Quintin Jardine - Blood Red
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- Название:Blood Red
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Blood Red: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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‘Do I have to?’ he asked.
‘Afraid so, buddy. I have to go, and I’d like your company.’
‘Okay then.’ He looked at me as he switched on his computer. ‘Can I visit Gerard before then?’
‘He’s in custody, Tom. You wouldn’t like it.’
‘Maybe not, but I’d like to see him. Please, Mum.’
‘It’s not my decision, son. The police would have to agree, and Gerard would have to agree himself. But if it’s what you want, I’ll ask the commissioner, I promise. It probably won’t be before Monday, though.’
‘Can I go to the church tomorrow? I suppose Father Olivares will be saying Mass; I’ve helped him before when Gerard’s been away.’
‘Of course you can. I’m sure he’ll welcome your assistance too.’
I was reading through the diplomatic service house rules when the phone rang. I saw Alex Guinart’s home number displayed.
‘How are you doing?’ he asked. ‘Commissioner Valdes called me after you’d gone. He’s concerned about you. He might sound like an asshole from time to time, but he’s actually not such a bad guy. He’s been going out of his way not to upset Hector.’
‘How do you think I’m doing? I’m gutted.’
‘How’s Tom?’
‘In denial; that’s as good a description as any.’
‘Do the two of you have any plans for tonight?’
‘Huh,’ I grunted. ‘Put it this way. We’re not going dancing.’
‘In that case, come and eat with Gloria and Marte and me. We’re going up to St Martí this evening. Since it’s Saturday, we thought we’d try the other pizzeria, about eight thirty.’
I came close to turning him down, for I knew I’d be lousy company. Then I thought of Tom; I had to do something to break his mood. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll ask them to keep us a table.’
‘The other pizzeria’ is actually the second business of Meson del Conde; it opens during the summer months, when you could put out as many tables as the village can hold and they’d all be occupied. (I suspect the café owners would do that, but their kitchens could never keep up.) I took care of it there and then, or rather I delegated the task, asking Tom to run across and make the booking.
Suddenly, I was tired. The events of the day caught up with me; I told Tom, yes, he could watch cricket on television. . if it’s sport he’ll watch it. . then went upstairs to my private terrace off my bedroom, stripped off, and stretched out on my lounger. I’d probably have slept through till next morning if Tom hadn’t wakened me. I dreamed, of course; about Granada, about Gerard. . Or was it Santi? I can’t be sure now. . about Tom, on a rock, shouting, ‘Mum.’
His voice drifted from the dream into my consciousness. ‘Mum,’ he called from the doorway, for what was probably the third or fourth time. A couple of years ago, he’d just have prodded me awake, but he’s beginning to understand the concept of privacy, and so he feels slightly awkward about seeing his mother naked. ‘Wake up, it’s eight o’clock and the table’s. .’
I sat up and nodded, bleary eyed. ‘Thanks, Tom. I’ll shower and come down. You get yourself ready.’
He looked at me askance; he does askance well. ‘I am ready,’ he said. He was too; he’d changed into cargo pants and an Aussie T-shirt that Uncle Miles had given him, with Shane Warne’s face, larger than life, on the front. . or is Shane’s head really that big?
I thought about glamming up, but decided against it for two reasons: one, I suspected that Gloria wouldn’t, and two, I couldn’t be arsed. So I washed, blew my hair dry, making a mental memo to buy a tint to kill the chestnut, and put on the shirt and shorts that I’d picked earlier, with a blast of Chanel No. 5 as my one concession to femininity.
We got to the table five minutes early; Alex and Gloria arrived ten minutes late. No Marte, though; the wee soul was cutting back teeth, and had been fractious, so they’d left her with Gloria’s mum.
‘Did Valdes play you the tape?’ Alex asked, quietly, once we were settled in.
‘Enough of it. Have you heard it?’
‘I was in the room, Primavera. Valdes wanted me there, someone you would trust, so that there could be no doubt about everything being above board. I was there when he interviewed the big ugly Andalusian as well. The Gerard he described was one I’ve never met, but that guy Lavorante is not the sort to talk himself down, so when he said that he’d never have dreamed of crossing him, I believed him.’
‘Me too. Santi told me as much.’
‘Santi? Who the hell’s Santi?’
‘Gerard’s brother.’
‘Ah. The guy didn’t mention his name. You’ve met him?’
‘That’s where I was, Alex, it’s where I ran to; Gerard’s house in Granada. He’d arranged for Santi to be there to look after me.’
‘Should you tell me this, Primavera?’ he asked, frowning.
‘It doesn’t make any difference now. Valdes knows anyway; he may not be certain where I went, but he knows that Gerard helped me get away, and if he was interested in finding out where he sent me, it wouldn’t take him long. But it’s not relevant.’
‘I don’t suppose it. .’ He stopped in mid-sentence as a waiter arrived to take our food orders. Alex and I hadn’t even looked at the menu, so we let the other two go first. I realised that I was hungry; I’d done a big salad for Tom and Ben before I’d left for the funeral, but with everything that had happened afterwards, I’d forgotten to eat lunch myself. I chose a simple pasta starter, then a Four Seasons pizza, with still and fizzy water for the table, a bottle of the ever-reliable Vina Sol, and fresh orange juice for junior. He was beginning to look a bit brighter, but he still wasn’t his usual self.
None of us were, for that matter. Conversations at the tourist tables buzzed on oblivious, but the thing. . I couldn’t think of another word to describe it. . that had happened hung over ours like our own personal cloud.
‘You know,’ Alex continued, still speaking quietly, so that Tom, who was locked on to his hand-held PlayStation, couldn’t overhear, ‘most of the time I love my job. What I do, I right wrongs; I investigate crimes and I bring the people who commit them to account. That gives me satisfaction, big time; I feel that I’ve given something back to the community that raised me, and it pleases me. But every so often I get involved in something and I hate myself for it. Like this business. There are no winners, only losers. Two people we knew are dead. Okay, Planas wasn’t a nice man, and Dolores was known around town as “The mouth of L’Escala”, but they had a right to life. And who killed them? One of the most popular men in town, a friend of many of us, and now we’ve lost him too. Sitting in that office today, listening to him confess to everything that Valdes put to him, watching him put his signature on it. . Primavera, that was one of the saddest moments of my life.’
‘And mine.’
‘I feel lousy about it, because I don’t remember ever misjudging anyone so much. I should have been angry with him when they took him away to the cells, but I found that I could only be angry with myself, for being duped.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘Could it be that you were angry with yourself because you’re part of the machine that caused his downfall?’
He shook his head. ‘No, because we didn’t; he brought it on himself. This isn’t Jesus Christ we’re dealing with here. This is a man from Andalusia with a record of extreme violence in his youth, who managed to run away from what he is by entering the church, but who couldn’t keep his other side at bay forever. He fooled us all.’
‘So he was a bad priest?’
‘No, and that’s the damnable thing. He was a great priest; he and Olivares, they’re the best team we’ve ever had in this town, in my lifetime. I can’t imagine how the old man’s taking it.’
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