Blood Wedding (18 page)

Max looked at his watch.

‘Díos, it’s late. Must stop now.’

Muerto se quedo en la calle
Con un puñal en el pecho.
No lo conocía nadie.

They left him dead in the street
With a dagger in his breast.
No one knew him.

Frederico García Lorca,
Surpresa (Surprise)

God, time flies. It had taken Max almost two days to go through the first box of Leila’s materials. But no leads except the ‘married man with children’. He still had to start the poems and stories. There was the thesis itself, and then another three notebooks. Did she ever throw anything away?

Max opened one of the notebooks: philosophical musings, notes, observations and descriptions. Max suddenly remembered his tutor, on a creative writing course, advising them to carry a notebook to jot down anything which struck them. ‘Even the most seemingly trivial thing could be transformed into good material,’ he had said. These were Leila’s observations for a novel. Max sighed; he remembered only too well how all his great thoughts, his dreams of the great Anglo-Spanish novel, had come to naught. He had a couple of chapters in a drawer somewhere. Maybe Leila would have had better luck.

At lunchtime Max walked down to La Taberna, and sat at his usual sherry barrel. He was lucky: didn’t have to share it with anyone. He fetched the papers. ‘Government Warns ETA Has Acquired Missiles from Al-Qaeda.’ Hmm. Maybe. ‘Pressure Mounts on Palestinians to Make a Deal.’ That’s for sure.

Max finished his tapas and beer, walked out into the stifling heat of Plaza Nueva, strolled down to the back of the cathedral in search of shade, and then to his office. At least the air conditioning was working. No urgent messages. He was about to leave for the strategy meeting when his phone rang.

‘Hola. Ah. Hola Don Gabriel. Sí,
I understand.
Sí. Sí.
I will phone Teniente González right away, and then phone you back. No, I will do what I can.’

Max dialled the Diva police station and got through to González.

‘How’s it going, Max?’

‘Bien, gracias, bien.
Don Gabriel Martín Facarros, the lawyer, called me. The hospital in Motril are wanting to release Hassan Khan. However, they insist he needs rest. Don Gabriel thinks going up and down the mountain from Capa to Diva every day would be bad for him.’

‘So?’

‘Don Gabriel asked if Hassan Khan could be allowed a week’s recuperation before he starts officially signing in.’

‘Cheeky bastard. This is a murder investigation, not a bloody holiday camp.’

‘Teniente, given the circumstances . . . You could always go up there to check on him.’

‘Okay then . . . but if this goes wrong, it’s your problem! I’ll ask Judge Falcón to agree.’

‘I’ll emphasize that you agree reluctantly, and that the lawyer should note the police willingness to cooperate.’

‘Anything from the stuff you took back with you?’

‘Not much. There’s a slight suggestion that she was interested in a married man with children, but she doesn’t name the guy.’

‘I’ll get Guevarra on to this.’

‘Any joy with the hippy in the van?’

‘Ah, yes. Picked him up. He’s in the cells. Leila’s mobile was in his van. I’ve asked León to look at it.’

‘Do you want me to come over to help interview him?’

‘No. That’s okay. He speaks good Spanish.’

Max quickly phoned the lawyer to confirm the agreement, then left his office to go to the strategy meeting.

‘Sub-Inspector Romero, I’ve just had you paged,’ said the desk Officer, Bardon, as he passed reception. ‘There seems to have been some sort of breakthrough.’

‘Breakthrough?’

Max pushed through the heavy doors of the conference room. Linda was seated at the head of the table. Davila, Bonila, López and others were there.

‘Max, we’ve struck gold. Just had a fax from London about the Ibn Rush’d guys. I can read it out to you. Madrid translated it quickly.’ Linda cleared her throat, and read at a deliberately slow pace.

‘Heading – Hassan Khan. Passport number: 451455904. National Insurance number: YA 501977F. Occupation: student at the University of Brunel, studying Computer Sciences and Electronics. Marital status: single. Mother: Elizabeth Wilding. Father: Omar Khan. Parents separated. Lived with father after separation. Last known address: 169, Finchley Road West, Finchley, London.’

Linda paused, took a sip of water, and then continued.

‘This is the good stuff. “In relation to the above. The Anti-Terrorist Group has had the above on their list as a potential terrorist suspect for some time. The above is thought to be a member of, or at least to have close connections with, Hisb ut-Tahr which although not a terrorist organization as such is suspected as acting as a forum for ideological indoctrination, and as a potential recruiter for terrorist organizations.

‘“The above has taken part in frequent demonstrations against both the war in Afghanistan and the war in Iraq, and has handed out leaflets justifying armed resistance. He is a known supporter of Palestinian independence, and has had contact with Hamas, an extremist Palestinian group. He has demonstrated against the government of Pakistan. He has attended the Finchley Road Mosque, again thought to be terrorist recruiting ground.

‘“He is known to have visited northern Pakistan, ostensibly to see relatives. The last known visit was July and August 2000. We have requested information from the government of Pakistan regarding the above.

‘“Although there is no definite evidence linking the above to terrorist support or action, we are of the opinion that the above has the potential to either support or become involved in possible terrorist actions. He moves within circles of known supporters of terrorism. We suggest close surveillance. Please keep us informed of actions and movements of the above, and of any further information you may require.”

‘There you are,’ said Linda triumphantly. ‘There you have it. The terrorist connection we have been looking for.’

She looked round the table. ‘And there is more. Heading – Javeed Dharwish. The usual stuff from his passport. Other details. This is what matters.’

She paused again, and sipped at her water.

‘“Occupation: business training consultant. Education: degree in Business Studies, University College, London. Master in Business Training, University of Colorado, USA. PhD, London School of Economics.

‘“Marital status: Widower. Wife killed in Chatila massacre, on 18
^th
September 1982. No known children. Known to have lived for a while with Fatima Khalid, a Palestinian militant thought to be a member of the Hamas organization. She returned to Palestine three years ago. No definite record of her whereabouts since.

‘“The following information is from the government of Israel: Javeed Dharwish was a known militant of Al Fatah. He is believed to have been involved in a number of attacks against Israeli property and personnel. He was an important organizer within the Chatila refugee camp where he helped organize young militants. He escaped from Chatila, and ended up in London. He worked for a number of years in a variety of jobs: waiter, construction worker and hospital porter. He studied at night classes and extra-mural classes before being admitted to University College, London. Active in student groups supporting armed struggle for Palestinian independence. He obtained a Master’s degree in the USA, and then a PhD from the London School of Economics. Since then he seems to have dropped out of political extremism, and has been running a business consultancy firm. Obtained European Union money to help set up business training courses in the West Bank. Some students on the courses were known Al Fatah and Hamas militants.

‘“We have nothing to connect him to terrorists at present. But we suspect he has retained his political sympathies for Palestinian independence. He has donated to the so-called Palestinian Charity, HosPal, which was declared illegal by the government of Israel as a front for Hamas. He is probably one of a number of Palestinian businessmen outside the Territories who channel money to militant Palestinian groups.”

‘There, becoming more and more obvious,’ said Linda. ‘The British have been efficient. Nothing back yet from the French, Germans and Belgians. The Spanish, I’m sure, will be the last to respond.’

She took a sip of water. ‘Gentlemen, we should move fast on this one. I don’t think we can afford to wait for information requested from other countries. We should pick them up without delay.’

‘On what charge?’ asked Max.

‘On what charge? Planning acts of terrorism, of course. We need to take that training place of theirs in the hills apart.’

‘But should we not wait for more evidence?’ persisted Max.

Surprisingly Davila came in to support him. ‘Yes. I think we need clearer evidence. The Centre is legitimate – went through all the correct procedures. Hassan Khan seems to have kept some odd company. But he’s very young. And perhaps a bit stupid. Javeed Dharwish has been a . . . um . . . legitimate businessman for many years We don’t want to get it wrong, and make a laughing stock of ourselves. If we mess this one up, we could even have questions in the European Parliament.’

Linda turned to Bonila. ‘Comisario, what do you think? After all, we have just agreed how well Granada is cooperating in the anti-terrorist fight.’

‘Sí.
And we will continue to cooperate of course. But I wonder whether we should not be just a little bit cautious. Maybe we can take another angle. Sub-Inspector Romero, Davila told me that one of the group, this Hassan Khan, is also a suspect on a murder charge. Maybe there is something there we can use.’

Max came in. ‘He’s just been released on grounds of insufficient evidence. He was also injured whilst trying a so-called escape from the Diva police.’

‘Dios,’
shouted Linda. ‘Do we know where he is now?’

‘Sí.
He’s recovering in the Ibn Rush’d Centre. But he has to report regularly to the police.’

‘Are you stupid or just bloody naive? He could have killed the girl because she knew too much.’

Max was speechless. He could hardly say that the attempted escape was trumped up. After all, his official report had backed up González’ story. Linda glared at Martín.

‘Inspector Sánchez?’

Martín paused. ‘Well, the Centre could be a front. But there’s been nothing on him for years, and he’s now a successful British businessman. We can put aside the Israeli comment. They would say that, wouldn’t they?’ He took out a large handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face.

‘How about the Palestinian girlfriend?’ asked Linda.

‘Could mean something, could mean nothing.’

‘And the boy, Hassan Khan?’

‘I’d ignore the anti-war activities. But I agree – the mosque connection is worrying, and I don’t like the company he keeps.’

‘Your conclusion?’

‘I still think we should wait. See what we get on the others, keep them all under surveillance. If we’re wrong, it could backfire.’

Martín took out his handkerchief, wiped his face again and turned to Max.

‘Max, you’ve been up there. What do you think?’

‘I agree, sir. It could be a perfect cover. But everything is in order. And they’ve got EU money, so either they’re clean, or very, very smart.’

‘And the girl?’

‘You want my honest assessment? I reckon the evidence against Hassan Khan’s weak, but Teniente González in Diva disagrees.’

Linda snorted. ‘So I’m alone on this? I don’t think so. But I’ll give it the weekend to see if anything else turns up. Meet Monday morning, 10 a.m. Send secure emails to all the anti-terrorist units in Europe and the USA again, and say it’s urgent. Meanwhile Inspector Sánchez and I will fly to Madrid, and give our report there. They may have more information.’

With that she left the room.

Max turned to Martín. ‘Could I have a word with you, sir?’

‘Sure. A coffee? Let’s go outside. Your coffee here is foul.’

As they were leaving, Davila called out to him. ‘Max, can I have a word with you in an hour’s time?’

‘Certainly, sir.’

Martín and Max sat down in a quiet corner of the Bar Alonzo.

‘
Dos cafes, por favor.’

‘Well, I see the spider hasn’t quite got you in her web yet,’ joked Martín.

‘I have the greatest respect for Inspectora Jefe Concha,’ said Max, ‘but maybe she’s a bit hasty. Also, I’m sure Hassan Khan didn’t try to escape. Maybe the police were hoping for a quick confession.’

‘Oh. Wouldn’t be the first time. You still sure there are no terrorist cells here?’

‘No. I wouldn’t go as far as that. Just seems unlikely.’

‘We have to check everything thoroughly. These guys are serious. But there’s also serious politics behind this. The Partido Popular really needs a terrorist threat to win the elections. We have to be careful how to play it. Inspectora Jefe Concha is a very determined and ambitious woman, PP to the core. And always needing to prove she’s a tough guy.’

Max smiled. Should he tell him about Linda’s request to report only to her? Better not, that would be going too far. ‘Have to go now, sir. Need to see my boss.’

‘Sure. I’ll have another coffee. Keep in touch if you need to talk. And let me know if you discover anything, preferably before
la Inspectora.’

‘Thank you, sir. Will do.’

Max glanced back as he left. Martín gave him a broad conspiratorial smile.

Back at HQ, Davila was going through a report. He looked up. ‘I didn’t know about the release of Hassan Khan. Could have been awkward. Best clear such things with me first.’

‘Sorry, sir. I had checked with Teniente González first. Could have created problems, and I had to think on my feet.’

‘I’m worried about launching a full-scale raid on this Ibn Rush’d place. If we don’t find anything, the papers will hang us out to dry. Any insights?’

‘The Centre’s very high tech, sir. No sign of weapons when I checked up on them, but it would be easy to hide if they have any. The other thing is that the Director, Javeed Dharwish, seems to have friends in Brussels.’

‘That’s what worries me. Be hellish embarrassing if we don’t find anything. Okay. Keep me posted. Let me be the first to know. Don’t want any more surprises.’