‘Not since the heat came.’
‘Did you hear any cars or Mobylettes going up the dirt track before the shot?’
‘There were one or two.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘There were one or two.’
Nothing to be gained there. In the middle of summer, eleven was not late. The men and women who owned the fields, in which there were usually sheds if not small, uninhabited casetas, often worked them and then stayed on for alfresco suppers or even for the sheer pleasure of being on their own land: the English couple might have been returning to their house: courting couples, needing the solitude which only fifteen years ago they would rightly have been denied, were forever seeking quiet corners …
He thanked her. She went on working, opening up channels, plugging them, bent as if her limbs had been frozen in that position. He returned to his car, after shouting a goodbye to Cardell, and drove past Ca Na Nadana to Ca’n Bispo. Rockford was in the front garden, doing some rough weeding with one of the local hand chopping hoes.
‘I must apologize for troubling you again, señor, but I need to ask more questions.’
‘No call for an apology: gives me a chance to pack in this job.’ Rockford brought a red and white ploughman’s handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from his forehead and face.
‘Perhaps you will not mind if I say, señor, that unless you are very used to the heat, it is not a good thing to work out in it at this time of the day.’
‘Couldn’t agree more. Trouble is, my wife likes the garden neat and tidy at all times … Anyway, let’s get out of the sun. Come on inside and we’ll splice the main-brace.’
As soon as they were in the sitting-room, Rockford switched on the fan, set on a low table. ‘Grab a seat … Now, what will you drink?’
‘May I have a small brandy with a lot of ice, please?’ After handing Alvarez a glass, Rockford poured himself a drink and then sat in the second armchair. He raised his own glass. ‘As we used to wish our shipmates: “Hulls of steel and decks of teak, Captains kind and almost meek, Ladies lush and rather weak, Bunks of joy which never creak.”’
‘Señor, you will understand that I have come here because of the death of Señor Erington?’
‘I’ve guessed that much … Some people have been saying he committed suicide. Wouldn’t know about that, but if he did, I’m surprised. Never thought he’d got it in him.’
‘It first appeared to be suicide, but now there seems to be the possibility it was murder.’
‘Good God? What in the hell is this part of the world coming to?’
‘That is a question which I ask myself … Will you tell me, please, did you hear a shot on Monday night, after it was dark?’
‘I didn’t, that’s for sure. We went to bed pretty early and I’m one of those blokes who puts his head on the pillow and starts snoring. May have told you before. But I think my wife mentioned something about hearing one.’
‘Would it be possible to speak to her about it?’
‘I don’t quite know. Thing is, she’s lying down on her bed with a nasty headache: had it for some time now.’ He spoke jerkily. ‘Got me worried, matter of fact. But she won’t have the quack in.’
‘I wouldn’t wish to disturb her at such a moment … But perhaps if I give you the questions I would like answered, she might be able to tell you the answers?’
‘Don’t see why not, so long as she’s not asleep. Wouldn’t want to wake her up.’ He put his glass down and stood. ‘What would you like me to ask her?’
‘Can the señora say at what time the shot was that she heard: whether it sounded different from the shots one normally hears around here: and finally did any car or Mobylette drive off very soon afterwards?’
Rockford left the room, walking with the spring of someone in good physical condition. He soon returned, sat, and picked up his pipe which, together with a tobacco pouch, had been lying on the table by the side of the chair. ‘As I said, my wife heard a single shot. Didn’t think much of it then because there are shots going off all the time.’
‘But not many in the dark in the middle of the summer?’
‘You’d be surprised what the local “sportsmen” get up to. D’you know, there’s a man who lives near here who sits under a tree with a gun and plays a tape-recording of a female thrush’s call. Any male thrush which comes hot wing and alights on the tree gets blasted: tell that to any dedicated British shot and he’d go purple in the face. Though as I’ve always said, any thrush that does get shot must have had a very poor bird’s IQ.’
‘Señor?’
‘Sorry about that: never can remember how difficult it is for a foreigner. Bird’s eye view. But that won’t mean anything in Spanish … Forget it and have another drink?’ He stood.
‘Perhaps just a small one, thank you, señor. Did the señora notice anything special about the shot?’
Rockford took Alvarez’s glass and answered as he went through to the kitchen to pour out the drinks. ‘As far as she was concerned, it was just one more shot.’ He put his head through the hatchway. ‘She didn’t notice the time, either, but as she knows she put her light out at twenty past eleven, it must have been a bit earlier than that.’ ‘Did any vehicle drive away afterwards?’
‘She thinks she heard one pass here after the shot, but she can’t be certain. You know how it is? If you’ve no reason for noticing at the time, when you try to think back things often get a bit woolly.’
‘Of course.’ If the car had passed this house then it almost certainly had nothing to do with the death of Erington. Not that, he thought, there had been any car or Mobylette driving away from Ca Na Nadana just after the shot. The experts had theorized and, typically, had merely succeeded in confusing a very simple fact. Erington had committed suicide.
CHAPTER 23
Because Salas was the kind of man he was — arrogant, small-minded, pernickety, always demanding every i to be dotted twice and every t to be crossed thrice — it was going to be necessary before the case was closed to show that all possible enquiries had been made and these, however unnecessary they obviously were to anyone of even a little common sense, must of necessity include interviews with anyone who might — by an arrogant, small-minded, pernickety person — be deemed to have had the remotest reason for murdering Erington.
Alvarez braked his car to a halt, with the bonnet just short of the chair, set outside the front door, on which Matas sat. As he climbed out, Matas stared at him with resentment. ‘’Morning, old man.’
Matas hawked and spat.
‘Did I tell you that the word “Putta” now stands out beautifully on the lawn at Ca Na Nadana?’
‘I don’t know nothing about that.’
‘You’re more stubborn than the old mule my father worked just before he died.’
If anything, Matas accepted that as a compliment.
‘I want to know something. Where were you on Monday night?’
‘In Madrid, in bed with a couple of blondes.’
‘No wonder you look peaked. Didn’t anyone tell you that Madrid’s tiring at this time of the year?’
‘No one don’t tell me anything.’
‘Have a fag and cheer up.’
Matas looked at the pack he was being offered. ‘I don’t like ’em.’
‘Sorry about that. Trouble is, I can’t afford the luxury makes. Have to buy all the tomatoes I eat.’
‘They was my tomatoes,’ Matas said heatedly. ‘I planted the seed, watered ’em …’
‘I’m still interested in knowing where you were Monday night?’
‘Where d’you expect? I was here, that’s where.’
‘All evening?’
‘D’you think the mayor asked me out for a drink?’ ‘
Not unless you were willing to pay for the both of you. Were your wife and Rosa here as well?’
‘And that boy what’s hanging around our Rosa. If the little bugger thinks he’s getting his oar in before she’
s been up to the altar, he’s going to be unlucky.’
‘When did he leave?’
‘When I kicked him out.’
‘Which was when?’
‘After the film finished on the telly.’
‘The one about the Civil War?’
‘What do they want to show that kind of film for? Them of us as was in it just want to forget, that’s all.’
*
Steven Kenley looked horrified. He opened his mouth to speak, said nothing, stared up at the heavens as if expecting them to fall.
‘You can’t be serious,’ said Lettie, not quite as certainly as she would have wished.
‘Señora,’ replied Alvarez, ‘in my job I have to be serious in a matter such as this.’
‘But everyone knows he committed suicide. He’d murdered Dolly and you’d found him out.’
‘There is, unfortunately, evidence which suggests he may not have committed suicide, he may have been killed.’
She nibbled at her lower lip.
When Alvarez had arrived they’d been sitting out in the front garden in two patio chairs. They now stood by these, bewildered and therefore nervous.
‘Señor, all I ask is for you to tell me where you were on Monday evening?’
‘But that means you’re suggesting I could have … have killed Mark. I know I didn’t like him. I’m old-fashioned. For me, when a man’s a gigolo, he’s not much of a man. But I wouldn’t kill him because of that. I wouldn’t kill anyone because of anything.’
‘It’s a ridiculous accusation,’ said Lettie, having sufficiently regained her composure to be ready to do battle on her husband’s behalf.
‘Señora, I wish to prove that it is ridiculous.’
‘But it’s so obvious.’
‘To me, yes: but unfortunately not to my senior who is a man of much exactness.’
‘I was here on Monday night,’ said Kenley. ‘And we had two friends in to play bridge.’
‘I suppose that’s good enough?’ demanded Lettie.
‘Until what time were you playing, señor?’
‘Midnight. We always stop then.’
‘May I have their names, please, and where they live?’ Alvarez wrote on the back of an envelope he found in his right-hand trouser pocket.
*
The owner of the garage in which Trent worked was sitting in the very small office. He flashed a number of gold teeth as he spoke. ‘Has he been up to something?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ replied Alvarez.
‘Then why d’you want to speak to him?’
‘To find out how much you’re fiddling the law these days.’
The owner of the garage laughed.
‘Where is he?’
‘Been taking a car to a customer at the Hotel Azul.’ He turned to look at the clock on the wall. ‘Should have been back here before now.’
‘Try paying him a proper wage and see if that’ll help him keep better time.’
‘What’s he been saying?’
‘That you’re smart.’
‘A man’s got to be smart to survive.’
‘Sometimes one wonders if it’s worthwhile.’
Trent walked into the garage. When he saw Alvarez, his expression hardened.
‘Come and have a coffee with me?’ said Alvarez.
‘It’s working hours,’ objected the owner.
‘Then keep working. We’re off for a coffee.’
They walked to the nearby cafe on the main road, and sat. Alvarez ordered coffee. ‘How is the señorita?’
‘She’s all right. But I don’t imagine you’ve brought me here to talk about her,’ replied Trent belligerently.
‘Very well. You will have heard that Señor Erington has died?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps you have also heard that he committed suicide? Now, it is possible he did not commit suicide.’
‘Yeah?’
‘You are not surprised?’
‘Why should I be if the clumsy bastard killed himself accidentally?’
‘The possibility is that he was murdered.’
Trent stared at him with astonishment.
‘So now I have to ask more questions. Will you tell me, please, where you were on Monday evening?’
‘Working, like always.’
‘And when you had finished at the garage?’
‘I went out with Carol.’
‘Where did you go?’
Trent hesitated briefly, then said: ‘To Cala Tellai: had a picnic supper and a late swim.’
‘How did you go there?’
‘In a car.’
‘Your own?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps you borrowed one from the garage.’ There was no answer. Alvarez smiled. ‘Señor, I am a detective, but that does not mean I cannot understand that when a man is exploited because he does not have a work permit, from time to time, perhaps unwisely, he gets a little of his own back by keeping a car which has been out on hire and not returning it to the garage until the following day … At what time did you return from Cala Tellai?’
‘I don’t know … Around midnight.’
‘Was the señorita with you all the time?’
‘If you don’t believe me, ask her.’
‘I probably shall, since it is necessary for my report that I do, but I have no doubts.’
The waiter arrived with the coffee, set the cups and saucers on the table, and filled them.
‘What happens next?’ demanded Trent, once the waiter had left.
‘As far as you are concerned, nothing.’ Alvarez opened a packet of sugar and poured the contents into his coffee.
*
Victoriana’s parents lived on the outskirts of Inca, near to the railway station: from the sitting-room, on the fourth floor of the eight-storey building, one had a dramatic view of the mountains.
‘Victoriana has always worked very hard,’ said her mother, a small, faded woman in whom it was just possible to see the looks which now bloomed so lushly in her daughter. The wary, even frightened, respect with which she had first faced Alvarez had given way to a protective aggression when it seemed to her that her daughter was being suspected of some wrongdoing.
‘Mum, all the detective said …’ began Victoriana.
She interrupted her daughter. ‘I didn’t like her working there, and that’s straight, not with what went on: but the money was good and the man never bothered her. Then when the señora died, I told her she ought to come home: wasn’t right to be there, not when he was on his own.’
‘Ana was there, wasn’t she?’ Victoriana said petulantly.
‘Not every night of the week and you know that just as well as me.’
‘What if she wasn’t? What d’you think I am?’
‘The same as any other girl who doesn’t know half as much as she thinks she does.’ She suddenly accepted Alvarez as a friend, rather than a foe. ‘They’re all too sure of ’emselves, aren’t they?’
He nodded. Victoriana looked scornful. He said: ‘I need to know where you were last Monday evening, señorita?’
‘Where I am every night now: here.’
‘Right in this flat,’ agreed her mother. ‘Said she was going out to the discotheque, but her dad and me said she wasn’t. Tried to argue. Told her, straight, when I was a girl I didn’t set foot outside our house on my own and what’s more, I didn’t want to: there was none of this going off with the boys and only the good Lord knowing what is happening — although a mother can have a good guess.’
‘You’ve just got a nasty mind,’ said Victoriana sullenly.
‘Not without good reason.’
Alvarez spoke quickly, to avoid what was obviously an often repeated argument. ‘And you were in all evening?’
‘Didn’t get the chance to do anything else, did I, with her treating me like I was ten years old.’
Her mother folded her arms across her ample bosom. ‘You live in our house, you live as we say.’
&nbs
p; ‘When did you go to bed?’ he asked.
‘When the film finished.’
‘Was that the one about the Civil War?’
‘Yeah. I wanted to watch the other channel, but Dad had to see all that stupid fighting.’
Matas had wanted to forget, her father had wanted to remember. Perhaps they had fought on opposite sides: it was still a question one tried not to ask. He stood. ‘Thanks for your help.’
‘Is that all?’ her mother asked, surprised.
He nodded.
*
The road out of Inca had recently been resurfaced and now a car rode smoothly instead of bounding from ridge to minor pothole. When he got back to Llueso, Alvarez thought, he’d have a word with Vives and see if Erington had made a will since Señora Lund’s death. Assuming he hadn’t, he’d go ahead and write his final report. Erington had murdered Señora Lund. It had been a very cleverly planned and executed murder and but for that mistake over the sleeping pills might well have succeeded. But he had made that one mistake and when it had become clear that he was about to be arrested, he had committed suicide.
He began to hum. Once he had handed in his report, he could relax. It didn’t do a man of his age any good to work too hard.
CHAPTER 24
Alvarez, in his office, spoke to Vives over the phone.
‘As far as I know,’ said Vives, in answer to a question, he made no will.’
‘Will you check with Madrid for me to see if he got anyone else to draw one up for him?’
‘I suppose I can.’
Alvarez replaced the receiver. It was no sooner down than the phone rang.
‘Palma here. We’ve had a report on the automatic and the case you sent us. Tests show that the cartridge was fired by the automatic and that the bullet recovered from the body was also fired by it.
‘The automatic is a nine millimetre Walther: model P thirty-eight: serial number seven zero two six Q. It is remarkable only for the extreme shortness of the barrel, just six and a half centimetres. Such examples are rare and Germany says it was made in either nineteen-thirty-nine or forty for the Gestapo.’
When the call was over, he opened the middle left-hand drawer of the desk and brought out half a dozen sheets of typing paper. He picked up a ballpoint pen. Remember the memorandum Superior Chief Salas had recently had distributed to all members of the CID. Case reports were being drawn up more and more slackly. Good reports came from sharp thinking, slack reports from sloppy thinking … He sighed. Ten to one Salas would describe the coming report as a very slack one indeed.
Unseemly End (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 6) Page 17