Sun, Sea and Murder

by Roderic Jeffries

  Back in his office, he rang Palma.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I should like to speak to Señor Salas, señorita. It is Inspector Alvarez speaking.’

  ‘The superior chief is not here.’

  ‘Gone to an early lunch?’

  ‘He is at a meeting. He does not stop for an early lunch, he works until all work is finished. Why do you want to speak to him?’

  ‘To tell him Señor Drew admits the alibi was false and that he was present at Tyler’s death.’

  ‘Very well.’

  He said goodbye, replaced the receiver, checked the time. He needed to hurry home for pre-lunch drinks.

  He had finished the first brandy when the telephone rang. ‘Answer it,’ came the call from the kitchen. Since Jaime, Isabel and Juan were for the moment absent, he was left to bemoan the fact that women expected men to do everything.

  In the entrada, he lifted the receiver. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Tempus fugit, sweet Enrique.’

  The line went dead.

  ‘Who was it?’ Dolores called out as he returned to the dining room.

  ‘A wrong number.’ He sat.

  ‘Who did they want?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘They didn’t say who they were?’

  ‘No.’

  She did not call him a liar, but he didn’t doubt that was her opinion. Womanly intuition had named his caller a woman. Tempus fugit. The time before her husband was due to return from Paris? She had a cruel sense of humour, as witness her ambiguous conversation in the hearing of her husband, knowing he would understand little if anything. She would find it amusing to draw him to her house believing she was offering herself, and then reject him with the woman’s cry that she was not that kind of a woman. When she was with a man, who was seducing whom? He would ignore her unspoken, erotic invitation. A woman who advised her availability was not to be trusted.

  As he poured himself another drink, he congratulated himself on his common sense, self-control and will power.

  He parked on the road above Ca Na Sophie, carefully made his way down the steep decline with a firm hold on the rope handrail. Sophie opened the door. Her dress was subtle; at first glance, it seemed it would reveal much, but didn’t.

  ‘You’ve had me worrying I might have lost any charm I once had,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been very busy.’

  ‘A man who prefers work to pleasure?’

  ‘Pleasure has to wait.’

  ‘Very sensible. The longer it is delayed, the more pleasurable it becomes. Do you intend just to stand there?’

  He stepped into the hall.

  ‘Marcel is in Paris and the disapproving maid has the day off, so I am on my own. Does that disturb you?’

  ‘Why should it? Or will it boost your ego if I say I’m shaking all over?’

  She laughed.

  She began to twirl the hairs on his chest as they lay on the emperor-sized bed.

  ‘Are you satisfied, dear inspector?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  She pulled hard enough to dislodge a couple of hairs. ‘No educated Frenchman could be so boorishly insulting.’

  ‘I thought I was being generous.’

  ‘Carry on like that and you can clear off.’

  ‘Before the main course?’

  ‘You’ve had your lot.’

  He went to kiss her and she jerked her head away. He stroked her; when she tried to leave the bed, he pinned her down.

  ‘I knew you’d act like a peasant,’ she said.

  ‘Then why invite me?’ he asked, his head cushioned by her breasts.

  ‘If you don’t know, you’re not very smart.’

  ‘My superior believes me to be stupid. Certainly, I never have understood any woman.’

  ‘So I have to explain you’re here because you’re so obviously a primitive, so unlike Charles?’

  ‘Charles?’

  ‘Charles Howes. So full of himself. Has to be told again and again how handsome, how refined he is.’

  ‘What could you find in him to attract you?’

  ‘I wanted to know what kind of a man he really is under that awful mask. And a missing wife always adds to the enjoyment. I suppose you want to know what he was like in bed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He might look a dream boy, but he had trouble.’

  ‘Hardly surprising.’

  ‘And now you wonder what his score was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I’ll tell you. Four is being generous.’

  ‘Do you always have an ulterior motive for entertaining someone?’

  ‘Of course. Curiosity, a question mark, the fun of using a rod to play the fish.’

  ‘What was it with Tyler?’

  ‘So self-satisfied, so certain he could have what he wanted.’

  ‘Which he did.’

  ‘Until he discovered he began to need me a hell of a sight more than I needed him. Then I dropped him. It was quite amusing.’

  ‘Who else have you bitched?’

  ‘What a nasty way of putting it. And am I any crueller than you? You chase people and lock them up in jail. You offer pain; I provide pleasure. Sometimes it can be both. Which reminds me of poor Tim, although with him it was psychological pain, not physical.’

  ‘Tim who?’

  ‘Timothy Drew.’

  ‘Impossible!’

  ‘Don’t be silly, sweetie. Where sex is concerned, nothing is impossible.’

  ‘He and his wife are the closest of couples.’

  ‘So he kept telling me as a sop to his conscience.’

  ‘You snared him because he and his wife are so happy together? You’re vicious.’

  ‘And you’re becoming boorishly nasty. Especially when there’s no need to be upset. He was overcoming all his qualms when his bloody mobile went off.’

  ‘When are you talking about?’

  ‘God knows! I don’t bother about days.’

  ‘Think.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Remember.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  He moved his hands.

  After a while, she said: ‘I suppose it must have been the day people were in a state because Cyril had been shot. Can’t think why. Everyone I knew thought it was rather amusing.’

  ‘What was the time?’

  ‘How would I know when he was shot?’

  ‘The time when Drew was here.’

  ‘Must have been in the morning because Marcel was returning in the afternoon and he’s such a jealous husband.’

  ‘Be more precise.’

  ‘He thinks a man only has to talk to me to be working out how to get me to bed. Old men get more and more possessive as they become less and less capable.’

  ‘Precise about the time.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘It’s very important.’

  ‘Not to me.’

  He climbed off the bed.

  ‘What are you going?’

  ‘Work.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  He crossed to the chair on which were his clothes.

  ‘Please, sweet Enrique, don’t go.’

  He pulled his shirt over his shoulders.

  ‘Come back and I promise to be as precise as I can be.’

  He slowly discarded his shirt. As was written in the manual for serving officers in the Cuerpo, there was more than one way of gaining information.

  NINETEEN

  ‘Is there another piece of coca?’ Alvarez asked.

  Dolores turned around from the sink where she was washing plates, cups, saucers, glasses and cutlery. ‘There is not the time for you to eat it since you did not come downstairs until I had called you three times.’

  ‘It’s Sunday.’

  ‘Perhaps for you, but not for me. For me, it is just one more day when I have to cook many meals, wash and dry up, clear up the mess left by the rest of you, make certain the children are keeping out of mischief, and
go shopping. If I spent Sundays as you suggest, the house would be dusty and there would be no food to put on the table.’

  ‘You do work very hard.’

  ‘A woman has no choice.’

  ‘Few are as conscientious as you. I have been told that these days some women buy ready-made food from the supermarkets to avoid having to cook. Something you could not even consider doing.’

  She finished cleaning a plancha and rested it on the draining board.

  ‘I have to be off soon.’

  ‘You should have left twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘Salas will not be in his office. He’ll be trying to play golf. So if there is another slice of coca? It’s so good, you must have made it.’

  ‘As my mother often had reason to say, praise holds even less substance than promise. What is left of the coca is in the cupboard.’

  He did not move.

  ‘You expect me to get it for you?’

  He did, but thought it better not to say so. ‘I’m not certain which cupboard.’

  ‘On the right. The only certainty which the men of this house possess is whether there is enough wine and coñac.’

  He stood, crossed to the cupboard, divided the remaining segment of coca in half, poured a second cup of coffee – since it seemed unlikely she would do that – and sat once more. He ate and drank slowly. There was so much to think about, so many questions to be answered.

  ‘Are you not going to work?’ she asked.

  ‘What are you going to cook?’ he asked from force of habit.

  ‘Sopas Mallorquinas.’

  One of those dishes which could be either reasonable or memorable, depending on the cook, the mixed grain bread, the freshness and quality of the cabbage stew. Since she was going to prepare the dish, it would be excellent . . . If only he were not faced by a problem which was not a problem.

  Alvarez made his way up the stairs to his office. Eventually, he dialled Palma.

  ‘I have been trying to contact you for the past half-hour,’ the plum-voiced secretary said sharply.

  ‘I had to drive down to the Port because of the report of a break-in.’

  ‘Are you sending the details by fax or email?’

  ‘It turned out the window was broken by kids playing football, not by someone forcing an entry, so that’s hardly necessary.’

  ‘You are still not aware that the superior chief has decreed every incident is to be reported, whether or not it has proved to be of any consequence?’

  He vaguely remembered something like that. ‘I will send in the report as soon as possible. Is Superior Chief Salas in his office?’

  ‘Of course. He works every day of the week.’

  Because he was careless of the well-being of his juniors. ‘Can I speak to him?’

  ‘Whether you may depends on what he is doing.’

  Through the open window came the sounds of the market, now so popular with tourists, many of whom were bussed in from other parts of the island, that one had to visit it far too early in the morning in order to buy the freshest vegetables, the sweetest almonds, the plumpest olives.

  ‘I am informed, Alvarez, that I was unable to speak to you earlier because you were investigating an incident in the Port,’ Salas said.

  ‘Yes, señor.’

  ‘And that you do not consider it necessary to make a report of the incident despite my orders?’

  His secretary had the nature of the school sneak. ‘Only unnecessary until I had spoken to you, señor.’

  ‘You reported that Señor Drew has confessed the alibi was false. Is that correct?’

  ‘No, señor.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He admits that he and the señora were not at Señor Howes’ villa at the relevant time.’

  ‘Then his alibi was faked?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘Yet you have just denied that.’

  ‘No, señor.’

  ‘Dammit, you clearly said so.’

  ‘I wasn’t denying the faked alibi.’

  ‘Have you the slightest idea what you are denying or affirming?’

  ‘Yes, señor.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘He admits the alibi was faked, but he does have an alibi.’

  ‘You are either under excessive mental strain, suffering from that fall on your head when young, or are being insolently stupid.’

  ‘He has an alibi supported by another person.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sophie Douste. The lady with blonde hair who has appeared in this case more than once and is notably—’

  ‘What was Drew doing with her?’

  ‘That’s difficult to say.’

  ‘Because you have not bothered to find out?’

  ‘He was in bed with her at the time of the murder. He could not present his true alibi because it would have shocked his wife.’

  ‘I strongly doubt anything could shock such people.’

  ‘Señor Drew has a warm, loving wife and they are the closest of couples.’

  ‘You see no contradiction between your description of their relationship and the husband’s behaviour?’

  ‘It was just a brief temptation.’

  ‘Which he lacked the strength of character to resist.’

  ‘I doubt anyone could resist her.’

  ‘An observation which slanders any man with morals. You realize the significance of this illicit relationship?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘If Drew did not shoot Tyler—’

  ‘He admits he did.’

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘How typical, Alvarez, that you should not inform me of this fact before you had yet again indulged your fascin­ation with matters of a carnal nature.’

  ‘Unless I had spoken to Sophie, we would not have the information we now do.’

  ‘Following his admission, you arrested Drew?’

  ‘Not when he has an alibi for the time of Tyler’s death which there is every reason to believe is genuine.’

  ‘And if it is?’

  ‘Then Señor Drew has made a false confession.’

  ‘Have you bothered to ask yourself why he should do that?’

  ‘He might be seeking notoriety or trying to make me look stupid.’

  ‘Unnecessary.’

  ‘There is a further possibility. He is trying to shield his wife.’

  ‘It has taken you until now to understand the possibility of her guilt?’

  ‘I naturally considered that from the beginning, but there was never reason to think it likely until I was certain Howes had been lying and neither husband nor wife had been with them. When I knew that, Señora Drew became a suspect. However, it became clear she could not be guilty.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Higuero repeatedly said the driver of the car which caused him to fall over was a man, not a woman.’

  ‘You see no error in what you have just said?’

  ‘If a man was driving, he could not have been a woman.’

  ‘Your error is in accepting Higuero’s description of the driver when in our decadent era it is often difficult quickly to tell whether a figure is male or female.’

  ‘He has always been very definite.’

  ‘Since he is a Mallorquin, there is no reason to accept his evidence without doubting it. You will question him until he admits the obvious, that he could be wrong.’

  ‘If I yet again query his judgement, he’ll only become even more certain.’

  ‘You lack the ability to carry out an efficient interrogation?’

  ‘All I am trying to say—’

  ‘Is of no account.’

  It was the end of the call. Alvarez replaced the receiver. It was after midday. It was highly unlikely Higuero would be working at Es Teneres, so he could not be questioned until Monday which meant there was still a little of the weekend left to be enjoyed.

  TWENTY

  Higuero was sitting on a camp chair in the doorway of the garde
n shed. He watched Alvarez approach. ‘What the hell is it this time?’

  ‘Am I interrupting your work?’

  ‘You trying to say I’m not entitled to a break when I’m exhausted? There’s enough here to keep two overworked, but he expected me to have the place perfect on me own.’ He stood, stepped down out of the shed.

  ‘I won’t interrupt your arduous work for long.’

  ‘You won’t interrupt it.’ There was a pause. ‘What’s going to happen to me job?’

  ‘Whoever buys the place will need someone. You can claim you are a gardener.’

  ‘If you’ve nothing better to say, clear off.’

  ‘I wish I could. Only I have to ask you about the day the señor was killed and you thought you were about to be run over by a car.’

  ‘Thought? If I’d been your size, I’d be dead.’

  ‘My superior chief has ordered me to come here and ask you a question.’

  ‘Oh, he has, has he? What?’

  ‘Who was driving the car?’

  Higuero swore freely. ‘Your boss must be as thick as you.’

  ‘The evidence now suggests a woman might have been driving, not a man. You never saw the face, only the back of the head. In a state of shock, it would have been im­possible to be certain of anything. Some women cut their hair short; some men let it grow long.’

  Higuero reached down to break off a long stem of grass. He chewed the end of this for a while before he said: ‘It happened so quick. It was only the back of the head . . .’

  Alvarez was astonished and enraged. He had been certain Higuero would never accept having been mistaken. Yet now it seemed as if he might be preparing to accept that was possible. If Drew’s admission of guilt was proven to be false, it would be obvious he had lied to save his wife. Sandra would be accused of shooting a man who had earned the right to be shot. ‘The superior chief spoke about charging you with giving false evidence. Unfortunately, he’s a Madrileño and so refuses to believe what any of us Mallorquins say. Thinks we’re all so stupid, we can’t be trusted to tell the right time.’

  ‘And he’ll be so bleeding stupid he won’t know where milk comes from.’

  ‘Funny you should say that. Madrileños are so convinced they’re always right and everyone else is wrong. I don’t begin to get on with him. When I ask him to explain something, he tells me I’m as brainless as every other peasant on the island. He said one time that you probably didn’t know who was driving the car because there were nothing but feathers between your ears.’