In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery (8 page)

‘Not right away, of course, but after a while. Frankly, I found her … I probably sound precious, but I don't like to hear a woman making crude innuendoes and jokes even if it's to encourage the customers to buy another drink.'

‘Why d'you think they came here to live?'

‘At a guess, she'd more than one man eager to show her his garden. But Neil sold his farm to a developer for a fortune and she gave him the thumbs up. They married. She wanted to live somewhere with better weather and eventually he agreed and they ended up here. You're interested in all that?'

‘I like to learn as much as I can.'

‘There's a rumour going around that he didn't just drown.'

‘The water in the pool was kept low so that he could never be out of his depth. A post mortem has shown he suffered no illness which was likely to have caused a sudden unconsciousness or incapacity.'

Russell leaned back in the chair and the sunshine escaped the edge of the umbrella and covered the lower half of his face. He moved to his left. ‘I sunburn easily and got caught the other day. The air is so clear, one doesn't realise the damage the sun can cause. I've been told that local doctors and chemists call it their patron saint.' He called a waiter over. ‘What will you drink, inspector?'

‘I should like a coñac with just ice, please.'

Russell gave the order. As the waiter walked away, he said, ‘Does you being here, asking about them, saying there was nothing medically wrong with Neil, mean rumour may for once be right and the drowning was not accidental?'

‘We cannot be certain so we have to consider all possibilities. That is why I have needed to question you, but you'll be glad to know I will soon stop. Did Señor Picare know you were here on holiday or did you meet by chance?'

‘I'd written to say I'd be out and would like to meet up again.'

‘He didn't invite you to stay at Vista Bonita?'

‘Unfortunately not – it would have been a sight more comfortable than the hotel. I expect Cecily put the dampers on that possibility. Still, I was invited to supper, which she called dinner, on my first evening. Not that she wasn't a bit frosty.'

‘Would you describe their marriage as happy?'

‘Reasonably so. Cecily wanted to live a far more social life than he did which may have caused a few upsets, but I don't know.'

‘Otherwise all was calm?'

‘As far as I could tell.'

‘Why do you think that dinner was not a success?'

‘Neil and I talked about old times, she became bored and left, he opened another bottle. Pretty soon, he said that if he was given the option, he'd go back to farming. I laughed, made some comment about being careful or his wishes might come true and that got him talking. Despite all Cecily's ribald behaviour behind the bar back in England, she was unenthusiastic about making the bed springs squeak and demanded her own bedroom. He'd wondered if she was two-timing him and even employed a private detective to check up on her. Result was completely negative.'

‘Do you know if you are named in the señor's will?'

‘He did once say he'd leave me something for old time's sake.'

‘You are to receive a legacy of ten thousand pounds.'

‘Ten … ten thousand?'

‘You are surprised?'

‘I'm gobsmacked. I thought he was talking about a couple of hundred …' He stopped, stared at Alvarez. ‘Are you now wondering if I'm sufficiently broke to have thought it a good idea to drown him since he had said what he'd leave me and I was desperate for the money?'

‘I have not considered the question until now. Since it is you who have raised the possibility, did you kill him?'

‘Christ, no! Don't you understand, we were friends?'

‘If Señor Picare became convinced his wife was not having an affair, was their relationship as before?'

‘No.'

‘Do you understand why not?'

‘I assumed he couldn't wholly believe the report the detective had given him, his suspicion had upset her too much for a full reconciliation, or, more likely, she knew full well how much he was having on the side'

‘Did he ever mention divorce?'

‘No. But if he had, I reckon he'd have said that it was better to try to put up with things rather than have to give her most of his money because the courts always favour the wife. He hadn't got used to big money and still thought like a small farmer. He'd suggest we went out to a café and it would be a case of his round, my round.'

As it should be now, but wouldn't, Alvarez thought. ‘You were at Vista Bonita the day he died.'

‘And he was alive when I left.'

‘You didn't say goodbye to the señora?'

‘I presumed she was still out and anyway I was too thoughtful to annoy her and find out.'

‘Why would a normal courtesy do that?'

‘She regards me as a baleful influence. I'm not wealthy and fail to corroborate her in public when she says his farm was over four hundred acres of prime grazing land and his home-bred cows won many awards at agricultural shows.'

‘Did he have many friends here?'

‘Fewer than he would have done if on his own.'

‘He still seemed to enjoy himself?'

‘With the women. When you talked about friends, I thought of men or couples.'

‘You'll have met several of his female friends.'

‘He wasn't generous.'

‘You didn't meet any of them?'

‘Only one.'

‘Her name?'

‘Can't remember.'

‘Think harder.'

‘At the moment, all I can tell you is that she came out to the island after her husband died. She put on a soulful face and Neil took her to a meal at the Residencia to cheer her up. That will have got her thinking of diamonds.'

‘She had an affair with Señor Picare shortly after her husband died?'

‘She had lived in Essex.'

‘Why should that explain anything?'

‘The devil once stayed there, but found conditions so extreme he hurried back to hell.'

‘Is she still on the island?'

‘I think she rents a flat.'

‘Where?'

‘I'm not certain. Incidentally, I've remembered her name. Lynette.'

‘Her surname?'

‘Hasn't yet returned to my memory.'

‘Give me some more names.'

‘She's the only one from his coven I met.'

‘You never learned through her – women find it difficult to keep such information to themselves – who were his other female interests?'

‘Not after I took her to a meal at a local restaurant and she mentioned to Neil what poor quality the food had been.'

‘Was he annoyed to learn you'd taken her out?'

‘He called it a sparrow challenging a golden eagle.'

‘Rather humiliating for you?'

Russell shrugged his shoulders.

‘Is there anything more you can tell me which might be of consequence?'

‘Absolutely nothing.'

‘Then I have no need to trouble you further. Thank you for your help.'

It was almost nineteen hundred hours when Alvarez once again parked in front of Vista Bonita. Rosalía opened the front door.

‘What d'you want?' she asked.

‘I'll tell you if no one else is listening.'

‘You're full of hopeless optimism for a man who won't see fifty again.'

‘I'm still in my early thirties.'

‘And you believe in fairies.'

‘I'm here to have a word with Marta.'

‘You're wasting your time. She's at home.'

‘Is she still depressed?'

‘Naturally.'

‘Is the señora here?'

‘She's away.'

‘Then at least she's better. So you're on your own.'

‘And going to remain so.'

‘What are you preparing for supper?'

‘
Escaldums de vigilància
.'

Chickpeas – even Dolores has some difficulty in making them into a dish to enjoy. ‘No doubt they'll be delicious.'

‘You'll never know.'

‘Where does Marta live?'

‘With her parents.'

‘And they live where?'

‘You think she wants you around when she's at the bottom of everything?'

‘Probably not, but I have to have a word with her.'

‘Why?'

‘To confirm or deny what I've been told. I'll be as brief as I possibly can.'

‘I don't remember the address.'

‘It'll be written down somewhere in case someone wants to get in touch with her.'

‘Could be, I suppose,' she said reluctantly.

‘Have a search for it.'

‘Then you stay right here.'

‘Why are you so suspicious?'

‘Your eyes are more truthful than your tongue.'

‘You must feel very flattered.'

‘I was eleven when I learned a man's flattery has only one target. Do you stay where you are or do I forget where to look for the address?'

‘You're a hard woman.'

‘Far less trouble than a man who's hard.'

He watched her walk across the hall to a small table under which were telephone directories and a notebook of personal addresses and phone numbers.

She returned, handed him a small square of paper on which she had written an address and number. ‘That's everything, so there's no need to stay.'

He returned to his car. Women were suffering from hedonism when they thought men were always lusting after them.

Ca'n Porta was a casita which had been enlarged in weathered stone to provide the amenities of modern life as opposed to the basic necessities of the past. A number of roof tiles had not yet been degraded to a dull, blotched colour by the weather and showed that the enlargement had been fairly recent. The door was opened by Eva Amengual who epitomised the traditional older Mallorquin woman. She honoured the past, was a little overweight but not obese, her features expressed determination leavened by a touch of humour, her manner was direct, sometimes overbearing. She spoke Castilian with occasional difficulty because her youth had been spent during the suppression of Mallorquin which had banished the language to the home or conversations with fellow, trusted Mallorquins.

‘I should like to talk to Marta …' he began.

‘She cannot speak to you,' she replied sharply.

‘I know she's very unhappy.'

‘And yet you think to disturb her further?'

‘I fear I have to.'

‘You consider yourself of greater authority than her mother?'

‘Because, unfortunately, Señor Picare died—'

‘Death was never more deserved. Marta was betrayed by the Englishman, as Spaniards always have been.'

‘She is young …'

‘I need to be told how old she is when I bore her in great pain?'

‘I'm trying to say that time will slowly lessen her sorrow.'

‘You speak as a man who cares nothing for the troubles of others.'

‘I understand them because I have known great sorrow.'

‘Yet you work for the cuerpo who provide sorrow?'

‘I have suffered in the past as Marta now does, so will do everything to avoid bringing her more pain, but I have to speak to her for a few minutes …'

He stopped as Marta walked into the entrada. Her eyes were moist, her cheeks damp, her expression sad and bitter.

‘Return to your room, love,' her mother said.

‘What does he want?'

‘To talk to you. I have told him, he cannot.'

‘Marta,' he said, ‘I'm very sorry to have to be here—'

She interrupted him. ‘It was my fault.' Her voice was high.

‘He did not kill himself, so it cannot have been your fault.'

‘You say that to make me think … that …'

‘I promise you, in the name of the saint of my birthday, that I speak the truth.' He hoped he would not be asked to name the saint. ‘The señor was killed by someone.'

Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she ran out of the room.

‘Her sorrow will lessen since you have told her that?' Eva asked with angry sarcasm.

‘Is it not kinder to speak the truth than to let her continue to believe she was in any way responsible for his death?'

‘I … I don't know.' She sat on the solitary chair. ‘Why did she go and work there?' she wailed.

‘Life can become more bitter than an unripe Seville orange. I will leave, but circumstances are beyond me and I will have to return tomorrow to speak to Marta.'

‘You will not be welcome.'

Eva was much less antagonistic the following day. She offered him a glass of wine. They sat in the main room and after a while, to her mother's uneasiness, Marta joined them.

‘I know it must distress you,' he said to her, ‘but I must ask you to tell me what happened that day. Take as long as you like. If you find it becomes too difficult, we will have a break.'

Eva corrected him. ‘I will say when to stop.'

She'd tell a bishop he was talking nonsense, he thought admiringly. ‘Marta, Señor Russell was at the house, wasn't he?'

She nodded.

‘Do you remember what they ate?'

She hesitated only briefly. ‘
Guàtleres amb pa
.'

‘Did you have some later with Rosalía?'

She nodded again.

‘Were they delicious?'

‘She cooked them.'

A guarantee. Quail could somewhat lack in taste, but given a touch of salt and lemon juice before being browned in hot olive oil, cooked in a mélange of lemon juice, sweet paprika, marjoram, and parsley, wrapped in bacon, they became a gourmet's choice. ‘When did you leave and return here?'

She brushed her eyes with a crooked forefinger. ‘Like always, after me and Rosalía had cleaned up. The señora wanted everything spotless and back where it should be before we finished work.'