In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery (3 page)

‘She said “no”?'

‘There's a young woman, an older girl, really, who works in a large house. The English señor, a womaniser, was after her and filled her head with dreams of marrying him after he'd divorced his wife and living a life of luxury. A try-on which very seldom fails; one more reason why it's nice to be rich.'

Dolores stepped through the bead curtain, flicked away a trail which had caught on her shoulder. ‘Can I believe what I have just heard?'

Puzzled, they stared at her.

‘What have you heard?' Jaime finally asked.

‘That were I unable to manage any longer on my own with the unending task of keeping the house clean, cooking meals for which no wife need apologise, seeing the children are sufficiently tidy to go to school and I employed a young woman to help me, I must expect that one of you, perhaps both, would claim imaginary wealth in order to dishonour her?'

‘That's absurd!'

‘You did not say “it's a try-on which seldom fails; one more reason to be rich”?'

‘Enrique said that, not me.'

‘And did you contradict a statement so contemptuous of women's purity or did you remain silent because you agreed?' She returned into the kitchen.

‘Trust you to upset her when she's preparing supper,' Jaime said bitterly, in a low voice. ‘Now, she won't take half the trouble over cooking she should.'

‘She didn't understand what I meant. Judging the kind of man Picare obviously was, it was to be expected.'

‘He's after them all?'

‘Why not when he had money?'

‘Some people are born lucky.'

‘His luck ran out. He drowned.'

The phone rang. They waited for Dolores to answer the call. There was a shout from the kitchen and Jaime reluctantly went through to the entrada to pick up the telephone. The phone call reminded Alvarez he had intended to speak to Salas on his return to the office; it would do for tomorrow.

Jaime returned, carried on through to the kitchen. ‘Aguenda wants a word.'

Dolores had been concentrating on the contents of a saucepan on a low heat. ‘Take this.' She handed him a wooden spoon. ‘Keep stirring, but not fiercely or you'll have everything bubbling out on to the stove.'

He watched her leave. Aguenda was more interested in other people's affairs than most and the chat with Dolores could continue a long time, leaving him stirring. Years before, no Mallorquin male would have been asked to help with the cooking.

A
lvarez opened the bottom drawer of his desk and brought out a glass and half bottle of Napoleon Peteca, poured himself a generous tot. The brandy was rough, but one did not buy a Bisquit Dubouche merely to gain confidence.

When the glass was emptied, he lifted the receiver, dialled.

‘Yes?'

Ángela Torres, as did Salas, spoke to someone as if from on high. For her, Salas could do no wrong. Had she been younger and of a less pugnacious nature, one might have wondered if her feelings for Salas were more than professional. ‘Inspector Alvarez from Llueso.'

‘What is it?'

‘I need to speak to the superior chief.'

‘He is exceedingly busy.'

‘This is important.'

There was a silence before Salas said, ‘Yes?'

‘Inspector Alvarez, señor, from Llueso.'

‘I am aware of that.'

‘I have been investigating the death of Señor Picare.'

‘I am also aware he drowned in the sea.'

‘In his swimming pool, señor.'

‘Then your previous report was inaccurate.'

‘Señor, I did not say the sea.'

‘Was he English?'

‘I think so.'

‘It has not occurred to you to determine so necessary a piece of information? Where is his pool?'

‘By the side of his house.'

‘I was asking where the property is located.'

‘Above Urbanization Reus. That's on the south side of the main road from Llueso to Mestara. The doctor seemed to suggest the drowning was not an accident.'

‘What does “seemed to suggest” mean?'

‘Dr Ferrer mentioned some facts which he would not have expected. There had not been a fine froth about the nose or mouth, there was a cut on one leg which could not have been caused by his fingernails, because they were very well-trimmed, swimming trunks, or anything about the pool; there was slight bruising on one ankle.'

‘In the face of those facts, why is Dr Ferrer not more certain? Have you misunderstood him?'

‘No, señor.'

‘Then you will speak to him again and ask for a firm opinion.'

‘He mentioned a case in England which he thought might be relevant.'

‘What was the case?'

‘A man more than once married a woman with some money and each time he drowned her by suggesting she washed in a tin bath—'

‘It is hardly credible to quote a case from the Middle Ages.'

‘I gathered this occurred towards the end of the nineteenth century.'

‘A time at which no bathroom in Spain was without running water and a proper bath.'

‘But on this island …'

‘Bears no relevance to circumstances on the Peninsula. There, after the first murder, signs of the struggle would have been efficiently noted and the man found guilty, suffered the penalty of death and no further woman would have suffered.'

‘It seems not, señor. By pushing her head under the water with one hand and pulling up her legs with the other, an unexpected rush of water hits the larynx … or the pharynx …?'

‘You are not aware where each is situated?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘Or inexactly. The larynx is a cavity in the throat which encloses the vocal chords; the pharynx forms the cavity which is the upper part of the gullet. Is that what caused Picare's death?'

‘Dr Ferrer said there could be no certainty until the post mortem and even then there might not be any.'

‘A typical medical excuse for failure. When will the PM be?'

‘I don't yet know.'

‘What is it your intention to do before that takes place?'

‘It's difficult to know what can be done until we know the result.'

‘A typical excuse for doing nothing. It is not necessary to learn the señor's financial situation, who were his friends and acquaintances, was he known to have caused deep resentment, had he been the subject of threats?'

‘Is there any point in doing all that before the cause of death is established? If it becomes clear that death was accidental, all the work would be wasted.'

‘Was the dead man wealthy?'

‘I should imagine very much so.'

‘I prefer fact to the product of your imagination.'

‘In order to provide a base for his house, it must have taken many hours of work with heavy machinery to level the land …'

‘You may omit technical details with which you are unlikely to be cognisant. If wealthy, that provides a motive for his murder.'

‘But as yet, señor, there is no certainty …'

‘You fail to understand that an hour's investigation taken immediately after an incident is worth far more than one undertaken later.'

‘But in this instance—'

‘You will question the doctor and demand a firm judgement, not possibles and perhapses. You will question the widow and staff in order to appreciate all the relevant circumstances surrounding his death. Is that clear?' Salas did not wait for an answer, cut the connection.

Alvarez awoke and discovered his siesta had lasted only slightly more than an hour. Salas had disturbed his sleep pattern. The rising heat from the marble window ledge, wavered and had a hypnotic effect; he closed his eyes. He had made his report and Salas could hardly expect him to carry out a futile investigation immediately.

Dolores' call from downstairs awoke him.

‘Enrique, are you dead?'

‘Did she expect him to answer if he were? He reluctantly got up, went through to the bathroom and enjoyed a cold shower, dressed. In the kitchen, Dolores was seated at the table, reading. He waited for her to put the book down, prepare his hot chocolate and set out biscuits on a plate. She continued to read. He coughed, then again.

‘You have a cold?'

‘I have to return to the station.'

‘Since you are already very late, no doubt you will wish to do so quickly.'

‘I thought perhaps you could make me some chocolate?'

‘Will you still be awake by the time it is made?'

He would quickly acknowledge she was generous with affection and kindness, to others as well as the family, but her tongue could be sharp.

She closed the book, stood. ‘It was ready when you were due to come downstairs. Since it seemed you were not working any more today, I drank it. Do you expect me to prepare some more for you?'

‘It would be very kind.'

‘As my mother used to say, expectation costs only words.'

He sat, looked across the table at the cover of her paperback. It was at an angle and he could only read the words:
Love is …
Did it finish off
Eternal Happiness
or perhaps
The Devil's Sword
?

‘What are you thinking?' she asked as she lit a gas ring, turned it down to low.

‘How deceitful life can be for a young woman.'

‘You have discovered a conscience?'

‘She's nothing to do with me. Marta works in a rich, married man's house. He chases women and recently filled her head with thoughts of his divorcing to her benefit.'

‘She has not yet gained a true understanding of men and does not realise what he desires and how little he will pay for it. How do you know about her misfortune?'

‘One of the other staff told me he is always on the prowl, especially after other men's wives, yet now he is taking an interest in her.'

‘He is English.'

‘Why d'you think that?'

‘I have read that their behaviour will surprise even a Dutchman.'

‘You read it where?'

‘In a magazine.'

‘A saucy one from the sound of it.'

‘You think I would pick up such a monstrosity, let alone read it?'

‘Then I have to wonder how …'

‘You have told her how stupid her hopes are?'

‘She would neither believe nor take any notice of what I said.'

‘You see no reason to overcome her disbelief? How typical of a man. Find reason not to do something until it is too late to attempt it.'

‘The danger is over for her. The señor has drowned.'

‘Occasionally, there are times when there is reason to believe justice is not only for the few.'

‘There's the possibility his death was not accidental.'

She went over to the cooker and began to prepare the hot chocolate he wanted.

‘The superior chief has ordered me to start an investigation even though there is no certainty there is any reason to conduct one.'

‘A Madrileño sees a rainbow when there is neither sun nor rain.'

A
lvarez rang the bell, waited, rang it again.

Rosalía opened the door. ‘I can't fly downstairs.' She pulled the door more fully open for him to enter. ‘What d'you want this time?'

‘To have a word with the señora, if that is possible?'

‘It isn't.'

‘She is too distressed?'

‘Naturally.'

‘Is Marta here?'

‘I decided she needed time at home.'

‘Did she really believe the señor would divorce the señora and, after a decent interval, marry her?'

‘At her age, wishes may still come true.'

‘I remember, when I was a nipper, thinking I'd be a millionaire, own a great farm, breed the finest animals and grow the sweetest fruit.'

‘And you've ended up pushing your nose into other peoples' lives.'

‘And their deaths. I want a word with you.'

‘You are not doing so now?'

He smiled.

‘Would you like some coffee?'

‘That would be great.'

She showed him into the large sitting room, not the staff one. He wondered why, forgot the question, went over to the picture windows, stared at the bay below and the surrounding mountains. Confirmation that nature could offer a no more beautiful scene.

He sat. The room was furnished for effect and comfort; the large fireplace, in which a wood burning stove had been unnecessarily placed since there were four radiators, had a carved marble fire surround; a couple of paintings hung on one wall, their subjects sufficiently indistinguishable to be great modern art; on another wall was a large, framed photograph of an old binder, dawn by two heavy horses, collecting up the cut corn and discarding it in sheaves.

Rosalía returned with a silver salver on which were two cups of coffee, sugar bowl, milk jug, and a plateful of almond biscuits. They ate, drank, chatted and it was half an hour before he said, ‘Tell me about the señor and señora.'

‘What is there to tell?'

He stood, produced a pack of cigarettes and offered it.

‘We are not allowed to smoke in the house because the smell disturbs the señora.'

He started to return the pack to his pocket.

‘That does not mean we do not smoke in the house, just that we do it somewhere where she is unlikely to go.'

She accepted a cigarette, he lit a match for both of them, returned to a chair. ‘She is very susceptible to cigarette smoke?'

‘Maybe. Or perhaps it had unfortunate memories for her.'

‘Why unfortunate?'

‘Ask her, not me.'

‘Would you say she's a pleasant person?'

‘As long as nothing goes wrong.'

‘And the señor?'

‘He had very little regard for anyone but himself. Like all men, he wanted to be thought more important than he was and as I may have told you, demanded we called him Don not Señor Picare.'