‘The fall definitely killed him?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it’s straightforward?’ Alvarez managed to conceal his relief.
‘The cause of death, yes. But the cause of the fall . . . That is your problem.’
‘Surely he must have misjudged his footing or tripped and went over the edge?’
‘There are inconsistencies.’
There would be, Alvarez thought bitterly. Foreigners seemed unable to die in an uncomplicated manner.
‘There is recent bruising to the stomach. One would expect that; during his fall, it was likely he would have struck the rock.’
‘Then I don’t quite see the problem?’
‘He was wearing a cotton T-shirt and shorts. On the shirt and top of the shorts, corresponding to the position of the bruising, there are no signs of contact – no scuffed or torn material, no rock stains.’
‘Contact must have been very brief.’
‘Yet of sufficient force to cause the considerable bruising. In the circumstances, would you not have expected the clothing to have suffered?’
Alvarez tried to find circumstances in which he would not and failed.
‘There were further injuries of an internal nature. These are consistent with the victim having suffered blows of considerable force.’
‘Caused when he struck the rock face?’
‘I doubt it.’
Alvarez knew irritated despair. Problems meant careful enquiries, enquiries meant endless work.
‘How did the shirt lie on him when he was on the ground?’
‘It was slightly disarranged, but it was down over his chest.’
‘Probably held down by the rush of wind, since he was falling head first.’
‘Are you saying he was attacked?’
‘It seems probable.’
Alvarez phoned Palma.
Angela Torres answered, her voice more plum-laden than ever. ‘The superior chief is not in his office.’
‘Enjoying an early siesta?’ Alvarez asked.
‘You consider that amusing?’
‘I’ll try again around five.’
‘You will be returning from lunch early?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Ah, yes!’ Salas said. ‘The inspector who suggested I wasted my time with a siesta.’
Even if she was a woman, Alvarez thought, Angela Torres might have kept silent. ‘There was no intention to criticize, señor.’
‘Yet you insolently succeeded.’
‘I attended the post-mortem of Señor Gill.’
‘The result?’
‘The cause of death was the injuries to his head. Death would have been immediate, so he was fortunate.’
‘You do not find it to be lacking in moral decency to refer to a premature and violent death as fortunate?’
‘I was meaning the probability he could not have fully understood what was about to happen. When something catastrophic occurs, shock may briefly still the brain and black out conscious knowledge.’
‘You are an expert on the brain?’
‘No, but—’
‘That is all there is to report?’
‘No, señor. In addition to the injuries to the head, there was bruising to the stomach, yet there was no damage to the material of shirt or shorts, no evidence of contact with the rock.’
‘A man can fall in an arc.’
‘There was also heavy bruising to the stomach and internal injuries consistent with heavy blows.’
‘If I have managed to understand you, Señor Gill might have been assaulted before he fell?’
‘That is what Doctor Jurando said.’
‘You are now telling me this may be a case of murder?’
‘It seems so.’
‘Then the only possibility you have not so far suggested is natural causes.’
‘My investigation will soon resolve the nature of the death.’
‘I have never received evidence to confirm your optimism.’
‘If it was suicide, there would surely have been evidence of a distracted mind. The staff have told me there was no such suggestion. I will question the señorita to learn her impression of her uncle’s mental state.’
‘Yet no doubt not before you are satisfied that by doing so you will not distress her further?’
‘Something one has to remember is that the señor was wealthy.’
‘Did you not inform me he was worried about money?’
‘I don’t think the suggestion was that he had become hard up. In rough times, people often try to appear short of money in order to avoid the envy of the less fortunate.’
‘You are wealthy?’
‘Far from it.’
‘Then you are again indulging yourself by asserting facts about which you can know nothing.’
‘It makes common sense.’
‘Then you are even less qualified to comment.’
‘Señor, where there is money, there is anticipation. Amongst those who benefit from the señor’s death, there may well have been one prepared to commit murder in order to do so.’
‘You will search for a motive in order to judge if this case is one of murder?’
‘Motive makes murder. And there is possible motive in that the señor had a friend. A very close friend.’
‘I fail to see the significance of that.’
‘She was married.’
‘You are suggesting an illicit relationship because you are unable to understand that a man and a woman can enjoy a platonic friendship?’
‘In this case, there is evidence it was not platonic. Which means the husband may have known of his wife’s adultery and taken his revenge.’
‘Then you will question the husband.’
‘I think I will question the wife on her own, first.’
‘Why?’
‘If she confesses her adultery, and can assure me her husband has no knowledge of it, it will eliminate him as a suspect.’
‘You do not consider it your duty to inform him of her infidelity?’
‘Certainly not my duty, nor even a moral obligation. Since Señor Gill is dead, the affair cannot continue. So where is the point of bringing pain to the marriage?’
‘Your attitude is deplorable.’
‘I would call it realistic.’
‘To condone adultery displays depravity, not realism.’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘I have not asked for your opinion. What else do you have to report?’
‘A very strong motive, judged by the present evidence. The señor had a bitter row with a local who was in his wood and whom he suspected was after birds. The feathered kind.’
‘You know of birds without feathers?’
‘It is an expression in common use.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘Young ladies.’
‘You introduce the subject for no reason other than your depravity?’
‘Santos, who is the gardener at Aquila—’
‘There is no need constantly to waste time by telling me something of which I am well aware.’
‘He heard the señor, who was below Barca, having a very acrimonious row with a man. The señor accused the man, in Spanish, of poaching thrushes and being a thief. Threatened to bring in the policia local.’
‘You are claiming the poacher had a motive for the señor’s murder?’
‘Yes.’
‘That does not strike you as somewhat absurd – a man murders because he is accused of poaching and is called a thief?’
‘When a Mallorquin is addressed in such terms, especially when correctly, he may develop a sudden, unthinking anger, which can turn to violence. It’s said to be a trait inherited from Moorish ancestors.’
‘A nonsensical excuse for an unforgivable temper. Have you questioned this man?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t know who he was.’
‘And see this as an excuse for not taking steps to find out?’
‘Santos can give me no hint of his identity since he never saw him and didn’t recognize his voice.’
‘You will not have considered that Santos may well be aware of who it was? You will identify and question this poacher.’
‘But if—’
‘But and if are words which have no place in the cuerpo.’
‘Yet how does one—’
‘By carrying out the order.’ Salas replaced his receiver.
SEVEN
Alvarez remained behind the wheel until he had overcome emotions aroused by the drive up to Aquila. He finally stepped out of the car, crossed to the front door and rang the bell.
The door was opened by a young woman, just short of twenty, who remained slim, as modern Mallorquin women were tending to do. Her face was round; hair, deep black; eyes, dark brown; nose, snub. Although not a close lookalike, she did remind him of . . . He couldn’t remember the name, only the passion. ‘I’m Inspector Alvarez. And you are Eva?’
‘How d’you know that?’ The question had disturbed her.
‘I was told you worked here and haven’t met you before.’
‘I thought . . .’
He wondered what she had thought? ‘Shall I come in?’
She became flustered. ‘I should have said.’
He stepped into the hall. ‘Is Parra not here?’
‘Him and Luisa have gone into Inca.’
‘And the señorita?’
‘She’s in the sitting room, watching television. Doesn’t do much else.’
She had spoken with little feeling. One had to approach middle age and understand the fears of one’s future to sympathize with the burdens of others.
She made no move to show him into the sitting room. He preferred her indifference to the finer points of staff service to Parra’s over-indulgence in them. As he entered, Mary looked away from the television set and at him. ‘I hope you don’t mind my turning up without warning?’
She used the remote to switch off the television. ‘Of course not. You’re looking rather stern.’
‘I have to tell you something.’
‘Which is going to be horrid.’ She looked away.
He sat. ‘Your uncle may not have died accidentally.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Might he have been sufficiently worried and depressed to commit suicide?’
‘Never! It’s a horrible suggestion.’
‘He was rather depressed.’
‘Was he?’
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘By whom?’
‘I can’t remember. Perhaps there were many worries with the present financial chaos . . .’
‘He said we’d be more careful because no one knew how the markets would move, but we’d no need to worry.’
‘He could have wanted not to disturb you.’
‘Don’t you understand? He wouldn’t have killed himself whatever happened. He thought it the coward’s way out.’
‘You seem very certain.’
‘I am.’
Would Gill have told her the true situation?
‘Have you any more ridiculous, horrible suggestions?’
He longed to say ‘no’. ‘I’m afraid that if he could never have committed suicide, it’s possible he was deliberately killed.’
Her face expressed shock. ‘Christ!’ Her voice rose. ‘Isn’t it cruel enough that he’s dead? Now you come and say someone may have hated him so much, he was murdered. How could anyone hate so horribly?’
‘If it is the truth, I will find out.’
‘Why don’t you know the truth?’
‘If I were clever, perhaps I would.’
‘I . . . Please, take me down to the bay again.’
They were seated at a table set out on the sand, a straw south-sea sun cover providing shade. In front of her was an as yet untouched glass of Maquis Murietta rosado, in front of him an empty glass. He checked the time. ‘I’m afraid we should move if you have an early lunch.’
‘Normally, it’s at one,’ she answered.
‘For us, that is early.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
He was. ‘Will your meal be waiting for you?’
‘No. I said I didn’t know what I wanted and would tell them when I decided.’
‘Shall I ring your home and ask them to prepare whatever you choose?’
‘Luisa is away with Pablo; Eva hasn’t learned to cook.’
‘That’s unusual.’ To talk might briefly blanket memories and fears. ‘But probably not so much these days. Cooking is a skill, good cooking, a skill presented by the gods. The young no longer are prepared to take the trouble to learn the art; they do not understand a happy marriage comes with a contented husband. Why bother to cook when one can go into a shop and buy something frozen which merely has to be put into a microwave? That it tastes of nothing does not worry them.’
‘Luisa is a good cook.’
‘A pity you did not suggest what you might like so that she could prepare it.’
‘She and Pablo are away this morning,’ she repeated.
‘Of course.’
She drank briefly. ‘Do you like Chinese food?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You mean, you’ve never eaten it?’
She was not as depressed as she had been when they arrived. The magic of the bay was working once again. ‘I live with my cousin and she regards with uneasiness all foods which aren’t traditional to the island or the Peninsula.’
‘Then you have the chance to find out if you do or don’t like it. Have a takeaway lunch with me.’
‘Today?’
‘You sound alarmed.’
He was. Recently there had been a programme on television which had shown people eating in a Shanghai restaurant. Live snakes had been brought to the table, the host had chosen which he wanted, and it had been decapitated, skinned and cooked. What else might there be in a Chinese meal? Rats, puppy dogs’ tails . . .? ‘Lunch with you would be very pleasant, but unfortunately I have to return to the office quite soon. Perhaps some other day?’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’
Alvarez called a waiter and paid the bill. They walked across the sand to the roadway and his parked car.
He opened the front passenger door as, so he had been told, did an English gentleman.
‘Are you sure you have the time to take me home?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘Are you prepared to walk?’
‘I can get a taxi.’
‘Not when I’m here to drive you.’
He braked to a halt in front of Aquila.
‘Thank you for everything, Enrique.’
‘It has been nothing.’
‘Don’t be silly. But for you, I’d still be sitting and looking at the television and not knowing what was showing . . . Enrique?’
‘Yes?’
She hesitated. ‘Just friends.’ She hurried into the house.
Alvarez sat at the table and poured himself a reviving brandy. ‘D’you reckon lunch is about ready?’
‘She’s not here,’ Jaime answered.
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Cooking a meal for some old biddy who can’t do it for herself.’
‘What about us?’
‘That’s what I asked. Got my head bitten off, told I didn’t know the meaning of being charitable.’
‘It shouldn’t mean having to starve.’
‘Not exactly starve. She’s left something warming in the oven for us.’
‘You could have said.’ He poured a good measure of Soberano. ‘It’s all very well leaving the food warm, but it won’t be as good as if it had just been cooked.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’
‘Not like her to expect us to eat a poor meal.’
‘Tell her so yourself.’
‘You’re in a sharp mood.’
‘Got reason, haven’t I? Ignoring what I want.’
‘Wives never worry a
bout that.’
‘How would you know?’
‘Seen it happen often enough.’
‘Well, it doesn’t happen in this house.’
Alvarez wondered if Jaime, considering what went on his house, was joking. It seemed he was not. ‘It’s been an annoying morning,’ Alvarez said.
‘Never anything else for you.’
‘I’ve been asked to identify a man who no one’s seen.’
‘So he’s invisible.’
‘Santos – he’s the gardener at Aquila—’
‘Think I don’t know that?’
‘Trying to sound like the superior chief? Santos was up on Barca and heard a fierce row going on below. One bloke was the señor, the other a Mallorquin. I’ve been ordered to identify him. Since Santos never saw him and couldn’t tell who it was from the voice, how the hell am I supposed to do that?’
‘Wouldn’t know.’
‘According to Santos, the argument was about birds. The señor had said that someone was after them on his land, and it seems likely that’s who he was cursing for poaching. But how am I supposed to find out who was after the thrushes?’
‘Thrushes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How d’you know that?’
‘I don’t, but that’s what the señor said to Santos. I suppose the señor saw a net or maybe a load of feathers.’
‘So how would he know they came from thrushes?’
‘There are a lot of people who can tell the make of a bird from its feathers.’
‘Not difficult if it’s a peacock. Catching thrushes is illegal these days.’
‘Quite.’
‘I like ’em. Can’t understand why they were made illegal. No one says you can’t catch sparrows.’
‘Ever heard of anyone wanting to eat one?’
‘No.’
‘Then it’ll be because they taste lousy.’ Alvarez drank. ‘How can I be expected to identify an unknown man with no description, nothing to single him out from a thousand and one other men?’
Jaime spoke reminiscently. ‘Thrushes weren’t in danger of becoming extinct. It was the EU made ’em illegal. I’d make the EU illegal. I bought three thrushes a while back. Cost the earth. Brought ’em back and said she could cook ’em for supper. You know what? I had to wait until you was out for supper, and so they weren’t real fresh.’
‘Why did I have to be away?’
‘Since they were illegal, you couldn’t eat one.’
A Question of Motive Page 5