‘Señor, it is necessary to remember that to a man a home is something less than it is to a woman. For him, it is where he returns after work, has a drink, eats the meals his wife has prepared for him, goes to bed. It is this also for a woman, but then it is something more. She sees it as the shield which protects her family, it is where she has given herself to her man in love, it is memories … Take away her home and you destroy so much.’
‘We’ll be able to afford a small flat in the Port: at the back, away from the sea,’ he said, in a strained voice.
‘But the change will be made because it is forced on you, not because you wish it.’
‘She wouldn’t look at things calmly. What was the point of blaming Dolly? Nothing would have changed for us if Dolly had given the whole forty thousand to charity instead of spending it on that brooch.’
‘Of course not, señor, but how is a woman faced with the loss of her home to think with cold logic? She thinks with her heart. She sees a huge sum of money wasted, when just a small proportion of it could save her home. So she sees this other woman, living in a luxurious home which no one can take from her, even keeping a paid man to serve her when she wishes, as mocking her in her tragedy.’
Rockford said wonderingly: ‘God knows, I’m married to her but you seem to understand her better than I do.’ ‘
You are too close to her to be able to understand.’
He shook his head. He was not denying the probability: he was again admitting his complete bewilderment.
‘It was your wife who woke early Sunday morning, wasn’t it, señor?’
He nodded. ‘Said I was snoring louder than the old Queen Mary’s foghorn … Couldn’t get back to sleep with such a racket so she got up and made herself some tea and drank it in this room. Saw a motorized bike come along the dirt track and stop at the gates of Ca Na Nadana. The rider didn’t cut the engine so the headlight remained on. Cynthia wondered what was happening and picked up our pair of binoculars and looked through ’em. She recognized Mark Erington, even though he was supposed to be back in England. After a bit, the bike went into the drive and out of sight of here.
‘She went to see what was happening …’ He stopped, was silent for a long while, then said: ‘She was too upset to think straight — things always seem far worse in the middle of the night, don’t they? But to tell the truth I’ve wondered if, in her confusion, and in an odd way, she was hoping to find out something that in her mind would mean she’d get her own back on Dolly: but maybe that’s twisting everything into knots. She was wearing a housecoat over her nightdress and she just went straight out of the house like that … I mean, normally she’d never have done such a thing …
‘When she got to the drive she found the bike was there, but there was no sign of Erington. She waited quite a while, then walked up to the front door which was open. That’s when Erington came hurrying out of the place. Came face to face with her and shouted with fear. No guts in the man. So frightened, he began to babble about what he’d been going to do, but hadn’t been able to. She didn’t understand the half of what he told her. Then he swore he’d help her all he could if she never told anyone she’d seen him, got back on to the bike, and rode off. Cynthia was certain she was in a nightmare. Erington was in England but he’d just come running out of the house, she was standing in her nightdress and housecoat in front of Ca Na Nadana when she ought to be in bed, and something he’d said, which she couldn’t remember, terrified her … But she couldn’t find any way of escape.
‘You know how it is sometimes, when you’re scared of doing something but you seem unable to prevent yourself doing it? It was like that with her. She knew there was something horrible inside the house and yet she couldn’t stop herself going inside. She switched lights on in several of the downstairs rooms. She stared at all the valuable furniture, hating Dolly more and more for owning it … It was all so crazy. I’ve asked her time and time again why she did all that and all she can answer is, it was the nightmare …
‘In the end, she went up to Dolly’s bedroom. Even switched on the light there, which shows she’d no real idea of what she was doing. The jewellery was scattered around the top of the dressing-table and she picked up the brooch. Kept thinking, forty thousand pounds.’
‘Ah!’ said Alvarez suddenly.
‘What’s that?’
‘I believe I now know about those two scratches on the inside of one of the windows. Has your wife said what she did with the brooch?’
‘Put it in the jewel-box where it ought to have been.’
‘But before that?’
‘As far as I know, she didn’t do anything.’
‘Nevertheless, I think she tried the diamond on the glass to see if it scratched it because that’s popularly supposed to be the test of a real diamond and she was hoping it would fail … What happened next, señor?’
‘She doesn’t know,’ he answered, in a voice now so low it was little above a whisper. ‘She can’t remember a thing.’
‘Have you tried to help her discover just a little of what took place?’
‘No.’
‘Because you are frightened to?’
‘No,’ he replied, his voice now forceful.
‘Then you have no fear that possibly she was aware of just a little of what she was doing?’
‘She couldn’t have known or she wouldn’t have done it.’
‘Señor, you are a man of very great strength when it comes to those you love. Here you know there are questions which should be answered, yet you will never ask them because once the answers have been given they can never be recalled.’
‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about.’ Those sleeping pills, he thought. Taken from the bottle to make death seem accidental, as Erington had planned. Yet why should she have sought to do that unless she knew there was a need to do so if she were to protect herself?
And if she could clearly see this, then her mind could not have been so confused …
‘She was in a nightmare. She couldn’t possibly have meant to kill Dolly.’
Alvarez studied him and saw mental agony and desperation: he saw a man who feared and yet would not admit, even to himself, that he feared.
Rockford suddenly stood. He went over to the fireplace, picked up the pipe, and struck a match.
‘Señor, did you during the war obtain a Walther automatic with a very short barrel?’
The match had burned down. Rockford extinguished it by rapidly waving his hand in the air. He looked at the charred stub, then with careful deliberation he threw it into the clean fireplace. ‘We brought a couple of army officers home on my ship and one of ’em gave it to me. Said he took it off a gestapo type he’d been interrogating in connection with some particularly nasty killings.’
‘And you used it to shoot Erington?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you shoot him?’
‘That’s obvious enough, isn’t it?’ He spoke briskly now that everything was easily understandable. He leaned sideways and tapped the pipe against the side of the fireplace: ash fell on to the bricks.
‘He told you that since he had not killed the señora, he knew that your wife must have done?’
‘In a hell of a panic, he was.’
‘And if I arrested him, he was going to tell me the full truth?’
‘No guts.’
‘So you killed him to keep him quiet?’
‘I killed him to try and prevent anything happening to Cynthia.’ He tamped down the tobacco which remained in the bowl of the pipe. Then he struck another match and drew the flame into the pipe. Once it was going well, he flicked the match into the fireplace. ‘All right, what happens now? I need to tell Cynthia. Going to be difficult. Poor old thing’s in a terrible state. Won’t see the doctor, hard as I’ve tried to persuade her to.’
‘Señor, it seems certain that the real Samantha Waite, daughter of Dolly Lund, must be in serious financial trouble — there remains a little of the
copy of a letter her mother wrote to her and from this it is clear that she asked for help which her mother refused. If it becomes certain that Erington did not murder Señora Lund, then his estate will probably inherit all her wealth — a foreigner in Spain can leave her property how she wishes and does not have to observe Spanish law which says a proportion must be left to her children. Since he intended to murder her but lacked the courage to do so, it would be morally very wrong that his estate should so benefit. On the other hand, if it is held that he did murder the señora, then because a man may not benefit from his own crime, his estate will receive nothing under the will. In this case, Señora Lund will be held to have died intestate and eventually, since the law for foreigners moves just as slowly as it does for Spaniards, her estate, less taxes, will pass to her daughter. Morally, this would be very right … I do not think it should be difficult for the English police to discover where the real Señora Waite is now living.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I find it difficult to express myself clearly, because I am not good at complicated thoughts. But what I am trying to say is that there are times when the law by demanding that the guilty be punished makes it inevitable that the innocent be made to suffer: that for justice to be done, injustice must also be done. I am trying to express my belief that the same act can under one set of circumstances deserve condign punishment and under another set of circumstances call only for deep compassion.
‘Señor, there are certain facts in this case which I have not yet presented to my superiors because until today I have not considered such facts of any importance. Unless they are now presented it will inevitably be agreed, even by my superior chief, that Erington murdered the señora and afterwards committed suicide because he was terrified of being arrested and charged with murder.
‘Only three people will know the truth. You, your wife, and me. I will not be troubled by the knowledge, for reasons I have tried to give. How you and your wife learn to live with the truth is a problem I am sure you will solve because you are a man of much courage. Perhaps — and I do not wish to be impertinent when I say this — you will find your life more sympathetic: your wife will need much love and it is difficult to receive without giving, even if just a little.’
*
Dolores looked across the supper table at Alvarez. ‘Enrique, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
‘But you’ve hardly spoken all evening.’
‘He’s not a woman,’ said Jaime scornfully.
‘Who asked you to speak like a fool?’
‘I may speak like a fool, but at least I know what’s worrying him. He’s got an empty glass.’
‘All the better for it,’ she replied sharply.
Jaime pushed the bottle of red wine across the table. Alvarez filled his glass. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me: it’s just that I’ve been wondering.’
‘About women?’
‘About an Englishman I’ve met.’ He drank. ‘I’ve been wondering if he’s been thinking that justice may occasionally be done, but it must never be seen to be done.’ They stared blankly at him.
‘It’s a play on the word “done” … Forget it.’
They forgot it.
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Unseemly End (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 6) Page 19