by P J Brooke
‘Is that all, Sub-Inspector?’
‘Thank you for your time, Monsignor.’
‘Just don’t rush to judgement again. I hope you find the girl. I’ll pray that she is alive and well.’
Max shivered as he emerged into the bright sunlight. Overhead a solitary bird flew from the portico of the church of Santo Domingo.
Back home, he went on to his little terrace with a cup of strong coffee and wrote down exactly what Margarita had said …
‘Pray to the Virgin of me.’
He copied the sentence, repeatedly. Margarita was intelligent and resourceful. If she could, she would give him a clue. What was it she had said when they were talking about Carlos? ‘I’d never ask anyone to pray for me. But I still pray for a friend in trouble.’
Okay. Then why ask him to pray for her? And why the Virgin of Sacromonte? The Virgin? What were they talking about when that came up?
His doorbell rang. It was Raimundo with the photographs of the Brotherhood of the Bell meeting and a transcript of the tape.
‘Hi, Max. I’m so sorry the way things have gone.’
Max sat at his desk, pen and notebook at the ready, and went through Raimundo’s material. There was that reference to the Cofradía de los Gitanos. Okay. This must be the cloak, and the promise to repair the building at the back of the Abadía.
There was something else nagging at him. Max closed his eyes and pictured the Virgin’s cloak, blue and silver. Blue velvet, richly embroidered in silver thread.
The Virgin and her cloak? Belinda had said something to him about that. Something which had been nagging at him. He phoned Belinda.
‘Max. How are you?’
‘Fine, Belinda, fine. It’s about the Easter Procession of the Gypsies. You were sitting next to a Penélope, a beautiful woman.’
‘I was.’
‘You said something to me afterwards about your conversation with her.’
‘Yes?’
‘Can you remember the conversation?’
‘It’s some while ago now, Max. And –’
‘Try. Please try. It’s very important.’
‘Well, we talked about her speedboat in Marina del Este, her villa in Frigiliana, clothes, life in Venezuela.’
‘The cloak, the Virgin’s cloak?’
‘Possibly. I don’t remember now.’
‘Try, Belinda. Try.’
There was a pause. ‘She rabbited on about the cloak a bit. I got the impression she had chosen it.’
‘Do you remember her surname?’
‘It didn’t sound Spanish. No. Oh dear … Baring … Barrington? No, that’s not it. Carrington. Yes.’
‘That’s it!’ shouted Max. ‘Rubén Carrington. The guy at the Hotel Reina del Sur.’
‘Max, what’s going on?’
‘Belinda, I’ll explain everything later. Thanks.’
So Penélope chose the Virgin’s cloak, not Andrés Mendoza. What did Belinda say Penélope’s husband did? This and that on the coast. He’d been in the oil business in Venezuela, had business connections in Colombia. And Roberto pointed him out in the Reina del Sur.
Max phoned Mario Cruz.
‘Mario, I think I’ve got something. Andrés Mendoza’s boss could be a guy called Carrington. He may be holding Margarita.’
‘Rubén Carrington? Venezuelan guy? We checked him out a month ago, but couldn’t find anything on him. Except he has way too much money.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In your station. I’m still here.’
‘So why Carrington?’
‘I’ll explain. See you in fifteen minutes.’
Mario, Roberto and Max met in the police car park.
Max explained.
‘Vale. The guy fits the part. He has a British passport as well as a Venezuelan one, so he can pop in and out of Gibraltar whenever he wants,’ said Mario. ‘We asked the Brits to check up on him, and they said they had nothing. But he’s got way too much money for his declared income.’
‘We know he makes regular trips to Gibraltar,’ added Roberto. ‘And the companies buying up property around Jesús del Valle and Sacromonte are registered in Gibraltar. Which doesn’t necessarily prove anything, but it’s suggestive.’
‘Did your friend learn anything else?’
‘Penélope Carrington mentioned a speedboat … I think in Marina del Este, and a villa in Frigiliana.’
‘It must be the same guy. Has a luxury fortress outside Frigiliana. He called it Villa Caracas.’
Roberto nodded. ‘So what do we do, chief?’ ‘It’s the only lead we’ve got. We put maximum surveillance on Carrington, and just hope somebody gets clumsy.’
‘But we have to act now,’ said Max. ‘Margarita’s life is in danger.’
‘We’re shattered,’ said Mario. ‘But you’re right.’
Mario phoned Raimundo, then turned to Max and Roberto. ‘We’re all going to Frigiliana right now. Raimundo and the gang will check out Carrington’s place.’
Chapter 31
They drove like demons out of Granada, down the gorge, along the coast road to the Nerja roundabout, then turned back inland towards the mountains of the Sierra Almijara and the ancient Moorish hill village of Frigiliana.
Villa Caracas was a gleaming white pile on the old Compéta road above Frigiliana village, surrounded by cypresses and palm trees. The entrance was a twenty-foot-high secure gate with surveillance cameras. The rest of the security fencing was hidden by flowering vines and bushes.
The police surveillance van was already in the driveway of a half-built villa just across a little valley. The van had been repainted since last week. The logo this time read ‘Galvez y McDougall. Servicios Tecnicos’.
Raimundo was testing his equipment. ‘This is as close as we could get without being spotted. With luck we’ll hear something, but I can only get the rooms with windows facing this way. Better than nothing, though.’
An hour passed. Max was becoming more and more agitated.
Then they heard a man’s voice. ‘Put her in the car. Then let’s go.’
They could hear someone being dragged along a gravel pathway. A car door slammed shut.
‘Mauricio, keep an eye on this little slut. Let’s go.’
Max started to panic. Mario put a restraining arm on his shoulder.
‘Roberto, get this bloody car across their gate …’
But the gates of Rubén Carrington’s villa swung open, and a 4×4 BMW nosed on to the concrete track, then accelerated rapidly as soon as it hit the tarmac road.
‘Shit! Roberto, can we cut them off somewhere?’ said Mario.
‘Don’t know. This valley’s a maze of minor roads. All we can do is try to follow them.’
Mario flipped open his mobile. ‘Luis, we’re after Carrington. A 4×4, BMW. They’ve got a hostage, a girl. Probably going to Málaga airport.’
They heard a loud explosion. Across the little valley, Villa Caracas burst into flames.
The cops raced along the minor road, then sped past Frigiliana, the 4×4 some distance ahead of them.
‘They’ll turn at the roundabout before Nerja for Málaga,’ said Mario. ‘I’ll phone again and try to get the Málaga cops to block the road.’
They almost lost sight of the 4×4. But they could just make it out turning left instead of right at the Nerja roundabout.
‘Where the fuck are they going? Almería is hours away.’
‘The Carringtons have a speedboat in Marina del Este‚’ said Max.
‘Joder! He’ll try and make it to Gibraltar. And then we’re screwed.’
‘Luis, looks like they’re trying to get to Gibraltar from Marina del Este. Close the harbour, and get the speedboat. See if you can find a helicopter.’
They roared towards Almunecar, the sea a brilliant blue beneath them. They sped past La Herradura, and followed the 4×4 on to a steep road past a large hotel, then down a winding road between villas clad in bougainvillea. There was a pretty white harbo
ur below them with a string of coves beyond. The BMW turned sharp right before the harbour, and braked harshly. Three men and two women tumbled out of the car and started running.
‘We’ve got them,’ shouted Mario.
But instead of turning down into the harbour, the five ran across the causeway to a small rocky island, and up the path towards the ruined lighthouse.
‘Joder! Some bugger’s got the boat out for them on the other side of the island,’ yelled Max.
‘Stop!’ shouted Mario as the three cops set off in pursuit. ‘Policía. Stop!’
Mauricio Espinosa turned and fired a shot in their direction. The cops dived to the ground. Rubén Carrington signalled to Mauricio to stay on the top of the hill. A bullet hit the ground by Max’s foot, and another splintered into a pine tree.
‘Christ,’ said Roberto, ‘I’ll have to shoot.’ He took aim and fired. Mauricio Espinosa screamed and fell to the ground. Max sprinted up the path. He could see a speedboat bobbing in the water, a rope tied round a rock at the water’s edge. There was no path down and Rubén and his group were sliding towards the boat, hauling Margarita close beside them, a human shield. Max scrambled down the steep slope as loose stones clattered down around him. Another shot rang out, hit a rock and exploded.
Carrington leaped on to the boat clutching his briefcase. Penélope jumped next, stumbled and fell backwards towards the water before Rubén grabbed her. As the engines roared into life, Gregorio Espinosa fired back at the cops. Margarita screamed and struggled. But Gregorio grabbed her and jumped, dragging her on board.
The boat lurched violently as it smacked against a rock. Margarita and Gregorio tumbled from the stern, and disappeared in a trail of bloody foam.
Margarita resurfaced, gasping for air. ‘Max,’ she called out. ‘Help!’
‘Over here. Grab my hand.’
‘Can’t … No …’
Max jumped into the water and seized Margarita’s head as she went under again. He pushed her towards the rocks. Roberto scrambled on to the rock at the water’s edge, lay face down, and stretched out his arm.
Splashing, spluttering, Margarita found Roberto’s hand, and hung on as he pulled her on to the rocks. She lay panting, coughing up water. Roberto then hauled Max, wheezing, on to the rock beside her.
‘It’s all right. Just breathe. Slowly. Again, that’s good.’
‘Max …’
‘Where’s the other guy?’ called Roberto.
‘Got him,’ said another cop. Gregorio Espinosa floated up. His arm was torn and bloody.
A rescue boat from the marina nosed cautiously round the rocks, and two guys lifted the injured man aboard.
‘Amor mío. Are you all right?’
‘Max, un abrazo,’ she said, crying. ‘Hug me. Hug me.’
As the speedboat raced towards the horizon, Max held her tight. ‘You’re safe now. They’ve gone. Look.’ Max made out Rubén Carrington putting his mobile to his ear. Two minutes later the boat was just a mark on the horizon.
Mario clambered down to join them. ‘Everyone okay?’
‘Okay?’ spluttered Margarita. ‘You bloody joking? You nearly got me killed. What the hell were you playing at?’
‘I said there was a possibility of some danger.’
‘Some danger!’
Max felt distinctly wheezy. He stood up, bent over and breathed in slowly. The inhaler must be wet. ‘Have you got a clean hanky, Mario?’ He dried his inhaler as best he could and tested it. It worked. He took a deep puff and felt his breathing ease.
Margarita sat on a rock, crying and rubbing her shoulder. Max held her close.
‘You’re all right. You’re safe.’
‘Oh, Max. I was sure they were going to kill me as soon as they were safe.’
‘Well, they didn’t, and you’re fine. Absolutely fine.’
Mario closed his mobile. ‘Right, young lady. We need to get you warm and dry. We have to go back up to the top, I’m afraid. Do you think you can make it?’
‘I’m not sure. My shoulder is hurting like hell.’
‘Okay. I’ll see if the rescue boat can get in close enough. We don’t want you in the water again.’
Mario phoned the boat. It edged close to the big rock. A cop threw a line to Roberto who made it secure before helping Margarita to the rock’s edge, She cried in pain as two sailors lifted her on board. By the time they got back to the marina, an ambulance had already arrived and two paramedics were working on Mauricio Espinosa.
‘Well done, men. Raimundo, you sort out everything here. Roberto, tell the hotel we’ll be needing coffee and towels. Margarita, a doctor is on the way in the second ambulance. They’ll give you a quick check-up.’
Margarita shivered. ‘I’m fine. Honest. My shoulder’s bloody sore but I’ll go to the clinic in Granada tonight or tomorrow morning. I just need some painkillers.’
‘I insist you have a check-up now. I’ve phoned your father to tell him you’re safe. He said he’ll speak to you in Granada. But do you want to speak to him yourself now?’
‘Not yet. If you’ve told him I’m okay that’s enough. I need time to think. I just want to get home as quickly as possible.’
‘Only if the doctor gives you the okay. I’ll get fresh clothes and a shower sorted for you in the hotel.’
Fifteen minutes later Margarita was nursing a mug of hot chocolate.
‘That’s me okay to return to Granada as long as I have another check-up there.’
‘That’s good. Do you feel up to telling us what happened?’ asked Mario. ‘The more we know, the better chance we have of getting the bastards.’
‘Sure.’ Margarita sipped her hot chocolate. ‘I got snatched just outside my dad’s house. José, our security guard, phoned my flat last night. He said something was wrong with Blanca, and he couldn’t reach my father. I thought she’d gone to Madrid, but José sounded in a panic so I dashed round. Then as I walked through the gate somebody shoved a cloth over my face, and the next thing I knew I was staring at this guy with a gun.’
Mario frowned. ‘Carrington must have bought the security guard.’
‘Seems so. Anyway, they’d got a car inside our driveway, the bastards. Then we drove for a couple of hours and ended up in Carrington’s villa.’
‘So he didn’t attempt to hide his identity?’
‘No, which is why I was so bloody scared. Then I had to read their message this morning with them standing over me.’
‘I got your reference to the Virgin of Sacromonte, thank God,’ said Max.
‘I knew you’d remember. I was told to just read the prepared message. But I managed to add the Virgin bit at the end. Carrington was angry, but Penélope calmed him down. Then, he wanted to know who’d bugged my father’s office. I told him that it must have been Max.’
‘Well done. Did they hurt you in any way?’
‘No, apart from when that goon was pulling at my arm. I was locked in a bedroom, but I had food, coffee, all that, you know. Penélope was there, and she was actually pleasant to me. She told me all about the Virgin of Sacromonte and the cloak.’
‘Do you think she was trying to help you?’
‘No idea. I really couldn’t read her. But she did, anyway.’
‘And thank Christ for that.’
‘The house was sumptuous, you know, just like something out of Hollywood.’
‘And then?’
‘They said they were going to Morocco. Then there was a phone call when I was with Carrington.’
‘Any idea who it was?’
‘No. But I got really scared. Carrington just sat there staring at me. Then he told everyone we all had to leave immediately. Things became a bit hectic …’
‘So you think he was tipped off?’
‘It seems like it.’
Margarita sobbed and burst into tears again. ‘They were going to kill me, weren’t they?’
‘You’re all right now. You’re doing fine. More chocolate?’
‘
Por favor.’
Mario refilled her mug.
‘Then we piled in the car, and you know the rest. Can I go home now?’
‘Okay. Max, I think you should get Margarita back to Granada. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. I’m shattered.’
Max and Margarita took the road towards Motril. Margarita put her head on Max’s shoulder. She was shivering. ‘Be just my luck to get a cold.’ She burst into tears again. ‘Oh Max, I was so frightened.’
‘I know. I should have said no. But Mario was so insistent. And I honestly thought it would be for the best.’
‘I’m not blaming you in any way, Max.’
‘So why did you change your mind and decide to do it?’
‘Mario was nice at first. Explained how in the long run I’d really be helping my father. But I just kept saying I couldn’t do it.’
‘And?’
‘Then he told me that as my father had transferred property to Blanca, that would make her an accomplice. And she could be in for a lengthy trial along with him and end up in prison. Unless I helped you guys, of course. Blanca’s very vulnerable. If she went down I don’t think she’d survive it.’
‘Bloody Mario. What a bastard. But it’s all over now. The cops will need to see you again tomorrow, and the media will be after you.’
‘Oh dear. I just can’t face that at the moment. Can I stay with you until this all dies down?’
‘Of course. Mario can say you’re recovering in a safe house.’
Max turned inland at the Motril roundabout, drove smoothly between the mango and avocado orchards of the Guadelfeo delta, and then up into the gorge which wound through the mountains of the Sierra de Contravesia towards Granada and the high mountain villages.
‘Max, I need the loo. And I could really do with something to eat.’
‘Okay. There’s a restaurant on the Diva turn-off just before the dam. We can stop there.’
They sat on the outside terrace, looking down the valley with its spiky mountains rising sheer from the narrow gorge. Sunlight filtered through the young vine shading the terrace, and a ginger kitten stalked Max’s shoelace.
‘You know, Max, I’d really like to get away for a few days. I need out of Granada.’
‘Me too. I know, let’s go to Scotland. Flights are really cheap at the moment. We could visit my mother, and then go to the Trossachs, Sir Walter Scott country. The rhododendrons and the azaleas will be out. It’s so pretty, you’ll love it. Can’t guarantee the weather though. It’s Scotland.’