‘We had a picnic in the mountains and then returned.’
‘What is the car’s registration number?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It ends in the figures 8533.’
‘If you know, why do you ask?’ Drew said with weak belligerence. ‘Is the next question, “how many wheels does it have?”?’
‘I can assume it has four.’
Drew looked out through the open doorway at the pool from which came the never-ending noise of fun. ‘I’m sorry.’ He spoke more calmly. ‘As I mentioned, we’re here to relax and all your questions are making me . . .’ He stopped.
‘I’m sorry you find them so disturbing.’
‘It seems as if you think I might have had something to do with this man who’s been shot.’
‘You are quite certain you did not know Tyler, have never met him?’
‘Couldn’t be more sure.’
‘And you have never been to his house?’
‘No.’
‘A dark green or black Astra estate was seen leaving Es Teneres shortly after two on the afternoon Tyler was shot. The four figures in the registration number were the same as those of your hire car.’
There was a long silence.
Drew finally said: ‘What about the letters?’
‘They were not noted.’
‘Other cars will have the same numbers.’
A little exaggeration did not come amiss. ‘I have checked every car on the island whose registration number contains those numbers and the only one is the green Astra estate you have hired.’
‘You’re trying to say it was my car?’
‘It seems probable.’
‘I’m saying, impossible.’
Drew had spoken with calm certainty. Strangely, now the accusation had been inferred, he had overcome his nervousness. ‘Had you any reason for hating Tyler?’
‘I’ll answer that by repeating myself. I never met him, did not know of his existence until you told me about him.’
‘It is possible to hate someone even if one has never met him.’
‘In exceptional circumstances, perhaps.’
‘These were exceptional circumstances.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Señor, it is with regret that I have to refer to the death of your daughter. She and a friend, Señor Newcome, were knocked down and killed by a drunken driver who never stopped. Tyler was the driver of that car.’
Drew stood, crossed to the outside window. When he turned back, his eyes were moist. ‘I never knew who the bastard was. I asked the superintendent to tell me if he had any idea who he was. He said he could not give me such information. Until you named Tyler, I couldn’t even guess who he was.’
A point Alvarez had raised with Salas. It had been dismissed by impugning the English police.
‘And if you can still think I am somehow implicated in Tyler’s death, Sandra and I had lunch with friends on Thursday and were with them from midday to late afternoon.’
‘Why did you not tell me this earlier?’
‘For a while, I didn’t understand what this was all about; when I did, I decided not to mention them and have them upset by being questioned.’
‘Surely it was obvious that if their evidence cleared you of any possible involvement, they would not have been worried?’
‘As I am having to learn, being questioned is worrying, whatever the cause and result.’
‘May I have their name and address?’
‘You are determined to go ahead?’
‘They will merely be asked to confirm what you have just told me.’
‘My word isn’t sufficient?’
‘In a case such as this, I fear not.’
‘Mr and Mrs Howes. They’ve rented a house called Guillet.’
‘Whereabouts is that?’
‘Camp de Mar.’
‘A very pleasant area.’
‘Will you do something for me, Inspector?’
‘If I am able to.’
‘Try not to upset them any more than is absolutely necessary.’
Sandra entered, a plastic shopping bag in one hand. ‘Still here, Inspector!’ She looked intently at her husband, her concern obvious.
‘Only for long enough to say goodbye to you, señora,’ Alvarez answered.
‘I hope I didn’t sound rude, but I thought . . . I see from the glasses, Tim remembered to offer you a drink.’
‘Very kindly so, señora.’ He thanked her and her husband, said goodbye, went out on to the pool patio. He looked back through the window of the room he had just left and although the harsh sunshine caused sharp reflections, was able to note the expression of frightened concern on her face as she spoke to Drew. Why? If they had been with friends at the other end of the island when Tyler was shot, they had no reason to be concerned. And surely they must have been with those friends because they could not be so naive as to imagine their claim would not be queried and the Howes would not be questioned?
He returned to his car. The evidence had been fitting together. Now, it had been ripped apart and scattered. He was going to have to start again, right from the beginning. A thought to drive a man to the nearest bar.
ELEVEN
‘You have spoken to them and they confirm Drew’s evidence?’ Salas said.
‘No, señor. Since Camp de Mar is not in my area, I assumed you would ask the local inspector to question them.’
‘It is interesting how, purely by coincidence supposedly, your assumptions leave others to do the work. I will inform Inspector Malberti that because of the nature of this case, I wish you to carry out the interview.’
‘He won’t welcome me . . .’
‘I should be surprised if he did, since he is a highly efficient officer. However, it seems to me that unfortunately the benefits of his conducting the questioning are fewer than the problems of your doing so. You will question Señor and Señora Howes immediately.’
‘It is nearly six . . .’
‘I am well aware of the time.’
‘Camp de Mar is at the other end of the island.’
‘It is to the east of Andraitx, not west, and Andraitx is not at the end of the island.’
‘Roughly speaking—’
‘I expect my officers to speak exactly.’
‘The problem is the time it takes to get there. Well over an hour. Perhaps another hour to question the Howes and then I will have to return here. By then, it will be late at night.’
‘It will be approximately nine o’clock. I am fortunate if I manage to leave here before nine every night.’
‘That must upset your domestic life.’
‘My domestic life has nothing to do with you.’
Rumour said Salas and his wife might share the same bed, but she had forgotten why.
‘You will drive to Camp de Mar and question the couple now.’
‘Very well, señor. But first I will phone them.’
‘Why?’
‘To make certain they will be there.’
‘You have their number?’
‘Señor Drew was able to give it to me.’
‘Then you will pass it on to me and I will phone them and order them to remain at home until you arrive.’
‘You don’t expect that might—’
‘I expect my orders to be carried out without question. You will wait until I ring you again.’
‘Yes, señor.’
Alvarez slumped back in the chair. He stared across the office and through the unshuttered window at the sun-scorched wall of the building on the far side of the road. Camp de Mar was an expensive area. Wealthy foreign wives on holiday would not cook, preferring to eat in the most expensive restaurant within reach. He crossed middle and forefinger on each hand. The Howes would not be at home. They would have their meal overlooking a sea which was striped by golden moonlight, the breath of wind would bring them the scent of wild broom, heather, lavender, rosemary . . .
The phone rang.
‘There was n
o answer,’ Salas said. ‘I imagine you have provided the wrong number.’
‘It was Señor Drew who gave that to me so if . . .’ He was talking to himself.
A man had to be lucky occasionally. He could return home, his conscience crystal clear. Dolores might be preparing something special and had he been unable to be at home to enjoy it, she would have been so annoyed she might not have paid as much attention to cooking the next meal as she should have done.
Camp de Mar was noted for the wealth of the expatriates who lived there and Alvarez had expected Guillet to be a large and luxurious house. It was not. It was a boxy bungalow built to a strict budget, with a plunge pool – swimming pool in estate agents’ language – set in a plot of less than 500 square metres.
He knocked on the front door. It was opened by a young woman with too much make-up, straggly hair, which was in fashion, scarlet finger nails, an apron over a short dress with generous décolletage. He introduced himself. ‘And you are?’
‘Eva.’
In his mind he recalled another, earlier Eva. Not a welcome memory. ‘You work here?’
‘And in five other chalets.’
‘Are Señor and Señora Howes at home?’
‘Yes. You want to see them?’
‘After I’ve had a word with you.’
‘Why?’
‘You can tell me something.’
‘Should’ve said there wasn’t anything you didn’t know,’ she said archly.
The other Eva had also sung a siren’s song. The song had ended abruptly. ‘Were you working in this place Thursday morning?’
‘Mondays and Thursdays it’s another chalet.’
‘But you might know if guests had been here to lunch on Thursday.’
‘When I wasn’t here?’
‘There’d be a lot of extra tidying up, glasses, plates and cutlery to wash.’
‘The machine does that.’
‘Was it unusually full on Friday?’
‘Almost empty.’
‘Do the Howes usually empty the machine when it’s finished its cycle?’
‘Leave it all to me, like the rest of them. Expecting me to do everything while they just lie out in the sun.’
‘Wouldn’t you, if you were on holiday?’
‘Do you or don’t you want to see them? I must finish the job here and move on.’
‘Have an English couple named Drew been here recently?’
‘Could have done.’
‘Hardly an answer.’
‘Look, I rush around doing the work and there ain’t the time for introductions.’
‘The husband is in his late thirties or early forties, a metre seventy to eighty tall, reasonably good-looking, wavy brown hair, a beaky nose, and friendly.’
‘No one’s tried to pinch my bum recently.’
‘You mistake the meaning of the word. His wife is a very pleasant woman who suffers the misfortune of a large mole on her cheek.’
‘She’s been here. Remember thinking, why doesn’t she have it removed?’
‘Was she with her husband?’
‘She was with a man.’
‘When was this?’
She thought. ‘Can’t really say.’
‘A long time ago?’
‘Recent.’
‘Tell me about them.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Did they greet the Howes like old friends?’
‘I reckon they hadn’t met before.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I suppose the way they just shook hands and the women didn’t kiss each other on the cheek . . . Don’t you ever think something and can’t really say why?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘I can’t stand around any longer. They’re out on the patio.’
He passed through the very small hall into a reasonably sized sitting room that was furnished cheaply, and out on to the south-facing patio.
Howes, who had been lying on an air mattress, came to his feet.
Alvarez hid his surprise. Howes was tall, lean, muscular. Nothing surprising there since there were those who found little pleasure in food and drink. It was his facial appearance that was remarkable. He had the sleek, smooth, suave features of the male star in a romantic film in the days before he was required to resemble a lumberjack. That he was married could be a cause for surprise. ‘I am Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo General de Policia.’
‘That sounds very impressive!’ Howes smiled. Near perfect white teeth. ‘My wife, Kirsty.’
She had remained lying face down on a second air mattress; now, she turned her head and looked up. ‘Hullo.’
A second reason for astonishment. Howes could be expected to marry superficial glamour. She was sufficiently unglamorous to be overlooked in a crowd of three. Her two-piece bathing costume was well filled.
‘What have we done or not done to bring you here?’ Howes asked.
‘I only have to ask a few questions,’ Alvarez replied.
‘About what?’
Had Drew not rung Howes to say he would be asked to confirm the alibi? ‘I believe you are friends of Señor and Señora Drew?’
‘Indeed. But before we learn more, won’t you sit?’
He moved across to one of the chairs, set in the shade of a sun umbrella fixed through the centre of a patio table.
Howes sat opposite him, asked: ‘Why is our friendship of any importance?’
‘I should like to ask when you last saw the señor and señora?’
‘Yesterday. We drove over to have a meal with them.’
‘And before then?’
‘Has something happened to concern them and us?’
‘I need to find out if it does.’
‘Rather ambiguous.’ He waited. When Alvarez showed no intention of speaking, he said: ‘When did we see them before yesterday? Must have been on . . .’ He turned to Kirsty. ‘It was Thursday, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she answered briefly.
‘At what time did they arrive here?’ Alvarez asked.
‘That’s a tough one since time doesn’t exist on this island . . . It must have been around eleven. He had said they’d be earlier, but were late as usual.’
‘How long were they here?’
‘They returned some time after seven. I told them it was far too early and we expected them to stay for supper, but Tim talked about not wanting to drive in the dark – obvious nonsense since he could have stayed and still returned in daylight. There was something he probably wanted to watch on television. He’s a great telly fan, we’re not – which is as well because the reception here is not very good.’
‘Thank you for your help,’ Alvarez said. He stood.
‘Nothing more?’
Alvarez smiled a negative.
‘No hint about what the problem is?’
‘I have just learned there is no problem.’
He said goodbye – she barely acknowledged this – returned to his car. He had parked in the shade of a tree with windows shut to avoid theft – by foreigners – but the sun had moved on and was now shining through the rear windows so that the interior was hot. He started the engine, released the handbrake, drove off.
Drew’s alibi had been confirmed and the car which had driven away from Es Teneres had not been his. Higuero, who stubbornly believed himself incapable of any mistake, had been mistaken and the car probably had been black. Witness statements were so often flawed. People saw what they expected to see, not what they did. There would have to be a second attempt to identify the car which had driven away at speed. The possible combinations of colour and numbers was all but beyond calculation. He would leave Vehicles to sort them out.
A Porsche went past him at speed, had to brake sharply for a corner. Yet another potential suicide. His thoughts wandered. Howes had been helpful in an unctuous manner which suited his appearance; his wife had been monosyllabic-ally abrupt. Was that her nature?
‘So Señor Drew could not have been
at Es Teneres on Thursday just after two o’clock,’ Alvarez reported, having returned to his office and recovered from the drive. ‘A man cannot be in two places at the same time.’
‘You accept that?’ Salas asked.
‘Of course, señor.’
‘I am grateful.’
‘Higuero’s evidence has to some extent to be wrong. Unfortunately, there is great difficulty in judging what the correct number might be . . .’
‘Why?’
‘The possible combinations are all but endless.’
‘What other make of car can readily be mistaken for an Astra?’
‘All cars look alike these days.’
‘Only to someone who cannot be bothered to observe differences. Have you considered what figures become sufficiently indistinct at a distance that one might mistake one for another?’
‘One wasn’t in the number.’
‘It is beyond your ability to understand that the first “one” I spoke was a pronoun, the second an unnamed but specific object?’
‘Are you saying that at a distance a three can be mistaken for an eight?’
‘How far from the car was Higuero when he misread the numbers?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘You should be.’
‘He was so shaken when he fell off his mobylette that whatever the distance, his judgement would be virtually valueless.’
‘A man of very little self-control. We have three numbers to consider.’
‘Four, señor.’
‘Are the last two not the same? Can you suggest another number with which five can be confused?’
‘I suppose with six, if written badly.’
‘Were the numbers on the registration plate handwritten?’
‘Of course not.’
‘It amuses you to introduce irrelevances?’
‘I just thought—’
‘Of thoughts that haunt your thoughtless wilderness. You will assume that the make and colour of the car are wrong; that one or both of the threes were eights.’
‘And perhaps the eight was a three?’
‘Unlikely, since it is a case of visually subtracting body rather than adding. Nevertheless, you will do so.’
‘It is going to be very difficult and take a very long time . . .’
‘To be expected when the work is carried out by you. Is the man’s eyesight adequate?’
‘You mean, Higuero’s?’
Sun, Sea and Murder Page 10