Blood Wedding Read Online Free

and the history of the Middle East. Perhaps an exhibition of modern Islamic culture would help, just to show we are not all fanatics. Maybe something on food and music.’
    ‘That could be useful. If you could work up some ideas, I’ll look into funding.’
    ‘I’ll talk to my colleagues . . . and Leila of course. I’ll try to get you an outline next week.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘It has always been good to work with you, Max.’
    ‘That’s the easy thing I wanted to talk to you about.’
    ‘And the difficult thing?’
    ‘We think there might be some terrorist cells here in Andalusia. We’d be grateful if you reported anything suspicious to us.’
    ‘You mean act as a spy? You’re crazy. Look, you know I have no sympathy with terrorism, but I can’t go reporting every odd character I come across who happens to be a Muslim.’
    ‘We’re not asking you to do that. Just to report the real fanatics.’
    ‘But who are they? Every Muslim sympathizes with the Palestinians, and hates this war. But I’m not going to write a dossier on everyone I know. How could you even think of it?’
    ‘No. No. But Spain could be a target now.’
    ‘But terrorists aren’t going to tell me if they’re planning to blow something up, are they?’
    ‘Okay, okay. How’s Leila? How’s her thesis going?’
    ‘She’s fine. She was hoping to see you. I don’t know what could have happened to her. I’ll ask her to give you a ring when she gets back.’
    ‘Sure. It would be nice if she phoned.’
    Max stood up. He looked at Ahmed’s lined, ascetic face. He liked him, and did not want to press him hard. But his superiors wanted information on terrorist sympathizers.
    ‘How do you think this invasion in Iraq will end?’ Max asked Ahmed.
    ‘It will be a disaster. The American, British and Spanish governments have made a terrible mistake . . . they just don’t realize it yet. There’ll be resistance, fanatics flooding into Iraq, and probably civil war. The Yanks won’t have the stomach to stay the course. And then, who knows?’
    ‘I really don’t understand why the British and Spanish governments are so keen to support the Yanks.’
    ‘Me neither. You’d have thought, given our histories, we’d have known better.’
    ‘Yes, but our leaders don’t. Not much understanding of history.’
    ‘More tea, Max?’
    ‘No thanks. I really have to go now.’
    Max drove back to his
cortijo.
He knew many Muslims regarded him as a police spy. But
simpatico.
A nice guy. And someone who actually knew something about Islam. Pity about Leila. He grimaced as he passed the skips with rubbish strewn all around them. Bloody hippies. He must complain to the council. The rubbish was becoming a health hazard as well as an eyesore. Now that he owned a
cortijo,
he did not want the value of his property falling because of a rubbish tip on the way to his home.
    Once inside, Max took out a beer. He had looked forward to having a pleasant evening with Leila. She would probably call when she got home. He finished his beer and read his book for a while. The heat was oppressive – he needed a shower. He was getting out of the shower when the phone rang.
    Leila, he thought. That’s nice. ‘Hola.’
    ‘Sub-Inspector Max Romero?’ A woman’s voice. But not Leila’s.
    ‘Sí.’
    ‘Cabo Anita Guevarra. It’s urgent. We’ve found a body. It’s Teniente González’ day off, and we can’t get hold of him. Sargento León knew you were in Diva, and would very much like your assistance. I’ll be at the station.’
    ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
    It took Max less than ten minutes to walk up the goat track to the Diva police station. Cabo Anita Guevarra was waiting for him at the door. Max glanced at her. She looked young enough to have come straight from a convent school. She was definitely pretty, very slim. Too slim . . . better to have something to grab. Shit, I’m beginning to sound like the other cops, thought Max.
    ‘Thanks for coming