Blood Wedding

by P J Brooke

  ‘So you don’t support the present peace offer?’

  ‘Peace offer? That’s not peace. It’s not even peace without honour. That’s giving us a piece of dirt in return for giving up everything we have fought for. And Al Fatah have become so corrupt . . . well, they might sign. I’m told the Americans have offered them large sums of money.’

  ‘I thought you’d been an Al Fatah organizer in . . .?’

  ‘Years ago. But now they are corrupt, and may sign. So these present negotiations are very dangerous. We may gain a pawn or two, but in doing so, sacrifice our queen, and without her we cannot win. Our queen . . . is our belief that one day we will reoccupy enough of our lands to have a viable state. So a bad peace in which we lose that hope is worse than no peace at all. Without that belief, we will start killing each other. And then we will have lost everything.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘No. I’m not surprised. You haven’t lived our lives.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘One learns through sacrifice. The Zionists understand that – which is why they are so ruthless. The Americans are ruthless as long as it causes them no pain. But cause them pain and they look eventually for compromises. Pawns, you know, are there to be sacrificed. But yes, I love chess.’

  ‘I noticed that the winning move was similar to the one in The Flanders Panel.’

  ‘Back to that again. Yes. I had to manoeuvre Hassan into a position through sacrificing pieces where I could take his white knight to eventually win the game. In chess, as in war, sacrifices are necessary to win in the long run.’

  Max grimaced, his ribs and head aching. ‘I’m not one for sacrifices. My ribs are really beginning to hurt. I’d better go now.’

  ‘Can you drive down the mountain okay?’

  ‘Sure. No problem.’

  ‘We leave at the end of the week. So you and I probably won’t meet again. Or maybe we will, inshallah.’

  ‘Maybe we will, Allah willing,’ Max replied.

  ‘I hope so. You are the only one of them who tries to understand.’

  Max and Javeed shook hands. Javeed walked with Max to his car.

  ‘Remember, what is truth?’

  Max laughed. ‘Only Allah knows that.’

  He drove down the mountain, his ribs throbbing, his head aching. I must check up on the police notes on that chess game, he thought.

  When he reached the turn-off to Diva he decided to take it, and spend the night at Paula’s. She would fuss over him, but then he felt in need of a bit of fussing.

  As he turned on to the Jola road, the pain in his ribs and head got worse. He began to feel faint. Best stop the car. Max pulled up near the bridge where Leila’s body had been found. He got out of the car, and breathed in deeply. It was not far to go. He had better warn Paula he was coming, and that he was not feeling too well. He fished in his jacket for his mobile, and phoned Paula.

  ‘Abuela. Hola. I’ll be arriving in ten minutes or so. I’m not feeling too well. No, I’ll be okay. Yes. I can make it on my own.’

  The pain in his ribs was becoming unbearable. He felt nauseous. Best get there quick. Max looked around him. It was here that Leila had died. And he was still no further as to the reason for her death or the identity of her killer. There must be something out there that could give him a clue or maybe he already had a clue but had just failed to notice it.

  Max got back into the car. His head was throbbing with pain. He reached to start the car, and gritted his teeth so as not to scream from the sharp pain in his ribs. The engine finally kicked in, and he eased the car forward. The pain made driving hazardous. He slowed down to a crawl, unsure that he could make it to Paula’s. After what seemed like an eternity, he glimpsed lights in the distance, welcoming, beckoning lights. He could just make out Juan, waiting at the beginning of the driveway. Max felt sick, then suddenly he vomited over the steering wheel. He managed to stop the car before he passed out.

  He awoke to the pleasant smell of fresh lavender. He opened his eyes to see two worried faces staring down at him.

  ‘Santo cielo,’ said Paula. ‘Are you all right? Juan had to carry you in from your car. Mother of God, you could have killed yourself.’

  ‘No. I’m okay. Just fell and hurt my ribs and head, that’s all.’

  ‘We’ve called the doctor. You could have broken ribs, and that head wound could be serious,’ said Juan. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Slipped and fell, that’s all. I’ll be all right.’ Max grimaced as he tried to move.

  ‘Here. Let me help you,’ said Juan. He put his hand on Max’s back as he struggled to sit up. ‘We’ve wiped the sick off you. You vomited all over the steering wheel, you know.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Max as Juan straightened his pillows. Max smiled faintly. ‘I’d love a strong cup of English tea, plenty of sugar.’

  ‘I’m not sure we’ve got any,’ said Juan.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ said Paula. ‘The box Max brought back from his last trip to Scotland. You’ll have a drop of brandy too?’

  ‘Okay. What really happened?’ said Juan, once Paula had left the room.

  ‘Somebody threw a rock at me, a big one. Got knocked over, and hit my head on a boulder. I can’t really blame the guy – he’s got enough reasons to hate the police.’

  ‘Anything to do with Leila’s death?’

  ‘No. It’s these Muslims we arrested.’

  ‘Nothing to do with Leila.’ Juan licked his lips. ‘Max . . .’ he began. Then Paula returned, and he stopped.

  ‘Here you are, cariño. A nice cup of tea just like your mother showed me how to make it. But first have this drop of brandy. Juan, help me get him out of these bloodstained clothes before the doctor comes. We can’t have him looking such a mess,’ and she started undoing Max’s trousers.

  ‘Abuela, for heaven’s sake! Let me do that.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s not that long ago I wiped your bottom.’

  ‘But I’m grown up now.’

  ‘That’s what you think. And there isn’t anything I haven’t seen before.’

  ‘Juan . . . ask her to leave, and give me a hand getting out of these,’ pleaded Max.

  ‘Juan, get Max a pair of your clean pyjamas.’

  For the next half-hour until the doctor came Paula fussed over him. Paula was good at fussing, better than mother. Max leaned back into the pillow, and started to relax.

  The doctor confirmed it was quite serious: probably two broken ribs and a minor concussion. He patched Max up as best he could, and put a small bottle of painkillers on the bedside table.

  ‘Take two of these every two to four hours. They will help you sleep. If we were closer to the city, I’d send you I for an X-ray now, but I think it can wait till tomorrow. I’ll make an appointment for you.’

  ‘I’ll drive you over,’ offered Juan.

  ‘Thanks. Juan . . . Could you get my uniform jacket – I left it on the back seat, and it’s got my mobile in it.’

  ‘Max, call me if you get any new symptoms.’

  ‘Okay, Dr Muro. My abuela’s a good nurse.’

  Paula came in. ‘Max, how about some nice chicken broth with a raw egg in it?’

  ‘Thanks, abuela. But all I want to do now is sleep.’

  Juan returned with Max’s jacket.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Max. ‘Hell. I should have asked you to get the charger. It’s in the front compartment of the car.’

  ‘Okay, okay. But remember I’m not your nursemaid.’

  ‘I know. Remember the time I fell out of that tree, and all you could do was laugh.’

  Juan laughed, and left. Max reached into his jacket pocket to take out the mobile. With the mobile came a mint, and the plastic evidence bag with the scrap of sweet wrapper. He placed them in the drawer of the bedside table. Juan returned with the charger.

  ‘Shall I plug it in for you?’ he asked.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Anything else, sir?’ joked Juan. ‘Tuck you i
n? Wipe your brow? Hold your hand?’

  ‘Oh, fuck off, and let me sleep.’

  ‘I don’t know how the police let in such a softie,’ laughed Juan as he left.

  Max took the painkillers, and was settling down when Paula entered.

  ‘Max, would you like me to stay and make sure you’re all right?’

  ‘No, I’ll be okay now, abuela.’

  ‘Here, let me tuck you in nice and comfy. And I’ll just wipe some of that perspiration away.’

  She took Max’s hand. ‘You had us really worried, you know. I don’t like all this dangerous work you’ve got yourself into. Something really nasty could happen to you.’

  ‘I know, abuela, but it has to be done.’

  ‘Sleep tight, mi amor,’ said Paula, bending over to give Max a kiss on his cheek. ‘I’ll pop in later to see how you are.’

  Better get the mobile out . . . you never know, Max thought. He gazed at the scrap of paper in the evidence bag, and the mint sweet. He began to drift in and out of sleep. There was something odd. Something odd. The mint . . . was that one Juan had given him when he was last at Paula’s? Juan? Juan? He could hardly keep awake now. Why did that matter? And he then fell into a deep sleep.

  Max awoke in the middle of the night, his throat dry. Paula had been in, and had left a glass of fresh water on his bedside table. She had left the night light on. His ribs were really sore. Max painfully sat up, and reached for the water. He took another two painkillers. As he did so, he looked at the mint and the torn sweet wrapper in the evidence bag. He felt sick again.

  Chapter 19

  No quise.

  No quise decirte nada.

  I was not willing.

  Not willing to tell you a thing.

  Frederico García Lorca, Al oído de una muchacha

  (Whispered to a Girl)

  The journey to the hospital was painful. Max wanted to talk to Juan, but not now. They arrived at the hospital, having spoken scarcely one word. Juan gently helped Max into Casualty. The Casualty doctor examined him thoroughly, ordered X-rays, and returned in half an hour.

  ‘As I thought,’ he said, ‘two broken ribs and concussion. You’ve been lucky . . . could have been a lot worse. Not much we can do except give you painkillers. All you can do is go home, rest, and just take it easy. Assume you’ll be off work for at least a week.’

  Juan helped him back into the car.

  ‘Max, come back with me to Paula’s,’ he said. ‘At least you know you’ll be well looked after.’

  ‘No, I’d be so fussed over, I’d get no rest,’ insisted Max. ‘I’ve got my air conditioning fixed, so I’ll be fine in Granada. If you could do a bit of shopping for me, I’ll manage. If I need anything more, my neighbours won’t let me starve.’

  ‘Okay. If that’s what you want. But let me talk to one of the neighbours so they can pop in to check up on you.’

  ‘Thanks. But could you first go by police headquarters? I’d better tell Davila.’

  ‘Why not phone?’

  ‘No, I want to see him myself. I need to keep busy while I’m off sick.’

  Juan parked the car in the police car park, walked through the public entrance, and returned shortly with Davila trailing behind.

  ‘My God, Max. What happened to you?’ Davila said.

  ‘Slipped and fell when I was out walking, and brained myself on a rock, sir. Broke a couple of ribs too. Sorry.’

  ‘How long’s the sick line for?’

  ‘Just out of Casualty, so I haven’t got the line yet, but the doc at the hospital said I should take a week off . . . maybe more.’

  ‘Pity. We really can’t afford to lose you. Navarro’s been suspended.’

  ‘Oh? What happened?’

  ‘Bonila says some evidence turned up suggesting Navarro gave the wink and nod to the prisoners to rape the boy.’

  ‘Heavens.’

  ‘I can’t believe it’s true either. But top brass are bringing in some tough nut from Murcia to do the investigation.’

  ‘It sounds a difficult time for the force, sir.’

  ‘It certainly is. Bonila’s not a happy bunny. It’s bloody bad timing to have you off sick.’

  ‘I know, sir. I was wondering, sir – seeing I’m quite capable of doing something useful at home – whether I shouldn’t go over the Leila Mahfouz case materials again.’

  ‘Hmm. I can see the value in that.’

  ‘Perhaps, sir, you could phone Teniente González and see if Cabo Guevarra might come and help me. She could bring over all the material, and if anything needs chasing up, she could do it.’

  ‘Be a long drive for her to come over every day though.’

  ‘Not really, sir. There’s a family flat in Granada.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. Bit unorthodox, mind you. But we do need some progress on this case, and it is connected to that bunch of Muslims at the Centre. Be useful to us if it turned out to be one of them. Yes, I’ll put that to Bonila and see what he thinks. Certainly help us if we can link them to the murder.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to jump to any conclusions, sir.’

  ‘No, no, of course not. They’ve all left the country now except for Hassan Khan. He still has to wait for a medical okay. Certainly be useful, Max, if you unearthed something involving him. Make the force look a lot better. We’ve had a bad press recently.’

  ‘I’d better go now, sir.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Certainly be useful. Good idea of yours, Max. By the way, Navarro is . . . um . . . thinks you might have had something to do with his suspension.’

  ‘Me, sir? What could I have done?’

  ‘Max – if you don’t know, how can I? But Bonila’s been asking me about you. Had to tell him the truth, and say you’re not a great team player – too fond of your own opinions. But cracking the Leila Mahfouz case could do you a bit of good, and if you can pin it on one of those Muslim guys . . . well . . .’

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir, to find the truth.’

  ‘The truth? Hmm. Off you go now. Find us something on those guys.’

  Juan drove off. ‘Back to the Leila case then? I—shit,’ he said, as a motorbike swerved in front of him.

  ‘Sorry, Juan. My head’s aching. I really need a lie-down. Can you drop me at my flat, and then pick up a bit of food?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Once inside his flat, Max took another painkiller, lay down on his bed and dozed off. When he awoke he found a note from Juan.

  ‘Max. Didn’t want to wake you. I’ve put all the food and drink away. I’ve spoken to your neighbour, María. She’ll call in to see if you need anything. I’ve put her phone number by your phone. She said make sure to phone her if you need anything or feel a little strange. Have to be back in Diva for an appointment. I’ll phone this evening. Paula’s sure to phone every five minutes. I’ll tell her you need to rest so at least she’ll only phone every hour. Chao. Juan.’

  Max smiled. Juan really was one of the good guys.

  He slept soundly until the next morning. The pain had lessened. There was a knock at the door that Juan had left unlocked, and María bustled in.

  ‘Max, how are you? Your cousin Juan came to see me. He’s charming. He told me what happened. Let me get you some breakfast.’

  ‘Thanks, María. But I’m sure I can manage.’

  ‘It’s no problem. What are neighbours for if they can’t help out in an emergency? I had a phone call from your abuela, asking after you. We had quite a gossip. I feel I know all your family. I know what happened when you fell out of that tree. Could have been really nasty. She said I’m to make sure you are fine, and that you quite like a bit of fussing over.’

  Max sighed, no point in protesting. Blast Juan. What on earth made him give María’s number to Paula?

  ‘Thanks, María. Orange juice, toast and coffee would be just fine. And if you could get me an El País later, that would be great.’

  ‘No problems. As I always say, there are no problems, only
solutions.’

  Max was halfway through the second slice of toast when the phone rang.

  ‘Diga.’

  ‘Max, Davila here. I’ve spoken to Bonila. He’s already phoned González, and he’s agreed. Cabo Guevarra will be over later today. Bonila says if you find anything, let him know immediately.’

  ‘Will do, sir. Vale.’

  It would be nice to see Guevarra, a pretty girl. Max looked round his flat – in a mess again.

  ‘María, you couldn’t straighten up the flat for me, could you? I’ve got a young colleague coming to see me this afternoon. Can’t have it looking such a mess, can I?’

  María laughed. ‘Young and pretty, I bet. It’ll only take me twenty minutes to straighten this. It would help if you put things away.’

  Cabo Anita Guevarra did not arrive until five in the afternoon. She entered with a box full of files.

  ‘How are you feeling, sir? What happened?’

  ‘Fine. Just slipped, one of those things.’

  ‘González says you were chasing a pretty sheep.’

  ‘He would, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Here’s everything on the Leila Mahfouz case, sir.’

  ‘Thanks . . . and just call me Max.’

  She smiled.

  ‘There’s some cold beer in the fridge. Grab a couple of cans, and let’s sit out on the terrace.’

  Max put the cold can of beer to his forehead. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Got a huge bruise at the back of my head, gives me a headache all the time.’

  ‘I won’t stay long, sir . . . I mean Max. You look tired. Lovely view you have from here. Must be nice to live in the Albayzín itself.’

  ‘It has its advantages. Parking’s a bit of a pain. But you always have these great views. And in ten minutes from here you can be right out into the countryside. You can walk to the top of Mulhacén without touching a road.’

  ‘That would be some walk. A guy I know does the old track from Güejar into Granada most Sundays. Takes him nearly all day.’

  ‘Must do that sometime. I like to get out into the hills. Clears away the police blues.’