Free Blood Red by Quintin Jardine Page A

the biography I’ll never write, and there’s only one other person alive who knows of it.) ‘After she died, he went quietly crazy, became as unpredictable as me, and dangerous with it. We left each other, pretty quickly, but not before we’d made Tom. A while after that, he died.’
    ‘It still hurts, doesn’t it,’ Justine murmured.
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘You have tears in your eyes.’
    I gave her my best nonchalant smile. ‘For all you know they could be out of relief.’
    ‘I don’t think so.’ She poured the last of the sangria. ‘What about Gerard?’ she asked abruptly. ‘Should we tell him about Planas? Should we warn him? Should we tell him what Garcia found?’
    ‘First of all,’ I replied, ‘I doubt we’ll need to tell him. Angel will want a priest, to do whatever needs to be done in these circumstances. Even if he doesn’t attend to it himself, he’s bound to get to hear about it. As for warning him . . . leave that to me.’
    She was happy with that. We finished lunch, then went our separate ways, she towards the car park, me back to the house.
    One of the very few downsides about living in St Martí is the mobile phone signal, which varies from bad to very bad, and disappears entirely inside several of the old stone buildings. When I stepped into the hall, and laid my phone on the new hall table, I realised that it had been switched off all day. I checked the landline, and saw that I had two voice messages. I pushed the replay button, put the handset to my ear, expecting to hear Gerard’s voice . . . and almost dropped it again, as a deep, familiar accent reminded me of home.
    ‘Primavera, this is the other grandpa speaking.’ Mac Blackstone, Oz’s dad; something wrong? Mary, Ellen, Harvey, one of the boys? And then he chuckled. ‘Trust me to call when you’re at church . . . or sprawled on the beach more like. Can you give me a ring when you pick this up? I’ve got an opportunity, but I’ll need to know fast.’
    ‘What the hell’s this about?’ I murmured, as I dialled Mac’s number.
    ‘What the hell’s this about?’ I asked, as he picked up my call.
    ‘Puzzled you, did I?’ He chuckled. ‘Sorry to be mysterious, but you never know how long you have on these things. Do you fancy a visitor for a few days?’
    ‘Depends who it is.’
    ‘Me, woman. Who else?’
    ‘Well, there’s your wife, for a start.’
    ‘Ah, but she’s the reason. Mary’s cousin’s been ill; Isa, the one in Crieff. She’s had a hysterectomy, and now they’re discharging her from hospital, way too soon in my opinion. She’s on her own, and she’s going to need looking after, so Mary’s going to stay with her for a week. I don’t fancy any of that, so I’ve been thinking it might be nice to see my grandson and his mum. I’ve been looking around, and I can get a flight to Girona from Prestwick on Tuesday, for next to bugger all, going home next Monday. Would that be okay, or do you have other arrangements?’
    I didn’t take a second to decide; the cheery presence of Mac Blackstone was just what I needed, even if he wasn’t quite the man he had been. ‘Book it,’ I told him.
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Absolutely. Book it, then send me an email with your arrival time; I’ll pick you up.’
    ‘Not at all, I’ll get a taxi.’
    ‘You’re not that rich; I’ll pick you up. I won’t tell Tom, though; he still likes surprises.’ I remembered something. ‘By the way, there’s someone here who says he knows you; Matthew Reid, from East Lothian.’
    ‘Is he, by God? In that case, I’d better bring the golf clubs.’
    I ended the call and then went back to my voice messages. As I had expected, the second was from Gerard; timed less than an hour earlier. ‘Primavera,’ he said, his voice calm, ‘I need you to call me. Something has happened. Use my mobile, as usual.’ I’d always made a point of not calling him at the parish residence, for fear of embarrassing Father Olivares,