A Darker Night Page 9

  ‘Great,’ said Max. ‘We’ve got the bastard. When he denies being anywhere near Paco Maya’s cave, we can nail him. Gracias, Ernesto.’

  ‘No trouble, Max. I just want this case cleared up as quickly as possible.’

  They went back into the interview room. Max sat down, a smile on his face. He started with the warm-up questions: relationship with Paco Maya, how long had he known him, did they get on, had he seen him when Paco was in prison. Gregorio Espinosa’s replies sounded truthful.

  ‘Did you know Paco Maya was released from prison a few days early?’ Max asked.

  ‘Sí,’ said Gregorio. ‘My mother phoned. The prison told her.’

  ‘I suppose you never saw Paco after he was released.’

  ‘Sí, we did. My brother and I drove over to Paco’s cave, the day he got let out.’

  ‘What? So you agree that you both drove over there?’

  ‘Sí. We parked our car at the bottom of Paco’s track, and walked up to the cave.’

  ‘What car did you drive?’ asked Max.

  ‘A black Nissan Pathfinder 4x4. The same one we had in Nerja.’

  Max showed Gregorio Espinosa the photograph he’d taken of the car in the hotel car park. ‘Is that your car?’

  ‘It looks like it.’

  ‘Okay. Did you see Paco Maya?’

  ‘Sí, we saw him.’

  ‘What was the nature of your visit? To congratulate him on being released?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So you quarrelled?’

  ‘Sí, but we had family business to do. My mother wanted Paco to sell his land … for Angelita’s sake, you know. You have to look after your own flesh and blood. Ain’t natural otherwise.’

  ‘I see. And what did he say?’

  ‘He said no at first. But he wanted to do the right thing by his kid.’

  ‘And it was all nice and friendly?’

  ‘Wouldn’t say that. Said he needed some time to think about it. So we told him we’d be back. With papers for him to sign.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘Sí. That’s all.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘We drove round to Haza Grande. Told mum exactly what Paco had said. She weren’t pleased.’

  ‘And if he didn’t sell?’

  ‘We said we’d do our best to persuade him, of course.’

  ‘Like threatening to kill him?’

  ‘No. Of course not. Now he’s out, he’s got to look after his kid proper, you know. And after what he did to her mother … well, he should do the right thing.’

  Max looked at Navarro and nodded. Navarro took over the questioning.

  ‘Where were you and your brother on Friday, 3rd April, the Friday after Paco Maya was released?’

  ‘Friday. Before Easter Week? It was a nice day, so we took the old lady for a drive to the coast and lunch. She likes a day out.’

  ‘Nerja?’ interrupted Max.

  ‘Sí, Nerja. The Hotel Reina del Sur does a great lunch. Mum likes her bit of fish.’

  ‘Any witnesses?’ asked Navarro.

  ‘Of course. Loads of people saw us. Loads.’ And Gregorio smiled at Max.

  ‘So if you, your brother Mauricio and your mother went to the coast, where was Angelita?’

  ‘Stayed with the wife to play on the bikes with Tomasito and the boys. They’re good boys. They look after her, you know.’

  ‘Back to your meeting with Paco Maya,’ said Navarro. ‘So it all ended nice and friendly, then?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far. But Paco agreed to consider selling.’

  ‘Okay,’ continued Roberto. ‘And what time did you finish lunch?’

  ‘About five, I’d say.’

  Davila looked at Navarro, who then slipped out of the interview room.

  ‘Then?’ said Roberto.

  ‘We ran the old lady back to Granada, and then came back to Nerja. We were going to stay there for a few days.’

  ‘To pick up some hashish later, I presume.’

  ‘Sí. And do a couple of plumbing and tiling jobs.’

  ‘Black market jobs?’

  ‘Well, not registered if that’s what you mean. There’s a lot of work on the coast.’

  ‘So you had no contact with Paco Maya after you saw him on the day he was let out?’

  ‘No. Like I’ve told you. Mum phoned … He paused. ‘On Sunday evening, to let us know he’d passed away.’

  Navarro returned. ‘I have just phoned the Hotel Reina del Sur. I spoke to the manager, and he confirms that the Epinosa brothers were there for lunch with their mother on Friday. He says the waiters, and some of the other guests, will remember them. Apparently Carmen Espinosa made quite an impression. The lady had a bit too much wine and they were the last to leave when the dining room closed at six.’

  ‘That seems clear,’ said Davila. ‘I don’t think we have any grounds for detaining him. We can charge him for two minor assaults on a policeman, intent to buy marijuana and tax evasion on small plumbing and tiling works.’

  Max bit his tongue. He had one more chance to try to nail the bastard.

  ‘Okay, tell me about Paco Maya. You were dealing with him … and maybe he siphoned off a bit of coke.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Gregorio.

  ‘That’s enough insinuations, Sub-Inspector,’ said the lawyer. ‘Unless you have proof that my client was involved in the cocaine trade, then questioning stops here. My client has cooperated fully. He has admitted his transgressions, but there’s nothing more. You are trying to put words in his mouth, hinting at all sorts of offences he’s never been involved in.’

  ‘You’ve overstepped the mark, Sub-Inspector,’ said Davila. ‘This session has ended.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector Jefe. May my client leave now? You have no grounds for detaining him here any longer.’

  Davila nodded.

  ‘Muchas gracias,’ said the lawyer. ‘I’m a very busy man. After a short break, I would like us to move on to my other client, Mauricio Espinosa. That should be over with quickly.’

  It was. The lawyer and the brothers left together. The lawyer turned at the door and, with a smile on his face, said, ‘My clients will of course pay any fine that may be imposed.’

  The cops got up to leave.

  ‘Romero, Belén. Un momento,’ said Davila. Max and Roberto stopped. Navarro left.

  ‘What a bloody waste of time that was. Gómez is our man. Got that? Navarro had no business authorizing that trip to Nerja.’

  ‘But sir,’ said Max, ‘we had to pick up the Espinosas to satisfy the judge.’

  ‘Obviously they’ve nothing to do with Paco Maya’s death. It’s Gómez. I’ll check his background. You check out his friends at the conference.’

  ‘We will, sir.’

  Max returned to his office with Roberto. ‘What the hell did you make of that?’

  ‘Sounds like some idiot let that bloody lawyer coach the brothers last night.’

  ‘Clever sodding lawyer,’ said Max. ‘Roberto, get your friends on the coast to check him out.’

  ‘I’d be pleased to do that, Max.’

  ‘Okay. Gotta go. Taking a friend to el Paso de los Gitanos tonight.’

  ‘Good luck. Hope you don’t run into the Espinosa family.’

  ‘So do I.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘MUTILATED CORPSES ON MARBELLA BEACH’, screamed the headline.

  Max scanned the article: ‘The victims’ eyes had been gouged out, their throats cut, and their tongues pulled through the wound, before they were shot in the head. Police link these deaths to a mafia turf war over drugs and high-class prostitution.’

  Max put down his newspaper and poured himself another glass of white wine. Just before ten, he went onto his terrace to check the weather. It was going to rain tonight. Max looked around for an umbrella. Joder! The one some cop nicked was his last. Just as he was leaving, his phone rang. He hesitated. It might be important. />
  ‘Max, it’s Anita. You said you would phone me.’

  ‘Anita, I’m so sorry. I’ve been rushed off my feet with a murder case, and –’

  ‘We are all very busy. It only takes a minute to pick up the phone and call.’

  ‘I know.’

  There was a distinct sniff at the end of the phone.

  ‘Max, I’ve had enough. Paula told me you have to find another flat, and you didn’t even bother to tell me.’

  ‘But it’s all very recent –’

  ‘Too bloody bad. You should have phoned. Between you and Capitán González, I’ve had enough. I’ve applied for a transfer to Almería.’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ said Max.

  ‘Christ, Max. Is that all you can say? You’re pathetic. It’s over, isn’t it? You just don’t have the courage to tell me.’

  ‘Look, it’s not like that … I’m … Anita, we could still be friends. I could visit you.’

  ‘Free beach holiday in Cabo de Gata, you mean. No.’

  The phone went dead.

  Max picked up Belinda at her flat, close by Calle del Pilar Seco. They walked downhill in the lamplight along Calle del Almirante, Calle Aljibe del Trillo, then Calle Guinea where sweet jasmine and yellow Easter roses foamed over high garden walls.

  ‘Max, what’s the story about the cofradías?’

  ‘Basically, they’re men’s clubs. They organize the Easter processions, of course, but they do charity work and fundraise for church restoration. From what I can remember, cofradías started in the seventeenth century as burial societies, almost died out in the nineteenth century, but a lot were revived in the 1920s, probably to counter the rise of socialism among the poor.’

  ‘But they still seem very popular now.’

  ‘Well … the processions are a big tourist draw and young guys seem to like all the macho stuff.’

  ‘Can’t understand it, but Granada’s a different world, isn’t it?’

  They turned downhill again at the flamenco club Peña de la Plateria, crossed Calle San Juan de los Reyes, downhill again, past the Moorish houses of the Calle del Horno del Oro and finally reached the corner of Paseo de los Tristes and Cuesta del Chapiz.

  ‘You know, Max, I was on a school trip once, and we went to Seville Cathedral. I’d been reading some Oxfam stuff, and all that gold and silver on the altar really got to me. All stolen from Latin America. Torture and massacres. You know, I felt so queasy one of the teachers had to take me out and get some water.’

  ‘Yes. All that wealth, and it didn’t do Spain a bit of good, did it?’

  They pushed their way through the crowds lining Paseo de los Tristes, the narrow street beside the river Darro, until they came to the last bridge, a prime spot with a view both of Cuesta del Chapiz and back along Paseo de los Tristes. The far corner above the Roman wall had been cordoned off for the great and good. Abbot Jorge was seated amongst them, his comfortable bulk filling the small red chair.

  ‘Jorge,’ called out Max.

  Abbot Jorge turned. ‘Max. You’re in luck. We’ve two spare seats. Come and join us.’

  An usher released one of the velvet ropes surrounding the VIP enclosure and Max and Belinda slipped through.

  ‘Jorge, this is my friend Belinda Grove from Britain. She’s moved to Granada and lives near me.’

  ‘A sensible decision to move here.’

  Belinda smiled.

  ‘Max, you remember Andrés Mendoza, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Max. ‘We met in the Abadía workshop.’

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you here, Sub-Inspector, particularly after your remarks about these processions. “A bit over the top” … I think you said.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Max. ‘But Belinda has never seen el Paso de los Gitanos. And she’s writing a book on Granada.’

  Don Andrés smiled pleasantly. ‘Please, Doña Belinda, make yourself comfortable. Los Gitanos is one of Granada’s finest Easter processions.’ He smoothed the cushions hospitably. ‘And this is my wife, Verónica, and her friend Penélope.’

  Belinda sat down beside Penélope, and Max next to Andrés.

  Penélope was film-star glamorous. Fur coat. Hair piled on the top of her head a la Cordobesa. Jewels.

  Max turned to speak to Andrés Mendoza. ‘And where are you based, Don Andrés?’

  ‘My main office is on the coast. But I also have an office here in Granada, which I’m hoping to make my main base. There’s a lot of potential here.’

  In the distance, they could hear drums and the harsh melody of archaic trumpets. Then there came the glow of candles as the procession, el Paso de los Gitanos, turned the corner into Paseo de los Tristes. First came the heralds with banners and silver staves, then penitents robed in purple and red, their heads completely encased in high pointed hoods, and musicians, playing a tragic march. Then the great image of Christ crucified and, more splendid still, the blue-robed Virgin on her copper throne, surrounded by candles. Silver tassels shivered as the pasos swayed with the rhythm of the tread of the eighty costaleros, sweating underneath the velvet canopies.

  A young woman next to them in the crowd stared raptly at the face of Christ.

  ‘Ay, qué guapo. How handsome he is.’

  Suddenly, the procession stopped. The Virgin’s crown had snagged on an overhead electricity cable.

  ‘This can happen,’ Max explained. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’

  Max recognized the man in charge of the rescue operation, one of the gitanos in the Abadía workshop. Two young guys had climbed up on the palio to disentangle the Virgin from below. Without success. Two others had gone inside the nearest house, and were leaning over the balcony to lift up the cables.

  Most of the costaleros were leaning over the river Darro wall, having a smoke. Belinda and Penélope took photos: the costumes, the Virgin’s blue cloak embroidered with roses and pomegranates, the carpets of red carnations and purple irises, the burning candles, the carved staves, and the strapping costaleros with their red bandannas.

  ‘Is that the original José Risueño sculpture of Christ of the Holy Caves?’ Belinda asked.

  ‘No,’ replied the Abbot. ‘The original is much too precious to move, but this is a fine copy.’

  ‘It’s extraordinary, isn’t it? Look, Max, the figure of Christ is suspended just by four wooden nails.’ Belinda shuddered. ‘I do find these hoods sinister; all you can see are the eyes staring out through the slits.’

  ‘Yes. No wonder the Ku Klux Klan borrowed them,’ said Max.

  The Abbot rolled his eyes. Max pretended not to notice.

  Belinda was on her best behaviour. ‘Abbot Jorge, I need your advice. I can’t go to all the Holy Week processions. Apart from los Gitanos, which do you think is the best?’

  ‘Probably the Brotherhood of the Bell. They march in complete silence apart from the sound of a single bell and the clinking of chains.’

  ‘I’d love to see that. Will you be there, Max?’

  ‘Yes. But on duty.’

  The young gitanos on the balcony finally disentangled the Virgin from the cables. To a loud cheer, the costaleros returned to their positions, and hoisted the Virgin and her throne onto their shoulders. But as the procession approached the corner where it turned away from the Alhambra, the rain came down heavily. Plastic covers appeared as if from nowhere, then to cries of Olé the costaleros practically ran up Cuesta del Chapiz with their precious burdens shrouded, but shoulder-high again.

  ‘Max, we’ve got transport waiting in Calle San Juan de Dios. Would you like to come back with us and greet la Virgen at the Abadía?’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Jorge, but I have to go. I’m on duty tomorrow.’

  ‘Are you sure you can’t join us, Belinda?’

  ‘I’d love to but I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Come and see me soon, Max,’ said Abbot Jorge.

  ‘I should be free late Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘That wo
uld be fine. See you on Saturday, then.’

  Max and Belinda set off together in the soaking rain. They sloshed back up the Albayzín hill, past the fine Moorish houses on Calle Zafra, the exquisite church of San Juan de los Reyes surrounded by cypresses, and back onto Calle Guinea.

  ‘You and that gorgeous Penélope woman seemed to get on,’ said Max.

  ‘Not really. She’s not my sort of person. Did you know, those earrings were real emeralds? She’s a trophy wife, I reckon. Some bloke’s got way too much money. And she did rather go on about the Virgin’s cloak and her own good taste.’

  ‘She’s really beautiful,’ protested Max.

  ‘Trophy wives are.’

  ‘What does her husband do?’

  ‘She said he has oil and mining interests in Venezuela and Colombia. They’ve had problems in Venezuela, but he still seems to be worth a mint. They’ve got a speedboat at Marina del Este, a penthouse in Marbella, a villa in Frigiliana and goodness knows what else. And now they want a Moorish house in Granada as well. But I didn’t exactly take to Don Andrés – cold eyes, you know. And I think those two guys behind them were bodyguards.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I’ve seen enough thrillers to spot a shoulder holster.’

  Chapter 13

  It was still raining when Max woke up. He switched on Radio Granada. Many of yesterday’s processions had been rained off. There were interviews with parishioners in tears because their own Virgin had been unable to leave her church. And then there was a dramatic account of the Paso de los Gitanos. The costaleros had carried the palios of the Virgin of Sacromonte and the Christ of the Gypsies, each one weighing nearly a ton, nearly three kilometres uphill, at top speed into the Abadía, in lashing rain. Fortunately, no damage had been done either to the two statues or to the costaleros. There were interviews with costaleros, panting and utterly exhausted, but proud that they had saved the Virgin and the Christ.

  And then an interview with Abbot Jorge: ‘… and though the Lord has seen fit to challenge our brave costaleros with foul weather, they were more than equal to it, and they saved the new cloak of the Virgin from harm. We must give thanks to our benefactor, and to the Blessed Virgin Mary who gave such strength to the costaleros.’