‘I’d have said it was a delicious partridge.’
‘You can’t keep quiet and would have said as how you hadn’t enjoyed thrush for a long time. You’d know I’d broken the law and might have reported me.’
‘She said that?’
‘Yes.’
‘Women can’t think straight.’ Alvarez had enjoyed thrushes when they could appear on the menu. He sadly remembered how Dolores had cooked them to perfection and made a memorable sauce to go with them. He could almost conjure up the exquisite taste in his mouth, but since he couldn’t succeed, he suffered frustration. How could she have let them forgo the pleasure of such a meal in the stupid belief he would report anyone? Irritated incomprehension then gave way to curiosity. ‘You bought them? From whom?’
‘Why d’you want to know?’
‘Because he might be the man who was netting in Barca and had a furious row with Señor Gill.’
‘What if it was?’
‘He might be able to help me.’
‘You think he’d want to?’
‘I won’t be arresting him or anything stupid like that. I just want to know who it was so I can ask him about the señor. I’d make it clear all I sought was information.’
‘Can’t remember who it was.’
‘Try harder.’
Jaime drained his glass. ‘I’m telling you, I can’t remember.’
‘You’re a poor liar.’
‘You think I’m going to rat on him?’
‘I’ve explained . . .’
‘Didn’t hear.’
‘Becoming deaf as you grow older?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But not disinterested.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘I saw you in the square a week ago.’
‘What if you did?’
‘You were having a friendly chat with someone.’
‘If you mean . . . I was at school with her. We just met by chance and were chatting about the old days.’
‘And the old days were fun for her and you? I suppose you mentioned meeting her to Dolores?’
Jaime didn’t answer.
‘I suppose that, even if it was just good friendship, it’s better if she doesn’t know and get the wrong idea. By the way, have you remembered the name of the seller of the thrushes?’
‘Are you saying that if I don’t tell you . . .’ Jaime’s sense of outrage became so great that he could not finish the sentence.
Alvarez shrugged his shoulders.
Jaime refilled his glass. ‘Now I know why Santiago said you could be a real bastard.’ He drank, put the glass down on the table. ‘Lorenzo Velaquez. And I hope he tells you to go to hell!’
Isabel, followed by Juan, hurried into the room. She went to switch on the television.
‘Let it be,’ Jaime said.
‘It’s my favourite programme,’ she protested.
‘They all are.’
Juan switched on the television.
‘Didn’t you hear?’ Jaime demanded.
‘It was her you told, not me.’
‘Trying to be a smart little—’ He stopped abruptly as Dolores came in from the entrada.
She faced him. ‘What were you about to call our son?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You think him to be nothing? I bore nothing, nurtured nothing, have to defend nothing from a father who can think only of himself?’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘My misfortune is that I do.’ She stared at the table. ‘You have both eaten?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Because you have not finished drinking?’ She went through to the kitchen, soon reappeared. ‘The meal is ready. Since you have already drunk too much to judge what you eat, it is Albóndigas de patata y carne.’ She returned to the kitchen.
‘Why won’t she understand?’ Jaime moaned.
And why can’t you realize, Alvarez thought, that a wise man never argues with a woman, he lets her go on talking nonsense.
There was a call from the kitchen. ‘You can come through and collect things.’
No one moved.
She came out of the kitchen, a filled plate, knife and fork in her hands. She sat at the table.
‘What about us?’ Jaime asked.
‘You will eventually decide whether or not to eat.’
‘But . . . You always put everything on the table.’
‘That I have not done so now proves you wrong.’
Alvarez reluctantly went into the kitchen. She had not even put out plates and cutlery for them. Something very serious had disturbed her. Jaime’s unspoken description of Juan seemed too insignificant to warrant going on strike.
He carried his plate to the dining table, refilled his glass with wine and ate. The meatballs were admittedly tasty, but they would surely have been tastier had she taken the trouble to cook them and serve them immediately.
Dolores addressed Juan and Isabel. ‘Like your father, you consider me to be the maid?’
Unlike their father, they had learned to read the danger signs. They hastily went into the kitchen.
‘I met Julia in the village,’ she said when she had finished her meal.
‘Because you couldn’t disappear quickly enough?’ Jaime suggested.
‘You are careless that she is a friend?’
‘The last time you mentioned her, you called her a stupid cow.’
‘I never descend, as do you, to the language of the gutter.’
Juan and Isabel returned with their meals.
Dolores spoke to Alvarez. ‘She mentioned she saw you earlier today.’
‘Fortunately, I didn’t see her.’
‘She asked if you’d lost your job.’
‘As rudely curious as ever.’
‘She could not understand why you were sitting at one of the tables on the beach when you should have been working.’
‘I was.’
‘Then it was not you who was drinking with a young woman with auburn hair and an unfortunate injury to her face?’
Jaime smiled broadly, happy to see Alvarez suffer as he had done.
Juan said, ‘Was she one of uncle’s . . . What does daddy call them? Buns?’
‘It is time for you and Isabel to go up for an afternoon’s rest,’ Dolores said.
‘I remember now.’
‘You did not hear me?’
Juan stood. ‘One of uncle’s tarts.’
‘You are making me very angry.’
Juan, followed by Isabel, hurried upstairs.
Jaime said: ‘Now I know why Enrique was working on the beach. She was very difficult to persuade.’
‘You find it necessary to expose your crudity?’ Dolores asked.
‘That was being amusing.’
‘As my mother used to say, a man finds his amusement where a lady will not tread.’ She turned to Alvarez. ‘This woman is a foreigner?’
‘English.’
‘Younger than you?’
‘By several years.’
‘It appeals to your vanity that she should drink with you?’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘You can think she sees you not as you are, but as you would like to be; she will not notice your hair is thinning . . .’
‘It is not.’
‘. . . that your skin is creased and your belly swells. You lie and believe yourself to be irresistible.’
‘I believe I am irreplaceable.’
‘Even my dear mother would not have thought a man could be so mistaken.’
‘The young lady was the person I have mentioned before whose uncle has just died.’
‘That is the truth?’
‘The unvarnished truth.’
‘Julia was trying to make fun of me?’
‘It would seem like it.’
‘She is a cow.’
‘Didn’t you go for me a moment ago because . . .’ Jaime stopped as she glared at him.
‘I might briefly seem ir
replaceable to her,’ Alvarez continued, ‘because when she is overtaken with bitter sorrow, I help her a little when I take her down to the bay. And to make the situation perfectly clear, the final thing she said to me was “Just friends”.’
‘Warning you off,’ Jaime said. ‘Now she must be rich, she reckons you could be thinking of doing some good for yourself.’
‘Can there be another man as insensitive as you?’ she asked.
‘Why say that?’
‘Because you cannot understand the reason she spoke as she did was she did not want Enrique to be embarrassed by the thought that she might be beginning to regard him with affection.’
‘How d’you know it’s not the other way round?’
‘Aiyee! If women could look into the future, there would be very few marriages.’
EIGHT
Dolores’ call finally awoke Alvarez. He looked at his watch and was vaguely surprised to learn he was already half an hour late for his return to work. He would get up immediately, forgo coffee, and hurry to the office.
‘I had to call you several times,’ Dolores said as he entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later.
He was surprised she spoke without any hint of criticism. ‘I was so fast asleep, I didn’t hear you until the last call. I suppose that’s because it was such an emotionally exhausting morning.’
‘I will make your coffee.’
‘I think I’ll have to leave that and rush to the office . . .’
‘You will drink coffee and eat a biscuit or two. A man needs a happy stomach before he works.’
‘You sometimes say mine is too happy.’
‘What nonsense is that? A man who does not eat well insults the cook. Sit down while I make coffee and bring some of those chocolate biscuits you like so much.’
He pulled a chair from under the table and sat. He’d no idea why she was in so generous a mood, could only hope it would last.
She placed a plate of chocolate digestives on the table, crossed to a working surface and prepared the coffee machine. ‘I phoned Julia earlier.’
To find out if his companion on the beach had been a blonde in a monokini?
‘I told her she had been very wrong. That annoyed her for a start. She cannot believe she is ever wrong.’ She switched on the coffee machine, went over to the refrigerator for a plastic carton of milk, then to one of the cupboards for a dish of sugar and placed everything in front of him. ‘Is there anything more you would like?’
‘No, thanks.’
She absent-mindedly picked up a biscuit and ate. ‘I said it was unfortunate she believed you had been entertaining when you were so kindly helping a niece who had just lost her uncle. I added how sad it was that some people cannot stop jumping to nasty conclusions because their minds live in shadows.’ The coffee machine hissed. She turned it off, poured coffee into a mug, carried this over to the table. ‘Was I not right to criticize her?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘She will not phone me again in order to speak poisonous nonsense.’
He added milk to the coffee. Were he a brave man, he would have reminded her of how often she jumped to wrong conclusions, but there were times when a sensible man was a coward.
The phone rang as Alvarez stepped into the office. He needed to sit down and recover his breath, but instinct said the caller was Salas. He lifted the receiver as he stood at the side of the desk. ‘Inspector Alvarez speaking.’
‘What have you to report?’ Salas asked.
‘I am making enquiries, señor.’
‘That is not what I asked.’
‘I have spoken to Señorita Farren at length. She is convinced her uncle would never have committed suicide.’
‘Her grounds for that?’
‘I did not press her because she was in so distressed a state. In addition, I was going to have to explain that there was the possibility her uncle had been murdered.’
‘As so often, you judged it would be best to do nothing.’
‘There are benefits from taking an investigation slowly, señor.’
‘A proposition to which you hold firmly. How wealthy was Señor Gill at the time of his death?’
‘I haven’t yet been able to find out.’
‘Because of the fact that motive can identify murder and the murderer has escaped you?’
‘I have said as much to you, señor.’
‘No doubt, incoherently. Put simply, if Señor Gill remained rich at the time of his death – despite the heavy losses others have sustained – there is motive for his murder. Who will inherit his estate?’
‘I don’t yet know.’
‘The importance of knowing has also escaped you?’
‘I am intending to return to Aquila to speak to Señorita Farren again. I will ask her about the details of her uncle’s will, if she knows them.’
‘It will be of little use to ask, if she doesn’t. Whom do you expect to be the main beneficiary?’
‘She is the obvious person, but the señor might well have other relatives and friends about whom we know nothing; one or more of them may inherit.’
‘Do you understand the importance of what you have just said?’
‘I . . . With particular reference to what?’
‘Rule out suicide and accident and the niece becomes the prime suspect for his murder.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’
Salas spoke sharply. ‘I do not expect an inspector to address me in such terms.’
‘But she is incapable of such a crime. She was extremely fond of him. He was the one person who provided the protection she needed. If you’d seen her distress when I asked her if she thought her uncle might have committed suicide . . . Her tears!’
‘Women use tears as a smokescreen.’
‘I am certain she could have had no part in his death.’
‘You wish to deny motive is the key and money provides the strongest of motives?’
‘That’s true, but . . .’
‘You find difficulty in acknowledging truth.’
‘Señor, there is a motive as strong, or even stronger, than money. The jealousy of a betrayed husband.’
‘When you enjoyed informing me about the adultery, you said you would question the wife when her husband was not present so that he should not learn about her promiscuity. He will not have gained revenge for something of which he was ignorant.’
‘There has to be the possibility he did know about it, but his wife did not know that he knew.’
‘You can imagine he would accept such knowledge with equanimity?’
‘Perhaps he gained an advantage from his wife’s affair.’
‘A sick possibility which could only occur to a sick mind. And in your eagerness, you overlook the fact the husband, if there can be one so perverse in character, would be unlikely to bring to an end a relationship which benefited him.’
‘Suppose she had persuaded him that what they were receiving was only a fraction of what they could gain if she divorced him and Señor Gill wanted to marry her? She should continue the affair until marriage was offered. But her husband realized the truth – she was certain the offer of marriage would be given and since she would be divorced, she could marry Señor Gill, enjoy all his wealth, and forget her first husband. He was so outraged by her moral scheming and infidelity that he murdered the señor in revenge.’
There was a long silence.
‘Are you there, señor?’
‘I strongly doubt I have ever had to listen to someone to whom depravity comes so naturally.’
‘It has to be best to consider all possibilities.’
‘Not when proposed from a mind such as yours.’
‘I think . . .’
‘I do not wish to listen to any more of your obnoxious thoughts. When this call is ended, you will consider Señor Gill’s niece as the prime suspect and question her concerning details of the señor’s will and of his finances. Have you identified the poacher?’
‘I may hav
e done.’
‘You have not questioned him to find out if for once you have succeeded in your job?’
‘Señor, it will take a long time to do all you have asked.’
‘When I was an inspector, I never expected to be in bed before midnight.’
The stone-built caseta had one bedroom, one main room which doubled as a kitchen, a primitive bathroom with no running water, and a long drop outside. Decades before, many lived in such confined quarters, now Velaquez, whose features displayed years spent working in sun, wind and rain, was one of a very few. He was in the field using a cut-down can to pour water into one of the irrigation channels drawn through the earth, on either side of which vegetables grew.
‘They look nice,’ Alvarez said, indicating a bunch of tomatoes beginning to turn red.
Velaquez emptied the tin into the channel, stood upright. He looked briefly at Alvarez, walked over to a well and manually pumped up water to fill the can. He returned, began to empty the can. ‘You’re Dolores Ramis’ cousin.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Interested in tomatoes?’
‘When they have some taste . . . I’ve come to have a chat about Barca and the land around it.’
‘Where?’
‘Where you often like to walk.’
‘Who says?’
‘Everyone who knows you.’
‘Ain’t no harm in that.’
‘Depends why you’re there. Likely you find something special about the place?’
‘It’s quiet.’
‘But not always peaceful?’
‘Can’t say.’
‘Seems there was a violent row below Barca not so long ago.’
‘Was there?’
‘Señor Gill found someone there he reckoned was netting thrushes.’
‘No one does that now it’s illegal.’
‘Doesn’t make much difference to some people.’
Velaquez began to move away. ‘Got to keep watering.’
‘When I say. You knew Señor Gill died from a fall?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s possible someone pushed him over. Why should anyone want to do that?’
‘Why ask me?’
‘Thought you’d be able to give an answer.’
‘Never met him.’
‘Not when you strolled through the peaceful woods?’
‘No.’
‘He reckoned someone was after birds, and that infuriated him because he wanted them to have peace.’
A Question of Motive Page 6