In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘I need to be told how old she is when I bore her in great pain?’

  ‘I’m trying to say that time will slowly lessen her sorrow.’

  ‘You speak as a man who cares nothing for the troubles of others.’

  ‘I understand them because I have known great sorrow.’

  ‘Yet you work for the cuerpo who provide sorrow?’

  ‘I have suffered in the past as Marta now does, so will do everything to avoid bringing her more pain, but I have to speak to her for a few minutes …’

  He stopped as Marta walked into the entrada. Her eyes were moist, her cheeks damp, her expression sad and bitter.

  ‘Return to your room, love,’ her mother said.

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘To talk to you. I have told him, he cannot.’

  ‘Marta,’ he said, ‘I’m very sorry to have to be here—’

  She interrupted him. ‘It was my fault.’ Her voice was high.

  ‘He did not kill himself, so it cannot have been your fault.’

  ‘You say that to make me think … that …’

  ‘I promise you, in the name of the saint of my birthday, that I speak the truth.’ He hoped he would not be asked to name the saint. ‘The señor was killed by someone.’

  Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she ran out of the room.

  ‘Her sorrow will lessen since you have told her that?’ Eva asked with angry sarcasm.

  ‘Is it not kinder to speak the truth than to let her continue to believe she was in any way responsible for his death?’

  ‘I … I don’t know.’ She sat on the solitary chair. ‘Why did she go and work there?’ she wailed.

  ‘Life can become more bitter than an unripe Seville orange. I will leave, but circumstances are beyond me and I will have to return tomorrow to speak to Marta.’

  ‘You will not be welcome.’

  Eva was much less antagonistic the following day. She offered him a glass of wine. They sat in the main room and after a while, to her mother’s uneasiness, Marta joined them.

  ‘I know it must distress you,’ he said to her, ‘but I must ask you to tell me what happened that day. Take as long as you like. If you find it becomes too difficult, we will have a break.’

  Eva corrected him. ‘I will say when to stop.’

  She’d tell a bishop he was talking nonsense, he thought admiringly. ‘Marta, Señor Russell was at the house, wasn’t he?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Do you remember what they ate?’

  She hesitated only briefly. ‘Guàtleres amb pa.’

  ‘Did you have some later with Rosalía?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Were they delicious?’

  ‘She cooked them.’

  A guarantee. Quail could somewhat lack in taste, but given a touch of salt and lemon juice before being browned in hot olive oil, cooked in a mélange of lemon juice, sweet paprika, marjoram, and parsley, wrapped in bacon, they became a gourmet’s choice. ‘When did you leave and return here?’

  She brushed her eyes with a crooked forefinger. ‘Like always, after me and Rosalía had cleaned up. The señora wanted everything spotless and back where it should be before we finished work.’

  ‘Then you didn’t see Señor Russell again?’

  ‘Him and the señor came into the kitchen to say how much they’d enjoyed the meal. She can only say what’s wrong.’

  ‘Señor Russell left before you’d finished the work, so that would be the last you saw of him?’

  ‘Just heard him driving off.’

  ‘That’s all you can ask,’ Eva said sharply. ‘Clear off and leave us alone.’

  ‘I only have one more question and promise it won’t upset Marta any more.’

  ‘Your promise isn’t worth a single centimo.’

  ‘Marta, how do you know the señor said goodbye to Señor Russell before he drove away?’

  ‘I heard him.’

  He thanked her for finding the courage to talk to him, Eva for her patience, left.

  NINE

  ‘It is kind of you to take the trouble to get in touch with me,’ Salas said sarcastically.

  ‘Señor,’ Alvarez began, ‘I have—’

  ‘I hope you are not about to say you have tried to phone me several times and received no answer; there was no connexion due to Telecom’s incompetence; your mobile seems to have broken; you met a man who told you he had very important information, but after a long and liquid conversation you decided he was mentally deficient?’

  ‘I have spoken to Señoritas Marta Espinar and Rosalía Mulet and their evidence is slightly at odds.’

  ‘As you have already told me. The nature of your questioning may have made that inevitable.’

  ‘The question is whether or not Señor Russell left Vista Bonita when Señor Picare was still alive. In effect, Marta says he did, Rosalía that he did not. Marta unfortunately believes the señor intended to divorce his wife in order to marry her and—’

  ‘There is no need to repeat something you have already told me.’

  ‘Minds are often clouded by emotion.’

  ‘What are you attempting to say?’

  ‘If Marta believed Señor Russell might be thought responsible for the señor’s death, perhaps a sense of responsibility would have urged her to free him from suspicion.’

  ‘Russell has also been troubling her?’

  ‘There’s no reason to think so.’

  ‘Then why should she suffer any wish to make up the story?’

  ‘I don’t think she did.’

  ‘We seem to have become disconnected even though we are still speaking.’

  ‘I’m trying to present all sides.’

  ‘And presenting nothing. Do you or don’t you believe Marta’s evidence’

  ‘Since it was necessary to determine whether her personal distress was disturbing her memory, I asked her what she ate at lunch that day. Her answer corroborated what Rosalía had said she cooked. Quail, seasoned with—’

  ‘I am uninterested.’

  ‘It can be a truly delicious dish.’

  ‘You failed to hear what I said?’

  ‘Since Marta accurately remembered what they’d eaten, I accepted it was reasonable to accept her evidence about what happened. Russell left Vista Bonita after lunch and when the señor was still alive.’

  ‘Russell may have been in the pool with Picare.’

  ‘Hardly likely since she heard them saying goodbye.’

  ‘Where was she when she heard them?’

  ‘In the kitchen,’

  ‘Have you checked that the sound of voices would have reached her there?’

  ‘It is my intention to do so as soon as I have reported, señor. He drove away immediately afterwards.’

  ‘As to be expected if he’d murdered Picare.’

  ‘His clothes would have been sodden.’

  ‘That would not have prevented his leaving.’

  ‘There wasn’t enough time for all that after Marta heard them say goodbye.’

  ‘She may be misjudging the length of the interval between hearing the voices and Russell’s driving off. It would be normal for a woman to misjudge time.’

  ‘If he had been clothed in the pool, there would have been considerable noise when he got out and the water streamed off him. She would have heard that.’

  ‘Not necessarily. As you will have reason to appreciate, a wandering mind misses much.’

  ‘Señor, I will return to Vista Bonita and check what, when one is in the kitchen, one can hear from the pool.’

  ‘Something which should have been done before.’

  Rosalía’s words were sharp. ‘What brings you back yet again?’

  ‘You,’ Alvarez answered.

  ‘Then you’re a born loser.’

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Talk while I’m in the kitchen and—’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘And yo
u’re out by the pool.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to make certain I can hear you speak.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Marta says she could hear the señor and Señor Russell say goodbye.’

  ‘With her mind in its recent state, it’s surprising she didn’t think she was hearing visitors from space.’

  ‘Would you go through to the pool and speak at three or four places around it?’

  ‘If I must.’

  ‘You’ll have my gratitude.’

  ‘Which heads the list of what I least desire.’

  ‘Where is the kitchen?’

  She pointed. ‘First on the right. And don’t touch anything on the table.’

  ‘What are you preparing to cook?’

  ‘Can’t you think of anything but food? A stupid question. Food comes second on your list of what you most want.’

  He walked down a brief passage, turned into the kitchen which seemed to possess every culinary device which had been invented. He looked at the bowls and dishes on the central table and tried to guess from their contents what could be for lunch. Tonyina amb safrà? Or the saffron in a very small container could suggest fish.

  Rosalía returned. ‘Have you lost your voice?’ he asked.

  ‘You didn’t hear me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I didn’t shout because I was reluctant for anyone but you to learn why I’d enjoy being with a very mature man.’

  ‘You must go back and try again.’

  ‘When I’ve too much work to waste more time. And a lady only admits to the unmentionable once.’ She smiled mockingly.

  Alvarez held the receiver to his ear and gloomily accepted he faced one more of life’s injustices. If he left Salas waiting on the phone, he received a lecture on unnecessary delay. If he now complained about the waste of several minutes of his time …

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I am just back from checking whether someone by the pool could be heard in the kitchen, señor.’

  ‘Did I know what you are talking about, I might be able to appreciate the value of what you will have learned.’

  ‘I went to Vista Bonita to learn if Marta in the kitchen would have heard Russell say goodbye to Señor Picare in the pool. I asked Rosalía to stand at various places around the pool and speak as if to someone were near her, while I remained in the kitchen. Unfortunately, I could not hear a single word.’

  ‘Why is that unfortunate?’

  ‘It suggests Marta’s evidence has to be wrong. There is the possibility, even the probability, she is so convinced even now that she is in some way responsible for the señor’s death, that her evidence cannot unequivocally be accepted.’

  ‘It did not occur to you that were Russell and the señor by the pool, their voices would carry more firmly than a woman’s? What you offer as evidence is of doubtful value.’

  ‘On the contrary—’

  ‘You need to learn you should never interrupt a senior officer.’

  ‘Señor, I was trying to explain why you were wrong.’

  ‘When you are unable to understand what I say, you will respectfully ask me to repeat my words in simpler form.’

  ‘I did understand, but I didn’t think you did.’

  ‘Your inability to take advantage of advice is remarkable.’

  ‘I understood the problem you have just mentioned and had dealt with it. After I failed to hear Rosalía, I went out to the pool and she stayed in the kitchen. She could not hear me.’

  ‘Had you mentioned this, you would have avoided an unnecessary misunderstanding. Have you questioned Deborah Crowe and Giselle Dunkling?’

  ‘Not yet, because of—’

  ‘Which of your favourite excuses?’

  ‘The truth, señor.’

  Alvarez refilled his glass with brandy and ice. He drank, put down the glass on the dining-room table. ‘I reckon I got the better of the superior chief earlier on.’

  Jaime was watching the television. ‘She won’t have to spend much time on her own!’

  ‘Who won’t?’

  ‘Stop talking and look.’

  A young, sensuously beautiful woman was dancing; she wore a floral skirt which flared up each time she and her partner turned.

  Not for him, Alvarez decided. Any woman so immediately attractive would choose wealth, whatever the difference in ages. So often, Jaime’s tastes were impractical.

  ‘She’d make me give up drinking.’

  ‘Who is the magician?’ came the call from the kitchen.

  Jaime ignored the question. The dance ended and the couple left the floor. With one more weak joke, the show’s host introduced the next couple.

  ‘Why doesn’t one ever meet someone like that?’

  ‘Much better to meet someone less obvious.’

  ‘You’d choose Lucia from the port?’

  ‘Someone warm and friendly, who doesn’t admire her refection every time she passes a mirror.’

  ‘Are you on about youngsters again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve had another slice of luck?’ Jaime spoke with the annoyance of someone who was failing to enjoy what others did. ‘Who’s got you dreaming this time?’

  ‘The cook at Vista Bonita.’

  Jaime pointed at the bead curtain. ‘She’s always said you live for your stomach.’

  ‘I wouldn’t live without it. And what better way?’

  ‘You need to be told?’

  Dolores’ head appeared between two strings of the bead curtain. She spoke to Jaime. ‘My cooking gives you no pleasure?’

  ‘How can you think that?’

  ‘What do you think Enrique needs to be told?’

  ‘I … I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Your memory would improve if you did not refill your glass the moment it is empty.’ She withdrew.

  Jaime muttered. ‘She’d deny a drink to a man dying of thirst.’

  ‘Not a drink of water.’

  ‘She won’t understand that water kills more people in the world every year than alcohol. Have you ever met a woman who can think reasonably? I suppose you’ll say yes because of the new one. She can cook an old pigeon and make it taste like a capon. How many special meals have you had with her so far?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Things not going as well as you’d hoped? You’d better remember the quote in El Dia. “Never suffer the pain of gaining what you most desire”.’

  ‘Written by someone who ended up with more than he started.’

  Dolores began to sing. Jaime picked up the bottle of René Barbier and refilled his glass.

  TEN

  Sergeant Grimalt, policia local, phoned just after nine o’clock. Alvarez, newly arrived, used a handkerchief to clear the sweat from his face before he lifted the receiver. ‘Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo General.’

  ‘Late to work as usual.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Two guesses and you’re out.’

  ‘Emilio Grimalt, since you’re the only policia who has the accent of someone pretending to speak Mallorquin. Is this a social call?’

  ‘To tell you that you’ve caused my lad a load of extra work.’

  ‘Won’t do him any harm,’

  ‘It would cause you to collapse.’

  ‘Has he been running a double marathon?’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to remember that you wanted to know about the woman who walked a ratter every morning at the same time. She never turned up for a couple of days, then not until nine thirty when you’d said she’d be there much earlier.’

  ‘What’s half an hour?’

  ‘Your morning nap in the office.’

  ‘A gross slander.’

  ‘Truth doesn’t slander. The dog-walker’s name is Marie Poperen.’

  ‘Is she French?’

  ‘A Russian from Moscovitch.’

  ‘You’re a premature comedian.’

  ‘The job took my lad hours and hours and you’re showing as much
gratitude as if it had been a five-minute doddle.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘A possessió about a kilometre and half out of Llueso on the Laraix road.’

  ‘If that’s where I think it is, the property has enough land to walk a dozen dogs, so why should she do that in the village?’

  ‘How should I know, but women take more care over their dogs than their husbands.’

  ‘A well-founded observation?’

  ‘You manage to give offence even if it’s not intended.’

  He wrote the name, Marie Poperen, below that of Debra Crane and Giselle Dunkling. Three women who had to be interviewed to determine whether each had a husband or partner who had betrayed her and she had learned this, so providing a clear motive for the murder of Picare and the dismissal of Salas’ constantly repeated opinion that money was the motive for the majority of crimes. A satisfactory conclusion to the case. But, as so often, satisfaction came at the price of work.

  Sa Molet was few kilometres from Llueso, at the end of a drive which had been lined with palm trees until the destructive beetle had arrived in an imported tree; now there were young Judas trees which, even when in bloom, would fail to provide any sense of grandeur.

  The house was rock built, large, and gauntly impressive. In the past, peasants had viewed it with nervous dislike – wealth meant power, power needed to impose itself on the weak in order to be powerful.

  Piere Poperen was reputed to have made his fortune developing land in the south of France; his wife had been wealthy before their marriage. It should have been a recipe for happiness, but such recipes could collapse as dramatically as a soufflé.

  A maid, in conventional uniform, opened one side of the massive, panelled front door.

  ‘Is Doña Poperen here?’ he asked

  ‘You are?’

  He was not being mistaken for visiting gentry. He identified himself.

  ‘Doña Poperen is at home.’

  ‘I should like to speak to her.’

  ‘I will ask if she is free.’

  The entrada was a high-ceilinged hall, furnished with a taste that excluded the customary aspidistras or other evergreen indoor plants.

  The wait was short before he was shown into a large sitting room. Two of its bleak rock walls were softened by brightly coloured tapestries. Marie Poperen’s hair was carefully styled, her make-up enhanced her features yet was all but unnoticeable; her dress, he guessed, was expensive and in the latest fashion, even if modest.