by P J Brooke
‘Sub-Inspector, may I remind you it is not our job to agree or not with our government’s policies. Our job is to support those policies. And the so-called war on terrorism, as you put it, is a real war. There is no harm in having friendly cups of tea, but that can be no substitute for serious police work.’
‘I think Inspectora Jefe Concha is correct,’ interrupted Comisario Bonila. ‘Sub-Inspector Romero’s survey is but the first step. We need a top level planning team to develop a strategic and tactical plan which can be implemented almost immediately.’
Linda smiled, ‘Thank you, Comisario. That is what I wanted to hear. Both Inspector Sánchez and myself will be here over the coming week to help you set up such a plan. We are pleased that Granada sees the importance of the threat we are facing and is willing to take the necessary action.’
‘Inspectora Jefe,’ said Davila, ‘I do apologize for the inadequate presentation. The Sub-Inspector is young and relatively inexperienced. I had advised him to be less bland, and give more emphasis to the real dangers we are facing.’
Max managed to hold his tongue.
‘Inspector Jefe, I am not making any personal criticisms. The Sub-Inspector does have a good knowledge of the Islamic groups, and he could be useful to our planning exercise. I suggest he participates in our planning group. What do you think, Martín?’
Martín, though now looking less green around the gills, had still not said a word. ‘Yes, he could be useful.’
‘I was about to suggest that myself,’ said Davila. ‘I will arrange for Sub-Inspector Romero to be free whenever he is required.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Linda. ‘The Sub-Inspector is fortunate in having you as his commanding officer.’
‘Thank you all for coming,’ said Davila. ‘I will arrange a planning meeting as a matter of urgency.’
They filed out, Comisario Bonila rushing to reassure Linda about how seriously they were all taking the threats, and reminding her of the last time he had met her father.
‘Max, stay behind a minute, will you,’ said Davila.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Max, collecting his materials and returning them to his briefcase.
When everyone had left, Davila turned to Max.
‘Romero, that was a complete and utter balls-up. You made me look stupid. If Inspectora Jefe Concha hadn’t asked for you on the team, you’d be on a disciplinary. Okay. You can go now. But watch your step.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Max. ‘I will certainly do my best to follow your advice and orders.’
He saluted, and left.
Linda was waiting outside on the steps. As he attempted to pass, she moved to stand in front of him.
‘Max. Sorry about that. Trust me, it wasn’t personal. I had to get real action. Look – the PM’s Anti-Terrorist Coordinating Committee is monitoring all the forces, and Granada got flagged up for a kick in the balls. No hard feelings.’
She smiled, a little girl’s please forgive me smile.
‘Max, stick with me and you’ll do well. Let’s have a drink. You can tell me what really goes on in these famous monthly coordinating meetings.’
‘I don’t know that much about them. I just prepare the odd briefing memo now and again.’
‘As I thought. An excuse for a coffee morning. A drink then?’
‘Inspectora Jefe, I’m very busy. I have a lot to do.’
‘Oh, it’s not personal. I can help you. I’ve already got your pompous fool of a boss, what’s he called, Davila, eating out of my hand.’
In spite of himself, Max smiled. ‘I really am busy. Still have that murder case in Diva to see to. Leila – remember, the girl who was killed – is the daughter of Ahmed Mahfouz, the anti-war campaigner.’
‘Now that is interesting. There might be some leads there. Come on. You look as if you need a drink.’
‘Well . . .’
‘I remember the first time I had to do something like this. My dad was there, and he really put me down. It was all I could do to stop myself from crying.’
‘Oh, okay. One drink then. The Aben Humeya is on my way home.’
‘This one’s on me. I wouldn’t want you to have problems with expenses. But I must get out of this uniform first. It’s stifling me. Give me a minute to change in the hotel.’
The Santa Paula was cool. The fountain in the middle of the foyer splashed gently. Fifteen minutes went by. Max felt awkward in his uniform. He amused himself guessing which of the couples coming in and out were married or not. He thought you would be able to tell: a glance, a smile, the way an arm or hand was held, a stray hand brushing a bottom. But in the end he gave up: there were no obvious clues.
Linda appeared in a blue silk dress, so plain it must have cost a fortune.
A taxi was waiting outside.
‘The Aben Humeya please,’ said Max.
The taxi passed underneath the mosque overlooking the Alhambra. ‘That’s the mosque I mentioned in my presentation.’
‘Impressive. But I wouldn’t have given permission for it on that site. It would only encourage the radicals.’
As Max and Linda walked down three flights of steps to the bottom terrace of the restaurant, the sun began to set behind the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevada beyond.
‘You’re right, Max. This is delightful.’
Max took off his jacket and tie, and placed them on a spare chair.
‘You look better already. No hard feelings now, I hope. Your presentation wasn’t that bad, Max. Too much of the bleeding heart liberal and it wouldn’t have shaken up the departments, would it? And I’m here to get results. A bottle of really cold, white wine, no? Don Darías be okay?’
‘Don Darías would be fine.’
The owner arrived with a bottle, and poured them each a glass. Linda swirled the wine around in her glass, and sniffed it appreciatively.
‘Fine. A touch of peach, wouldn’t you say?’
Max laughed. He was being teased.
‘Okay, give me the low-down on who’s who, and what’s going on.’
So Max told the story of the day when Comisario Bonila’s mistress ran off with a flamenco dancer.
‘. . . then Bonila wanted to haul in the Drug Squad and get the guy’s flat raided. It took his deputy hours to talk him out of it. But not before everyone in the force knew about the mistress – and of course one of the secretaries knew his wife’s cousin, so it all got back to Bonila’s wife and she wasn’t best pleased.’
‘Another bottle, Max? And a bite to eat?’
‘Why not?’
‘I meant to go back to Madrid this weekend. But my daughter’s fine, and wants to stay on with her grandparents. I’ve some reports to finish, and Bonila has invited me to a barbecue on Sunday. Terrified I might give a damning report. I won’t be able to look at him with a straight face now. So, Max, what does a girl like me do on her own in Granada on a Saturday night?’
Chapter 9
Tape Number 4
Leila: Paula, you said at the end of my last interview that your family suffered a lot because of the Civil War. Would it be too painful to tell me what happened?
Paula: Oh, dear. I haven’t talked about this for a long time. I think a lot about it. My last wish is to bury my brother, Antonio, before I die. I . . . I . . .
Leila: Here, take this tissue.
Paula: Gracías, Leila. Silly old woman, aren’t I? I’m okay now.
Leila: Are you sure you want to talk about it?
Paula: Sí, sí. Está bien. I’m sure. If you could help me find his body, I could go to my grave at peace.
Leila: Oh, Paula, I’ll do what I can. I’ve permission to go through the archives of the Guardia Civil – there might be something there.
Paula: Where shall we start?
Leila: Why don’t you start with your family?
Paula. Sí. My parents were quite wealthy, good Catholics, conservatives, very respectable, you know. We had servants, and an old town house in Granada as well as this farmhouse. The Gr
anada house was lovely. There was a pond in the patio, with a goldfish I called Cleopatra. I went to a convent school of course. I would have liked to have gone to university like my brothers, but in those days girls just didn’t. I do envy you your education – you know so much more about the world than I did at your age.
Leila: Your life sounds just like a novel.
Paula: It was a different world; you can’t imagine how things have changed. Where was I?
Leila: You were telling me about your family.
Paula: Sí. Well . . . my two elder brothers went to university, Antonio to study Law, and Carlos, Literature. Odd, it turned out to be Antonio who went on to become a writer. Antonio met Lorca at the Faculty of Law. They became good friends; part of what Lorca called ‘the magic circle’. I wish I had been older. Everything was so exciting.
Leila: Did you know much about Antonio’s political involvement?
Paula: At the time, not much – I was very young. But I’ve read a lot since then. I think neither Lorca nor Antonio was really political – always talking about the noble peasant and the honest worker. In real politics they were babes. But Carlos joined the Communist Party at university, and lived and breathed politics; demonstrations, propaganda. I think he even received some military training. I don’t know what he was in the Communist Party , but I understand he was quite senior .
Leila: Do you know why he joined?
Paula: Not really. It seemed like a religious conversion: it changed him. He started off as idealistic as Antonio, but then he became much tougher. I was too young at the time to know what was going on. But I’ve read some books on the Civil War – the best are the French and British ones. Max gets them for me when they come out in Spanish. I just cannot believe how all the Republican groups fought each other, even with Franco’s troops on their doorstep.
Leila: Can you tell me a bit more about Antonio and Lorca?
Paula: Well, as I said, Antonio became part of the Lorca circle. He had a fine singing voice, you know, and Lorca would often accompany him at the piano. He helped out with Lorca’s theatre group, and even went on one tour with them. Like everyone, he was bewitched by Lorca. It was Lorca who encouraged him to write. Some of Antonio’s poems were really good, but . . . but he took his notebook with him when he left us, and told us to burn anything of his in the house. So it’s all lost. Lost. Oh dear.
Leila: It’s all right Paula. Have another tissue. Can I get you a drink or something?
Paula: No, no. I just worshipped my brothers. But once Carlos got involved in politics, he didn’t have time any more for his silly little sister. Though Antonio would always tell me things.
Leila: If you want to stop now, we can always continue another time.
Paula: No, it’s good for me to talk about the past. It makes me even more determined to find out what happened to Antonio. You will help me, won’t you?
Leila: Yes, of course I will. But don’t overdo it just now.
Paula: I haven’t much time left.
Leila: No, Doña Paula, don’t say that. You’ve got years ahead of you.
Paula: I’m eighty-three . . . I know I haven’t got much time.
Leila: I’ll do everything I can.
Paula: Thanks. You are very sweet.
Leila: It’s funny you haven’t asked Max to help – he’s in the police.
Paula: I’ve talked to Max a lot. He likes Lorca’s poetry and plays. So he knows all about how I met Lorca. But I’ve never really talked about such family matters. He’s a good boy; so he might help us.
Leila: Why didn’t you talk to him?
Paula: Nobody wanted to talk about the Civil War when Franco was alive, even within families – too frightened. You never knew who might learn something. And after Franco died . . . well, there was this understanding that people would still keep quiet about the Civil War when we moved to a democracy. So many bad memories. Older people just wanted to forget and get on with life . . . and younger people were so fascinated by this new world of sex and money that they didn’t want to dig up what had happened to their grandparents. It’s only now that we are beginning to discover the truth. People are beginning to open up the mass graves. They’re all over Spain. There’s one here, you know – down by El Fugón. Oh, I do so want Antonio to have a proper burial. After all these years, he must be dead . . . but no one knows where he is. I’m not very Catholic, but I want him laid to rest in a Christian grave.
Leila: We’ll find him, Paula. I promise you. I think we should stop now. You’re looking tired.
Tape Number 5
Leila: Can you tell me about the last time you saw Antonio?
Paula: It’s as if it was yesterday. It was when Antonio escaped from Granada, and hid with us for a few days. That was about a year after Lorca was executed. And about two years after my father died. So Antonio was head of the family. The Falange were rounding up Republicans, and taking them off to be shot. My mother was frantic, both for Antonio and for Carlos. We got word that Carlos had joined the Communist militia, and had managed to escape north after the fall of Granada. But we had heard nothing from Antonio for nearly a year.
Leila: Why was that? He was only in Granada.
Paula: In those days it was too dangerous for him to contact us. The army was in control of the city. Travel was very difficult, and you couldn’t trust anybody . . . not the telephone operator, not the nice young man who delivered the post. Civil war’s like that.
Leila: I just can’t imagine it.
Paula: You are lucky to have been born in Britain.
Leila: Yes, I suppose so. You were telling me about Antonio.
Paula: I remember my mother saying Antonio was so naive he had probably handed himself in. People just disappeared. Then one night, at three in the morning, we were woken by the dogs barking. It was Antonio. He had walked for three nights from Granada over the mountains. You can imagine how dangerous that was. He was half dead from exhaustion. We hid him in our cellar to recover, and hoped no one had heard the dogs. There were always bad neighbours who would denounce you to buy your land dirt-cheap. Civil war’s like that. You can’t trust anybody. Mother and I talked until morning trying to work out what to do. Carlos had already got out of Granada, and gone north to join the battle around Toledo.
Leila: Couldn’t Antonio go and join him?
Paula: No. Carlos had the Communists to support him. They had safe houses along the route north. But Antonio didn’t have connections. In the end we agreed Antonio should stay with us as long as possible to rest and recover. And then set off again walking at night along the Sierra Contraviesa, down into Almeria, which was still in government hands. And from there he could take a boat to Morocco or somewhere. It would be dangerous. But he couldn’t stay for long in Diva. Already houses were being searched . . . I think I will take that drink now, Leila, if you don’t mind.
Leila: Sure, here. My goodnes, I hadn’t realized how much danger you had lived through.
Paula: Danger? Yes. But you learnt to survive.
Leila: What did you do?
Paula: I had a young admirer at the time, Pablo. He was on the fringes of Lorca’s circle. He was right wing, but Lorca was more interested in people’s talents than their politics.
Leila: Yes – I read that after the fall of Granada Lorca actually hid in the house of Falangist supporters, and it was from that house he was taken to be shot.
Paula: Yes, that’s true.
Leila: But back to Pablo.
Paula: Well, Pablo was a Franco supporter, and had relatives high up in Acción Popular, a small fascist group. Antonio had introduced me to Pablo well before all the trouble started. He used to visit the house a lot. He was a good-looking young man, from a respectable family, and my mother took a real liking to him. I suppose there was an understanding between our families that Pablo and I would naturally become engaged when I was old enough. Then for some reason, just after Lorca’s death, Antonio wrote to say that Pablo was no longer welcome in our
house, and I should break off any contact with him.
Leila: My goodness. Do you know why?
Paula: No. Antonio never explained.
Leila: How did you feel about that?
Paula: I was upset, but not devastated. I was young, and not too sure I wanted to get married, settle down and have babies. I wanted to see more of the world. There was so much I wanted to do.
Leila: I know just how you felt. To be honest I still feel that way.
Paula: But for you it’s so much easier. You can get jobs, can travel on your own . . . that would have been my dream.
Leila: But why did you think Antonio had fallen out so badly with Pablo?
Paula: I don’t know. I spoke later to Pablo about it. He said he didn’t know either.
Leila: Any ideas?
Paula: If it had been Carlos, it would have been because he considered Pablo a fascist. But Antonio had many rightwing friends. And he had once said Pablo wasn’t really political – he just had fascist family connections.
Leila: What happened to Carlos?
Paula: He was lucky . . . ended up in Chile. Married a nice young woman, and had four children. He visited me after Franco died. It was lovely. Max has been out to see his cousins too.
Leila: So what happened to Antonio?
Paula: I don’t know. One day Pablo turned up at our house, wearing the Falange uniform. We were frightened. The Civil War did such strange things to people. Friends were denouncing friends, neighbours denouncing neighbours. Even families were divided. I was very nervous, as we still had Antonio hidden in the cellar. But mother welcomed him into the house as if nothing had happened. Thank God for that. Pablo had come to warn us that our house was on a list to be raided. It was obvious Pablo was still keen on me, and we desperately needed a protector. So I let Pablo know I was still interested in him. Of course we didn’t tell him about Antonio. That night we helped Antonio leave for a little shepherd’s hut up in the hills above Banjaron, which we owned. He could hide and rest there for a few days, and then make his way to Almeria.