But typical of Nuri, her mind was elsewhere, thinking of others. She said, ‘Obviously I’m not going to make it to Aunt Ana’s today. Would you...?’
Cristina squeezed her free hand. ‘Don’t worry about Ana, I’ve got that covered.’ She stood up and glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll leave you to it for the moment, sis. The ambulance from the Costa del Sol should be dropping Paco off about now.’
Paco was waiting for her in the car park. The ambulance from the Hospital Costa del Sol had already been and gone, a trip out to Marviña saved by the unhappy coincidence of his wife being in town for cancer treatment. He looked deathly pale, and shrunken somehow in his jog pants and T-shirt. In spite of having shaved, the shadow of his beard never left his face and seemed darker in contrast with his jaundiced pallor. His right leg was heavily strapped, and he was balancing unsteadily on crutches.
‘Hey Cris.’ He managed to drop one of them as he attempted to give her a hug. She stooped to pick it up, aware how much his sense of macho pride would be offended by the need of physical help from a woman.
She tipped a raised eyebrow towards his leg. ‘How is it?’
‘Hurts like hell. I’ll be off work for weeks. They say I was lucky. The bullet missed the femoral artery by a whisker. I’d have bled to death in minutes otherwise.’
Cristina looked with concern into his sad dark eyes. ‘Do you think he knew that? I mean, do you think he missed it on purpose?’
Paco curled his upper lip in anger. ‘I don’t think he gave a damn, one way or the other. If I died, I died. If I didn’t I would deliver his message.’ He met her eye for a moment, before quickly averting his gaze in embarrassment. ‘I’d be dead for sure, like the others, if I hadn’t been your brother-in-law.’ Then his eyes connected again with hers. ‘I guess I should be grateful.’
Cristina shook her head. ‘But how did he know? That you were married to my sister, I mean? Where would he get that kind of information?’
Paco looked as if he wanted to spit. ‘Someone on the inside, obviously. How else did they know what route the truck was taking?’
‘The Jefe said it didn’t seem like the truck had been forced off the road. That the driver had voluntarily turned off on to that dirt track. Could he have been in on it?’
Paco shrugged. He said bitterly, ‘If he was, he wouldn’t have been expecting a bullet in the face as pay-off.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘How’s Nuri?’
‘In good spirits.’
‘She always is by the time the chemo has worn off. But it won’t take long to drag her right back down again.’ There was a break in his voice and for an awful moment Cristina thought he was going to cry. A man like Paco would never have been able to live that down, and would no doubt have found some way to blame Cristina for his moment of weakness. Fortunately for them both he controlled himself. ‘It’s been tough, Cris, you know? And it’ll be tougher now with this.’ He flicked his head angrily towards his leg. ‘I’ll not be able to do stuff for her, like before.’
‘You know I’ll help any way I can.’
He nodded and managed a grudging half-smile. ‘I know. But you guys are both working, and you’ve got a kid to worry about. At least I’ll be home for a while.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘I just hope it doesn’t mean they’re going to put me on reduced pay.’ He jerked his head towards the hospital. ‘This place is costing a fucking fortune. We’re in enough debt as it is.’ He breathed his frustration. ‘Without the least idea if we’re going to survive. Physically or financially.’
It would have been Cristina’s instinct to offer financial help, too, but that was beyond her. All she could do was nod her sympathy. She said, ‘It’ll probably be another couple of hours before Nuri’s finished. Do you want me to take you to get something to eat?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah. This pain killer they’re giving me has totally ruined my appetite.’ He paused. ‘I could do with a drink, though.’
Chapter Sixteen
Mackenzie woke late, sun streaming through the French windows to fall in burning bands across his bed. He had managed to kick off all his covers, and was lying in a twisted heap, naked apart from his boxer shorts.
The shortness of the bed had not inhibited his sleep as he had feared. Fatigue had overcome all obstacles to comfort. But now he had a bad taste in his mouth and a growling in his belly.
The shock of looking at his watch to see that it was after ten o’clock propelled him out of bed and into the shower. He dried and dressed quickly. A pair of jeans, a T-shirt, pristine white sneakers. He felt oddly starched in his new clothes as he went downstairs to the bar. There he wolfed down a couple of churros and washed them over with two large cups of cafe con leche. No one, they said, had called for him, and he wandered out into the street wondering what the hell he was doing here.
The town had already come to life. Locals sat out on the pavement terrace, and at the bar across the street. A couple of mini-markets were doing brisk business, and pale people clutching doctors’ prescriptions came and went from the pharmacy next door. A little further down, a couple of old men perched on a bench seat, leaning forward on gnarled sticks to exchange observations on life in the shade of the colourful overhead sails. The sun was already striking heat off stone pavings where sunlight fell between the shadows. Everything, it seemed to Mackenzie, was covered in a fine dust. It had barely rained in weeks.
Impatience turned to irritation, and he set off along the street in the direction Lucas had taken him the previous evening. He remembered his embarrassment at the strained atmosphere between Cristina and Antonio, and his failure to steer a smoother social course out of troubled family waters. He sympathized with Lucas, recalling how alienated he himself had felt when his aunt and uncle fought over the dinner table — or rather, when his uncle had picked a fight and shouted at his wife.
The lower end of the street was dominated by the town hall — ayuntamiento as it was called in Spanish — with its mosaics around the entrance and its flags hanging limply in the airless heat. A terrace rose above the road, as the narrow thoroughfare fell away, and steps took him down into the Plaza del Vino. Although there were cars parked along both sides of the street, there were few people in the square.
Half a dozen liveried and unmarked vehicles sat outside the police station, beyond the fire station with its loitering bomberos and Mackenzie ran up the steps to the main entrance. The duty officer looked up from his desk as Mackenzie entered the foyer. ‘Is the Jefe around?’ The policeman flicked his head towards the hall and the open door to the Jefe’s office. Mackenzie went through, knocked and entered.
The Jefe looked up from a pile of paperwork which had been engaging his concentration and seemed pleased to see him. ‘Señor Mackenzie.’ He stood up and held out a hand. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Too well, Jefe, and half the day is gone already.’
The Jefe shrugged. ‘It is Spain, señor. We start early and work late. It is too hot once the sun is up.’
‘Crime doesn’t wait for the weather, Jefe.’ Mackenzie’s disapproval was clear.
The other man laughed. ‘You always say what you think, señor. I like that.’