Father Courage: Guardian, The Long Read

At 4.30am on 22 November 1995, taxi number 69 pulled into the Campsa Red petrol station in La Constancia, a scruffy neighbourhood in the centre of Jerez. The driver stopped at pump 1, got out of his car and dragged the nozzle to its fuel inlet, but the pump wouldn’t turn on. When he went to look for the attendant, he saw that the door to the station’s shop had been smashed. Magazines and papers were strewn across the floor. Then the driver noticed blood on the shop’s walls and ran to a payphone to call the emergency services.

Within minutes, municipal police arrived. One of them found a trail of blood, which led to an office behind the cash register. When the door to the room wouldn’t open, they forced it open. Barricaded inside, behind a photocopier, a young man lay slumped on the floor, inert and bleeding heavily. He was still breathing.

Five minutes later, a team of paramedics crammed into the cluttered office. Covered in blood and surrounded by medical equipment, they tried to staunch the young man’s wounds. But by 4.45am, Juan Holgado was dead…

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