Murder Majorcan Style, page 15
‘I’ve been told it’s very hard work.’
‘We’ve never minded that.’
Strange, Alvarez thought.
‘Come on through.’
In the kitchen, Roldan spoke to his wife. ‘The inspector wants to see the señor and señorita. I told him they’ve gone out, but should be back for lunch. He might like some coffee before he decides what to do.’
‘I’ll make some right away. And there are the croissants they didn’t want at breakfast. Go with the inspector into the staff room and I’ll bring them in.’
‘What’s wrong with staying here?’ Alvarez asked.
‘You don’t mind the kitchen?’
‘The most important room in the house.’
He and Roldan sat at the table. She loaded the coffee machine, placed three plates on the table, on one of which were two croissants. ‘Please help yourself. And do you like a drop of coñac to enliven the coffee?’
‘Several drops to get it singing,’ Roldan said.
‘You’ll find it in the usual place.’
The coffee was generously ‘enlivened’, the croissants – he had been pressed to have both – were almost as delicious as when they had been bought newly baked. He had just been given a second cup of coffee when Susanna, wearing a nightdress, hurried into the kitchen.
‘Mum, I’ve just been . . .’ She stopped as she saw Alvarez.
He greeted her. She murmured something.
‘Come on, love.’ Marta hurried over to her daughter. ‘Let’s get you back to bed.’ She supported Susanna as they left.
‘They’ve still not been able to get rid of the virus?’ Alvarez asked.
‘They keep changing treatments, but nothing works.’
‘It must be very worrying for you and your wife.’
‘It’s bloody hell.’
‘I had to learn some years ago how one never suffers greater mental pain than when watching someone else in physical pain. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘No one can do anything.’
‘There’s a specialist at Son Dureta who will always help the police. If I ask him for the name of the top man in viruses in Spain . . .’
Roldan said violently: ‘Can’t you understand? Nothing can be done.’ He drank the remaining coffee in his cup. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘Shouting at you when you were trying to help.’
Marta returned, sat. ‘She’s lying down again.’
Alvarez wished there were words which could help, judged none could. Personal grief could be impregnable.
‘Have you told the inspector?’ she asked.
‘I was going to when Susanna . . .’
She cut short her husband’s words. ‘I saw that car again when I was in the village.’
‘It probably wasn’t the same one,’ Roldan said.
‘I’m certain it was. And it’s no good you saying anything when you weren’t there.’
‘When and where did you see it?’ Alvarez asked.
‘I was shopping this morning; approaching the new square, the traffic had come to a stop. I looked at the cars, wondering what the problem was, and noticed a black one which had a dancing skeleton inside the window. I’m certain it was the same car.’
‘Did you know what make it was?’
‘A Citröen.’
‘Who was in it?’
‘Just the driver.’
‘Did you see his face?’
‘Only when he looked sideways and waved at a passer-by.’
‘Can you describe him?’
‘Not really.’
‘What was the shape of his head? Oval, carroty, round?’
‘Seemed to be round.’
‘Was his hair black, brown, or grey? Was it straight, curly, or was he balding; had he shaved his head?’
‘It was just an ordinary brown and straight.’
‘Were his ears a funny shape?’
‘I wouldn’t have said they were any different to normal.’
‘Beard or clean shaven?’
‘Like what they call designer stubble.’
‘Were his lips thick, thin?’
‘Can’t really say.’
‘What was he wearing?’
‘All I could see was a kind of T-shirt. Light blue.’
‘Is there anything more you can remember?’
‘As it drew away, I remembered to have a look at the registration number. But then another car got in the way.’
‘You weren’t able to read it?’
‘Only the letters.’
‘What were they?’
‘C I M. They’re my sister’s initials. Carolina Inés Margarita.’
‘You’ve been a great help,’ he assured her.
Caroline and Alec Sterne had not returned by twenty past one.
‘And it’s supposed to be us who can’t keep time.’ Marta walked over to the stove and turned down the temperature of the oven.
‘I’d better forget them and return home or I’ll miss out on lunch.’ Alvarez stood.
‘Why not stay and eat here? Even if them two don’t care what they’re having, you look like you do. Marcial is returning home for his meal because his wife’s none too well and he won’t be wanting any – always offer him some of what we’re eating. I’m proud of my Terena Rellena, so maybe you’d like to try it?’
‘I most certainly would.’ Veal stuffed with bacon, ham, olives, eggs, onion, shallot, mushrooms, and seasoning.
He phoned Dolores and apologized for his coming absence.
‘You are dining with Ana?’
Dolores would be annoyed if he did not offer a good reason – one she considered good – for not returning home. Ana would have provided that, but she and Ana were on close terms and it was almost certain she would learn his excuse had been a lie. ‘The superior chief has told me to work through.’
‘And will he also forgo lunch?’
‘I doubt it. If there’s the chance, I’ll buy a couple of sandwiches at the petrol station.’
‘I’ll make certain you have a good supper.’
It seemed he was going to enjoy a delicious lunch and a delicious supper. It was known as gain-gain.
Marcial was back at work at the far end of the kitchen garden. Alvarez crossed to where he was irrigating three rows of tomatoes, there being no standing pipes.
‘How’s the wife?’ he asked.
‘What’s it to you?’
‘They said inside that she wasn’t well.’
‘Just a touch of fever.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’
Marcial used a mattock to open one of the channels by scooping out a plug of earth and then used this to dam the channel which had just been running.
‘I’ve not seen them cultivated like that before,’ Alvarez said, as he pointed at the nearest tomatoes, each supported by a thin bamboo cane.
‘You saw ’em the other day.’
‘Are these red ones as good as the yellow ones?’
‘Prefer ’em to be red; seems more natural. But they both taste.’
‘I wouldn’t mind trying one.’
‘Then best start growing ’em.’
‘With the señor dead, what do you do with everything?’
‘Same as always; take most to the house, keep some for home. And if you’re thinking evil, like you blokes do, the señor said as I could.’
‘I wouldn’t doubt it.’
‘You’d doubt yourself.’
‘Did you see a black car drive away from the house on the day the señor died?’
‘Ain’t I said?’
‘You reckon it was a Citröen hatchback.’
‘You remember?’
‘You described yourself as shocked when it near knocked you for six.’
‘You get knocked flying by a car and learn how you feel.’
‘You could have been too shocked to notice anything accurately. Can you remember what colour it was?’
‘Black.’
‘A saloon?’
‘Hatchback. Shall I write it all down so as you can remember what you’ve been telling?’
‘What else did you notice about the car?’
‘It had four wheels.’
‘That’ll help to identify it. Anything else?’
‘You think I made a close inspection?’
‘I think you must have been more dazed than you reckon. There wasn’t something conspicuous about it?’
‘Are you talking about that bloody stupid thing?’
‘I can’t be certain until you identify it.’
‘Dangling on a bit of a string?’
‘What was?’
‘If you got paid for asking daft questions, you’d be rich.’
‘If I got paid for listening to stupid answers, I’d be richer.’
Marcial used the mattock to open another channel, dam the one which had been running.
‘You can’t say what it was?’
‘Likely a skeleton.’
‘What about the registration number?’
‘Like I said before . . .’
‘Maybe you can remember better now.’
‘And perhaps I can’t.’
‘What colour hair did the driver have?’
‘Don’t know and don’t give a bugger.’
After a soothing brandy, Alvarez phoned Salas.
‘Yes?’
‘I have just been speaking to . . .’
‘You are?’
‘Señor, recently when we spoke, you said it was a waste of time to give my name as your secretary had done so.’
‘That is an excuse for your present failure?’
‘It seems logical that . . .’
‘Logic is a word that sits too lightly on your tongue. Do you intend to name yourself?’
‘Inspector Alvarez.’
‘It should not need me to determine whom I am addressing. Where are you?’
‘Llueso.’
‘Why are you phoning?’
‘To make a report.’
‘Then make it and waste no more of my time.’
Alvarez did so.
‘You are satisfied that the car seen by the woman was the same as earlier seen by the two men on the day the señor died?’
‘There is the possibility it could be.’
‘You accept the possibility is slight?’
‘Naturally, señor. However, the dancing skeleton added to type and colour of car must provide a reasonably solid identification. One seldom sees skeletons on dangles in cars. Dogs are far more common and appropriate. I once saw an extraordinary . . .’
‘I am uninterested in what will undoubtedly be a prurient memory. Being able to provide the three letters will enable Trafico to provide a shorter list, more quickly.’
‘Especially when they restrict the area in which the owner is living.’
‘You have learned he lives locally?’
‘No, but it seems likely.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘As I have mentioned before, he must have known Señor Sterne.’
‘That precludes his living in Palma. Or even in England?
‘No. But if I am to make more progress, I have to work with probabilities, not just certainties.’
‘Have you made any progress?’
‘For the moment, unfortunately not as much as I would hope.’
‘You find no discredit in admitting that?’
‘I have questioned a great number of people and determined they could not be guilty. I have . . .’
‘What you have not done is to understand there is no reason to believe this was a motiveless murder and therefore motive is the key to its solution.’
‘I made that point from the beginning, señor.’
‘Had you done so, I should not have to remark on your failure.’
‘I’ve uncovered several possible motives and followed them up, without success, as you know.’
‘I am only too aware of that.’
‘The only motive I can now suggest – apart from an enraged husband – is the five hundred thousand pounds from the life assurance. The fact that Alec Sterne has made no attempt to inform the company of his father’s death . . .’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He told me so.’
‘You have spoken to the company and asked them to confirm they have not been informed of Señor Sterne’s death?’
Due to the pressure of work and domestic problems, he had forgotten to phone. ‘Señor, the company were unable to answer me immediately and said they would ring back when they had the answer.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘I suppose it was a day or two.’
‘You have not spoken to them again to find out why you haven’t heard from them?’
‘I intend to do so after speaking to you.’
‘Have you questioned the brother and sister to establish whether they have valid alibis, or is that something more you may do after speaking to me?’
‘As I think I have told you . . .’
‘You will answer the question directly and not try to evade it.’
‘I have done so more than once. Their evidence has not altered. They drove out from Ca’n Mortex at about nine in the morning. They returned at around twelve because the señorita wished to return home. They agree they were in the house at the time of their father’s death, but claim they did not speak to him or see him before they left. They saw no reason for that to cause any surprise.’
‘In your own words, they remain the persons known to have a motive, who can offer no alibis, yet you have been unable to obtain any information which would indicate, let alone prove, their guilt. You have obviously failed to question them pugnaciously.’
‘You will remember, señor, she is not a person who it is easy to question pugnaciously.’
‘You will not take it upon yourself to tell me what I remember. Question them again and this time impose such personality as you possess and make it very obvious you will uncover the truth.’
‘Perhaps . . .’
‘Recently, you have constantly introduced animals into your weak analogies and that is to be deplored. However, since this childish habit seems to be the only way in which you can appreciate human relationships, you will think of yourself as a cat and the woman as a mouse.’
‘I play with her, señor?’
The line was dead. Alvarez poured himself another brandy, searched for the notes he had made, eventually found them in one of the drawers of the desk. He read through them to remind himself of the name of the assurance company. He asked Telefonica to determine the number of the Diamond Assurance Company in Birmingham. True to form, the operator objected to the task on the grounds of impossibility before finally accepting she might be able to do as asked.
He phoned the company. A woman asked him whom he wanted; when he answered, he was told to press 7. He pressed 7, was eventually told to press 9. He listened to five minutes of The Four Seasons before he was told to press 2. To his relief, he had reached the end of the treasure trail.
‘You’re asking if Mr Alec Sterne has advised us of the death of his father, Keith Sterne?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ll have to be given the authority to answer you. You are Inspector Alvarez, of the Cuerpo General de Policia in Mallorca.’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s the weather like your way?’
‘Very hot and sunny.’
‘Here, it’s raining like the Second Flood. Hang on and I’ll have a word with Mr James.’
Alvarez listened to more, or was it a repeat, of The Four Seasons.
‘Hullo, sorry for the delay. I’ve checked and can tell you Alec Sterne phoned on the fifth of July and informed us of his father’s death and asked for confirmation of the policy.’
‘Did he want to know when payment of the assured sum would be made?’
‘Yes. He was told he must provide us with a death certificate, a confirmation of identity from the consul, and certain legal requirements must be met before that could be done.’
Alvarez thanked the other. He leaned back in his chair. He would question Alec Sterne the next day and now had the ammunition to do so ‘pugnaciously’. He checked the time. Salas was unlikely to phone until well after lunch, so there was no reason against his leaving the office and having a drink at Club Llueso before returning home for a drink and lunch.
Jaime was seated at the dining-room table on which was a bottle and a half-filled glass. He waited until Alvarez sat before he said excitedly: ‘You’ll never guess who I met earlier.’
‘Then there’s no point in trying.’ Alvarez brought a glass out of the sideboard and poured himself a brandy, added three cubes of ice.
‘Enrique,’ came the call from the kitchen, ‘have you spoken to Ana?’
‘Not today.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’ve been at work.’
Her head came through the bead curtain. ‘You think that a good reason?’
‘I can’t do two things at once.’
‘That you should believe your work was more important than speaking to her! Romance is a word that is foreign to you. You must phone her now.’
‘Why?’
‘Sweet Mary! Do you need to be taught that to eat you must open your mouth? You phone to tell her it has been an empty day for you since you have not seen her.’
‘Talk like that and she’ll think he’s been reading women’s tosh,’ Jaime said.
‘What is “women’s tosh”?’
‘Books which are all lovey-dovey; she looks into his eyes and feels ants crawling up her spine.’
She withdrew her head and seconds later banged a saucepan against the cooker to express her annoyance.
Jaime spoke in a low voice. ‘It was Emilio.’
‘Has he been in trouble with the policia again?’
‘Not him. Emilio Loup.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Dolores is right, half your brain’s become pickled. Ana’s ex. I met him in a bar when I dropped in for a quick refresher and after chatting I realized who he was.’
‘What’s he like?’
