A Shortcut to Paradise (25 page)

Clàudia and Mariona arrived at seven thirty, the former full of expectation, and the latter simply intrigued. We went down to the bar to wait for the remaining guests to arrive, which they began to do at around seven forty-five. Everybody came, though some grumbled slightly. The suspects had abided by the instructions they'd received from Mariona in a disciplined way and, as a spur to memory, had donned the same clothes they were wearing on the night of the tragedy. Except for me, everyone was in their glad rags, even though they were hardly in a party mood.

The twenty individuals reacted in all manner of ways. Some were frightened and others were intrigued, but most seemed annoyed. I suppose they'd not dared say no to Mariona and were embarrassed by the spectacle they'd mounted on the day of the homage. I glanced at Josefina's dress and understood Borja's comments, although luckily he couldn't appreciate the dark lime green of the pattern that made it ghastlier still.

After everyone had arrived, Borja gave a little speech. He said he had proof that Amadeu Cabestany hadn't killed Marina Dolç and that
he knew
who the guilty party was. If he'd decided to bring them together that evening, it was because the murderer was one of that group of twenty and he wanted to give him or her the opportunity to confess. Those present looked at each other incredulously but nobody stepped forward.

“Very well, then,” continued Borja rather nervously. “We shall proceed to reconstruct the events of that night. Before Marina started to go upstairs, I remember she waved goodbye and we all applauded her or said something to her. That was at about two. We should all now take up our places.”

People started to form their small groups at the bar, silently and rather reluctantly. I stayed in a corner so as not to get in the way and stared at their faces. Borja had decided it would be a good idea to serve the same drinks so everyone felt the same as on the night and it gave the waiters something to do.

Mariona was in the corner by the stairs, as elegant as ever, and around her sat the publisher and his wife (looking like a crab apple), Llibert Celoni, Clàudia Agulló and Eudald Suñol, whom I think Clàudia had unsuccessfully tried to recruit to her agency. Except for
Mariona and Clàudia, who were drinking whisky, the rest of the group were on cava. At the next table were Borja, the dentist and his wife, who looked terrified, and didn't seem able to come to terms with what was happening. The dentist and Borja were drinking Cardhu and the wife was on tonic water. At another table, some distance away, were the councillor couple (who clearly weren't enjoying the event one bit), accompanied by Amàlia Vidal (who kept grimacing contemptuously in Borja's direction), Ferran Fontserè, the Russian painter with the lovely legs and Oriol Sureda, who had yet to open his mouth. Josefina was at the bar conversing with the two writers, Lluïsa Carbó and Maia Mayol. Carles Clavé and Agustí Planer were drinking gin-and-tonics at the other end of the bar, rather apart from the others.

“Let's see, Eudald,” said Clàudia, addressing the writer sitting next to her. “You got up and walked to the bar, right?”

“Yes, I was sick of drinking cava and went to order a gin-and-tonic. Then I sat down with Carles and Agustí,” he replied as he got up and changed places. “I had something I wanted to tell Carles,” he added by way of justification.

“Then Agustí got up and I think he left the bar, didn't you, Agustí?” asked Carles Clavé. Agustí Planer and Eudald Suñol were daggers drawn and Agustí had decided enough was enough.

“Yes, I had to ring someone and there was too much of a racket in here. I went up to the lobby.”

“And Oriol, you got up as well,” added Amàlia drily.

“Yes, I went to the lavatory.”

“Off you go then,” she ordered him curtly.

Oriol Sureda obediently upped and exited through the door.

“I also had to go to the lavatory…” piped Lluïsa Carbó, timidly getting up from her chair.

“And we,” said Josefina, referring to Maia Mayol and herself, who were at the bar, “took our glasses of cava and went to sit at the table next to Carles and Agustí. This young man,” she said, referring to Eudald Suñol, “was already sitting there. I remember because he smoked all the time and the smoke was wafting our way.”

“I'm so sorry,” Eudald apologized.

“That's all right,” said Josefina.

“Very good. So Agustí, Oriol and Lluïsa are now outside the bar,” Borja recapped. “What happened next? Did anyone else leave?”

“I also had to go to the lavatory,” the town councillor solemnly declared as he left the room.

“And then I saw the earring and picked it up,” interjected Josefina, acting as if she was in fact picking something up from the floor. “I told Maia it was Marina's and decided to take it to her right away. Marina suffers from insomnia, especially when she's very tired… I went up the stairs to the lobby and took the lift.”

There were two ways to reach the bedrooms from that bar in the basement. One was to go up the stairs and take the lift in the lobby, like Josefina. The other was to go straight up from that floor via the lifts by the toilets.

“And what time was that?” Borja asked. The suspects glanced at each other uneasily.

“I don't know. I didn't look at my watch.”

“I don't know if it's of any help,” volunteered one of the waiters, “but when that gentleman came back from the lavatory” – he was referring to Oriol Sureda – “he
asked me what the time was. It was twenty past two. I remember that clearly because he told me his watch battery had run out.”

“So I must have found the earring later on, because when I went up to Marina's room, that man” – she meant Oriol Sureda – “was at the bar. I noticed because he was finding it hard to sit up straight on his stool.”

“Good, so we have another point of reference: twenty past two,” concluded Borja. “Would Mr Sureda be so good as to take up his position. Marina was still alive at this stage, because we know her watch stopped at twenty-seven minutes past two precisely.”

“So that must have been when I left!” said Josefina.

“But when Oriol Sureda came back, I'd been here for some time,” protested Lluïsa Carbó, who was still outside. “I was talking to Francesc.”

“That's true,” confirmed the publisher.

“Oriol sat with us,” said Mariona, “didn't he, Francesc?”

“Yes,” confirmed the publisher. “We were talking about how ruinous it is to publish Catalan authors.”

“Marina was hardly ruinous… That's why you gave her the prize, right?” interjected Llibert Celoni.

“She was an exception.”

“Not now, if you don't mind,” said Clàudia. “We're not here to debate the state of Catalan literature.”

“I'm so sorry,” Llibert Celoni apologized.

“Can I come in?” asked the town councillor. “I wasn't in the lavatory that long!”

“In fact, this gentleman was back in the bar when that gentleman asked me what the time was,” said the waiter, pointing to the councillor.

“Very good,” sighed Borja. “Come in then. So, if I've got this right, between two o'clock and the time when Josefina came back to tell us Marina was dead, only four people left the bar… Lluïsa Carbó, Oriol Sureda, Agustí Planer and the town councillor. Marina was murdered at exactly two twenty-seven, but apparently by two twenty everybody was back in the bar except for you,” he stated, referring to Agustí Planer.

“That's true. But the receptionist will confirm I was on the phone in the lobby all that time. And also there's the record of calls made on my mobile. I'd rather keep quiet about who I was talking to… ha, ha, ha.”

“Agustí, we know all about your little affair with that journalist…” laughed the publisher.

Agustí Planer turned bright red and scowled at him.

“I found Josefina in the lobby and as she seemed like she was about to faint, I accompanied her downstairs,” he acknowledged coldly.

“Yes, he was on the phone. He took me by the arm,” confirmed Josefina. “I was feeling very queasy.”

Everyone went quiet, waiting for a revelation that never materialized. Some people started looking at their watches. Borja's time had run out.

“So which of us is the murderer?” Clàudia finally asked, addressing my brother.

Borja didn't respond. He was smoking and seemed to be concentrating. The reconstruction hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped.

“Well, I don't know how you see it,” said the councillor, who now looked genuinely angry, “but this means it wasn't any of us. As Mr Holmes, or Poirot, or whoever the fuck he thinks he is getting us to perform in this pantomime can see,” he shouted at Borja, “when Marina was supposedly being murdered, we were all in the bar except for Agustí. And, according to Agustí, it's easy to
prove his alibi because there's a witness who will swear that is where he was. Is this or is this not the situation?”

Everyone nodded. The councillor, a wily old coot when it came to asserting power and authority, had now taken control. Borja had gone as red as a tomato and still hadn't said a word. He didn't know what to say. He'd failed. Failed disastrously. A total cock-up.

“It's a pity, but I'm sure the police are right and it was Amadeu,” sighed the publisher.

“Poor lad, he must have been blinded by envy,” added Agustí Planer.

“He didn't seem such a bad guy…” interjected Maia Mayol.

“Though he was rather peculiar…” said the publisher's wife.

“So you think he is a cannibal as well?”

“How long do you think he'll go down for?”

Borja's pride was shattered and nobody was taking any notice of him. I'd have liked to have helped, but the truth was I didn't know what to say either. We'd gone down a blind alley, and if the murderer was indeed among that group of twenty suspects, he'd left us with egg on our faces. All we could do now was let them go off thinking it had been a wretched waste of time. It was almost nine and people were starting to look at their watches again. It was time for dinner.

“Very good, time we were going,” said the councillor. “Come on, Anna.”

“I must go as well,” said Lluisa.

“And so must we. We've left our children with a babysitter,” announced the dentist.

“I'm off as well.”

“And so am I.”

“OK,
au revoir
everyone.”

“Shall we go for a bite to eat?”

“We look a picture dressed like this…”

“I'll give you a lift home, if you like…”

“I'll just change in the lavatory, I'm supposed to be going to see a film.”

 

 

Borja was livid. It was the first big failure in his imaginary career as a detective and he couldn't believe it. Things hadn't at all turned out as he'd hoped and he was now in despair. He'd thought a reconstruction of the events on the night would betray Marina Dolç's killer, like in a novel. Unfortunately, things aren't so easy in real life, or perhaps the guilty party wasn't in fact part of that motley crew now beginning to exit the bar. No doubt the
mossos
had reached the same conclusion after questioning all the witnesses one by one, and that's why they'd opted not to do the
in situ
reconstruction we'd just mounted. My brother wasn't accustomed to not getting his way and didn't know how to handle the fiasco. He stood tight-lipped at one end of the bar.

Everyone left, except for Mariona and Clàudia. The bar at the Ritz started to fill up with hotel guests, and Mariona, who seemed disappointed, suggested we leave. Clàudia was angry and finally exploded.

“Now everyone is more convinced than ever that Amadeu is guilty and it's all
your
fault! Thanks a bunch!” she rasped furiously.

“Something went wrong…” I admitted.

“Clàudia, darling, don't you think Amadeu might have?… I mean you don't know him that…” suggested Mariona after patting her affectionately on the back.

“It wasn't Amadeu Cabestany,” my brother said finally with a grimace. “I can prove he didn't do it.”

“How? What proof have you got?” interjected Clàudia. “You mean you weren't lying, that you do know who the murderer is? So why didn't you say so, rather than making us waste our time.” Clàudia was getting more and more hysterical. “I insist you tell us now…”

“Now…” Borja got up, looking out of sorts, but, in the phlegmatic tone he'd been rehearsing for some time, he added, “Now I need time to think.”

24

Borja disentangled himself rather rudely from Clàudia and Mariona and he and I immediately headed up to Harry's to brainstorm. I had never seen him looking so downcast in the last three years. In principle, Lola's idea should have worked, but in practice it hadn't. This failure could only mean one thing: both Borja and Lluís Arquer had got it wrong and Marina Dolç's murderer wasn't one of the group they'd assembled at the Ritz.

“I don't understand,” said Borja despondently. “I don't understand what went wrong.”

“Don't keep chewing it over. I expect we were too quick to discount the hotel guests and staff… It might even have been somebody who came to the dinner and then hid somewhere, rather than go home, and waited for the right moment to go up to Marina's room. Or a passing psychopath,” I added half-heartedly. “God knows.”

“According to the police, after half-past one the receptionist saw nobody leave or come in. He was only away from his desk for a couple of minutes, and that was earlier, at around one, supposedly when Amadeu left the Ritz. That's why he never saw him leave. Besides” – he shook his head – “Marina Dolç wouldn't have let
a complete stranger into her room or gone to get him a drink.”