by P J Brooke
‘He what?’
Roberto laughed, and explained about the cloak of the Virgen de los Gitanos and the sale of the monastery of Jesús del Valle.
‘Now that is useful. We’ll follow it up. Right, Max. I can’t give you any names from the Marbella to Nerja probe. Let’s just say it’s very extensive. And the Russian and Latin American mafias have muscled in. But we’re now picking up a bit on Granada. And there we have a problem.’
‘Roberto’s explained about the Granada unit.’
‘And they’ll have bought other cops too. But then your murder probe came up with a list of companies we’ve already had our eye on.’
‘That was just luck. Roberto did the legwork on that.’
‘But you got the tip about the land sales. And the jigsaw is starting to come together. The name of a leading Granada businessman, Faustino Azul, has cropped up a couple of times.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Don Faustino’s been talking to some of the guys we’ve been tapping, and we need to know who’s on Don Faustino’s network. We’ve had a look at his house already, and he’s very security-conscious. His study only looks on to an inner courtyard, so we have to get a bug there somehow.’
Max remained silent.
‘You know his daughter. Margarita. Maybe you can persuade her to help us.’
How the hell did they find out about Margarita and me? thought Max. Was nothing private?
Max stared into Mario’s eyes. It was Max who blinked first. ‘I know her, but not too well.’
‘Maybe. We need your help, Max. Will you help us?’
‘Sí. But there are limits. I don’t want Margarita in any danger. Why don’t we break in ourselves?’
‘You’ve seen the guard and the security cameras he’s got on the outside. The slightest hint that something’s not right and we’ve lost our man.’
‘I can’t say I’m delighted to help this way. It’s asking a lot of her.’
‘I know. But in the long run it will be best for her and the family.’
Max hesitated. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
‘Good. I’ve prepared a file for you. Stay in touch with Roberto, and he’ll keep us informed. No more contact directly with us in Málaga. Just be careful. You never know who has been bought.’
‘I’ll be careful, sir.’
‘Right, I’ll give you one of our listening devices. This baby is state-of-the-art. We got it from the US Drug Enforcement Agency and it’s virtually undetectable. Margarita just has to stick it somewhere outside the window of Azul’s study. If it’s on a window sill, she can disguise it in a plant pot, or put it in a box. Wood and ceramic are okay, but not metal, of course. It’ll overcome the anti-bugging jams, and pick up everything, just from the vibrations of the window pane. Any questions?’
‘None at the moment, sir.’
‘Good. Pleased to have you with us, Max.’
On the way back, Max explained about Margarita’s difficult relationship with her father.
‘I don’t think you can give her too many details about this operation.’ said Roberto. ‘Not until we are sure we can get him. He’s starting to get worried, and more than a little frightened.’
‘I really don’t feel good about this, you know.’
‘Max, in our experience the family are often involved.’
‘Not Margarita, I’m sure.’
‘But this is going to blow up sooner or later. And the more quickly we sort it out, the better for the whole family.’
‘All right.’
‘Why not phone her now? Some of our birds are getting jittery.’
Max called Margarita’s mobile. It rang for a while. Then a sleepy voice answered.
‘Margarita, it’s Max. I hope I didn’t wake you.’
‘I’m missing you, hombre.’
‘Me too, guapetona.’
‘It’s nice to hear your voice. Max, I’m worried. I really need to talk to you. Can we meet for lunch tomorrow? I’ll pay.’
‘No, I’ll borrow fifty euros off you.’
She laughed. ‘How about the new restaurant just below the Mirador de San Nicolás? They have a French chef.’
‘I’ll see you there at about two. Tomorrow then.’
‘Okay. See you. Lots of love.’
‘Perfect,’ said Roberto. ‘Couldn’t be better. I’ll phone Mario.’
Mario was very happy.
‘Sí, Mario. I’ll put him on.’
‘Max. That’s great news. It’s important I speak to the girl. I’ll be in the bar of the restaurant. If all goes well, bring her over to me and let me talk to her alone.’
‘Will do, Mario. But –’
‘No buts, Max. Just do as I say. I know what I’m doing.’
Roberto soon approached the outskirts of Granada. ‘Let me off at Plaza del Triunfo,’ said Max. ‘I can get an Albayzín bus from there.’
As Max returned to his flat, the bug felt as if it was burning a hole in his pocket. He picked up his car and drove straight to the offices of Seguridad Victoriano. Gloria was in the front office, still painting her nails.
‘Well, well,’ she said. ‘If it isn’t the cute cop. Oye. I’ve been really bad and need a full body search.’
‘I’m looking for Fernando Pozo. Do you know where I can find him?’
‘No,’ said Gloria as Víctor walked into her office.
‘Fernando?’ said Víctor. ‘He resigned. He just phoned to say he’d got something better, came in, collected what he was due, and that was it.’
‘Did he say where he was going?’
‘No. The job’s in Málaga, I think.’
‘Gracías,’ said Max. ‘You’ve been really helpful.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ offered Gloria.
Max was about to decline the offer but then had an idea.
‘That would be nice,’ he said.
Víctor watched Gloria accompany Max to his car.
‘I might be able to help you,’ she said. ‘How about a meal tonight? There’s a nice steak house on Plaza del Triunfo.’
‘I know it,’ Max said. ‘Nine o’clock?’
She smiled coquettishly. ‘See you then.’
Max had booked a table for two at the Argentinían Steak House, and had asked for it to be at the back. He ordered a bottle of Rioja, medium-priced. Gloria arrived ten minutes later. The red dress had been replaced by a little black number, with a sequinned tiger filling most of the front.
‘I’ve just ordered the wine,’ Max said.
‘Gracias. It’s nice to eat out, isn’t it?’
‘It is, Gloria.’
‘Hombre. You don’t know how boring that office is. And Víctor’s a brute. Tried to paw me a couple of times, but I told him where to get off.’
‘I’m sure you can take care of yourself.’
‘I can, but I’m very sensitive to some warm, soft talk.’
After her third glass, Max broached the subject of the security guard, Fernando Pozo. ‘I’m surprised he’s moved on. I thought he was happy out at the cortijo.’
‘He was a bit bored out there on his own, but he liked the dogs, you know.’
‘Had he been with you long?’
‘Five years. Why do you ask? I thought it was me you’re interested in.’
‘I am, Gloria. This wine’s good. Fancy another bottle?’
‘I wouldn’t say no. You have ni idea of how bored I get in that stinking office. It’s not what I wanted, you know. I should’ve stayed on at school, so I should.’
Max ordered another bottle. She was already quite tipsy. He’d better get his questions in quickly.
‘So what happened to this Fernando?’
‘Him again? You’re not gay, are you?’
‘No. But I’d like to talk to him.’
‘About what?’
‘I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but a gitano, who lived close to the cortijo, died a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Ay! Un asesin
ato!’ Gloria’s eyes shone. ‘I do love a good murder. I bet you’ve some good cases you could tell me about …’
‘Why don’t I pour you another glass, Gloria?’
‘Por favor, gracias. It was odd with Fernando. No complaints, no nothing. Then these two gitanos pitched up at the office. Let’s put it this way … they were the type you wouldn’t like to meet on a dark night.’
‘Any idea who they were?
‘No. Never seen them before.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, they went into Víctor’s office. Then they all left in their car. And Fernando was with them when they came back. Fernando didn’t say a word to me. It all seemed bit suspect. Fernando and I always had a bit of banter. He wasn’t bad-looking, you know, but not my type. I like blue eyes. “Fernando’s leaving,” says Víctor. “Give him his wages made up to the end of the month, plus a bonus of two hundred euros.” Well, Víctor’s a mean bugger. He’d never give anyone a cent. So I knew something wasn’t right.’ She hiccupped loudly.
Max topped up her glass. ‘Anything else? Do you know where Fernando Pozo lives?’
‘He lives in Almanjáyar, Calle … forget now. He asked me for a meal to his place, once. I wouldn’t be seen dead there. Víctor’s not said a word about it all. He clammed up like an … an … oyster, and that’s not like him at all.’ She hiccupped again. ‘Oops. I think we’d better go now – I’m feeling a bit dizzy.’
‘Sure,’ said Max. He paid, and helped Gloria out of the restaurant. ‘My car’s just round the corner. Where do you live?’
‘Not far. Just down from the hospital. Here, you’d better take my keys. I might lose them on the way.’
Max drove to a block of high-rise flats.
‘Planta 5. Number 6D. You are nice. A gentleman. I don’t see many of them in my line of business.’
Max helped her into the lift. She clung closely to him as he walked her along the corridor to number 6D. He took her keys out of his pocket, opened the door and they entered a small, but neat flat.
‘It’s small. All I can afford,’ said Gloria. ‘Help yourself to a drink, Max. I’ll slip into something more comfortable.’ And she toddled off towards the tiny bedroom.
Max sat quietly for five minutes. He looked around the flat. There was a modest fitted kitchenette, photos of the family, dolls, a pile of celebrity magazines and cheap thrillers under a small television, a sofa and that was about it.
Another five minutes. Still no Gloria.
He finally got up and checked the bedroom. Gloria was sound asleep on the bed, fully clothed, snoring loudly. Max took off her shoes, covered her up with her bathrobe, and then placed a glass of water on the table. Finally, he turned out the lights and left quietly.
There was a powerful black motorbike parked opposite the flats. There was no sign of its owner.
Chapter 27
The next morning Max drove out to Almanjáyar, straight to Father Gerardo’s house.
‘May I come in, padre? Do you have a few minutes to spare?’
‘Please come in. I have an hour before a meeting.’
The priest’s small house was next to the church. The study was neat and modern, full of books and pamphlets stacked tidily on office shelving, a plain crucifix on one wall, and a photograph on the desk of Archbishop Romero of El Salvador, assassinated by paramilitaries whilst saying Mass in his own cathedral.
‘I was just wondering if you knew a Fernando Pozo.’
‘Si, he’s a regular at Mass and a friend of Catalina’s. He’s not in trouble, is he?’
‘No, I’d just like to talk to him, that’s all. Do you know his address?’
‘I do,’ said the young priest. ‘He lives in the block of flats next to the bar Los Gitanos. You can’t miss it. It’s first left after the bar, the only blue door on the first floor.’
‘So how are things in the neighbourhood?’
‘Not good. Everything’s being closed down.’
‘The work with drug addicts and the women’s refuge?’
‘Sí. And the Archbishop’s moving me to some parish in the middle of nowhere. I have been instructed to concentrate on the spiritual concerns of my parishioners, and forget the rest.’
‘That’s a great shame.’
‘It’s bad. I’m thinking of leaving the priesthood.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. But I understand how you feel. Have you heard from Father Oscar?’
The priest hesitated, collecting his thoughts before answering Max’s question.
‘He’s in serious trouble, so he’s now planning to go back to El Salvador. But before he leaves we’re planning to hold a Theology of Liberation Mass.’
‘That’ll be interesting. I’d like to attend.’
‘You’ll be welcome,’ said the priest. ‘I’ll let you know when the date is confirmed.’
Max got up. ‘Gracias, padre, for your time. Can I leave my car in your yard?’
‘Of course. You should have better luck with it this time. My meeting’s here so I can keep an eye on it for you.’
Max walked to the bar Los Gitanos and round the corner to the block of flats where Fernando Pozo lived. It was still early, and no one was about except the postman.
Max knocked on the blue door. ‘Policía,’ he called. The blue door opened a crack. ‘Can I come in? I interviewed you at Cortijo de los Angeles, remember?’
The door opened a little wider. It was on a heavy security chain.
Fernando Pozo peered at him, his hand firmly on the door. ‘No. I have nothing to say.’
‘You’ve done nothing wrong. I just want to ask you a few questions.’
‘Like I said, I’ve nothing to say.’
‘Catalina Maya said I could talk to you. We need your help.’
Fernando Pozo opened the door and checked the stairs and the lobby. ‘Vale. I suppose so.’
‘Muchas gracias.’
Fernando had begun packing his possessions. He found a space for Max to sit among the bags and boxes.
‘So you’re leaving?’ asked Max.
‘The van’s coming round later.’
‘Catalina will miss you. She said you’ve been a good friend.’
‘She’s been a good friend to me as well. But I have to leave here.’
‘So what happened with Seguridad Victoriano?’ asked Max directly.
Fernando stared at the poster of Cristo de los Gitanos, which filled half the kitchen wall. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You said you’re a good friend of Catalina’s. She has big problems. This could help her.’
Fernando paused. ‘Catalina? Okay, but promise never to let this out.’
‘I’ll be as silent as the grave.’
Fernando laughed nervously. ‘You’d better be, or else it’s the silent grave for me.’
‘You have my word.’
‘Well … I was just getting on with odd jobs at the cortijo, and then Víctor pitched up with a pair of gitanos. I know them. Bad bastards. They don’t mess around, I can tell you. They said a cop would be coming round later, and I had to make a new statement saying you’d put words in my mouth about that hippy guy I saw. I had to say he’d never climbed round to the back of the cortijo.’
‘And you agreed?’
‘I had no choice. You don’t argue with guys like that. They know where I live.’
‘Okay. Could you give me their names?’
Fernando looked at Max incredulously. ‘Do you think I’ve got a death wish, or something?’
‘Vale …’
‘Mira. You don’t understand. They told the boss man, Víctor, to give me two hundred euros then and there, and they’d give me another two hundred once I’d done what they wanted. End of story.’
‘I don’t suppose you would want to sign a statement to that effect?’
‘Was that a joke? Mira, I have told you. Now it’s up to you, and Catalina owes me one.’
‘Do you know the cop who came round to see you?’
said Max
‘I’ve never seen him before,’ said Fernando, ‘He had this strange accent. He wasn’t local. Could have been Argentinian.’
‘Gracias, Fernando, you’ve been a real help. I’ll remember this. If there is anything I can do for you, call this number.’
‘I’ll see you out,’ said Fernando. ‘The front door sticks a bit.’
Fernando turned the lock, lifted the door up, and pushed hard. There was a man with an ugly dog in the lobby. Max thought he recognized him. It was the same guy with the dog that he had last seen in the bar, Los Gitanos.
‘Give my best to Catalina when you see her,’ said Fernando.
‘I will.’
Max picked up his car and drove back to the Albayzín. He failed to notice the black motorbike shadowing him, three cars behind.
Max changed into his black Pedro de Hierro jeans, white shirt and the black linen jacket and walked round to el restaurante Las Estrellas de San Nicolás, snuggling just below the Mirador.
‘Señorita Azul is waiting for you,’ said the owner.
He ushered Max up the stairs into a dining room with huge windows looking straight across to the Alhambra. Margarita was sitting at the table with the best view. She was wearing a blue dress, with long sleeves to cover the bruises.
‘Blue suits you,’ said Max ‘You should wear it more often.’
‘Thanks. It’s your colour too. It goes with your eyes.’
‘This is a really gorgeous place.’ said Max, admiring the fine carved wood ceiling. ‘It’s the first time I’ve been here.’
‘Me too. This used to be Enrique Morente’s house.’
‘I bet he composed his Suenos del Alhambra here. With that view you’d be inspired, wouldn’t you?’
There was a bottle of wine on the table. Margarita poured two glasses. ‘Sorry I jumped the gun with the wine, but the Barbazul’s lovely, and they are down to their last two bottles.’
Max glanced at the menu. ‘That’s fine. I rather fancy the “crumble” of morcilla as a starter, and then the slow roast duck.’
‘That’s what I was going to have too.’
The ‘crumble’ turned out to be a little tower of the savoury black pudding interleaved with caramelized mango, roasted almonds and a red wine sauce.