by P J Brooke
Leonardo’s good behaviour didn’t last long. He crept behind the top table and pulled his little sister’s hair. Encarnita yelped, spun round and punched him
‘Oi! Miss Smellypants! What did you tell the priest then? I bet he gave you five rosaries … minimum.’
‘No, he didn’t‚’ said Encarnita indignantly. ‘I only got two Hail Marys.’
‘That’s because you didn’t tell him all your sins. I bet you never told him about the time you pushed me into the river.’
‘That wasn’t a sin. You deserved it.’
‘Leonardo, leave the poor girl alone. Poor lamb, she’s still too young to know what a sin is‚’ said Isabel.
‘Unlike Juan‚’ said Max.
Juan smiled sheepishly.
Max and Juan finally got a moment to talk.
‘Any news?’ asked Max.
‘Not much. I had to make my statement to the judge, and I’ve agreed to be a witness for the prosecution. And your friend Mario says they’ll try to minimize my role for the papers. But it looks like I’ve lost my money. We’ll be a bit short of cash for a while, but, if that’s the worst, I can live with it.’
‘You’ll bounce back‚’ said Max.
‘Yes‚’ said Juan. ‘I always do.’
Paula looked extremely frail. For the first time since he had known her, Max noticed that she had difficulty in concentrating on what was said to her. Her sharp tongue was silent. And sometimes Encarnita looked bigger than her great grandmother.
As the caterers were clearing away the dessert plates, Paula started crying. Encarnita put her arm around her. ‘It’s so unfair‚’ sobbed Paula. ‘I read the other day that everyone who died for Franco had been given a proper Christian burial. And now the Catholic Church is preventing dignified burials for the Republican dead, seventy years after the end of the Civil War. How unchristian can you get?’
Max shot Juan a quick glance.
‘It’s not fair, abuela‚’ said Max. ‘But we’ll get there in the end. We’ll give great uncle Antonio a dignified burial. We will.’
‘But why are the judges being so cruel? I don’t expect any better from the right wing parties, but the Church, the judges?’
Paula wiped her eyes, and held Encarnita’s hand as if that was all she had left in the world. ‘Oh, my pretty little girl, I wish I had your energy. I’m really tired. Your abuela needs a little lie-down. Max, I’ll say goodbye now.’
Paula stood up, moved to give Max a kiss, then slid to the ground. There was a gasp from the guests, and Doctora Ruiz de Cordova walked quickly towards the top table, wiping her hands with a napkin.
Max carried his grandmother carefully to her bedroom on the ground floor, and put her on her bed. She was as light as a feather. Encarnita cried, then held Paula’s hand.
Paula opened one eye, then another. She was disorientated.
‘I’m cold.’
Isabel put a blanket over her.
‘Silly me. What happened?’
‘Doña Paula, you fainted. You’re all right. Just relax.’
‘Oh, Doctora … on your day off. I’m making such a nuisance of myself. I’m sorry.’
Young Doctora Ruiz de Cordova shooed the family out, and settled down for a talk with her favourite patient. Fifteen minutes later, the doctor returned to the family.
‘She’s all right for now. But she really is very frail‚’ she said. ‘She said she has been very tense and anxious recently. I’ll go and get my bag and give her a quick check-up. My guess is diabetes, but she should go to hospital for tests tomorrow.’
‘That’s a blessing‚’ said Juan. ‘She’s had a couple of dizzy spells. I asked her to go and see you last week. But she didn’t want to bother you, of course.’
The family went back outside to the party, reassuring everyone that there was nothing to worry about. Max and Juan found themselves in the kitchen again as Isabel made another cup of peppermint tea, Paula’s favourite.
‘Paula’s eighty-five now. This mass grave business has worn her out. There’s something else, something to do with your grandfather, that’s caused her a lot of distress.’
Max looked at Juan, but said nothing.
‘I’ll take this tea through to Paula‚’ Max said.
Paula lay propped up on pillows. Some colour had come back to her cheeks. She looked very tired.
‘Thanks. My favourite tea. Oh querido, I was so frightened for you. I do wish you’d get a safer job. Teaching would be much better for you.’
Max smiled.
‘Max, I want you to promise me something.’
‘Anything you like, abuela.’
‘Keep looking for Antonio’s remains, and bury him next to me and Pablo. He’d forgive Pablo, I’m sure.’
‘I will, abuela. Now, you have a good sleep and I’ll phone tomorrow.’
And he kissed her very gently.
Max went outside into the bright afternoon sun. Encarnita had taken off her finery, and was playing tag in the garden with a bunch of cousins.
‘Can you help me, Nita? I found this bit of comic. Do you know what it is?’
Encarnita examined the muddy bit of paper, screwing her face up in concentration.
It was the comic he’d found below Paco’s cave. It had been torn, and all it had on it was the foot of a cartoon cat.
‘Yes‚’ she said. ‘It’s Hello Kitty. I like it a lot.’
‘Thanks.’ said Max. ‘Can you remember this one?’
‘Oooh, I’m not sure. But I save them until mummy makes me throw them out.’
‘Can we go and check?’
Encarnita’s room was not exactly tidy. But under a bear and a bag of sparkly socks was a pile of copies of Hello Kitty. The third one down was the picture of the cartoon cat, wearing a kimono. The pictures matched.
Max read the date. It was Friday, 3rd April. The day Paco Maya died.
Chapter 38
The next day was el Día de los Cruces de Mayo, the Day of the Crosses of May, the day when Granada finally forgets the grief of Easter and celebrates spring. There is dancing in the street, and every little girl, and quite a few older ones, wears the traditional Sevilliana, the bright dress awash with frills.
But the central symbol is still the Cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ, crucified. At every corner the little tableaus stand. Street competes against street, patio against patio, plaza against plaza. In fenced-off spaces, with the pavement covered in fresh herbs, there is a display of shawls, brass jugs and bowls, blue Granadino ceramics and farm implements. Often, there is a little altar, but always, in the centre, stands a cross covered in red flowers. And enterprising small boys make crude wooden crosses, and stand on the corners to beg for pennies.
Max telephoned Carmen Espinosa’s house. There was no reply. He walked over to Haza Grande. The house was locked up and the shutters closed. The neighbours really, really didn’t want to talk. Eventually, he found a woman in a little sweet shop four streets away who had heard that Señora Espinosa had passed away. She’d no idea about Angelita. He phoned Catalina Maya’s number. A polite electronic voice informed him, ‘Este numero no es disponible.’ Damn.
He tried Father Gerardo’s mobile next. It rang for a while. Then a voice said, ‘Dígame. Gerardo speaking.’
‘Padre Gerardo, sorry to disturb you on your busy day. Sub-Inspector Max Romero here. I need to contact Catalina Maya. I was wondering if you have a number for her. The one she gave me is no longer available.’
‘Ah, Max, I’m glad you phoned. I need to talk to you.’
‘I would be delighted. But it’s quite important I talk to Catalina.’
‘She and Angelita are with me right now. Why don’t you come round? We’re just behind the Hotel Santa Paula.’
Max noted down the address, then walked back through the Albayzín to the maze of narrow streets behind the Hotel Santa Paula. He pressed the button on the door-entry system of a block of flats, and a woman’s voice answered.
‘
Catalina. It’s Max.’
‘We’re on the second floor. Come on up.’
The flat smelled of fresh paint and baking.
‘So glad you could come‚’ said Catalina. ‘Gerardo’s just making some coffee.’
Max raised an eyebrow.
As they sat down, Father Gerardo appeared with the coffee and a plate of freshly baked biscuits.
‘They’ve come out perfectly‚’ he said to Catalina. ‘Max, Great to see you again.’
‘But …?’ said Max.
‘I packed it in, Max. I’ve left the Church. Or rather the Church left me. I’m going to do a social work qualification. I can do more good there. And the penny finally dropped how I felt about Catalina. And she seems to feel the same about me.’ He grinned shyly.
‘Congratulations‚’ said Max. ‘You’ve done the right thing.’
Catalina laughed. ‘You know, he’s the first sensible boyfriend I’ve had. And he’s great with Angelita. I don’t know what I would do without him. I think we’ll be fine.’
‘Ah, yes. Sorry to hear about the abuela.’
‘I’m not. She was an evil old cow. We’re worried what she did to Angelita.’
‘That’s what I wanted to discuss with you‚’ said Gerardo. ‘I know it’s all been difficult for Angelita – the death of her father and her abuela, moving in with us – but she’s more distressed than I would have expected. She keeps on weeping and is having nightmares. She’s not missing her abuela, I’m sure. But she mentions her father a lot.’
‘Paco? I thought she hardly knew him.’
‘That’s true. But she goes on about how her abuela said her father was an evil man and should be punished.’
‘Poor kid. That woman had a nasty tongue.’
‘It’s not just that. She’s scared stiff of her cousins, Tomasito, Rafa and Nico. When we suggested she went to see them, she started screaming about a bicycle trip and how she was left behind. That she wasn’t there.’
‘Is Angelita in?’ asked Max.
‘She’s in her room‚’ said Catalina. ‘I’ll get her.’
Angelita appeared in the doorway, pale as a little ghost, clutching a comic. She looked at Max, burst into tears, and ran to Gerardo who picked her up, put her on his knee and cuddled her.
‘No need to be frightened‚’ Gerardo said. ‘This is our friend Max. He’s been very kind to your tia Catalina.’
Max smiled at the child. ‘I knew a lot of people who knew your father. He really loved you, and he was desperately sorry for what he did. He wasn’t an evil man. He wanted to take care of you. And he would have done.’
Angelita said nothing. She just stared at him, and clung more closely to Gerardo.
‘Your father loved you, loved you very much‚’ said Gerardo.
Angelita cried again, and dropped her comic on to the floor.
Max picked it up. It was Hello Kitty.
‘You like Hello Kitty, don’t you?’
‘Sí, I get it every month.’
Max took out the torn page he had found at the bottom of Paco’s path.
‘Angelita‚’ he said, trying to sound gentle but serious at one and the same time, ‘I found this torn page at the bottom of the path leading to your father’s cave. There were bicycle tyre marks close by. You were there, weren’t you? The day your father died?’
‘He wasn’t my father‚’ screamed Angelita. ‘He killed my mother. And mi abuela said he didn’t love me.’
‘What do you mean, he wasn’t your father?’
‘Mi abuela said he was a bad, bad man … because of what he’d done. I hate him. I hate him‚’ she sobbed.
‘Max, what’s going on?’ interrupted Gerardo.
‘I know‚’ said Max. ‘But I have to find out what happened that day. I’m sorry, but it’s very important.’
He looked at Angelita. ‘Just tell me what happened that day.’
‘I can’t‚’ she sobbed. ‘Tomasito made me promise. He said I’d go to prison if I did … like my dad.’
‘So Tomasito was there with you?’ asked Max.
‘Sí,’ she whispered.
‘And the others?’
‘Sí. Nico and Rafa.’
Catalina turned quietly to Max. ‘Tomasito and Rafa are Gregorio’s boys. Nico’s their cousin.’
‘Angelita, tell me what happened, what you saw. I promise you won’t go to prison.’
‘But the boys will. They said they’d go to prison for the rest of their lives.’
‘No, none of you will go to prison‚’ said Max. ‘I just have to know what happened.’
Gerardo gave her a tissue to blow her nose. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe here. Nobody’s going to be cross with you. The truth doesn’t hurt.’
‘Tomasito kept saying mi abuela was right, that mi padre deserved to die … after mi padre came out of prison.’
‘Oh dear‚’ said Max.
Gerardo and Catalina looked at one another.
Angelita started to cry again. Gerardo hugged her tightly. ‘It’s all right, cariño. You’ll feel better if you tell us what happened.’
‘I can’t. Tomasito will hit me. I promised I would never tell anyone.’
‘I’ll make sure he doesn’t touch you‚’ said Gerardo. ‘You won’t have to see him ever again unless you want to.’
‘I can’t‚’ Angelita screamed.
‘But you were all there that day, weren’t you? The day your father died‚’ said Max gently.
‘Si,’ she sobbed. ‘Si.’
Gerardo stroked her hand. ‘Just tell us what you can remember, and we’ll go for an ice cream and watch the dancing.’
‘So you were with the boys that day?’ said Catalina very gently.
‘Sí. We went out on our bikes. But my bike won’t go fast, and they wouldn’t wait for me.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I got to my dad’s path, but nobody was there. Then I started walking up the path. The boys came running down, shouting, “We gotta go. Run. Run.”’
‘So what happened then?’
‘We all ran down the path. They jumped on their bikes and left me behind.’
‘Why didn’t you go with them?’
‘I had mud on my new shoes. Mi abuela would batter me when I got home.’
Angelita started crying again.
Gerardo held her close. ‘She can’t batter you any more. Nobody is going to batter you ever again.’
Angelita smiled. ‘I’m thirsty.’
‘I’ll get you some milk, nice and cold‚’ said Catalina.
She returned with a glass of milk. Angelita drank thirstily.
‘See, you’re a lot better now. So what happened to the mud on your new shoes?’ said Catalina.
‘I sat on the big rock by the stream and wiped my shoes with a bit of my comic.’
‘So you didn’t see what happened up there?’ asked Max.
Angelita wailed, ‘No, I didn’t. I didn’t.’
‘But you know what happened? They told you?’
‘No. I can’t tell you. I swore by the Virgin of Sacromonte I’d never tell.’
‘But you can tell me‚’ said Gerardo. ‘You can whisper.’
‘No, I can’t. We cut our fingers, and mixed our blood, and swore we would never tell anyone.’
‘It’s serious‚’ said Max, very quietly, looking at Catalina and Gerardo.
‘Come on, angel‚’ said Gerardo. ‘I think this girl deserves an ice cream. A break will do us all good.’
Gerardo took her hand, and headed for the ice cream shop.
‘Christ‚’ said Catalina. ‘I knew Francisco had nothing to do with it.’
‘My God‚’ said Max. ‘How old are the boys?’
‘Tomasito’s thirteen. Rafa’s a year younger. Nico’s maybe ten, but I’m not sure.’
‘Oh dear. So young.’
‘So where does this leave poor Angelita? She wasn’t there, so nothing can happen to her, can it?’
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‘No, nothing can happen to her. In any case she’s well under age.’
‘And the boys?’
‘We still don’t know what they did. I’m not sure Angelita will tell me. But we’re going to have to talk to them all. I’ll make arrangements to interview them.’
‘Angelita as well?’ asked Catalina.
‘I’m afraid so. You can sit with her and we’ll have a child welfare officer there too.’
‘Gerardo and I will take Angelita‚’ said Catalina.
‘That’s fine‚’ said Max. ‘Maybe she’ll tell you more later.’
‘Leave it with Gerardo. He’s used to confessions.’
‘Okay‚’ said Max. ‘I’ll have to go into the office, and get this set up as quickly as possible. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere near her cousins or their families. Keep her off school.’
By Wednesday afternoon, Max had it all in place to start interviewing the boys. They turned up at the offices of the Fiscalia de Menores, all looking younger and smaller than Max remembered them. They sat uncomfortably on high-backed chairs, tugging at clean collars. Mothers were in skirts and best jackets. The red-haired woman, Gregorio Espinosa’s wife, looked worn, weepy and very tired. Her sister, Nico’s mother, was agitated and defensive.
All three boys stuck to their story that they had gone cycling above Haza Grande and were nowhere near Paco Maya’s cave. Young Tomasito Espinosa was already a hard man in the making. He’d picked up the tricks of the trade from his dad, Gregorio. His brother Rafa was just as tough. But Nico was less sure of himself.
Max hoped Nico would give a clue, but they wouldn’t budge from their story.
The Fiscal called for a break. A secretary arrived with coffee for the two women and Coke cans for the boys. Max walked with Miguel Cortes, the Fiscal, to his private office. ‘Max‚’ he said, ‘I don’t think we can question them for much longer.’
‘Damn.’
The receptionist rang through. ‘Señora Maya has arrived with Angelita Maya and Señor Gerardo Arredondo. Señor Arredondo wants to speak to Sub-Inspector Romero privately before Angelita’s interview.’