by P J Brooke
Max dressed while Navarro wondered around his living room, leafing through his books and papers, opening doors and touching everything.
‘Ready?’ said Navarro.
Max locked his flat door. ‘Ernesto, surely –’
‘Just keep walking.’
‘No problems,’ said Navarro to Davila when they got to the bottom of the stairs.
‘Our car’s at the top of the street. What sort of place is it when you can’t even drive to your entrance?’ said Davila.
Max got in the back of the car with Davila. Not a word was said. They took Max to the police interview room. He sat down at a table, facing his colleagues.
‘You know your rights, Romero. We have some questions to ask you. It will be best if you cooperate,’ said Davila.
‘I have nothing to hide. What the hell is this all about?’
‘Do you know or have you met a Fernando Pozo?’
‘Si. He was the security guard at the Cortijo de los Angeles. I interviewed him about the Paco Maya case. He then came in to sign a formal statement. I witnessed his signature.’
‘And you saw him again?’
‘Sí. I saw him last Wednesday in his home, at about 11 a.m.’
‘And what did you see him about?’
‘I went to ask him why he’d withdrawn his first statement, and why he claimed I had lent on him to make a false declaration.’
‘In spite of being suspended?’
Max felt relieved. So this was what it was all about.
‘Sí.’
‘And when did you see him again?’
‘See him again? I didn’t. What do you mean?’
‘Just answer the questions, Romero. Did you see him again?’
‘No, I never saw him again.’
‘Come, come, Romero. His front door had been forced. There were signs of a struggle. The deceased had a suitcase, half packed, lying on his bed. Your fingerprints were all over the place.’
‘The deceased?’
‘Sí, the deceased. Fernando Pozo’s body was found yesterday, dumped in a ditch off the Carretera de Jaén. He had been shot in the mouth,’
‘Oh, no, no. The silence of the grave,’
‘The what?’
‘He told me he’d been leaned on,’
‘Not by me‚’ interrupted Navarro.
‘Someone did. A pair of gitanos told him to change his statement, and got the owner of Seguridad Victoriano to pay him off.’
‘Come on, Romero. What the hell are you suggesting? That I had something to do with it?’ said Navarro.
‘I don’t know. But I do know something’s going on.’
‘Insinuations again, Romero.’
‘And Gloria Ortega at Seguridad Victoriano – how long have you known her?’
‘I met her when I was checking up on Cortijo de los Angeles, just after Paco Maya’s death.’
‘And?’
‘Seguridad Victoriano weren’t very helpful,’
‘And you’ve never seen this Gloria woman again?
‘No, I saw her on Tuesday when I was trying to track down Fernando Pozo.’
‘And did she tell you where he was?’
‘Yes, no … not immediately.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘No, she didn’t tell me at first. But then I invited Gloria out for a meal that evening.’
Davila raised an eyebrow. ‘And?’
‘We went for a steak. Then I gave her a lift back to her flat.’
‘And what happened? You tried to molest her?’
‘Of course not. Nothing happened. She’d had way too much to drink, and passed out on her bed soon after I got her into her house.’
Navarro snorted. ‘We found your prints on a glass of water by her bed, and on her shoes.’
‘I’ve told you I was there. I was just trying to make her more comfortable. I took her shoes off after she keeled over. And when I left I put a glass of water by her bed.’
‘Did you touch the bottled gas fire?’
‘The gas fire? Why on earth would I do that?’
‘Gloria Ortega was found dead in her flat. Asphyxiation. Someone had turned her gas fire on without lighting it. Your prints are on the top of the gas fire.’
‘Christ. Poor Gloria. What’s going on? I might have touched the top of the gas fire.’
‘That’s what we want to know. We want you to tell us the truth.’
‘The truth?’ yelled Max. ‘The fucking truth is that I’m being stitched up. By that bastard sitting next to you.’
Navarro stood up, fist curled.
‘Sit down, Ernesto. We’re way beyond false accusations against a fellow officer now. This is murder, probably a double murder.’
‘This is madness. Why would I kill either of them? They were the people who could clear my name.’
‘It would be sensible to confess, you know.’
‘Confess? Confess to what? I didn’t do this.’
Davila switched off the tape recorder. ‘Okay. It’s time for coffee.’
‘I need to speak to Roberto Belén,’ said Max.
‘Why? Is he involved as well?’
‘No. But I need to speak to him now.’
Davila looked at Navarro who shrugged.
Max’s mobile rang in his pocket.
‘Okay,’ said Davila. ‘Answer it. We’re listening.’
‘Dígame?’
‘Max. It’s Margarita.’ Her voice trembled. ‘I’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who is holding me. I am well at the moment. Tell my father if he says anything to the police, they will kill me. Max, pray to the Virgin of Sacromonte for me.’
The call went dead. Max dropped his phone in shock.
‘No! Oh my God.’
‘What’s up, Romero?’
‘What’s up? Faustino Azul’s daughter has been kidnapped. I have to speak to Roberto.’
‘He’s not working today.’
‘He is. He’ll probably be in the annexe.’
‘What the hell’s going on? Okay. Call him.’
Max flipped open his mobile. Roberto had been questioning suspects most of the night.
‘Max, what’s going on?’
‘Margarita Azul’s been kidnapped. The security guard and the secretary at Seguridad Victoriano have been murdered, and Davila’s arrested me. Get Chávez and Mario over here. I’m in interview room B.’
‘Oh Christ. Mario’s still here. Hang on.’ There was a pause. ‘Max, Chávez has just come in with the duty judge. We’re on our way.’
Davila and Navarro looked at each other in silence.
Five minutes later, Roberto, Comisario Chávez and Inspector Jefe Mario Cruz crowded into interview room B. Mario was still on an adrenalin high. Chávez was fresh and angry.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ demanded Chávez.
Davila got in first. ‘Comisario, there have been two murders, and Romero’s prints were in both locations. We brought him in for questioning as soon as we had the Forensics report.’
‘Fuck all that rubbish. Margarita Azul has been kidnapped. They’ve threatened to kill her if Faustino Azul talks.’
‘Enrique, release Sub-Inspector Romero. Now. I will personally take over these two murder cases. And send me a copy of the tape and a full report. Today.’
‘Sí, sir.’
‘We’d better tell Azul right now. Mierda,’ said Mario.
‘I need to speak to him,’ said Max. ‘He might know something. Where is he?’
‘He’s still being interviewed in the annexe,’ said Mario.
Mario, Max and Roberto hurried out of the main headquarters building, and into a shabby office block across the plaza.
‘Did you get anything?’ Max asked Mario.
‘We’ve learnt a lot about how the Brotherhood of the Bell worked. They knew who to bribe, so they oiled the wheels for a whole load of people to get building permits, and used each other’s companies for money laundering. It
’s a real spider’s web, but our accountants will crack it eventually. Unfortunately the foot soldiers don’t know the man or group behind it all. And they’ve all got good lawyers. We had to let most of them out on bail last night. The judge agreed we could hang on to Faustino Azul and Andrés Mendoza.’
‘My cousin?’
‘Very helpful, but probably knows least of all of them.’
‘Anything from Azul or Mendoza?’
‘I doubt if we can keep them much longer, but we’ll get them both on tax evasion, bribery and money laundering. Azul was beginning to weaken and might have given us something useful. But this kidnapping’s blown it. And Mendoza was never going to say a word.’
In a small office, an exhausted Faustino Azul was smoking a cigarette. Guzmán de Sídonia sat beside him.
‘I think you should let my client go now, officer. He has nothing more to tell you,’ said the lawyer.
‘Not yet. There has been an important new development,’ said Mario.
Faustino stared at Max. ‘Sub-Inspector Romero?’
‘Your daughter, Margarita, has been kidnapped. If you decide to cooperate with us, we can find her.’
‘You’re bluffing. That’s a nasty trick.’
‘No. It’s not. I suggest that you ring her mobile. Try the landline. Margarita’s flatmates confirmed that she didn’t come home last night.’
Faustino turned pale. ‘What exactly did she say?’
Max repeated her message. ‘You have to help us find her.’
‘I have no idea. No idea where she is.’
‘But you know who’s behind this.’
‘No idea.’ Faustino Azul looked Max straight in the eyes. ‘You bastard. You persuaded my daughter to bug my study, didn’t you? That’s how you found out about the Brotherhood of the Bell meeting.’
Max remained silent.
‘You must have some clue,’ said Mario. ‘For your daughter’s sake, give us something. We’ll keep you out of it.’
‘I told you I have no idea.’
The lawyer interrupted. ‘My client has cooperated on everything. You have no choice but to release him now. If you have a case and it comes to court he will be questioned according to the proceedings stated by the law.’
‘Wait,’ said Mario. ‘I’m going to talk to Andrés Mendoza. Max, you stay here.’
Max stared at Faustino. ‘All right. The tape’s off. Just between you and me. Tell me about the palio.’
‘You don’t have to tell him anything,’ interrupted the lawyer.
‘It’s okay. The palio. That was a stunt to embarrass Gómez. Mateo knew a couple of students who might be up for it. I paid them. I didn’t know Margarita would be under it.’
‘But they could have killed somebody. And the demo?’
‘That was a cop’s idea. Set up a riot and discredit the protestors.’
‘Who was the cop?’
‘I’ve nothing more to say.’
‘And Monsignor Bien?’
‘A business acquaintance. I have the contract to build the new Opus Dei student residence at the top of the Albayzín.’
‘Would you be willing sign a statement?’
‘No.’
Mario returned. ‘We promised protection for Andrés Mendoza’s family, and Mendoza’s agreed to tell us all he knows. Señor Azul, give us the names of the bastards behind all of this. Silence isn’t going to help your daughter. You know they won’t release her. Maybe they’ll rape her a few times while she still looks pretty, torture her a bit, just for fun, you know, then dump her. Maybe she’ll still just be alive when they dump her … in the sea maybe, or perhaps down a well. You know what these guys are like. You have to help us.’
‘Nice try, Inspector Jefe. I’ve told you all I know.’
The lawyer interrupted once more. ‘I have requested three times for my client to be released. This time I have no choice but to make an official complaint.’ He stood up as if to leave.
Mario glared at him. ‘All right, Azul. You can go now. The judge will be in touch.’
Faustino got up and walked towards the door with his lawyer.
‘Your daughter …’ Max called out at him.
Faustino didn’t turn round.
Chapter 30
Max felt sick. The sweet mint tea helped a bit, but not much. Why the hell did he get Margarita involved? She knew who they were now. They wouldn’t let her go free. They’d kill her. Just as they killed Gloria and that poor sodding security guard. Max stared at the Alhambra. The towers were bright and fresh in the morning sun, and the blackbird’s song drifted from the pomegranate tree in the garden next door. There was a thump and rattle from the street below. The binmen were hauling sacks of trash into their little van. Max picked up his notepad and pen again.
So what did he know? He jotted down a few things. Bugger all really. He went over everything he could remember since the Paco Maya case began. Webs of corruption. Murders. Margarita could be anywhere. And he had no leads.
Max paused. Opus Dei. Faustino Azul and Mateo Bien were connected. Mateo Bien. Bien’s name kept coming up. He was the one who advised the lawyer, Andrés Mendoza, to buy the new cloak for the Virgin of Sacromonte. David Costa, Salvador Lozano and Diego Elvira were all Opus boys. Maybe Bien knew what was going on.
Max hurried round to the Opus Dei centre, behind the Dominican church of Santo Domingo. He rang and rang the doorbell.
‘Voy, voy,’ a voice called out. ‘I’m just coming. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
A sweet-faced old man answered the door.
‘Policía Nacional,’ said Max, showing his card. ‘It’s urgent. I have to see Monsignor Bien.’
‘He’s in prayers. You can wait here,’ the old man said, pointing to a plain chair in the corridor. And he wandered off, muttering to himself.
Max looked round the dark corridor. It reminded him of his own Jesuit school in Glasgow, brown paint and a musty smell. On the wall opposite him hung a plain crucifix and a brightly coloured picture of the founder of Opus Dei, San Josémaría Escrivá, surrounded by adoring Filipino workers and children. The caption read, ‘Be holy through thy work.’
Max started pacing up and down the corridor. Finally a door opened. Monsignor Bien had finished his prayers. His crucifix was very plain, but gold glittered at his cuffs.
‘Buenos dias, Inspector Romero. Jaime said you needed to see me. He said it was urgent.’
‘It is,’ said Max. ‘Where’s Margarita?’
‘Who?’
‘Margarita Azul, Faustino Azul’s daughter. She’s been kidnapped. Where is she?’
‘Why on earth would I …? You’d better come to my study.’
Monsignor Bien opened a heavy wooden door, and they walked along another corridor until the last door on the left.
‘Sit down, Inspector. You seem very agitated. And tell me what your problem is.’
Max had difficulties explaining clearly. His sentences tumbled out. Monsignor Bien listened carefully.
‘Inspector, I am very, very sad to hear about the girl, and I shall pray for her safe return to her family. But what you are suggesting is absurd. You seem to think I have something to do with this kidnapping. That I personally, or Opus Dei, helped stir up a riot at the demonstration, or sabotaged that palio. Absurd. It’s beyond all reason. You’ve read too many conspiracy books. We are not like that. Your accusations are totally outrageous.’
‘But all these connections?’
‘Inspector, let me explain in words of one syllable.’
‘Sub-Inspector,’ corrected Max.
‘Right, Sub-Inspector. Let me explain. I know Don Faustino. Of course I do. His company does a lot of work for us. He’s just got the contract to build a hall of residence. Faustino put me in touch with Don Andrés Mendoza, who wanted to contribute to a cofradía. Abbot Jorge of Sacromonte is an old friend –’
‘Sí, I realize that.’
‘Jorge felt that la Virgen de los Gitanos needed a new
cloak. So I introduced Don Andrés to Abbot Jorge.’
‘But why la Virgen de los Gitanos?’
Mateo Bien frowned. ‘For the simple reason I knew Abbot Jorge wanted a new cloak for the Virgin.’
‘But the monastery of Jesús del Valle, the roads …?’
‘Jorge mentioned that he’d agreed to the Archbishop’s request for the sale of the monastery and its lands.’
‘To whom?’
‘I’ve no idea. You would have to ask the Archbishop.’
‘And the repairs to the back of the Abadía?’
‘Abbot Jorge has been trying to raise money for the repairs for a long while.’
‘Raise money from where?’
‘From wherever. The Church is always grateful for donations. I told Jorge that Opus Dei might consider a gift. But it would only have been a small part of the total repair bill.’
‘And the palio? And the riot at the demo?’
‘I know nothing about them. Sí, of course I know the students you mentioned, David Costa, Salvador Lozano and Diego Elvira. They are old boys of our school. I have profound differences with Padres Oscar Alto and Gerardo Arredondo. That’s well known in Granada. And there’s no love lost between Opus Dei and the Jesuits. There’s been a lot of ink spilt on that. But neither Opus Dei nor I myself would ever countenance sabotage or provocation. They’re both illegal and immoral. You claim that Faustino Azul paid these students? And that I recommended them?’
‘Sí.’
The priest shook his head as if to rid himself of something foul and clinging. ‘That’s a slander.’
‘Do you know where these three students are now?’ asked Max.
‘No. On holiday or at home, I imagine. Both Salvador and Diego have recently moved out of this residence.’
‘And Margarita?’ Max said desperately.
‘Once again, I have no idea where Margarita Azul is. I’m sorry for Don Faustino. And we shall pray for his daughter. But to imagine Opus Dei could have anything to do with a kidnapping. It is beyond belief. We are devoted to spreading the word of God in the world, through good works, prayer and penance. Anything else is fantasy.’
Max felt as if he’d had a really bad session with his old headmaster. He had been too hasty, too emotional. Where fools rush in …