been sold. It’s all over the press. And you’ve had a really generous offer.’
‘Sí. But something’s not right. A surprising number of my parishioners have sold up and are moving out. Some of them have said that the person who wanted to buy was pretty insistent. And now we have an unknown buyer of the monastery, and an unnamed cofradía. It smells, Max.’
‘But of what? Nothing illegal’s been done. And you can hardly be suspicious about a cofradía offering to help the Abadia. The most you can say is it’s a bit odd that they are so publicity-shy. Most cofradías would want their name in lights over a project like this. But if one doesn’t want to …’
‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. Beware of Archbishops bearing gifts. No, something’s not right. And Max, I want you to find out what that is.’
‘Come on, I’m not a miracle worker!’
‘But you’re a cop. You have contacts. Just ask around for me, will you?’
‘Jorge, I’m up to my eyes at the moment … Okay, seeing as it’s you, I’ll find out what I can. Though I’m sure everything’s above board.’
‘But if it isn’t?’
Chapter 18
‘Señorita Azul is asleep,’ the nurse said when Max phoned the hospital. ‘Sí, her progress is satisfactory.’ Max felt less anxious. He could now enjoy the Easter Sunday family lunch. Should he tell Paula about Margarita? No. Much too soon.
At 2 p.m. he drove through Diva, and on to the Jola road and past the bridge. The car crunched down the drive of the big old family home in its mountain valley. Tiny fruits were already forming on the fig tree by the gate, and the peach tree was in blossom. Paula hobbled out as soon as she heard the car. Her face was streaked with tears.
‘Abuela.’
‘Max,’ she said, and burst into tears again.
Max put his arms around his grandmother. ‘Abuela, it’s all right.’
‘I’ll tell you about it when it’s just us. Isabel’s inside.’
In the kitchen of the old farmhouse, Isabel was checking a large roast of meat.
‘That smells good,’ said Max. ‘What is it?’
‘Roast lamb from the Englishman’s farm, garlic, white wine and fresh thyme. New broad beans and serrano ham in cream to go with it. Then for postre it’s crema Catalán with strawberries. Nita’s made some biscuits to go with the dessert. You are honoured. Señorita Encarnita doesn’t bake for just anyone, you know.’
Max picked up a tray of glasses, and Paula led him outside where the table was laid.
‘So what happened, abuela?’
She sat down, her face crinkled, her body sagging with the exhaustion of old age.
‘It’s so típicamente español,’ she said. ‘They raise your hopes only to dash them again. You know the Alcalde agreed we could excavate the fosa común.’
‘Yes. I thought that was all agreed.’
‘Sí. He’s an old man and even though he was with Franco, he understood. And he was a friend of my Pedro, so he probably agreed out of respect, you know …’
She started crying again. ‘I thought I was there. I thought we could dig. I just know Antonio’s bones are there. And we could hold a dignified ceremony, and let him rest in peace. I want to do that before I die.’
‘You shall, abuela. You shall.’
‘Not now.’ And the tears rolled down the furrows of her cheeks. ‘A bunch of men who call themselves judges have said that all excavation of burial places of the Civil War dead is to be put on hold. You know what that means. It could be for ever. And I don’t have long.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sí. The Alcalde phoned me this morning to say he couldn’t go against the judges’ ruling, and he’s postponed his permission to dig.’
‘Ay, abuela. I’m so sorry.’
‘And that idiot Juan had the gall to say he agreed with the judges. “Let sleeping dogs lie,” he said. He can be so like his grandfather.’
The children arrived, boisterous and loud. ‘Tío Max.’
Max lifted Encarnita into the air, holding her aloft. ‘My, my, you’re getting heavy. I won’t be able to do this for much longer.’
‘Hola, Tío Max,’ said Leonardo. ‘Your team’s rubbish. Seville’ll hammer Celtic in the Final.’
‘Oh no they won’t,’ said Max. ‘Tell you what, Leonardo. I’ll see if I can get us tickets for the Cup Final.’
‘Could you really?’ said Leonardo, beaming.
Juan emerged from the wine cellar, nursing two precious bottles.
‘Juan, would you like to go to the Seville-Celtic match?’
‘I can’t go without Leo. He’d be so upset.’
Leonardo gave his father a manly hug. ‘Tío Max says he can get all three of us tickets.’
‘That would be great. I think this calls for this season’s Seville strip,’ said Juan.
‘Seville will give Celtic a tanking, won’t they, papá?’
And all three started shouting about the respective merits of the best individual player, and who would win. Paula sat there, a tired smile on her face.
‘Hombres, men have such a capacity for the trivial,’ she said to Isabel.
‘Don’t they just. That’s enough, come on everyone. Let’s eat.’
They all sat down at the table. The lamb was wonderful. Meltingly tender meat, crisp, caramelized skin and fat. Paula cheered up a bit after the second bottle of wine.
‘I’ll show you the photos of Juan in the Brotherhood of the Bell procession after lunch,’ said Isabel. ‘He looks so distinguished. Paula didn’t approve, but I told her there’s no harm in it now.’
‘Pah. Cofradías. Your grandfather was in at least three. Just an excuse for men to drink and gossip. But I still don’t trust them.’
‘What’s it like being part of the Brotherhood then?’ asked Max.
‘It’s going to be very useful,’ said Juan. ‘I’ve already made an excellent investment. A tourism project, just outside Granada.’
‘So where is it?’
‘Early days yet, so I’d rather not say.’
‘Hmm,’ said Max.
The strawberries were delicious, and the crema Catalàn was fabulous – the very soul of cream and caramel. But Encarnita’s tiny pine-nut and cinnamon biscuits stole the show, as was right and proper.
Isabel finally stood up from the table. ‘I’ll make some coffee. And I’ll get those photos.’
She returned with a tray of coffee and a pile of photos. ‘Here they are, Max. Who’d ever have thought we’d see Juan as a penitent?’
‘Not me. Though he sure has a lot to be penitent about.’
Max looked at the photos. There was a good one of Juan standing proudly with a big cheesy grin on his face. And here was Juan trying to look serious. Behind him were three men, their faces lit by the flickering flames of the candles. Max peered at the photo. The young man in a dark suit looked remarkably like one of the Black Angel Anarchists from the conference, David Costa. The guy in the priest’s cloak was definitely Monsignor Bien. And the third man, the one in the hood, holding the silver mace of El Capataz, was the Don Faustino Juan had annoyed. Why on earth was David Costa, a Black Angel Anarchist, talking to those two?
‘Can I keep this photo for a while?’ asked Max.
Isabel looked over his shoulder. ‘That one? Yes. Keep it. It’s not a good one of Juan. And I got those men by mistake. I’ll email you a copy if you like.’
‘That would be good.’
Max finished his coffee and looked at his watch.
‘Vale,’ said Max. ‘Ladies, that was a wonderful meal. And the biscuits, Encarnita, were the best I’ve ever had.’
Encarnita glowed pink with pleasure, almost as pink as her dress.
‘Max, did you speak to Anita?’
‘I did, abuela. It’s finished. We’re both sad, but it’s all right. She’s put in for a transfer. We’ll talk about it another time.’
He kissed Paula and Isabel goodbye. Leonardo walked to the car.
‘Tío Max, you won’t forget those tickets for the Seville game, will you?’