Murder Majorcan Style, page 14
‘We didn’t rush to speak to him every time we returned.’
‘Your relationship with him was strained?’
‘We’re not like you lot.’
Alec Sterne said: ‘We’re not so openly sentimental, Inspector.’
‘I understand that. Señorita, why did you return to the house and then leave so quickly afterwards?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Do I need to explain it might have been that after the initial shock of what had happened, one of you thought to conceal the truth by imitating suicide?’
‘I had to come back for a reason that’s none of your goddamn business.’
‘You remember that after his death, your father lay on the floor of the garage before his body was picked up and placed in his car?’
‘You hate us, don’t you?’
‘No, señorita.’
‘You can’t stand seeing the difference between you and someone with breeding and manners. I came back . . . because I am a woman. Can you understand now or do I have to explain it in full to give you the pleasure of embarrassing me further?’
‘I gain no pleasure from distressing anyone.’ He spoke to Alec Sterne. ‘Have you been in touch with the company which issued your father’s assurance policy?’
‘Should I have done?’
‘It would be advisable. Remember, you will need a certificate of death and of identification to accompany your actual claim . . . Do you remember my asking if a car approached here as you drove out on the last occasion?’
‘We never noticed one.’
‘A black hatchback did not approach the gates and signal it was turning in as you drove away?’
‘With all the traffic on the road in the summer, it’s impossible to be certain what other cars are going to do. Does it matter we didn’t see it?’
‘There was just the off-chance you might have noticed it. I need disturb you no longer. Thank you both for your help.’
‘Not given voluntarily,’ she said bitterly.
SIXTEEN
A sharp ‘Yes, what is it?’ startled Alvarez, having waited to speak to Salas.
‘Inspector Alvarez reporting, señor. I have many, many further enquiries concerning Señor Sterne’s death. I have questioned Marcial, the gardener at Ca’n Mortex, also Señor and Señorita Sterne, the son and daughter.’
‘You surprise me.’
‘For what reason, señor?’
‘I might have been listening to a report from an efficient officer.’
‘I have learned nothing new. However, the evidence of each has remained consistent, even to the dangling skeleton.’
‘You understand what you are saying?’
‘It’s referring to one of those dangling things at the end of a cord which some people hang up behind the back windows of their cars. They must have very juvenile minds.’
‘I have one in my car.’
‘What I meant was . . .’
‘My wife is very fond of corgis. She saw one of “those dangling things”, as you ignorantly called it, which featured a corgi.’
‘That’s very different, señor.’
‘Different from what?’
‘A skeleton.’
‘I understood you were objecting to the concept, not the specifics.’
‘No, señor. I must have misjudged my words.’
‘A common failing. Perhaps you will now move on and deal with matters of importance, not ones of no account.’
‘The skeleton is of some importance, señor.’
‘In what way?’
‘Marcial’s evidence supports Roldan’s. Further, whilst many people like to have dangling things in their cars, especially when there is an emotional reason to do so, not many would choose a skeleton because it might be inviting death to have the last laugh. Therefore, if a car is observed that is a black hatchback, almost certainly a Citröen, which sports a skeleton, then there is good reason to identify that as the one the staff saw. Naturally, one has to be prepared for a coincidence, but I would think the combination of known details would make this unusual . . .’
‘Can they describe the driver?’
‘As I reported before, señor, neither of them gained more than a view of the back of his head. Roldan because he was looking from behind the car, Marcial because he was in a tangle with his mobylette.’
‘How do you intend identifying the driver?’
‘Apart from having the fortune of seeing him in the car, it seems to me we must hope for the luck . . .’
‘I am confident that you are the first inspector in the history of the Cuerpo who has admitted that his inability to pursue an investigation with efficiency means he has to rely on luck to reach any conclusion.’
‘But in the circumstances . . .’
‘I need to tell you what to do. You will draw up a list of possible cars and question the owners.’
‘But . . . Señor, all we know for certain is that the car was probably a Citröen, black and a hatchback. To list all the cars with those features . . . It’s a task that would defeat Homer.’
‘I assume, in a hopeless attempt to appear literate, you mean Hercules.’
‘I just can’t see . . .’
‘Wilful blindness follows an acceptance of failure. Is it not reasonable to assume the driver was friendly with Sterne.’
‘I doubt that he was.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t think Sterne, with his lifestyle, would be friendly with someone who hung a . . . With someone who did not drive a much larger and more expensive car.’
‘It is probable that the driver wished to speak to Sterne.’
‘Then why didn’t he make himself known to the staff?’
‘As I have cause to know well, it is not every member of one’s staff who attends to his duties. The visitor may have rung the bell or knocked and not been heard because the staff were too busy loitering at the back of the house. He may suddenly have changed his mind, or remembered something he needed to do before speaking to someone.’
‘Or, never having met the señor, perhaps he was going to Ca’n Mortex to ask for a contribution to a fund to help someone in trouble and knowing the señor was wealthy, hoped he would give generously.’
‘It is difficult to conceive a more unlikely possibility.’
‘I don’t think that’s any more far-fetched than your suggestions.’
‘Such lack of judgement is to be expected. As a friend, or at least an acquaintance, of the señor, he will be known to the staff. They can provide names and addresses. You will question them to determine which of them was the driver of this car.’
‘The staff were never introduced to guests.’
‘You imagine they would be?’
‘Then how do they know who any of them were?’
‘You lack experience in many things, including domestic staff. Such people display great initiative in learning matters which do not concern them. You will question them as I have ordered. You have questioned Señorita Sterne again?’
‘Yes, señor.’
‘Is it naive to hope that you behaved with far more respect than before?’
‘She is a difficult person.’
‘For the explanation of her difficulty, one needs to look to the questioner.’
‘You did say that you found her impossibly rude.’
‘I may have said she was a little difficult, that is all. Was she able to provide any fresh evidence?’
‘She was very reluctant even to speak to me. Was outraged that I seemed to think that she or her brother might have had a part in their father’s death.’
‘Having been unable to make any progress in the case, you accused her of her father’s murder?’
‘She was being so uncooperative, I asked her if she had reason to fear my questioning – this caused her to complain I was accusing her and her brother. She would not estimate the time when they left the house on Monday morning.
‘I asked Señor Alec Sterne if he had been in touch with the company which had insured his father’s life and he said he had not. That may be a significant omission.’
‘Why?’
‘If he killed his father to gain from the insurance policy, it is probable he would have been in touch with the company immediately.’
‘You have reason for claiming that?’
‘Years ago, I was involved in a similar case, on a very much smaller scale, and the murderer was in touch with the company within hours. A criminal is eager to gain the rewards of his crime, but I think it’s just as likely the haste is to prove to himself that the gain justified the means.’
‘Any acceptance of such a possibility needs the originator to be someone far better qualified to make it.’
‘It has to mean something that Alec Sterne has not begun to make a claim.’
‘It is to be hoped you manage to uncover evidence of a far more significant nature when you can bring yourself to carry out your orders.’
Alvarez, knowing the reception he was likely to receive, phoned Trafico. ‘I’m looking for a car.’
‘Hope you manage to find one.’
‘A black Citröen hatchback.’
‘There are plenty of ’em around so you should manage to fix a bit of a discount.’
Those who worked in traffic were known to be facetious as a way of relieving the boredom of their task. ‘It’s a murder case.’
There was a change in attitude. ‘What’s the registration number?’
‘Not known.’
‘Colour?’
‘Black.’
‘Owner’s name?’
‘Can’t say. But it’s likely he lives near Llueso.’
‘Am I wrong to think you are asking us to trace a car about which all you know is that it’s a black hatchback Citröen?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are a comedian?’
‘If you draw up a list of all possible cars with their owners’ names and addresses . . .’
‘I’d need my head examined.’
‘The superior chief wants the list.’
‘Then he also needs a psychiatrist.’
‘Do I tell him you refuse to draw it up?’
The line was dead. Alvarez replaced the receiver. He supposed that had he been approached with a request of such an insubstantial nature he would have responded in similar form.
He lit a cigarette.
There were times when the fog of life was not just poet-talk. Occasionally, murder was motiveless – a random killing, mistaken identity – but had that been the case, the murderer would not have put the body in the car to simulate suicide. So there had been motive. Yet those who had been identified as having motives were able to establish their innocence. There was the probability of a cuckolded husband seeking his revenge, but how to identify him? The driver of the black Citröen must come under sharp suspicion, even when his motive was unknown, but only Salas thought he could be identified.
If only the medical and forensic evidence had shown Sterne to have died from monoxide poisoning, had not lain on the floor of the garage before being found seated in the car, it would have been suicide and he would not be trying to unravel a Gordian knot.
He poured himself a drink. Sterne had died from severe fright. Someone had caused him to suffer that extreme emotion. That someone was legally a murderer, even if he had had no reason to suspect his anger might kill. Who had reason for such hatred?
He poured himself a second drink. He must return to the beginning. Question those he had already questioned and suffer Caroline’s bitching; cross-check facts; speak to female expatriates and hope to learn which of them had been over-friendly with Sterne . . .
Caroline. Hard steel while her brother was weak tin. He had accepted her reason for returning to the house, embarrassed at doubting her answer. A woman as sharp as she would guess that would be his reaction, so how better to prevent his questioning her further? She and her brother had probably been in the house when their father died. They claimed they had not expected to speak to him, had not even seen him during the time they were in Ca’n Mortex. It was a large house and they had no love for their father, so it was feasible they would not have sought him to have a word. Half a million pounds provided a strong motive. Alec Sterne denied he had been in touch with the assurance company which had provided some reason to consider their possible innocence. Had he been telling the truth?
There were those who would dismiss potatoes as peasants’ food. Not when Patatas a la Riojana was cooked by Dolores – potatoes, chorizo, tomatoes, pimientos, onions, stock, seasoning, olive oil. César Ritz would have been pleased to present the dish.
‘Is there some more?’ Jaime asked.
‘I think the children finished it before they went out to play,’ Dolores answered.
‘They never think of others.’
‘Have you given them cause to do so?’
‘A working man needs to eat his fill.’
‘When he works.’
‘Are you saying I don’t?’
‘A question which does not call for an answer.’
‘Who keeps the house going?’
‘I’ll go on holiday and you will learn. Right now, you can help me clear the table.’
‘Again?’
She stood. ‘I’ll take the dishes, you bring the rest.’
When once more seated at the table, Dolores cracked a walnut. ‘You are seeing Ana this evening, Enrique?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why not?’
‘It depends if I can get away from work in good time.’
‘You can. Do you have the ring ready?’
‘What ring?’
‘Have you spent all morning visiting bars? The engagement ring, of course.’
‘Why do I need one?’
‘Aiyee! But as my dear mother so often had reason to say, the Lord God took Adam’s brain as well as his rib to create woman.’
‘I haven’t said anything definite to her.’
‘She has to you,’ Jaime remarked.
Dolores, her tone noticeably sharper, said: ‘You will have to tell her you couldn’t see any ring she might like at the local jewellers, so you’ll take her into Palma.’
‘That’ll cost him a fortune,’ Jamie said.
‘You are empty of sentiment?’
‘Sentiment doesn’t put euros into the pocket.’
‘Enrique,’ she said, ‘you should take her yellow and red roses when you tell her about Palma.’
‘They must grow enough flowers . . .’
‘Have you never learned how to behave towards a lady? Casa Danera usually has very nice roses.’
‘For which they charge very nice prices,’ Jaime said.
‘At such a moment, you think Enrique’s only interest is money?’
‘Why else would . . .’ He stopped abruptly as Dolores glared at him.
She ate a walnut, reached across for another one. ‘Of course, you will need a new suit; the only one you have looks as if you found it in a rubbish skip. I will find out who is the best tailor. And where do you think the marriage luncheon should be held? Casa Tramuntana is probably the best.’
‘And the most expensive.’
She ignored her husband’s comment. ‘Where will you go for the honeymoon?’
‘If I do decide to . . . We’d be getting on a bit for that sort of thing.’
‘You have no thought for Ana? You would return her to Son Cascall as if it were just another day?’
‘It seems unnecessary to bother about all that sort of thing, especially when she’s been married before.’
‘Only you could speak with so little heart. I was talking to Ana. Ever since she was a child, she has wanted to visit Argentina. You can take her there for your honeymoon.’
‘Lucky for him she doesn’t want to go to Australia,’ Jaime said.
She cracked the walnut with unnecessary force.
As Alvarez walked to his parked car, carrying a large bunch of roses wrapped in tissue paper, secured with red ribbon, he hoped no one from the post would see him. A cabo’s amusement would be shared with all.
He reached his car, unobserved as far as he could judge, settled behind the wheel. His mind drifted back in time. He was in a paseo, hurrying or loitering in the outer circle in order to murmur sweet words to Rosalie as they briefly came abreast of each other; declaring his love to Carmen, suffering the humiliation of her sneering remark that she would not consider marrying a peasant; the hours he had spent by the hospital bedside of Juana María, silently, hopelessly hoping she would live.
He drove slowly, his thoughts returned to the present. What, he asked himself for the umpteenth time, if he had been misled? Having had reason to dismiss her husband, naturally Ana was lonely and welcomed contact with others. She liked him because they had a common interest – land, farming, the satisfaction of eating an orange just plucked from the tree . . .
He turned into the earth and stone drive. Son Cascall, backed by the mountains with their crests still in sunshine, was the epitome of strength and durability, the crops, proof of the land’s fecundity.
Ana opened the front door. He handed her the roses.
‘I knew you had to be one of the few men with the heart to know what yellow and red roses mean,’ she said, before she kissed him.
SEVENTEEN
The garden in front of Ca’n Mortex was a carpet of colour. If each flower was worth a quarter of what he had been charged for each rose, Alvarez wondered how many euros he was looking at.
Roldan opened the door. ‘Good morning, Inspector.’
‘Do you have radar to tell you when someone’s coming here?’
He smiled. ‘I happened to be in the front sitting-room when you drove in.’
‘Are they here?’
‘The señor and señorita left soon after breakfast.’
‘Have you any idea when they’ll be back?’
‘They have asked Marta to have a meal ready at one. The English eat early.’
‘Filetes con foie-gras?’
‘I don’t know what she’s cooking, but I doubt it will be that. They don’t seem to care what they eat and never say they’ve enjoyed a meal.’
‘That must annoy her.’
‘She still cooks as if they were gourmets. When we’re certain what’s happening here, we’ll quit domestic work. How does one know what an employer is like until one has started to work for him? There may be many employers like those two. We’ll start a restaurant and know people go there because they like and appreciate the food. We’ve saved a bit and it’s long been an idea of ours.’
