In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘Señor Picare met Señora Macrone and became interested in her, particularly when her husband was forced to return to England. Picare employed the usual seduction techniques – sympathy, admiration, possibly even poetry – he then added the advantages which wealth permits: meals at luxury restaurants, small, but not necessarily cheap gifts, projected voyages on his privately owned motor cruiser. As you will know, when one normally eats sobrasada on a slice of barra and occasionally drinks cava, Truffles à la maréchale, Homard thermidor, Poivres à l’impératrice certain events become inevitable, people become irresistible …’

  ‘To a woman of honour, nothing offered by anyone other than her husband is irresistible. That you should consider otherwise is yet one more indication of the values you hold.’

  The line became dead.

  Alvarez replaced the receiver. The phone rang.

  ‘Inspector Alvarez,’ Ángela Torres said, ‘I have been instructed to say you are to give me the details of your interview with Señor and Señora Macrone.’

  He provided a bowdlerised report.

  ‘One moment.’

  Several moments later, Salas said, ‘Have you yet not learned to question a witness efficiently and effectively?’

  ‘Yes, señor … Rather, no.’

  ‘You would like to provide a less ambiguous answer?’

  ‘No, I have not learned yet because yes, I have.’

  ‘You are mentally disturbed?’

  ‘As you have pointed out in the past, señor, a double negative—’

  ‘Were I granted the ability to retrace time, I would not take the risk of explaining a double negative to you and would forbid you, as I do now, to mention one. Your report is incomplete.’

  ‘I don’t think it is, señor.’

  ‘You told Señorita Torres that because Macrone’s wife was being pestered, he threatened Picare if this did not cease. You omitted to describe the nature of the threat. This should have been detailed.’

  ‘Señor, you asked Señorita to hear my report.’

  ‘Who naturally noticed the error.’

  ‘I decided that when truth can offend virtue, silence is golden.’

  ‘Truth is virtue, virtue cannot be offended by silence.’

  ‘Señorita Torres might have found the words used by Señor Macrone to be offensive.’

  ‘You have forgotten what he said?’

  ‘Macrone told Picare that if he bothered his wife one more time, he’d rip off his cojones.’

  ‘You understand the consequences?’

  ‘Picare might become a counter tenor.’

  ‘The kind of remark to be expected from you. Macrone becomes the second man whom we have reason to name a suspect because of his delivered intention to punish his wife’s adulterer.’

  ‘Would-be adulterer, señor. There is no doubt that Leila Macrone utterly rejected Picare’s advances.’

  ‘You have reason for such certainty?’

  ‘Having spoken to both her husband and her, there does not seem to be any need for proof.’

  ‘Once more, you force me to ask myself if you possess the ability required by your job. You clearly have failed to question Macrone as if he was a suspect, you have not demanded to know where he was when Picare drowned, questioned others if they saw him that morning, asked those who live by the Puig what they noted during the morning. Perhaps you have at least ascertained the make, model and colour of Macrone’s car or cars?’

  ‘No, señor.’

  ‘That is something I should expect you to have done.’

  ‘If I thought Macrone was a man who had the character to carry out his threat, I would have done.’

  ‘You saw no reason to override your thoughts? You overlooked Picare’s legacy of ten thousand pounds, wealth to a man who is penniless?’

  ‘On Marta’s evidence, Picare was alive when Russell left Vista Bonita.’

  ‘The value of her evidence was proved negligible by the cook and—’

  ‘Rosalía.’

  ‘You wish me to note you can recall her name? Did you not judge her evidence as by far the more trustworthy?’

  ‘But taking everything into account, the fact is that Señor Russell is not well built or strong; I find it difficult to think he could seize Picare by the legs and drag him under the water with the necessary speed and force. Again, to commit a planned murder, one needs a strong, if perverted, character. Russell’s character is just weak.’

  ‘You have the knowledge and experience to judge character?’

  ‘Sometimes, señor.’

  ‘But perhaps this is not such a time. From the manner of your report, I judge you have not questioned him again, as ordered.’

  ‘I have been concentrating on matters connected with Señor and Señora Macrone. I cannot do two jobs at once.’

  ‘And frequently find it difficult to do one. You will ask Rosalía to confirm her evidence. You will learn the make, model, and colour of Russell’s car. You will question others living in the same urbanizacion as Russell and learn whether anyone saw his car on the afternoon of Picare’s death.’

  ‘Witnesses can very seldom accurately pinpoint time, señor, and since they will have often seen his car, are likely to confuse such sightings.’

  ‘Do you wish to conceive further reasons for not being able to carry out the investigation efficiently?’

  ‘I question whether the likelihood of gaining relevant evidence from such a course would be worth the time involved.’

  ‘A decision for me to take, not you.’

  ‘I still don’t think the motive for murder, if there was one, was money.’

  ‘You wish to name an alternative?’

  ‘Sex. It is difficult to explain why I should think that—’

  ‘There is no difficulty in understanding the reason.’

  ‘Picare’s marriage was unhappy. Possibly the señora is frigid, far more likely it was the obvious pleasure he gained from naming his quarry and pursuing her to a successful conclusion.’

  ‘There seem to be no limits to the unwelcome absurdities of which your mind is capable. You will do as I have ordered.’

  Alvarez replaced the receiver. Having to talk to Salas induced thirst. He opened the bottom drawer of the desk and brought out a bottle of Soberano. It was empty. He had intended to replace it on his way to the office. Age was nibbling his memory.

  Did he leave the office for his merienda? Salas might ring back with further demands and moans. Yet that was a danger which possessed its own safety net. If he was not in the office, it was because the moment he had finished speaking to Salas, he had hurried away to do as ordered.

  He walked to Club Llueso and the welcome coolness of the air-conditioned bar. ‘What’ll it be? Fanta Orange?’ Roca asked.

  ‘Coñac, large, served in silence.’

  ‘It’s that kind of a day?’

  ‘I’ve a boss who thinks I should work twenty-five hours a day.’

  ‘Hasn’t he learned one is your limit?’

  ‘Do I have to go to another bar to be served a drink?’

  ‘If you’re not worried about getting only what you pay for.’

  Alvarez braked to a halt, used a handkerchief to mop the sweat of fear from his face and neck. Whilst he’d been driving up the hill and when almost up to the house, a large bird had soared so close to the car, he had instinctively looked at it – a black vulture. Because of his brief inattention, the front off-side wheel had been only a few millimetres from the edge of the road. He’d turned the steering wheel with panicky speed to bring the car back to safety as his altophobiac fear had visualised the wheel going over, the car teetering, the loss of balance, the bone-rushing crash, the skin-stripping blaze …

  ‘Are you all right?’

  The nightmare faded. Rosalía was standing by the car which was motionless, on all four wheels, facing the front door of Vista Bonita.

  She opened the driving door. ‘What’s the matter?’

  He was unpr
epared to admit to his fears.

  ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘From the look on your face, you shouldn’t have been.’

  He climbed out of the car. ‘Thanks for worrying about me.’

  ‘I wasn’t certain it was you to begin with.’

  ‘I’ve come to speak to you about something that’s worrying me.’

  ‘You still haven’t understood the answer remains negative?’

  ‘You’re always ready to think the worst.’

  ‘When you look hungry, it’s not food you’re after.’

  ‘I’m not here for my pleasure.’

  ‘Then at least on that score you won’t be disappointed.’

  ‘Let’s go inside.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s too hot in the sun to do what I have to outside.’

  ‘Or inside.’

  ‘You misunderstand me yet again.’

  ‘Your misfortune is that I never do. If there’s no reason for you to be here, you can clear off.’

  ‘I’ve been ordered to speak to you and Marta.’

  ‘What about?

  ‘Señor Picare.’

  ‘I’ve told you all I know and Marta’s not here.’

  ‘Is she ill?’

  ‘Too troubled to come to work.’

  ‘Then we’ll go inside. And it’s merely to have a word.’

  She went indoors and he followed her into the staff sitting room. She moved a chair well away from any others, sat. ‘I’ve work to do so hurry it up.’

  ‘Tell me about the marriage.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘The Picares.’

  ‘It was like any other. They’d become bored with each other and bickered.’

  ‘Did the bickering ever end up in a real row?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘How serious?’

  ‘They never came to blows, but there was the one time when I thought it would.’

  ‘What was that row about?’

  ‘How could I tell when it was in English?’

  ‘You might not have understood, but gained an impression. Could it have been over his women?’

  ‘Names were shouted, so it could have been.’

  ‘What were the names?

  ‘You think I took enough notice to remember?’

  ‘The row must have upset him. Perhaps he looked to you for reassurance?’

  ‘He’d no reason to think I’d offer any. In any case, my sense of charity became frozen the first time I went out with a man.’

  ‘A gentle fire could melt it.’

  ‘Not when lit with shop-soiled matches.’

  ‘Tell me how the señora is.’

  ‘As to be expected.’

  ‘Is she well enough for me to speak to her?’

  ‘You want to make her feel better by telling her that her husband was maybe murdered?’

  ‘I’ll keep things calm.’

  ‘You’ll keep out of her way.’

  ‘I need to learn whether she knows anything which can help me determine if her husband died accidentally or was murdered.’

  ‘You’ve as much emotional understanding as a dead frog. You are not going to worry her.’

  ‘I’ve been ordered to.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘My superior chief.’

  ‘Tell him I’m in charge of who does or doesn’t see the señora and if he wants to argue that, he can come here and do so with me.’

  ‘I’m tempted to pass on your message to learn the result … I suppose it’ll be better if I leave talking to the señora until tomorrow.’

  ‘Until I say you can.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Alvarez braked to a halt, climbed out of the car, walked towards the front door of Ca Na Porta. The door was opened by Eva Amengual ‘What do you want this time?’ she demanded as she watched a humming-bird hawk-moth busy itself around the flowers of a lantana bush.

  ‘Rosalía told me Marta is not at work today.’

  ‘What’s that to do with you?’

  ‘Is she well enough to have a brief word with me?’

  ‘It is her mind which remains ill and talking to you will hardly provide a cure. My cousin is going to take her to Marineland to try to cheer her up.’

  ‘She still believes she bears responsibility for the señor’s death?’

  ‘She imagines more than, I pray, happened.’ Eva’s hostility lessened. ‘Inspector, would Señor Picare have divorced the señora and married my daughter?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘His lies were to encourage her to … to permit …?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘His death was just.’

  ‘Perhaps, but wrong according to the law.’

  ‘Does the law care how much a mother suffers when her only daughter is endangered?’

  ‘The law serves legal, not human justice. Where is your husband?’

  ‘Working the land. Where else?’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  She directed him along an earth and small stone path which ended at a three hectare field bordered by a small orange grove. Forty years before it would have been usual to see men, women, and older children planting, watering, weeding, harvesting an assortment of crops ranging from potatoes to melons; now, even the men were unwilling to work so hard for so little, a fact marked by the many small fields which were down to grass or even untended and growing only weeds.

  Amengual stood by a large estanque, ready to direct the water into another rough irrigation channel. Alvarez walked up to him; he was disinterested. Alvarez looked out at the nearby rows of tomatoes, their side shoots untrimmed as was the custom, with the result that each plant resembled a small bush. ‘You’ve a fine crop there.’

  ‘You here to tell me what I know?’

  Some would have been annoyed by the curt and aggressive dismissal of praise; Alvarez was not. A true Mallorquin accepted praise without hypocritically denying its validity. ‘I’d like a word.’

  Amengual stopped the flood of water, used his mattock to seal the water-filled channel with earth, unlocked the next one by withdrawing a plug of earth. The released water began to fill it. He rested the mattock on the ground, put a hand round on to the small of his back.

  The easing of back pain reminded Alvarez of the times when, young, he had had to work on the land until he thought he would never be able stand upright again. ‘Like I said, I want to talk.’

  ‘I ain’t the time.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand after.’

  ‘And have you muck everything up, like a pig among melons?’

  ‘I did this kind of work when I was a kid.’

  ‘That was long enough ago for you to have forgotten. You want to talk about that shit-bag again?’ Amengual stopped the flow of water, walked across the land and sat in the shade of an orange tree; Alvarez settled by his side.

  They were silent until Amengual said, ‘Swallowed your tongue?’

  ‘I’ve learned Marta’s still very upset over Picare’s death. When he was alive and upsetting her, like any father, you must have wanted to clear him off the scene.’

  Amengual brought a pack of Ducados from his pocket, did not offer it, tapped out a cigarette, lit it. Custom dictated that to smoke or drink and ignore one’s fellow was insulting. Alvarez brought out a pack of Pall Mall, making it obvious he would be smoking a better quality cigarette to that which he should have been offered. They smoked.

  ‘You must have wanted to get rid of Picare,’ Alvarez remarked.

  ‘Weren’t necessary since he did for that himself.’

  ‘Did you pull him under the water and were maybe annoyed when he died immediately instead of taking his time and suffering?’

  ‘I’ve a mind to throw you off my land.’

  ‘Unwise. I’d know it was you who assaulted me and so you’d be in trouble. Pull Picare under in his own pool when no one’s around and you reckon you’ll never be identified. Where were you when he
died?’

  ‘How am I supposed to know when he died?’

  ‘The second of May at around four thirty in the afternoon.’

  ‘I was working the land.’

  ‘How can you be certain of that?’

  ‘Because I work it every bloody day from dawn to dusk if I’m to get enough money.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have missed much time or money when you drove up to Vista Bonita, pulled him under the water, returned.’

  ‘I went by helicopter?’

  ‘Suppose I tell you someone saw you up there on the day and not long before he drowned?’

  ‘You can tell him he’s a bleeding liar.’

  ‘Why would anyone bother to lie about it?’

  ‘Ask him and I ain’t wasting any more time so you can bugger off.’

  ‘I’ve more to talk about.’

  ‘You’ll be the only one listening.’ Amengual used his shoe to force his cigarette stub into the soil.

  ‘Where’s Marta?’

  ‘Don’t matter since you ain’t worrying her.’

  ‘By answering a question or two, she may be able to convince me that you didn’t murder Picare.’ Alvarez waited for self-interest to overcome angry resentment.

  Amengual stood, Alvarez did the same. They walked around the edge of the land and down to the house. Amengual opened the front door and shouted, ‘Eva.’

  She came through the entrada and was about to speak when she noticed Alvarez and remained silent.

  ‘Wants to speak to Marta.’ Amengual contemptuously indicated Alvarez with a thumb.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In her room.’

  ‘Get her down. I’ll have a drink and him …’ Another jerk of the thumb. ‘He’ll likely want one if it don’t cost him.’

  The main room, enlarged during the reformation of the building, had a sloping roof; the underneath of the tiles had recently been repainted with yeso which helped to lighten the room which had only a single, small window because of the problem of breaking into a rock wall. The walls were bare and the rocks, chipped into the required rough shape by hand, fitted into the stone jigsaw with a skill which had not been lost despite the few times it was required in modern houses. The fireplace was large, the furniture, plain, the tiled floor uncarpeted.