Death in the Sun Read Online Free PDF Page B

journalist knew about Santi Etxebatteria. The bile rises.
    ‘Guilli!’
    Staffe looks around, seeking out Manolo, wondering what would have brought his friend back to collect him. He scans the Plaza Catedral for his grey van, but sees nothing.
    ‘Guilli!’ The call is from a table outside the hotel. Gutiérrez is clean shaven and wearing a crisp, lemon shirt and pressed, sun-bleached jeans. His hair is slicked back and he tips Coca-Cola into a tumbler of amber-coloured spirit. He clinks the ice and says, ‘Something for the ditch, before we drive to the mountains.’
    ‘The mountains?’ Staffe swigs from his bottle of water, plonks it on Raúl’s table. Fat beads of sweat pop on his scalp.
    ‘Like we said last night. It is years since I was in Almagen, when that English artist died. You know all about him, I suppose.’
    ‘Hugo Barrington?’ says Staffe.
    ‘It’ll be good to go back there.’
    ‘I read your article.’
    Gutiérrez twirls the ice in his glass and drinks it down, taking his time. He regards the finished drink. ‘My car is just there.’ He points at a red Alfa Spyder, the hood down.
    Staffe contemplates having to wait in Ugijar for two hours for his connection. He watches as Gutiérrez swigs his drink and walks jauntily to the Alfa. Staffe joins him, says, ‘So, you know Almagen.’
    ‘I’ve got primos in Mecina. Up in the hills, one old goat gets a flea and they all scratch. Yes, I know Almagen all right.’
    ‘Don’t you have to follow up on your story?’
    ‘The comisario will call me when they get their man.’
    ‘You’re in his pocket.’
    ‘I’m in no one’s pocket, Guilli.’ He gets in, revs the car and raises his voice. ‘A journalist works with what he’s got. If they change the music, you dance a different dance.’ The engine noise subsides and the sound of ‘This Is The One’ rushes forth. ‘I love the Stone Roses. Such a shame their spirit was slain by a million paper cuts. The damned law! Now, will you please get in.’
    Staffe climbs in and reaches for his seat belt, but Raúl taps him on the arm, says, ‘No seat belts, not in my car – they’re killers. A man needs to be able to get out of a tight situation.’
    They roar off and by the time they are driving down Calle Real towards the port and passing Casa Joaquín, Raúl is joining in with ‘I Am the Resurrection’.
    *
    Manolo sits on the steps outside Bar Fuente, drinking gin and Fanta orange. He is due to go up the mountain for another stint with his flock. The goats spend their summers high in the sierra, it being too hot in the village; Manolo works to a rota of two weeks up the mountain and one week back in the village. His father, Rubio, used to spend the whole summer up the mountain with the goats, until one year he didn’t come down. They say his brain fried. Now, he lives with the nuns and the mad in Granada. When villagers talk of Rubio, they lower their voices.
    Raúl parks the Alfa, in the shade of plane trees in the plazeta , and slaps Manolo on the shoulder as he goes into the bar, calling him a goat fucker. Manolo looks into his cubata , sheepish. Staffe thinks that perhaps Manolo doesn’t care for such fancy Dans.
    Staffe orders mint tea and Gutiérrez calls him a ladyboy. Frog calls across to Gutiérrez, ‘You’re the ladyboy, you old dandy!’
    Gutiérrez squints and says, ‘Frog? Is that you? Frog!’
    Frog laughs, like a frog, comes across to Raúl, hitting him on the arm with a rolled copy of La Lente and muttering indecipherable dialect. He says to Staffe, ‘Just another dead foreigner – is that all they can come up with?’ He throws down the paper and calls out, ‘That’s his story.’ He grabs Raúl by the ear. ‘What have we done to deserve a bastard journalist amongst us? Aren’t there enough lies in this village?’
    Raúl says, ‘I have no pen.’ He pulls out his pockets and says, ‘See! I’m not armed. You’re safe.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter, the shepherd