Blood Wedding Read Free

But not now. Gotta make peace with dad.’
    Jim drove slowly. The springs had nearly all gone. Leila held on to the van door handle to lessen the bumps.
    She pointed: ‘See that hollow olive tree over there . . . it’s haunted. It’s where they shot El Gato.’
    Leila jumped out at the traffic lights. She failed to notice Zaida’s black look. The women often disapproved.
Inmodestia
was just the polite term they used to describe her. When she got home, her father was out. She called him on his mobile and left a message to confirm she was home, then went straight to her computer, her mind racing with ideas. She typed fast, and this time the El Gato story just seemed to flow.
    She smiled. With luck she might finish early next year.
    She clicked on Save, then Turn Off, waited a minute and then shutdown the computer.
    After showering and washing her hair, she put on her new linen trousers, white silk tunic, flat gold sandals and her mother’s turquoise earrings, carefully arranging her headscarf so a few black curls framed her oval face. A breath of fresh air might help. She closed the door behind her and set off down the Jola road. There was a slight breeze. The green figs were out, hanging over the irrigation canals alongside the road. She passed a garden with a little girl on a swing. Back and forth. Back and forth.
De norte al sur de sur a norte.
A mother’s voice called, ‘Jane. Jane. Get off that swing, come and get ready. It’s nearly five. We have to leave for the airport right now.’
    Leila smiled and waved to the girl. ‘Hello, Jane,’ she called out. ‘Got another silly rhyme for you!
    “My young friend Jane
Is leaving Spain.
We think that’s an awful pain.
But we’re both sure you’ll come again.”’
    Jane stopped, giggled, waved and then ran inside.
    Leila walked on quickly. As she crossed the road bridge, the sky suddenly darkened. Leila looked up at the mountains. Dark, pregnant-bellied clouds were drifting down lower and lower. A colder breeze blew. The tops of the mountains disappeared. Rain. Sullenly, persistently the rain fell. Leila stopped, turned, and walked quickly back. A car stopped at the ravine bridge.
    ‘Get in,’ a voice called.
    Leila approached the car. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
    She got into the car. It was exactly five in the afternoon.
    On the same day, Saturday, at exactly five in the afternoon, Sub-Inspector Max Romero arrived at the house of Ahmed Mahfouz.

Chapter 2
    A cinco de la tarde.
Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde.
    At five in the afternoon.
It was exactly five in the afternoon.
    Frederico García Lorca,
La cogida y la muerte
    (
The Goring and the Death
)
    Thank God it’s Friday. Practically the whole weekend off, thought Max. He looked at his watch. It was time to leave. What to wear . . .? Meeting Ahmed tomorrow. Leila might be there. Okay, pack the light grey Paul Smith shirt, and the Pedro de Hierro charcoal jeans. He checked the mirror. Not bad. His mother’s Scottish blue eyes, and his father’s aquiline Spanish looks stared back at him. ‘Not the face of a cop,’ Davila had once said critically. Max regarded that as a compliment.
    He picked up the briefing from his boss, Inspector Jefe Enrique Davila of el Grupo de Homicidios de Granada, from the table, and glanced at it again. ‘Inspectora Jefe Linda Concha and Inspector Martín Sánchez from the Anti-Terrorist Group, el Comisario General de Información, (CGI), have confirmed they are due to arrive at Granada Airport, Thursday, 31st July 2003 at 14.00 hours. Be on time, and dress smartly. Remember, the Prime Minister himself has stated the fight against terrorism is top priority and surveillance of Muslims must be stepped up.’
    Max sighed. Could be worse. Madrid was sending Linda. It would be nice to see her again. She’d been a good tutor. Her presentation on the new terrorist threats had been good – perceptive and funny. And she’d joined him for a beer and tapas most lunchtimes. But this