by P J Brooke
‘I really can’t comment, Kiki. But I’ll let you know when anything goes public.’
Margarita paid for the drinks, and then they strolled back towards the Albayzín along the Vereda de Enmedio Alto, the narrow cobbled balcony above the cave houses of Sacromonte. The lights of the city glowed below them. They stopped at the Fuente de la Amapola, the Fountain of the Poppy with its poem ‘When you drink from me, Your lips are my blessing.’
‘Max. Come here,’ said Margarita. And she put her arms around him, and kissed him fully on the lips. ‘If you can’t fall in love in Granada, where the hell can you?’
‘Where indeed?’
‘Vale, guapo. Are you seeing me home?’
‘Of course. We’ll get a taxi.’
They picked up a cab at the Plaza Nueva rank, and sped through Realejo, along Calle Molinos, and then turned up the hill towards the Alhambra.
‘Thanks, Max,’ said Margarita, kissing him lightly as they stood outside the Azul house. ‘Perhaps I can see you tomorrow.’
‘I …’
She laughed. ‘You should see your face. Just teasing. Come on, you idiot. I’d race you to my bedroom if I could run.’
Max laughed. He laughed most of Sunday.
Chapter 25
On Monday morning, Max knocked on Davila’s door and entered. Navarro was already there, sitting comfortably.
‘Sit down, Romero. I’ve already summarized for Inspector Navarro the gist of what you told me. He’s very angry and offended. You should have gone straight to him with any doubts, you know.’
‘That would have been a little difficult, sir.’
‘Most of your issues can be easily settled. There has clearly been a breakdown in communication between you two.’
Navarro sat there, saying nothing.
‘This minor detail about cigar ash. Inspector Navarro says you simply made a mistake. When the labs tested it, it turned out to be just cigarette ash. So, you know better than the lab, do you?’
‘No, sir. I accept that I made a mistake, and apologize to Inspector Navarro for doubting him.’
‘Good. Now the missing photo of the 4×4 tracks. It did turn up in time for your interrogation of Gregorio Espinosa, didn’t it?’
‘Yes sir, but –’
‘Sí. The photo did turn up, so what are you trying to imply?’
‘I accept it could have gone missing. But to turn up the day we were interrogating the Espinosa brothers … it just seemed a bit odd.’
‘Odd? Coincidence, you mean?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Good. I’m glad that is cleared up. Now, you claim the Espinosa brothers were coached by their lawyer. So would you prefer us to deny them their legal rights?’
‘No, of course not. Maybe I’ve been a bit hasty in my judgement.’
‘Hasty? You are questioning the integrity of a fellow officer. With no evidence to support your assertions.’
‘Okay. And I apologize. But there’s still the other matter. Between the security guard and other witnesses, Francisco Gómez didn’t have time to kill Paco Maya.’
‘Well, I asked Inspector Navarro to check out that security guard’s statement. It makes no sense for Gómez to scramble round the back of that cortijo instead of going straight to Paco Maya’s cave. Why would he do that?’
‘Gómez said he wanted to check out what was going on with the new owner.’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘I’ll tell you why not, Romero. The security guard says you lent on him to fabricate that story. We know Gómez is your buddy. We know you warned Gómez at the demo that the police were coming for him. You have been perverting the course of justice to protect an individual with whom you share political sympathies. You know what that means, Romero?’
‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
‘I have here a signed statement from the security guard saying that he saw Francisco Gómez once, at one-thirty. And that you put words into his mouth to suggest that he saw him again fifteen minutes later at the back of the cortijo.’
‘I’m afraid it’s the truth, Sub-Inspector,’ added Navarro.
Max was speechless.
‘And we now have definitive proof of Gómez’s guilt. Inspector Navarro and I did a thorough search of his flat over the weekend. And Inspector Navarro found a package of cocaine. It was very well hidden, but we found it. That rumour you told us about Paco Maya once dealing is clearly true. So Gómez must have killed Maya and then taken the cocaine.’
‘But –’
‘Romero, you are hereby suspended from all duties for a week. I’ll be generous. On pay. I’ll arrange a disciplinary. You may go to your office and collect your personal effects. Do not return until summoned to do so. Is that understood?’
‘Sí, señor, but –’
‘No questions. You may go now.’
Max saluted, returned to his office, and packed his things. He looked at the new image on his Dali calendar: Soft Watch at the Moment of First Explosion. That summed it up. Bloody Navarro must have planted the cocaine package. But what the hell was going on with the security guard?
Max returned to his flat and immediately phoned Catalina.
‘It’s Max Romero. Have you still got that packet of Paco’s? You know …’
‘No. I flushed it all down the loo.’
‘Mierda.’
‘What’s up?’
‘I’ll explain later. So there’s nothing left of it at all?’
‘Well, it was kept in a cotton rice bag. I put the bag in with my rubbish. It might still be there.’
‘Could you fish it out and keep it for me? Don’t wash it or anything. Just put it in a poly bag and give it to the desk officer at the Policía Nacional.’
‘Sure.’
A rice bag? Of course – storing the powder with a handful of grains would keep it dry. Max hurried out of his flat, walked along Calle Guinea to the Sacromonte bus stop. He was in luck: the bus was due in five minutes. He got off at the last stop and walked to the Cortijo de los Angeles. The two mastiffs were barking in the distance.
‘Anyone there?’ he called.
The barking came nearer. A man wearing the security company’s jacket came round the corner, with one of the dogs on a leash.
‘Buenas tardes, señor. I’m looking for Fernando Pozo. He works here as a security guard.’
‘Never heard of him,’ replied the man. ‘I only started here today.’
‘You don’t know where I might find him?’
‘Ni idea.’ He shrugged. ‘You can ask Gloria, the boss’s secretary. She seems to know everything.’
A crescent moon was out when Max got back to his flat. He poured himself a large glass of white wine, a Blanc Pescador, one of his favourites. He went outside on to his terrace, savoured the clean taste of the wine, its tiny bubbles freshening his mouth.
What the hell was going on? He only had Catalina’s word that Francisco Gómez had walked in on a dead body. Yet the land deal gave Gómez a stronger motive. Now this bloody cocaine package had turned up in Gómez’s flat. Catalina said she had been given Paco Maya’s original stash and had destroyed it. So this new package must have been planted. The whole bloody thing was a set-up. And Davila was too stupid to see that Navarro was running rings round him.
The phone rang.
‘Max, it’s Roberto Belén. I’ve just heard what’s happened. Can I come round and see you tomorrow lunchtime? I think I might be able to help.’
‘Yes, I need some help. I’ll rustle up some food. I haven’t got much else to do at the moment.’
He phoned Margarita with his news.
‘Oh, Max. That’s terrible. Let’s meet.’
‘How about the terrace of the Alhambra Palace hotel in an hour?’
‘Don’t worry, mi amor. We’ll sort something out.’
Chapter 26
The next morning, Max walked from his flat in
Calle María de la Miel through the Moorish Puerta del las Pesas into Plaza Larga. His conversation with Margarita had helped. Her hug and kiss had helped even more. The market stalls were just setting up. Mercedes’ old uncle was still unloading sacks of fresh broad beans for their stall from the back of their tiny van, and an enterprising young gitano was setting out his wares – live snails that he’d collected in the hills at dawn.
Max bought a copy of El País and then walked across the square to Casa de los Pasteles for breakfast. Once he had finished the toast, fresh orange juice and coffee, he sauntered along to Mercedes’ stall where he bought fresh asparagus, a couple of local lemons and avocados, and half a kilo of Huelva strawberries.
Just by the stall, a young woman was selling organic olive oil in relabelled beer bottles. It was from her family farm, and their production was so small they didn’t have a licence. But the oil was really good stuff, dark green and very fragrant. Max bought a litre.
From Plaza Larga, he walked along Calle de Panaderos to the bakery, Panadería la Solana, and bought a wholemeal chapata and a white loaf of hogaza, both still hot from the oven. Then to the small Coviran supermarket for some nice brown eggs, a kilo of potatoes, milk and a carton of cream. As usual, Luis was on the till. Today he was shelling fresh broad beans and munching them like sweets as he worked.
‘Not at work today?’ asked Luis.
‘No, it’s my day off.’
‘Lucky chap. I never have a day off.’
‘That’s because you never allow yourself one.’
Max strolled back via the Torreón de la Plaza de Charca and the Mirador de San Nicolás. He’d been set up and it was bloody obvious who was behind it – Navarro. The bastard had gone to a lot of trouble to stitch him up. Max walked along the cobbled street to his flat, made himself a cup of strong aromatic coffee, and sat out on his terrace with the newspaper. El País had another long article on urban corruption:
‘Spain hands out 900,000 building permits every year, more than the UK and Germany combined. These permits are a major source of local government finance … and for lining the pockets of corrupt politicians and officials.’
Just before two, Max boiled the potatoes, grilled the asparagus, beat the eggs, and hulled the strawberries. Roberto arrived five minutes late.
‘How are you feeling, Max?’ he asked.
‘Bloody angry. I’ve been set up and Davila’s just going along with it.’
‘So what happened?’
Max told him the whole story.
‘So, unless the security guard is able to stand by his original statement, you’re the one who’s committed an offence.’
‘Sí. I phoned Chávez this morning. He’s sympathetic, but he can’t do anything unless I can come up with some pretty robust evidence. The judge said the same. I just don’t know what I can do now.’
‘I might be able to help,’ said Roberto. ‘You know I told you I used to work for the Anti-Corruption Unit in Málaga.’
‘Sí, I remember you telling me about the Moby Dick investigation.’
‘Well, I’m still working on it.’
‘You’re what?’
‘I know. We think there is something funny going on in Granada connected to the case. My boss asked me to go undercover in Granada. And then this job came up, so my boss suggested I go for it. My wife wanted to come back to Granada anyway.’
‘But why didn’t you just join our Anti-Corruption Unit?’
‘Because we think the head of that unit’s been bought. And probably most of his team as well.’
‘I see.’
‘But the Maya investigation has been really useful. We think there’s a lot behind it. Maybe it’s the Granada end of one of the Marbella gangs. And if it is, it’s big. And we want to get the guys at the top. We think you can help.’
‘How?’
‘We’d like you to carry on with your investigation on our behalf now.’
‘With permission of the department?’
‘Without. You have a lot of contacts.’
Max paused. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you come to Málaga and meet the head of the Anti-Corruption Unit. He’ll brief you. Then using the Maya case as a lead, we want you help us fill in the picture. It could be dangerous. You’d be shocked how many millions of euros are involved.’
‘I don’t know. Could land me in even more trouble.’
‘But it could also help clear your name.’
‘That’s true. Okay. Count me in. I’ve nothing to lose.’
‘Great. We could go to Málaga straight away.’
‘After we’ve eaten. It’s not much. My special tortilla, followed by strawberries and cream. A glass of wine first?’
‘Why not? Nice little place you’ve got here, Max. And what a view.’
‘It is, but the landlord is kicking me out. I don’t want to leave the Albayzín, but finding something good in my price range isn’t easy.’
‘Something will turn up. It always does.’
Max went into the kitchen and started to cook the asparagus tortilla. As garlic and potatoes sizzled in the rich olive oil, he poured two glasses of white wine, and took them out on to his terrace.
‘You could sit for hours just looking at that view,’ said Roberto. ‘It’s magic.’
‘It is,’ agreed Max. ‘The tortilla won’t be long.’
Max returned to his tiny kitchen, carefully turned the tortilla over, and waited a moment.
The potatoes, garlic and asparagus had caramelized beautifully on both sides. ‘That was great, Max,’ said Roberto, wiping his plate. ‘I phoned my boss in Málaga while you were cooking. He’s expecting us.’
‘Fine,’ said Max. ‘I’ll make a quick pot of coffee, and then let’s go.’
They were soon out of Granada, speeding past Santa Fé and Loja on the motorway. The geometric patterns of olive groves and hills stretched before them, all the way to Málaga.
‘I checked up on that posh lawyer on the coast,’ said Roberto. ‘Pablo Guzmán de Sídonia.’
‘That shrewd bastard.’
‘He’s got connections. He’s joint owner of a large estate agency based in Nerja and Marbella. He organized the sale and purchase of the Hotel Reina del Sur.’
‘To whom?’
‘A company registered in Gibraltar.’
‘I see.’
‘And guess who the other owner of the estate agency is?’
‘Ni idea.’
‘Another rich coastal lawyer with offices in Granada. An Andrés Mendoza.’
‘That’s interesting. The lawyer who paid for the Virgin’s cloak.’
‘The what?’
Max explained.
‘So that could link both Don Andrés and Don Pablo to the Maya case and maybe the Jesús del Valle affair.’
‘So what’s the overall picture?’
‘It’s big and nasty. All the usual stuff. Some company buys land at agricultural value. Their friends in the council get it re-zoned, the company builds houses or whatever, and sells at a huge profit because they don’t pay tax anywhere along the line. Now it’s gone mega because someone’s pumping drug profits through the system. The corruption is immense.’
‘So, the local guys with contacts in the town halls have got cosy with the Colombians, the Russians and Mexicans or …’
‘Yep. It could be any one of a dozen groups, and they’re all pretty bad.’
‘So who’s in the frame in Granada?’
‘I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose any names. That’s up to the boss. We agreed we could say we have suspicions about Che Navarro. We figured that might tempt you.’
‘It does.’ Max smiled.
‘The problem’s getting evidence that’ll stand up in a court of law. We’ve had wire taps on a few players for a while.’
‘But surely they must suspect you are after them,’ said Max.
‘Of course. That’s why it’s taking so long to get the buggers. They kno
w every trick in the book. These guys change mobiles like other people change socks. There are companies hidden by companies hidden by more companies. Suitcases and cardboard boxes of cash. It takes time and patience. You know something is wrong when you hear about a Picasso in someone’s toilet. But tips like that don’t come up often. We have to be very patient. And it doesn’t help when cops are batting for the other side.’
‘Like Navarro?’ inquired Max
‘Maybe. And not just cops. There are politicians, town hall officials and bankers all in the web. But sometimes they slip up and make mistakes. A guy starts to enjoy the lifestyle and, if it doesn’t fit with his declared income, maybe he’s another player. We keep an eye on who’s spending. We have a girl in one of the Madrid art dealers telling us who’s buying. You’d never believe the things she’s found out.’
They were approaching the Montes de Málaga now, still green from the heavy rains. They drove past the Málaga Botanic Gardens, down into the city of Málaga itself, left the car in a secure parking area near the port, and took the lift up to the top floor of a large modern building.
‘Hola, Roberto. How are you doing?’ asked a striking secretary.
‘Bien gracias. I’m doing fine, Laura,’ said Roberto. ‘Granada’s a lot colder than here. I miss the company here as well.’
‘Sí, Granada folk can be so rude sometimes.’
‘Granada’s famous malfollada. Rudeness as an art form. Is the boss in?’
‘Sí. He’s expecting you.’
Inspector Jefe Mario Cruz was a small, brown, wiry man, who fizzed with nervous energy.
‘Good to see you, Roberto. So this is Sub-Inspector Max Romero. Pleased to meet you,’ he said, shaking Max’s hand firmly. ‘I’ve heard about you from Roberto. I also checked up on you with a good friend of mine, Martín Sánchez. He speaks highly of you.’
‘Martín? I should have guessed his name would crop up sometime.’
‘He’s a clever bugger. And doing a good job with Special Branch in Madrid. He’s been a great help to us. So Roberto’s filled you in?’
‘A bit, sir.’
‘We’ve already got useful new information from Max,’ said Roberto. ‘Remember that lawyer I told you about, the one who organized the sale of Reina del Sur to a company in Gibraltar? Well, his business partner bought an expensive cloak for a Virgin.’