An Air of Murder

by Roderic Jeffries

  When he awoke, he phoned Palma.

  ‘Well?’ said Salas.

  ‘I have to report on my investigations into the murder of Francisco Jiminez . . .’

  ‘What devil’s mess of things have you made now?’

  ‘Señor, nothing has gone wrong!’

  ‘You expect me to believe that when you make a report on your own initiative?’

  ‘I have questioned Jacobo Beltrán and . . .’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘He was a friend of Jiminez and they shared a house in the port.’

  ‘You expect me to know that without being told?’

  ‘I did report this to you . . .’

  ‘I have little sympathy for an officer who uses imagination to try to cover up his incompetence.’

  ‘But I can distinctly remember telling you . . .’

  ‘Did you learn anything of relevance from this Beltrán?’

  ‘Jiminez left the house Sunday evening. He did not return that night and was not there or at work on Monday. Whilst this is obviously only circumstantial evidence that he died late on Sunday night or early Monday morning, remembering the forensic evidence, I think we can accept that that is the period of time.’ He waited for a comment, continued when there was none. ‘When he left the house on Sunday evening, he did not take his binoculars with him.’

  ‘Why is that of any significance?’

  ‘Had he intended to go peeping – it was his custom . . .’

  ‘There is no call for you to indulge yourself.’

  ‘But previously, it had seemed most probable he was murdered because he had peeped on a couple who were . . .’

  ‘You did not understand what I have just said?’

  ‘I think it’s necessary to put forward the proposition in order to deny it.’

  ‘In your hands, logic gains fresh meaning.’

  ‘Señor, that he did not take his binoculars must mean he was not intending to peep and was not killed by an enraged man who caught him. His murder was planned, a fact borne out by the knowledge he was battered to death with a piece of branch from an almond tree – the possibility of finding that by chance when suddenly needing a weapon is surely too slim to consider? Again, a sudden and unplanned murder must normally leave a man so shocked, he cannot collect his thoughts; the murderer was sufficiently clear-headed to remove the body from where it had fallen and carry it to the field in Le Vail d’en Fangat where he believed there was sufficient undergrowth for it to remain undiscovered until it had become unidentifiable – his mistake was not to know that where sheep are kept, someone will be looking after them. ‘Jiminez was an ordinary man . . .’

  ‘You consider a man with perverted habits to be normal?’

  ‘Ordinary, in the sense that to the outside world he lived a normal, run-of-the-mill life. So who could have a motive, unconnected with his peeping, for murdering him?

  ‘When I was in his house, questioning Beltrán, I saw a brochure for a BMW Z4. Of course, many people collect brochures of expensive things they cannot hope to own, but I asked Beltrán if Jiminez had intended to buy such a car. He told me Jiminez had absurdly been talking about doing so.

  ‘I decided to contact the BMW agents on the island and I spoke to a salesman and asked him if he remembered talking to a customer whose description I gave. The salesman recalled such man who had talked about buying a BMW Z4 and had asked endless questions about optional extras, but as it had seemed unlikely he was someone who could afford that expensive a car, the salesman had viewed him as more of a nuisance than a prospective buyer.

  ‘Coupling peeping with this apparent belief he would soon be wealthy – he had also talked about going on an expensive cruise and buying a villa – and the possibility of blackmail is raised. Perhaps he had seen someone doing something who, he believed, would pay him large sums of money to remain quiet.

  ‘What act could be so heinous it had to be kept hidden even at the cost of murder? It was unlikely to be of a sexual nature . . .’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Where adults are concerned, these days there are no boundaries and it is impossible to name an act that would arouse such odium it had to be concealed, no matter what.’

  ‘What you find impossible, most would, regrettably, find only too possible.’

  ‘Señor, I think Jiminez saw through his night-vision binoculars the death of Señorita Coates. Someone was holding her head under water.’

  ‘Did you not assure me, very recently, there could be no connection between the deaths of the two victims?’

  ‘I did not then have the information I do now.’

  ‘And you did not understand it is unwise to deliver an opinion before all the facts are known?’

  ‘I have always thought crime detection calls for possibilities to be suggested, which are then confirmed, denied, or adjusted, as more information is gathered. Pursuing an incorrect theory can often lead to the evidence which supports the corrected one, a kind of negative positive; or would you say, a positive negative?’

  ‘As a very busy man, I should not waste my time with either. Can you name the murderer?’

  ‘If I’m right, it’s someone who had a motive for killing Señorita Coates.’

  ‘Your ability to state the obvious cannot be challenged. Who had that motive other than Gerrard and Short?’

  ‘As I have mentioned before, it was to Señor Short’s advantage that Señorita Coates lived.’

  ‘And to Señor Gerrard’s that she died. Is there not yet sufficient evidence to arrest him?’

  ‘No, Señor.’

  ‘Because it would call for effort to uncover it? Have you questioned him about his movements on Sunday night?’

  ‘He and his wife had supper with . . . That is, dinner.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I understand the English have dinner, not supper, in the evening.’

  ‘Then when do they have supper?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It would be helpful, if very limiting, if you only introduced subjects about which you know at least something.’

  ‘He and his wife ate an evening meal with Lady Gerrard. He drank rather heavily, but since he was served Vega Sicilia that is hardly surprising . . .’

  ‘On this island, an immoderate consumption of alcohol is never surprising. Was he drunk?’

  ‘His wife described him as incapable of driving.’

  ‘Since he would need to drive a car to carry a body to the valley, one would expect her to say that.’

  ‘Yes. But . . .’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I just can’t see him committing one murder, let alone two.’

  ‘He faced exposure as the murderer of Señorita Coates – you do not consider that fact provides the strongest motive?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s the kind of man who would suffer anything rather than deliberately hurt a woman; if innocent of her death, he had no motive for killing Jiminez.’

  ‘Your judgement of character is, no doubt, on a par with your ability to conduct a case according to the rules. Have you yet questioned people in the port to find out if someone saw him down there on the night Señorita Coates died?’ Intention could be as good as the deed. ‘Indeed, Señor. I obtained a photograph of him and am showing this to people likely to remember him, such as waiters in cafes and restaurants; without any success. I’m-afraid the chances of success are so small that might it not be better if I spent my time . .

  ‘You will continue until you find someone who did see him.’ Salas cut the connection.

  Diego Bonet watched Alvarez cross the foyer of Hotel Monterray and when within earshot, said: ‘You’ll be giving us a bad name.’

  ‘Is Señor Short around?’

  He turned and visually checked the key board. ‘He’s not up in his room so I guess he’s on the beach with his woman.’

  ‘Is she still the one with big tits?’

  ‘Funny how that’s the first thing
a certain type of person notices.’

  ‘If you don’t understand why, I’m sorry for you. So is she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Minutes later, Alvarez found Short amongst the sun-bathers. He lay on his back on a towel and by his side was the blonde, once again topless.

  Short raised himself up on his elbows. ‘Not again!’

  ‘What’s the matter now?’ she asked.

  ‘How the hell would I know?’

  ‘Can’t he understand how you feel and that he makes things much worse when he keeps on reminding you?’ she asked.

  ‘You think he gives a damn how I feel?’

  She sat up and stared at Alvarez. ‘Don’t you have any consideration for other people’s feelings?’

  She was not wearing sun glasses and her eyes were coloured the deep blue of the waters of the bay; her moist, full lips were shaped for love; her breasts, now shaped by gravity . . . Alvarez reined in his thoughts. ‘Señorita, had I not a duty to carry out, I would not disturb either of you at such a time, but I have to speak to the señor.’

  ‘If you . .

  ‘Leave it, Gemmy,’ Short said. He stood. ‘If anyone turns up while I’m gone and suggests a trip on his yacht, tell him you suffer from seasickness.’ He leaned over and kissed her, then straightened up and, ignoring Alvarez, walked to the hotel.

  Alvarez spoke to Diego. ‘Is the office free?’

  ‘I’ll check.’ He looked into the office, turned back. ‘It’s all yours.’

  As Short sat on the chair in front of the desk, he said: ‘So what’s it this time? You think I didn’t do my best to stop her from going swimming when it was dark and she was tight; that I didn’t do my damnedest to find her in time; that I don’t wish over and over again I’d had one less drink at the hotel bar because then I might have found her because she hadn’t drifted so far?’

  ‘I am not here to ask you about the sad death of your aunt.’

  ‘What then?’

  There was a knock on the door and a waiter entered; he handed Alvarez a glass, asked Short if he would like a drink, and having been told not, left.

  ‘Have you hired a car whilst you’ve been here?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘What the hell is this? What’s it matter if I have?’

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘And if the answer’s yes?’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘At the back of the hotel.’

  ‘It will have to be taken away to be examined.’

  ‘What’s bugging you? Little green men from Mars?’

  ‘Have you been driving around the island?’

  ‘Would I hire a car to park it here all the time?’

  ‘Have you been to Le Vail d’en Fangat?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. But I can’t remember the names of half the places I’ve seen.’

  ‘Then you might have gone there without realising it?’

  ‘Could have gone anywhere.’

  ‘The body of a man has been found in the valley. He was murdered.’

  ‘Not born lucky.’

  ‘You are unconcerned?’

  ‘Look, I’m not going to worry about someone I didn’t know when I’m still mourning my aunt.’

  ‘Did you know Francisco Jiminez?’

  ‘No.’

  Alvarez drank. ‘Where were you on Sunday?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘In the evening?’

  ‘Morning, afternoon, evening.’

  ‘Can anyone vouch for that?’

  ‘Gemma.’

  ‘Your friend on the beach?’

  ‘If she is still on the beach.’

  ‘You were together all evening until you went to bed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When did you go to bed?’

  ‘Could have been any time; it was when she said she was tired.’

  ‘You didn’t leave the hotel again until the morning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t drive anywhere that night?’

  ‘Like I’ve bloody well said over and over. And this was meant to be a holiday!’

  Alvarez stood. ‘You can show me where your car is parked so I can tell Vehicles, who will be collecting it.’

  ‘Without any say-so from me?’

  ‘It will be returned as soon as possible.’ And since there wasn’t the shadow of a motive, the search would be a waste of time and effort. However, Alvarez thought as he finished the brandy, at least it would be somebody else’s time and effort.

  Escobar lived in one of the new apartment blocks at the back of the port. A lift took Alvarez up to the third floor and a short walk along the passage to flat 3D. A woman in her late twenties, her face expressing great tiredness, her full belly and a screaming child the cause of this, said her husband had just woken and she’d tell him to come along to the sitting- room.

  As Alvarez waited, he looked through the north-facing window at the mountains. In the sharp sunshine, they possessed the beauty of natural behemoths and were seemingly clothed in peace. Yet many years ago, men who favoured the wrong ideology had been taken up into them to be shot. Beauty could hide ugliness as easily as justice, injustice.

  Escobar, bleary-eyed, entered the room and slumped down on one of the chairs as his wife asked if they’d like coffee, then left to make it. A three-year-old child rushed in, saw Alvarez and came to an abrupt stop, hesitated, then went over to her father and in a scramble of words complained that her mother wouldn’t let her eat any more chocolate. He tried to explain that too much chocolate was bad for little girls; certain he was not going to help her, she began to cry and shout until her mother hurriedly appeared and swept her out of the room.

  Have you any kids?’ Escobar asked wearily.

  ‘None I know about.’

  ‘If she woke me up once since I got back from the hotel today, it was half a dozen times. They say kids cement a marriage. Bloody Mallorquin cement for my money.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to have to bother you like this, but it really is necessary. I’ll be as quick as possible. When did you go on duty on Sunday night?’

  Twenty hundred hours, as always.’

  ‘Do you remember seeing Colin Short that evening?’

  ‘Sunday was when Maria’s cousin turned up to cause more trouble.’ He thought for a while. ‘Remember the girlfriend more than him, if you know what I mean. She was wearing a frock that made one wonder if it would stay up. He was with her.’

  ‘You saw him at what sort of time?’

  ‘They were going up to their rooms – more likely room.’

  ‘Can you be more definite?’

  ‘I’d say it was between ten and eleven.’

  ‘Did you see him again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re certain he didn’t leave the hotel later on?’

  ‘As certain as I can be.’

  ‘Is there a way of leaving without going through the foyer?’

  ‘Sure, but it’s staff only.’

  ‘Is there anything to stop a guest using that exit?’

  ‘Not if he knows about it.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘At the back – leads on to Carrer Balmes.’

  ‘That’s it, then. You can go back to sleep.’

  ‘With a kid creating hell?’

  Twenty

  ALVAREZ STARED AT THE TOP OF THE DESK. HE HAD LEARNED nothing to alter the facts. If Dora Coates had not drowned accidentally, the only known motive for her murder implicated Gerrard; yet if character was as strong an indicator of a man’s actions as he believed it to be, Gerrard would never murder. Since the investigation had uncovered no further motive for her death, then despite the evidence of the incision on her head and the sand under her nails, the drowning was probably accidental. Accept that and there could be no connection between her death and Jiminez’s and he must change his opinion once again.

  How to make his next report without its seemingly pointing to incompetence on his part? Since
Salas invariably chose to believe the worst, surely that was by definition, impossible. So all he could do was square his shoulders . . . But did an intelligent man jump off a cliff in order to reach its base? He carefully climbed down. So how to assure Salas he was pursuing further, promising leads, in the hopes that, by spreading out time, something would turn up which would enable him to appear in a better light?

  Sometimes, inspiration needed a shove. He opened the bottom right-hand drawer, brought out bottle and glass, poured himself a brandy. Inspiration failed to strike by the time the glass was empty, so he poured a second drink. And it was when this was half gone that he remembered the money in Dora Coates’s hotel bedroom. It had been strange she should have so much in cash and so little in travellers’ cheques – common sense said it should have been the other way round. Although elderly’people did odd things, there was no proof that she had been motivated by senility, so surely it could be made to seem reasonable to try to confirm the source of the cash, since one of the basic tenets of good crime investigation was to identify and concentrate on the unusual. England could be asked to confirm Dora Coates had drawn the euros from her bank. Requests from other countries were always given low priority and it would be days, perhaps weeks, before there was a response. And in order to show he was not content to wait to hear from England, but with eager initiative was determined to pursue every possibility, he would get on to the local banks and ask if any of them, between the times of her arrival on the island and her death, had paid out over two thousand euros in cash to a customer.

  He had a third drink as a gesture of self-congratulation. One could ring a field with a two-metre-high fence, but a clever lamb would always find a way over or under it.

  Since there was no time like the present (for later convincing the superior chief he was always on the button), he spoke over the phone to Fortega, who worked in one of the local bank branches, a man he knew well after years of trying convincingly to promise he would soon clear his indebted account. ‘I want to know if anyone, perhaps a foreigner, has recently withdrawn over two thousand euros in cash. Could one draw that much with plastic?’