‘Twenty euros an hour.’
‘You ain’t worth twenty cents.’
Alvarez brought a pack of Pall Mall from his pocket, tapped a couple of cigarettes free, offered them. ‘Care to try one? I ask, because the last time I was here, you preferred to smoke your own on your own.’
Amengual hawked and spat. He withdrew a cigarette, put it in his mouth, lit a match for them both.
‘I want another word,’ Alvarez said.
‘Ain’t nothing more to say.’
‘What you tell me may, as I mentioned to your wife earlier, give me the chance to find out that you know something useful you don’t know you do.’
‘She says she can’t understand half of what you say because you talk so daft.’
‘Shall we go to your place and get out of the sun?’
‘There ain’t no more wine.’
‘Water will do.’
‘You’ve been told you can drink it?’ He walked to the end of the irrigated row of peppers, propped the handle of the mattock against the estanque, made his way to the house without bothering to check if Alvarez was following.
‘He wants wine,’ he shouted to his wife.
‘From the look of him, he’ll be dead when he don’t.’
In the sitting room, she filled three glasses from the earthenware jug.
‘Salud!’ Alvarez drank, lowered his glass. ‘It’s nectar.’
‘You saying it’s the dregs?’ she demanded pugnaciously.
‘That it’s good enough to serve to the gods.’
‘As if you’d know what they like.’
Any hostility had disappeared by the time the jug had been refilled and partially emptied.
‘I’ve a superior chief who’s so suspicious of everyone, he often doubts himself,’ Alvarez said. ‘So when he heard you’d told Picare what you thought of him because of Marta, the superior chief got the crazy idea maybe you did the drowning. I’m here to learn something which will calm him down and make him accept that’s nonsense.’
The Amenguals looked uncertainly at each other.
‘Picare died on the twelfth of July, in the afternoon.’
They said nothing.
He addressed Amengual. ‘Where would you have been then?’
‘Where d’you think? Working in the field.’
‘Did you see or speak to anyone who’d remember seeing you that afternoon? It was a Thursday.’
‘Don’t make no difference what day it was.’
She said loudly, ‘You old fool!’
He looked at her, surprised and puzzled by her fierce intervention.
‘You think you were on the land when they changed market day before the summer. You’d of been collecting me in the van.’
He spoke slowly. ‘So I would. So I would.’
‘You sell in the market?’ Alvarez asked her,
‘How else do we get a fair price?’
‘Your husband collects you and the unsold produce in the afternoon?’
‘There ain’t nothing to bring back since there ain’t no one else grows better fruit and vegetables.’
‘You collected him from the market that Thursday?’
‘Ain’t I just said? Not missed a market in years.’
‘Then your husband may have had reason to hate Picare, but he did not kill him.’
‘Only the likes of you would believe he could.’
‘Not seen you for some time,’ said the barman in Bar Fernadol, on the western edge of Llueso.
‘Been working too hard to have a moment’s rest,’ Alvarez replied.
‘How’s the work going?’
‘Same as ever.’
The barman accepted his questions were not welcomed. ‘What’ll you have?’
‘Orange juice.’
‘What?’
‘Comes from the fruit of an orange tree.’
The barman stared at him, said slowly, ‘Now I’ve seen it snow in July!’
It was, for him, an unusual request, Alvarez accepted; it was probably the first time he had made it since a boy. But after all he had drunk with the Amenguals, he needed something neutral.
He carried the glass over to a table and sat. The Amenguals would be able to prove they were at the market on the time and date in question so there was no need to question them further.
Salas’ orders had been explicit. Each of the possible suspects was to be questioned again. Was that a practical demand? Most would say it was reasonable to assume that when one half of a marriage learned the other half had been guilty of an affair, he or she would regard the intruder with angry hatred. Yet experience in life showed that the old-fashioned values of loyalty and morality had been tattered. Lynette Arcton had committed adultery, but her husband was dead, Leila Macrone denied adultery with Picare and evidence suggested her husband had believed her and ignored the rumour-mongers, so had had no reason to murder. Other relationships seemed equally devoid of a possible reason for individual retribution.
He picked up the glass and walked to the bar.
‘Another orange juice?’ the barman disbelievingly asked.
‘A large coñac with ice.’
Half an hour later, refreshed, he drove along a minor road to the Palma/Playa Neuva autoroute and on to Llueso.
He awoke, stared up the ceiling and wondered if the rich enjoyed limitless siestas every afternoon. It helped to believe that if they did, they probably lost the pleasure of them. It must have been the devil who decreed that to enjoy too much of what one enjoyed would destroy the enjoyment.
Had Dolores considered him and bought a chocolate éclair from a pastelería? Whom did he question when he left home after coffee? Marta? Her mental stability was still a question mark.
Cecily Picare? It was reasonable to assume she must have known at least a little about her husband’s amorous lifestyle, but could, or would not, furnish all the realistic details he needed to know. Señora Metcalfe? Did she only go to Vista Bonita to learn tricks of cooking from Rosalía? Yes, if she was a good wife and considered her husband’s pleasures; no if she put hers before his. Had Debra Crane seen Picare merely to remind him to pay his dues? Had Pierre Poperen discovered his wife’s infidelities and avenged her dishonour? Russell claimed to have been concerned with Marta’s welfare. He admitted pursuing one of Picare’s women and might have infuriated Picare and caused him to refuse the money which would have enabled Russell to stay at the hotel, thereby denying him any chance of a reunion with his daughter. Giselle and George Dunkling enjoyed a ménage à trois which had been invaded by Picare; had his invasion caused one of the men to suffer murderous anger?
The possibilities had become too many, the task of gathering the evidence necessary to reject all but one, Herculean.
He would next question Madge Barrat, another of the neighbours living below Vista Bonita. With no apparent connection with Picare, aside from location, it need not be a prolonged and exhausting interview.
TWENTY-ONE
‘The superior chief wants to speak to you,’ Ángela Torres said.
‘Perhaps wishes?’ Alvarez suggested. ‘When I said I wanted to speak to him, you corrected me.’
‘When referring to a senior, a junior wishes, not wants.’
‘With bowed head?’
There was a pause, during which he could hear voices, but not clearly enough to understand.
‘Alvarez,’ Salas said, ‘Señorita Torres has referred to the unfortunate manner in which you have just spoken to her. You should not be surprised to learn that she found it objectionable.’
‘I was only being very slightly sarcastic, señor.’
‘As Pedro Antignac wrote, “Sarcasm is an ignorant man’s wit”. Why have I not received your report?’
‘I gave it to you yesterday, señor.’
‘And you have done nothing since then?’
‘I questioned Amengual and Señora Barrat, but since I learned nothing of any consequence from either, I decided there was no reason to bother yo
u with the results.’
‘Your decision should have been to report to me immediately. You will now do so.’
‘Amengual drives his wife to the local market where she sells the fruit and vegetables he produces. Because of the times at which he takes and collects her, he could not have been at Vista Bonita at the time of Picare’s death.’
‘Have you confirmed that the market was in operation on the twelfth?’
‘It runs every Thursday throughout the year.’
‘I repeat my question.’
Did Salas not understand that nothing prevented a market from operating on the specified day of the week?
‘Have you confirmed he drove his wife there and brought her back?’
‘They both confirmed that fact.’
‘At what time did he fetch her?’
‘At about four in the afternoon.’
‘You have proof of that?’
He believed the Amenguals were telling the truth, so in a way it was fair to say their evidence was confirmed. ‘Yes, señor.’
‘Have you managed to do anything more?’
‘I spoke to Señora Barrat and she—’
‘Identify her.’
‘She and her husband live in one of the properties below Vista Bonita. As instructed by you, I questioned the inhabitants of those homes and asked her if she had seen a brown Fiesta driving away on that afternoon since she might be able to confirm the time at which Russell had left there on the twelfth. Of course, to expect someone to note a car when that person has no reason to do so, not to mention the unlikelihood of accurately noting the time—’
‘To anticipate failure is to fail. Have you determined how many brown Fiestas there are on the island?’
‘I’m waiting for the information from the importers.’
‘Until you receive this, do you not understand that little, if any, significance can be given to the sighting of such a car?’
‘As it was you who ordered me to make the enquiries, señor …’
‘Unfortunately, not in sufficiently simplified detail to enable you to understand what steps needed to be taken and the order in which to carry them out.’
‘Judging by those whom I have spoken to, I don’t think it can be regarded as feasible to continue to question other occupants in homes along that road.’ Before Salas could comment, he added, ‘However, as I said just now, I did speak to Madge. She and her husband live next to—’
‘A surname?’
‘Barrat.’
‘What was her evidence?’
‘She could tell me nothing that you would find useful and interesting, señor.’
In fact, it had seemed obvious that Madge had not been involved with Picare, but it was easy to imagine he had met her and would have seen her as prey to be caught and tamed; perhaps her husband had returned unexpectedly or she had been guiltily unwilling to explain a lengthy absence from home.
‘The result of your questioning is wholly negative?’
‘As you have said, there are times when a negative can be as valid as a positive.’
‘When considered intelligently. Have you spoken again to Marta to decide how much credence it is safe to give her evidence? Does the cook …?’
‘Rosalía.’
‘Yet again you consider you need to remind me?’
‘I only mentioned her name because—’
‘You will question the cook after speaking to Marta and will cross-check their evidence, with particular emphasis on the circumstances in which they heard Russell call out to Señor Picare when he was in the pool.’
‘I will do so first thing in the morning.’
‘This evening.’
‘Señor, neither of them has a known motive …’
‘Marta’s father had a very strong one. Which is why you will ask her, without giving your reason, if at any time she heard her father vehemently condemn Picare and whether he was absent from home at the specific time.’
‘I am morally reluctant to ask, without explaining why, a daughter to say something which might adversely affect her father.’
‘I was not aware that morals have any part to play in your life.’
Alvarez parked, walked across to the front door of Vista Bonita, sounded the bell. As he waited, he gained pleasure from the view despite his resentment at being where he was in order to carry out orders with which he disagreed. He rang once more, was further ignored. He walked along one side of the house, checked the single side door was locked, rounded the corner and came in sight of the pool. Rosalía had been swimming and was standing by the steps at the shallow end. She was naked. She saw him, climbed the steps, picked up a towel and began to dry herself.
His thoughts were a template for any man’s mind in similar circumstances. He hurried forward.
‘Am I embarrassing you?’ she asked.
‘On the contrary.’
‘You don’t mind seeing a woman naked?’
‘Not when she’s perfectly sculpted.’
‘Then you approve of what you see?’
‘Never more so.’ His voice had thickened. He moved to her side.
‘No closer or you’ll get wet.’
‘I’m waterproof.’
She spoke coquettishly. ‘Remember, sweet inspector, I’m a good girl so it’s see but don’t touch.’
He reached out to put his arms around her, kissed her hungrily, cupped her left breast with his right hand, began to slide his left hand down her back.
‘No!’ She screamed. She struggled to free herself and when his grip did not loosen, clawed his face.
The sharp, unexpected attack caused him to release her. She ran into the house. He moved the tips of his fingers across his cheek, found they were bloodied.
For very many days, she had projected a sexy image, met sexual innuendo with sexual innuendo, inevitably led him to believe …
‘You’re bleeding.’
He had not heard Marta approach. His bewildered surprise was replaced by embarrassment.
‘Didn’t you know?’ Marta asked.
He said nothing.
‘I thought because you’re a detective you must know about her and the señora.’ Marta brought a handkerchief from a small pocket in the front of her frock, dabbed away the blood on his cheeks. ‘You should see a doctor.’
Who would want to know the circumstances of his injury. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘Take my hankie and hold it against your cheek.’
He wanted to explain, to try to excuse his behaviour, but believed that to do so would exacerbate the contempt she must surely be experiencing. His bewildered embarrassment caused him to say, ‘I’ll return your handkerchief as soon as it’s been cleaned.’
He refilled his glass with brandy from the bottle in the bottom drawer of the desk, regarded the telephone as if it was a spitting cobra.
He finally dialled.
‘Senior Chief Salas’ office,’ Ángela Torres said primly and proudly.
‘I want to speak to the señor.’
‘You wish to do so. Wait.’
He drank. He’d been hoping Salas would not be there.
‘Yes?’
‘Señor, I have—’
‘A name?’
‘Inspector Alvarez.’
‘Do you think that eventually you will be able to understand the need to introduce yourself? What is the object of this call?’
‘To tell you, señor, that the motive for the murder of Picare was not money, as you suggested at the beginning of the investigation.’
‘Your grounds for such conclusion?’
‘Señora Picare and Rosalía enjoyed a relationship.’
Alvarez waited.
‘That is all you have to say?’ Salas demanded.
‘I thought you weren’t commenting because you were so surprised.’
‘Since one of them is an employer and the other an employee, the relationship is one that is hardly a cause for surprise.’
‘I’m not referri
ng to such a relationship, señor.’
‘Can there be any other?’
‘For the señoras, it had become also a personal one.’
‘I suggest you ring off and compose a legible report before you attempt to deliver it.’
Alvarez drank quickly. It was absurd he should need to explain certain facts of life to Salas whose prudery should have been banished by work long ago. That it had not could confirm certain rumours concerning Salas’ marriage. ‘Señor, the two were lesbian partners.’
Another silence. Then: ‘Your authority for this statement?’
‘The experience of someone.’
‘Who?’
‘I have promised never to reveal the name.’
‘A promise you had no right to give since this is an ongoing investigation and the informer’s evidence may well prove essential.’
‘If I had refused to give my promise, I would not have learned the nature of the motive which finally confirms Señor Picare was murdered.’
‘You should have succeeded in gaining the information by offering a retractable promise.’
‘Understanding the relationship explains certain facts. When Picare died, his wife was naturally shocked, yet she suffered far more than one might expect when the marriage was far from a happy one. So why was this?’
‘You can provide an answer which is not totally beyond belief?’
‘She knew the nature of her relationship had somehow become known to her husband – hence the bitter rows between them. She had every reason to believe that as a consequence he would demand a divorce and her affair with Rosalía must be destroyed. It was Rosalía who decided there was one way in which to prevent this happening.
‘When she learned I was investigating the death of Señor Picare, she was all playful and come-on. Yet as is now clear, the interest of any man was unwelcome to her.’
‘A woman will hardly be described as playful with anyone other than a young child and I have no idea what is the meaning of “come on”.’
‘The manner in which a woman behaves when she wants to indicate she is interested and probably willing.’
‘Your knowledge of matters in which a cultured mind has no interest never ceases to depress me.’
In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery Page 17