by P J Brooke
‘This morcilla’s so much nicer than the black pudding in Scotland,’ said Max.
Margarita raised her glass. ‘To our first posh lunch out together. Here’s to us!’
‘I’ll drink to that. The first of many.’
‘On your salary?’
‘On both our salaries,’ corrected Max.
Margarita leaned over and kissed him on the lips.
‘You sounded really upset on the phone,’ said Max. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s my bloody father. Do you know what he’s done? Transferred a whole load of properties to a trust in Blanca’s name.’
‘That’s not good. If your father is arrested, the cops might think she’s an accessory.’
‘I know. Apparently she didn’t think anything of it, but yesterday she read something about a case in Valencia where a dodgy lawyer put property into a trust for his daughters, and they ended up in big trouble. Blanca started thinking and got worried.’
‘So she should. It’s a classic crook’s move. Your father must be getting nervous.’
‘She asked him about it and he turned nasty.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘It gets worse. He checked the security camera tapes and found pictures of you coming in and out at the weekend. He knows you’re a cop, and he ordered me not to see you again. He was quite threatening. I told him where to get off, and we had a shouting match. So I’m moving back to my own flat tonight.’
Max hesitated. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this – but your father is in real trouble.’
‘Tax dodges, bribery …?’
‘A whole lot worse. We think a mafia gang on the coast are using his property business to launder drug money.’
‘Mafia? Joder! I … I knew he cut a few corners, but this?’ Her face went pale. ‘Max, you haven’t been using me to get to my father? I thought you …?’
‘Of course not. It’s just that our paths crossed with my job. I can’t go into details. But since I got suspended, I’ve been working with the Anti-Corruption Unit in Málaga.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘I couldn’t. And even the Granada cops don’t know about it. But the Málaga team have been bugging suspect phones for months, and your father’s name keeps coming up.’
‘Mierda.’
‘And Jesús del Valle is turning very nasty. Paco Maya wouldn’t sell, and he’s dead. The murder’s been pinned on Francisco. And it could get worse. Your father and his friends have to be stopped now.’
‘Oh shit.’ Margarita took a swig of wine.
‘Margarita, we think you can help.’
‘I don’t see what I can do. The old bastard never listens to me.’
‘I know. But there’s something only you can do. You know how security-conscious he is.’
‘Si.’
‘The Anti-Corruption team want to bug your father’s secure phone. That phone blocks out our usual remote monitoring devices, but we’ve got a little gadget which could pick up conversations in his study, and all you have to do is hide it there.’
‘Oh, Max. You mean that lovely weekend, you were thinking of this?’
‘No, I was recruited a couple of days later, after I got suspended. Look, I didn’t want to involve you, but Mario, he’s the head of the Anti-Corruption team in Málaga, thinks your father’s a key to getting the mafia gang.’
‘Do you realize what you’re asking? This is bloody dangerous. And after all … he is my father.’
‘I appreciate that. But we need to get the guys behind it all. We really need your help.’
‘Oh, Max. I get the picture, but … oh shit, I can’t do that.’ She took a large gulp of wine.
‘We’re very short of time. They could bolt before we get the evidence we need. Please help us. You’re brave. You picked this copper’s pocket once. You can do it.’
‘I really can’t help you guys send my own father to jail.’
‘Okay. But could you just have a word with Mario? He’s the head of the Málaga Anti-Corruption Unit. He badly wants to talk to you. He’s waiting in the bar downstairs. Your father’s going down. It might help get him a lighter sentence.’
‘But …’ There was a long pause. ‘Okay. I’ll talk to him.’
Max took her through to the small bar downstairs. Mario was sitting alone, by a large statue of the Buddha, nursing a glass of orange juice.
Max went back up to the restaurant. The maître d’ was hovering.
‘Is everything all right, sir?’
‘My friend has a bit of a family crisis. Could you hold the duck until she gets back?’
‘Of course.’
Max had finished the bottle of wine before Mario and Margarita joined him. She was pale.
‘I’ll do it. I’ll do it as soon as the maid goes home, and then I’ll move back into my flat.’
‘Thank you, Margarita,’ said Mario. ‘We really are grateful. Believe me, the risk to you is minimal. We’ll only need to leave it in place for a few days, and then you can be rid of it.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Margarita.
‘I hope so too,’ said Max.
‘It’s best if you two aren’t seen together until this is over.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘And don’t use any of your father’s phones. I’ve got a new mobile for you. Use this one if you need to speak to Max or to me.’
Margarita looked at Max. ‘Oh, man. If this goes wrong …’
‘It won’t go wrong,’ said Mario. ‘We’ve got everything covered.’
Chapter 28
For two days Max waited. To kill time, he went flat hunting. He looked at one off San Miguel Baja, right at the corner where the bus turned to go down Costa de la Loma. The flat was dark and cramped, and it had a penetrating smell of fried food from the kitchens of El Yunque. He looked at a another just off the Mirador de San Nicolás. It had a view of the side of the church of San Nicolás, which wasn’t bad, but the plaza was full of noisy tourists, hippies smoking pot and street musicians until the early hours of the morning. Then there were the flats off Plaza de la Cruz Verde. They had just been tastefully refurbished. But the only one he felt he could afford was tiny. And it had no view whatsoever.
Max deep-cleaned his flat and manicured his plants. He read all the newspapers from cover to cover, and finished Julian Rathbone’s Lying in State, a novel set in Madrid in the last days of the Franco regime when the old bastard was actually dead but nobody dared admit it. He checked his mobile every five minutes, just in case he’d missed a call.
Then finally, on Friday evening, Roberto rang.
‘Meet me in half an hour in the cloisters of Hotel Santa Paula.’
Max hurried to meet Roberto, who was sitting in a corner reading El País. There was a long article on mafia killings in Marbella. ‘Look at that. Our media office is giving out too much to the press. Coffee?’
Max nodded. ‘Any progress?’
‘Sí. Faustino Azul’s under pressure. Andrés Mendoza told him to come up with two hundred thousand Euros fast, as an advance payment for a building permit. And Azul’s called a meeting of the guys involved in the Jesús del Valle project.’
‘Where? In Azul’s offices?’
‘No. Believe it or not it’s in a cofradía building. The Brotherhood of the Bell. Tomorrow evening.’
‘The Brotherhood of the Bell? Dios mio … of course. What a cover.’
‘We’re planning to monitor that meeting, so we’ll be planting the listening devices tonight, about 2 a.m. The street is very dark and quiet, but we have to be careful. Max, could you stand as a lookout?’
‘Sure. Where do we meet?’
‘In Plaza Santo Domingo at 2 a.m.’
‘You’re on.’
Just after midnight, Max finally found his dark grey woolly hat lurking among the junk, dust and lost hankies at the bottom of his wardrobe. He put on the hat, old black trousers and a black jumper, and walked down the Alba
yzín through Realejo to Plaza Santo Domingo, close to AjoBlanco.
Roberto, Mario and another man were waiting near the bar.
‘Max, this is Raimundo. He’s our technical wizard. This man could listen in to the Pentagon.’
Raimundo smiled modestly. ‘I just have some very good kit, that’s all.’
‘I tell you, if this man went over to the dark side, we’d have to give up.’
The four cops walked round to the back of the church, through an ancient arch, to a quiet side street.
‘This is the place,’ said Mario. ‘We’ve got the van just round the corner. Max, you stay outside. If you notice anything odd, phone me. If you haven’t time, act drunk, and shout “Viva Málaga”. We’ll hear you.’
Max leaned against the wall close to an iron-bound door. There was laughter in the distance as the last revellers were chucked out of AjoBlanco, then the hiss and snarl of cats fighting over rubbish. The minutes ticked by. Max looked up the narrow street. A tall dark figure in a priest’s cassock and two young men were coming down the street. Max started shouting, ‘Viva Málaga. We’re going to win the cup. Sí, we are.’
‘Not much chance of that, Salvador.’
There was a laugh. ‘You’re right, Diego. It’s Real Madrid’s cup this year.’
Max stumbled off as if drunk. He waited until the priest and the youths went inside another old building, then phoned Mario.
‘Just had a close shave. A priest I know passed by.’
‘The priest’s out late. We’ll be with you in a minute. Just finishing off.’
‘Fine.’
‘That’s it done,’ said Mario as he reappeared a couple of minutes later. ‘We’ll pick you up behind the Columbus statue, tomorrow at 6 p.m.’
Max returned to his flat and slept until late morning. At half past five, he walked downtown. The surveillance van picked him up behind the statue as agreed.
‘I’ve brought in support from Málaga,’ said Mario. ‘We still can’t tell anyone in the Granada forces. Right. Max and Roberto will stay in the van with Raimundo and me. Max, listen in with Raimundo. You might recognize somebody. We’ve got camera operators ready. The rest of the team will be waiting in the front and round the back, ready to go in once we’ve got enough evidence on tape. Vale.’
They all nodded.
‘Then let’s go.’
Raimundo parked the van on a quiet side street near the Brotherhood of the Bell’s HQ.
‘All clear,’ said Roberto. ‘None of the guys at the meeting should come this way. But we can’t risk being seen. So, there’s no leaving the van until it’s all over.’
Raimundo was testing the equipment.
‘This is the boring bit,’ said Roberto. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done this all night and we got nothing.’
‘Well, I hope we get something today,’ said Max.
‘I have this gut feeling that we will.’
At 7 p.m. Max could hear voices through the headphones. Faustino Azul was greeting new arrivals.
‘So good of you to make it at such short notice, Don Miguel.’
‘You said it is an important meeting, Don Faustino.’
‘Yes, we have to review where we are and how we go forward. Ah, Don Andrés Mendoza, a pleasure to see you. Was el jefe able to come?’
‘Unfortunately not. However, he has sent a message which I will deliver to you all.’
‘Damn!’ exclaimed Roberto.
Then someone in the meeting rang a little bell, calling the assembly to order.
‘I believe you all know each other,’ Faustino Azul began. ‘I have apologies from a number of Brothers. Unfortunately, the gentleman behind the scheme is unable to be here with us this evening. But he has asked Don Andrés Mendoza to read out a statement on his behalf.’
Mario whispered to Roberto: ‘Mierda. No show, after all that effort.’
‘But these guys inside can give us names,’ said Max.
‘Sure, we could probably pick up the small fry. But only Don Andrés and maybe Don Faustino know who the top man is.’
‘Maybe if we let them talk some more, we’ll get something,’ said Max.
‘I doubt it.’
The microphone picked up the rustle of paper. Don Andrés started reading.
‘Welcome, Brothers, to this meeting. I appreciate that many of you wish to know my identity. However, I am convinced that until everything related to our proposed project is completely secured, it is best that I remain anonymous. If we are to succeed in this project, we shall require the assistance of many people in order to obtain all the necessary permits. We now have positive relationships with all these people, but this costs money. Various gifts have been made to secure goodwill, including a donation to the Cofradía de los Gitanos. The Capataz of the Brotherhood of the Bell has agreed to put in another two hundred thousand euros to ensure the success of this venture. But further investment will be necessary. I now appeal to you all to consider increasing your stakes. The return on this will be substantial.’
Faustino Azul opened the meeting to questions.
It was a man with a Málaga accent who spoke first. ‘The success of our project depends upon the road connections There is the outstanding problem of the gypsy’s property. Has there been any progress?’
‘There have been developments,’ said Andrés. ‘The gypsy is dead, and that bloody Francisco Gómez has caused a few headaches …’
There was a mutter of anticipation in the room.
‘But, if you don’t know this already, Gómez has been arrested for the murder of that very same gypsy.’
Another voice cut in. ‘That’s excellent news, Don Andrés.’
‘And I am confident that once the gypsy’s will has been settled, the heir will sell.’
‘Can you be sure about that?’
‘No. Not a hundred per cent. Nothing in life is ever so certain.’
‘So there is still some doubt? Then, Don Andrés, I will delay any further investment until this matter is concluded satisfactorily,’ said a man with an educated Granadino accent.
There were mutters of ‘Hear, hear.’
After a pause, Don Andrés spoke slowly. ‘Such caution is not necessary, caballeros. It’s virtually a done deal. I advise you all to continue with your investments. None of you would want to lose what you have already put in, would you?’
Max recognized the voice of the next speaker. It was Juan. Definitely Juan.
‘We should trust Don Andrés’ judgement. I am confident he will get that piece of land. And then we should be home and dry. I, for one, will put something extra into the pot. There’s a risk involved, but returns promise to be very attractive.’
There was a round of applause. The formal meeting was coming to an end.
Mario rang the guy in charge of the team waiting outside the building. ‘The main man’s not there. We may as well pick this lot up. We’ve got enough on tape to show they all know it’s seriously crooked. Somebody might just give a lead to the boss. But I doubt it. Okay, men. Get the rich buggers.’
There was the noise of splintered doors, shouts and loud complaints as some of the Province of Granada’s most respectable businessmen were handcuffed and escorted to a police van.
‘Mario,’ said Max. ‘Can we talk privately? I need a small favour.’
‘Sure.’
‘One of the guys you’ve lifted is my cousin, Juan Romero. He’s just a small-scale developer who cuts corners to make a buck. He’s not one of the bad guys, just an idiot. If he cooperates, maybe you could put a word in for him?’
‘If it’s like that, I’ll see what I can do. You’ve been a great help.’
‘Gracias.’
Max walked over to where Juan was standing in line.
‘Max, what the hell are you doing here? Can you tell these goons I’ve done nothing wrong?’
‘Juan, you’re an idiot. You’ve got yourself involved in a huge corruption case. It’s serious. Mafia drug g
angs …’
Juan blanched. He looked like a little kid who had stolen from the church plate for a dare, and then been found out. ‘I d-didn’t know.’
‘You heard what Andrés Mendoza said, didn’t you? And you voiced your support for Don Andrés.’
‘What should I do, Max?’
‘Tell the police absolutely everything you know. Absolutely every detail. I’ll put in a word for you.’
Juan swallowed. ‘Thanks, Max. Can you keep this away from Paula and Isabel? Please.’
‘I’ll do what I can. Be cooperative, Juan.’
Max returned to Mario. ‘Another thing, Mario. A couple of points Mendoza made rang a bell with me. I can’t yet put my finger on them, but they will come back to me. Can I have a copy of the tape?’
Mario turned to Raimundo. ‘How soon can you do that?’
‘I’ll bring it over to your flat tomorrow morning, Max.’
Twenty minutes later, the Málaga team drove off with some very respectable gentlemen in handcuffs, and Max trudged back to his flat. He phoned Margarita’s number. There was no answer from her flat. He tried her new mobile, and then the old one. No answers. He kept on trying until after one. There was no reply.
Chapter 29
Max heard the doorbell ringing over the noise of his shower. He shrugged on his dressing gown, padded down the stairs of his block of flats, and opened the front door. Two cops were standing there: Inspector Jefe Davila and Inspector Navarro.
‘Max Romero, we are taking you in for questioning.’
‘What? Have you gone crazy? It’s 7 a.m.!’
‘Inspector Navarro will accompany you while you get dressed. I shall wait here. There’s no point in trying to run for it.’
‘Run for it?’
‘I’ll follow you up the stairs. Let’s go now,’ said Navarro.
Halfway up, Max turned. ‘Ernesto, what the hell –’
‘Just keep going.’
Navarro followed him into his flat, walked into Max’s bedroom, opened the window and looked down.
‘Good. It’s too far down to jump. I’ll leave you alone while you dress. Leave your door open. Remember, I’m right outside.’