Murder Majorcan Style, page 16
‘Same as most. After a while, he got talking about her.’
‘I suppose he cursed her for kicking him out of the feathered nest?’
‘Said it was the happiest day of his life when he quit.’
‘And the moon is made of blue cheese?’
‘He said straight, he married her because of the estate, like you’re going to do.’
‘You think that’s what counts with me?’
‘Yes. The first night, she made it clear she wasn’t interested in rumpy-tooting. That didn’t worry him so much, not in the tourist season when one goes down to the beach and chooses. I can remember – before I married – I went down one night . . .’
‘What are you talking about?’ Dolores asked, as she stepped through the bead curtain.
‘Discussing whether to watch a film that’s coming on the telly,’ Alvarez replied.
‘Obviously, a film which should not be shown in a decent house. You may watch it, Enrique, if it gives you small pleasure, but my husband will not.’ She returned into the kitchen.
Jaime spoke in a still lower voice and Alvarez had to lean forward to understand what he said. ‘It wasn’t her thinking he was constantly going off for a swim that caused the trouble.’
‘What ended him was he got caught with a woman so Ana threw him out.’
‘If you’re going to tell me what happened, I’ll shut up and leave you to shove your head into the sand.’
‘If it wasn’t woman trouble, what was the problem?’
‘You know better than me.’
‘Come on, lighten up.’
Jaime drank, replaced the glass on the table. ‘It was how she went on and on. Did you put on a clean shirt; Elisée phoned and said that you walked straight past her in Carrer Sant Franscesc and you never apologized; I want you to drive me into Inca; tell the butcher in the supermarket that the beef I bought was tough; why do you want another hundred euros when I gave you a hundred at the end of last week? . . . It became like he had to have her permission to blow his nose. He took to drink and who’d blame him except her? He had to buy it without her knowing because she didn’t like him having more than one drink before a meal and a glassful of wine with it.’
‘One?’
‘And no coñac to aid digestion.’
‘Yet when she was here, she said . . .’
‘Which is what she told him before he married her and she had him tight by the . . .’
‘Have you rung her?’ Dolores called out.
‘I’m not certain it’s a good idea,’ Alvarez said.
‘What stupidity is that?’
‘She likes to go to bed early and I don’t want to wake her up.’
‘You cannot think of a more ridiculous explanation?’
‘I’d rather leave it. If I ring this late . . .’
‘It is not late and unless you are careful, she will think what I think. That you are treating her as you did when she was young.’ She stepped through the bead curtain. She folded her arms across her bosom. Her words were edged with icicles. ‘I make one thing very clear. Do that and I will be so upset at your cruel, monstrous behaviour, which reflects almost as badly on the family as on you, that it will be best that you find somewhere else to live.’
Alvarez watched her return to the kitchen. He faced disaster. Either he accepted marriage which would prove to be far from the rural nirvana he had been imagining or he would be banished from home and Dolores’ cooking.
EIGHTEEN
Alvarez sat in his car in front of Ca’n Mortex, his mind divorced from his body. He blamed Dolores for the impossible situation in which he found himself. She had introduced him to Ana; she had decided he should no longer be free and independent, here was the woman who would shackle him; she had cunningly induced him to see in Ana the reality of his dreams. Why did women never lose a chance to meddle with a man’s affairs?
The sound of the front door’s being opened brought his mind back. Roldan came across to the car. ‘Are you all right, Inspector? You’ve been sitting there rather a long time. I wondered if you were not feeling well and you might like me to drive you to the medical centre.’
‘No doctor can cure my problem.’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’
Alvarez realized how selfish his mournful attitude must seem. ‘Never mind me, how is Susanna?’
‘No better, I am afraid.’
‘So sad when someone is her age and cannot enjoy life.’
‘Indeed. You wish to speak to the señor and señorita?’
‘Unfortunately.’
Roldan allowed himself a brief smile. ‘Perhaps you should hurry as I understand they intend to be out all day.’ He opened the car door.
They walked into the hall.
‘The green sitting-room is in the middle of being cleaned, so we’ll go into the other one.’
‘What colour is it?’
‘I have never heard it given one.’
Smaller than the green room, it was furnished casually. Alvarez guessed the furniture spent time in there before moving on into the staff sitting-room.
‘I will tell them you wish to speak to them.’
As Roldan left, Alvarez crossed to the right-hand window with a half-metre rock sill and stared out at the kitchen garden. Marcial was weeding a row of lettuces. A man who had known, as had almost anyone of his age or older, a bewildering change in lifestyle. He would have begun, a lad, working on a farm for a few pesetas a day, the hours long, burned by the sun or soaked by the rain, made to carry loads too heavy for his build; his only meal until the end of the day and he returned home, Pa amb oli; his home, a small, damp, dimly lit caseta which offered shelter, but little more since it had no electricity, no running water, no heating other than a wood fire, and only a long drop. Now, he worked for less time for many more euros, he ate his sandwiches and often a gourmet meal in the kitchen, would live in a new or restored house which had every amenity, perhaps including air-conditioning.
‘How much longer do we have to suffer your insufferable intrusions?’ Caroline demanded as she swept into the room. ‘What the hell is it this time?’
‘I should like to speak to your brother.’
‘Why?’
‘I will explain to him.’
‘I demand to know.’
‘After I have spoken to him, if he has no objection.’
‘Are you trying to be even more insulting?’
‘At least you allow, señorita, that unlike some, I have to try.’
‘You are a mannerless peasant.’
‘Peasants are expected to be mannerless, unlike English ladies.’
‘You’ll regret your damned insolence.’
‘Hold it, sis.’ Alec Sterne hurried through the opened doorway. ‘If we’re to reach Valldemossa on time, we have to leave now.’
‘Are you going to let him talk to me like that without saying a word?’
‘Come on.’
‘I fear you cannot leave here until I have spoken to you, señor,’ Alvarez said.
‘We’re meeting friends.’
‘I will take as little of your time as possible.’
‘Tell him to go to hell, we’re leaving,’ Caroline said angrily.
Alec’s moment of determination was over. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Then I will.’ She faced Alvarez. ‘We are leaving now and you’re damned well not going to stop us.’
‘No, señorita, I will not. But you will be stopped on the road by members of Trafico and they will bring you back here. I shall then consider whether to arrest you both.’
‘My God! It’s the Gestapo.’
‘I am forbidden to use thumbscrews. Please consider how much easier for all of us, señorita, if you will leave the room and allow me to question your brother quietly. After that, you may be free to leave as you will.’
Her voice was shrill. ‘“May”?’
‘I have to learn what he has to say before I can be certain.’
‘Are you so stupid you still think he murdered our father?’
‘Had he done so, he would almost certainly have needed help.’
She was motionless for several seconds, her impotent fury making her face ugly, then she left.
‘Shall we sit?’ Alvarez suggested.
They sat.
‘Señor, do you remember my asking you whether you had informed the Diamond Assurance Company of your father’s death?’
A muttered: ‘Yes.’
‘What was your answer?’
‘I . . .’
‘You assured me you had not done so because you had been too emotionally upset. Are you able to judge why I asked?’
‘No.’
‘Had you murdered your father by making him fear for his life, it was very likely you would have taken the first opportunity to inform the company of his death so that you and your sister would benefit as soon as possible. That you had not been in touch with them was an indication, if far from firm, you were not implicated in his death.’
Alec Sterne was jiggling his feet; he fidgeted with the buckle of his belt; there were beads of sweat on his forehead.
‘In a case this serious, I could not accept your word without checking. I spoke to someone in the company and learned that you reported your father’s death on the day he died. You have admitted you and your sister had reason to dislike him. You were in the house when he died. You lied to me over the question of informing the company of your father’s death. You will understand I have to consider your position very carefully.’
‘You . . . you’re accusing me of killing him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t willingly hurt anyone.’
‘Perhaps you were an accessory; even an unwilling one.’
‘Never,’ he shouted.
‘Then explain why you lied.’
‘I . . . I was scared . . .’
Caroline hurried into the room. ‘What are you doing to him?’
‘I am trying to understand why he lied to me, señorita.’
‘He didn’t. You hate us because of who we are. You’ll try anything to blacken us and bring us down to your level.’
‘Unless I learn there is someone else with emotional or financial reasons to wish your father dead, the effort may not be necessary.’
‘You bastard!’
‘That is never the fault of the bastard.’ He left.
Back in his office, Alvarez noticed a sheet of paper on the desk. After a while, he picked it up. Sent by email was a list of the names and addresses of the owners of black hatchback Citröens with the registration letters, CIM, the owners of which lived in the northern end of the island. There were nowhere near as many as he had feared – only four. He felt slightly more cheerful as he phoned Franz Scabukle.
‘Ya?’
‘This is Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo General de Policia.’
Scabukle spoke a guttural, faulty Spanish. Fifteen minutes of troubled conversation established he had not known Señor Sterne, had not even heard the name before notice of the other’s death had appeared in the local papers, had never visited Ca’n Mortex.
The difficulty of the call convinced Alvarez that the remaining three owners should be left for another day – they might be three more linguistically challenged Germans.
‘The superior chief will speak to you now.’
Alvarez waited.
‘Yet again I have been expecting to hear from you,’ Salas said without any greeting. ‘Yet what is hope but deceiving?’ There was a pause. ‘Your silence continues?’
‘I’m not certain what to say, señor. After all, hope isn’t deceiving when it comes true.’
‘The comment of someone unable to understand words which are not spelled out.’
‘But how does one understand something which isn’t?’
‘Had I nothing to do for the next few hours, I would undertake the task of trying to explain. What do you have to tell me?’
‘In truth, I suppose not very much.’
‘One cannot accuse you of inconsistency.’
‘The assurance company were able to tell me that Señor Alec Sterne was in contact with them within twenty-four hours of his father’s death which is contrary to what he originally told me.’
‘Have you challenged him with that fact?’
‘I asked him to explain why he lied.’
‘His explanation?’
‘He didn’t have much of a chance to offer one. His sister stormed into the room and made it impossible for me to continue the questioning.’
‘You did not insist she leave? I find difficulty in understanding how an inspector in my command could behave with such pusillanimity.’
‘Then it might be an idea, señor if you accompany me to Ca’n Mortex to question the señor further. Should the señorita again intrude, you could order her to leave.’
‘I have no intention of doing an inspector’s job.’
‘It would be instructive.’
‘I do not need to be instructed.’
‘The señorita was most abusive.’
‘To be expected, when you had clearly given her cause to be.’
‘Señor, when she was rude to you, had you given her cause to be?’
‘You seem to believe time is to be wasted, I do not. Have you managed to learn anything of consequence?’
‘I phoned Herr Scabukle.’
‘A personal friend?’
‘He owns one of the cars on the list which has come from Trafico.’
‘I recall no mention of such a list or of what are its contents.’
‘It names black hatchback Citröens with the registration letters CIM. Herr Scabukle was the first name. It proved difficult to talk to him. He is a German.’
‘As one would expect from the form of his address.’
‘Ca Na Tortuga doesn’t suggest a German owner.’
‘In what feats of incomprehension are you now indulging?’
‘Tortuga is Spanish for tortoise.’
‘Am I to be expected to be grateful for the information?’
‘I know it’s not always a good guide to judge by an address when so many foreigners mistake the old custom of naming a new property with the nickname of the owner and use their own Christian names. But one can sometimes guess the nationality of the owner from the name. Of course, that only applies if the owner remains the person who built and named the property. In this case, I don’t see that the name, Tortuga, gives any indication the owner is a German.’
‘You have spoken at length, yet I have not the slightest idea why.’
‘You said I should have expected to meet a German because of his address. I was trying to explain why that can lead to a wrong conclusion.’
‘Your ability to misunderstand is only equalled by your inability to understand. His “address” was the form by which he is addressed. Herr denotes a German man.’
‘It wasn’t clear that was what you meant, señor.’
‘No doubt it was the perfect clarity which confounded you. In order not to encourage further garrulity of no consequence, repeat the essence of what he told you.’
‘He spoke German, which I don’t, so we conversed in Spanish, kitchen Spanish in his case. Eventually, I was able to understand he had never met Señor Sterne or visited Ca’n Mortex.’
‘And?’
‘That was all I needed to know, señor.’
‘You accepted his denials without question?’
‘In the circumstances, it seems easier to question the other two first.’
‘Convenience being of more importance than verification?’
‘I would have to have a translator to question him efficiently.’
‘No translator is likely to be able to help you do that.’
‘If one of the other named owners did know Señor Sterne, had been to Ca’n Mortex, there would probably be no need to question Herr Scabukle again.’
‘You have not yet questioned the other two owners?’
‘I decided to report to you first.’
‘On the principle I would appreciate learning you have carried out one third of your task inefficiently?’
‘To tell you I was following up the evidence.’
‘It is understandable that you cannot appreciate a member of the Cuerpo does not follow, he leads. Have you considered further lines of investigation?’
‘I am going to pursue the married women.’
‘You suffer no embarrassment when making so odious a statement?’
‘I don’t mean what it may sound as if I do. From the beginning of this case, there has been the probability that the husband of a woman Señor Sterne enjoyed . . .’
‘As I have said before, you will not refer to an act of adultery as enjoyment.’
‘Such husband had a very strong reason to threaten Señor Sterne violently, thus causing his death.’
‘How many such husbands have you questioned?’
‘So far, there has been no way of identifying any. I have repeatedly questioned the staff, but none of them has been able to provide a single name of a married woman who Señor Sterne . . . invited to his house.’
‘Then how do you intend to identify them?’
‘I don’t know, señor.’
‘You waste time discussing tortoises; you have not bothered to follow one line of enquiry; you propose a fresh line while confessing you have no idea how to pursue it. Will you soon inform me you know who murdered Señor Sterne, but unfortunately are unable to name him?’
The conversation came to an abrupt end.
NINETEEN
Alvarez walked through the entrada into the sitting room. It was empty, as was the kitchen, but in there was the reassurance of a mouth-watering smell of stew. He remembered the children were away on a school outing, Dolores had said Jaime and she were going to visit an elderly friend who had recently returned from hospital after hip surgery.
He returned to the sitting room, brought a glass and a bottle of Soberano out of the sideboard, poured a generous drink. He fetched ice from the refrigerator, sat at the table.
He was discovering what drove a man to suicide. The choice between celibacy, teetotalism, and domestic slavery or moving into a rented flat which he would have to keep clean and tidy and his diet would be commercial meals from deep freezes.
