‘I think so,’ Alvarez replied carefully.
‘You are admitting that in the course of a month you have failed to reach any firm conclusion.’
‘It’s not quite as long as that…’
‘You would quibble over a single day?’
Superiors could be pedantic; juniors could not quibble. ‘Señor, the time has not been wasted.’
‘That is a matter of opinion. You are convinced Zavala was murdered and did not drown by accident, but cannot produce a single piece of evidence to substantiate your claim. You name Algaro the murderer, but cannot prove that this is so.’
‘The trouble is that so many of the facts are ambiguous…’
‘Ambiguity resides in untidy minds.’
‘But it’s proved impossible to be certain about so many things. What happened to the glass that went missing from the poolhouse? Was it moved because it had fingerprints on it? Or was it previously broken because it had been accidentally dropped, yet Inés did not know this? Is she even correct in saying that it went missing that day? It’s easy to be wrong about such things.’
‘Who can be in a better position to remark on that?’
‘Then there is the bruise on the dead man’s throat. The medical evidence is that this was occasioned with no great force so it could have been accidental. And there can be no certainty that the wound to the head occurred after the blow to the throat…’
‘Do you intend endlessly to discuss each piece of evidence?’
‘I’m trying to explain why there’s so much ambiguity.’
‘Yet despite this, you are prepared to name Algaro the murderer?’
‘If Señor Zavala was murdered.’
Salas sighed heavily: ‘Comisario Hornas once said to me that after speaking to you for only a couple of minutes, he began to lose his grip on reality.’
‘He found great difficulty in understanding Mallorquin customs…’
‘Hardly to be wondered at.’
‘There are many on the Peninsula which seem strange to us…’
‘Kindly refrain from pointless digressions.’
‘Señor, we will know if Señor Zavala was murdered when we question Algaro. There was clearly an unusual relationship between him and Señor Zavala, perhaps explicable only if…’
‘You will not indulge in unwholesome speculation.’
‘Whatever form this relationship took, it continued after Señor Zavala left the diplomatic service and came to live on this island. Whether there were many or few meetings between the two men, we don’t know, but we can be certain that there was one at which Señor Zavala, notoriously fiery-tempered, became very angry. A bitter disagreement provides a further motive for murder. Prolonged and detailed investigation – which, as you will know, always takes a great deal of time – has convinced me that none of the three initial suspects murdered Señor Zavala. This leaves only Algaro. When we have questioned him about the relationship and the cause of the row, we will, I am certain, identify his motive. Then, when he cannot provide an alibi, we will know he murdered Señor Zavala.’
‘I don’t think I have ever before listened to such a chain of illogical presumptions. You claim that because there was a row, Zavala’s death must have been murder; because it was murder, the row was obviously bitter enough to confirm motive.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite what I was saying, señor. Perhaps if I go over the facts in more detail…’
‘God forbid!’ Salas said before he cut the connection.
Alvarez settled back in the chair. There were times when the world was grey merging into black. Supper the previous night had been no more than an apology of a meal, yet Dolores had rubbed salt into their wounds by asking them if they’d enjoyed it. Naturally, they’d replied that it had been delicious – one did not jab a fighting bull in the ribs – at which she had said that that was good and she would cook more meals like it. After she’d cleared the table and was washing up, Jaime had leaned across the table and in a whisper said it was all his fault and just what in the hell was he going to do about the impossible situation? To which, of course, there could be no answer …
He was about to leave to go to the Club Llueso for a much needed merienda when the phone rang. Inexplicably, he answered the call instead of ignoring it.
‘The superior chief,’ said the superior chief’s secretary in her plum-laden voice, ‘has asked me to inform you that a communication has been received from the Bolivian embassy in London. I shall fax this to you as soon as this call is over. When you have read the information, you are to ring the superior chief, before midday since he has to leave the office to attend an important conference. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, señorita.’
He did not have time to say goodbye before she rang off. Life was ever unfair. When you were a superior chief, you could stop work early in order to enjoy an extra round of golf; when you were a mere inspector, you had to work all hours even on a Saturday.
He went downstairs and collected the fax, did not bother to read it before leaving the building and making his way to the club, where, at the sight of him, the barman poured out a large brandy and set a scoop of coffee in the machine.
He sat at an empty table. Saturday lunch was usually a feast, but today it might be no more than they had had the previous evening; it was conceivable that it might even be worse …
‘Cheer up,’ said the barman as he put a cup of coffee on the table, ‘you may be dead by tomorrow and then all your troubles will be over.’
He drank most of the brandy and tipped what remained into the coffee, took the glass to the bar for a refill. ‘Drowning your sorrows?’ said the barman.
‘Eating them.’
He returned to the table and drank the second brandy, and a little of the greyness lightened. He remembered the fax and brought the creased sheet of paper out of his pocket. Rojas Algaro had ceased to work at the embassy and had returned to Bolivia. Records showed he was unmarried and his last known address was in Sucre.
The next paragraph had been headed ‘Confidential’ and the word had been underlined twice.
There had never been any suggestion of a homosexual relationship between Zavala and Algaro and the former’s reputation was as a ladies’ man. However, Zavala had granted Algaro diplomatic immunity when the latter had seemingly been involved in a serious traffic offence in Halfchurch. Questioned about his action, Zavala had stated that Algaro had come to him and sworn that he knew nothing about the fatal accident and that the other driver was lying; had appealed for his help in escaping what would be a terrible miscarriage of justice. Believing Algaro to be truthful, Zavala had decided to do what he could, which had been to act beyond his authority. When his action had become known, the matter had been referred to the ambassador who had held that in the circumstances, publicly to admit that a senior member of the embassy had lied in order to protect an employee from criminal action would reflect such dishonour on the embassy, and therefore the nation, that this could not be allowed. No denial of diplomatic immunity would be issued. The ambassador’s ruling had caused considerable disagreement, but had had to be accepted. He had ordered both men to hand in their resignations.
Some months later, two women on a flight from La Paz were stopped at Heathrow airport and searched; each was found to be carrying cocaine internally. When questioned, both had refused to name any of their contacts. Later, however, in the hopes of obtaining a lighter sentence, one of them had claimed that until recently their contact had been an employee at the Bolivian embassy. When the embassy was notified of this allegation, they had issued a very strong denial. However, one of the chauffeurs, reprimanded for insolence to a Peruvian visitor, said that Algaro had been engaged in the drug trade. No proof of this assertion had been uncovered.
Drugs. The key that unlocked the puzzle. And how right he’d been to suggest that Zavala had been murdered by Algaro, following the row at Son Fuyell! He emptied his glass, stood, crossed to the bar and asked for a r
efill.
‘It’s lucky we’re not suffering a crime wave,’ said the bartender.
* * *
Alvarez drummed on the desk with the fingers of his right hand as he waited, receiver to his left ear. How did he play the scene? Arrogantly, pointing out that in the face of so much doubt, he had been right to persevere? Tactfully, accepting that because there had been lack of hard proof, it had been right not to agree that the possible was probable? Delicately, offering the view that when circumstances seemed to paint one picture …
‘Yes?’ said Salas.
‘It’s Inspector Alvarez…’
‘Do you announce yourself because you suffer from a mistaken sense of importance?’
‘Only because I can’t be certain your secretary has told you who’s calling, señor.’
‘Naturally, I have an efficient secretary. Well?’
‘The fax from the Bolivian embassy does appear to confirm a special relationship between Señor Zavala and Algaro, though not based on homosexuality…’
‘Much to your salacious disappointment, no doubt.’
‘Señor, the circumstances being what they were…’
‘Whatever the circumstances, an uncorrupted mind does not choose to leap to a corrupted conclusion.’
‘The facts…’
‘As I suggested, their relationship was always likely to have had a financial basis.’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your saying that.’
‘A good memory is a prerequisite to efficient detection. Which undoubtedly explains why it has taken you over a month to uncover what should have been apparent almost from the beginning.’
‘It’s only because I questioned many people, have checked every fact, that Algaro’s connection with the case ever came to light…’
‘Excuses denote inefficiency. What do you propose now? Or is it unrealistic to expect you to have considered how to proceed from this point?’
‘I suggest we request the Bolivian authorities to trace Algaro’s present address, explaining why we should like to question him.’
‘Naturally that has already been done.’
‘Then for the moment there does not seem to be anything more to do.’
‘A judgement quickly conceived and gratefully accepted?’
‘Señor, it is only Algaro who can answer the unanswered questions…’
Salas cut the connection.
Alvarez settled back in the chair. Dolores was a woman of strong emotions and even stronger will, and she suffered from the female inability of being unable to overcome resentments, even petty ones; but where the family was concerned, she could be weak. If he bought a bunch of flowers on the way home and presented this to her on the excuse that he thought it was Mother’s Day and he wished to salute the finest of mothers, would she not be so warmed by his loving thoughtfulness that while lunch could not be changed, supper might be a golden meal?
* * *
Supper was a kind of stew; the kind that made those eating it hesitate to identify the contents. And if that were not cruelty enough, she claimed to have forgotten to buy more wine and there was only one bottle between them.
CHAPTER 23
Jaime poured himself another brandy, added ice. He looked carefully in the direction of the bead curtain before he said: ‘Alejo’s old woman took it out on him for a whole month after he was caught with the girl from Mestara.’
‘He was a fool to let himself be caught,’ Alvarez said.
‘It was bad luck. How could he expect his wife to go out and pick tomatoes in the middle of the afternoon?’
‘Women never do what’s expected of ’em.’
‘Suppose … suppose Dolores is so pig-headed that she decides to go on being bloody silly for longer than a month?’
‘She won’t. Being caught having a piece on the side is one thing, making a joke about the grub doesn’t compare.’
‘Not to you, maybe, but what about her? She’s made us starve for a week already. What’s to say it won’t go on like this for months and months?’
‘You. Tell her to pull herself together and you want decent grub once more.’
‘You can talk real bloody stupid! You think she’d take that from me? It’s you who’s got to go to her and say how terribly sorry you are that you were such a bloody fool.’
‘Haven’t I tried to apologize? Didn’t I bring back flowers for the second time yesterday? And what about the box of Belgian chocolates that cost more than three bottles of Soberano?’
‘None of that got anywhere, did it?’
‘Well, there’s nothing more I can do. It’s up to you.’
‘That’s rich, that is! Whose fault was it? Yours!’ In his excitement, Jaime raised his voice.
Dolores pushed her way through the bead curtain; one strand became caught over her shoulder and she swept this aside with a melodramatic gesture. ‘What has my cousin been up to now?’
‘He’s not done anything,’ Jaime mumbled.
‘Then since you will have done even less, you are not in a position to complain … The meal is ready, but perhaps you both wish to have more time in which to drink yourselves silly so that you will find your jokes about the food even more amusing?’
‘Let’s eat,’ Alvarez said hastily. ‘We wouldn’t want the meal to be overcooked when you’ve gone to so much trouble to make it perfect.’
‘You will be able to appreciate that?’ she asked with sweet venom before she returned into the kitchen.
‘I’ll tell you what we’re going to get,’ Jaime said gloomily. ‘Arros brut with the rice only half cooked.’
‘Or just Granada de potates.’
The telephone rang. Dolores reappeared. ‘Are you both deaf? Or have you already drunk so much that your legs have become divorced?’
Typically, Jaime spoke without thought. ‘But you always answer.’
‘It is true that in the past I have been so selfless a wife that I have turned a blind eye to your laziness. However, now my eyes are wide open. No longer will I work myself to a shadow in order that you can lead a life of luxurious sloth.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘So you will answer the phone.’
As Jaime came to his feet, the ringing ceased. She returned into the kitchen.
Jaime sat, poured himself another brandy. ‘They say lots of women become peculiar at a certain age.’
‘They all do,’ Alvarez muttered.
‘Why does she talk such nonsense? Have I ever behaved like she says?’
‘Of course not.’
‘If she wants to sit down for a while to rest, do I shout at her to get back to work?’
‘Maybe that’s the problem.’
The phone rang again.
‘It won’t be for me,’ Jaime said. ‘You answer. And quick, before she comes back and starts up again.’
Alvarez hurried through to the front room and crossed to the telephone.
‘Are you Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo General de Policia?’ the speaker asked in accented Castilian.
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re history if you don’t call off the questions.’ The line went dead.
He replaced the receiver. A joke? There was one cabo at the post with a sufficiently retarded sense of humour to make such a call, but what could have provoked him to do so? ‘… call off the questions,’ suggested the ongoing inquiries in Bolivia concerning Algaro and how would the cabo have known about them? And could he have spoken the few words with an air of such menace when he’d silently be laughing? Then was the threat genuine? Where drugs were concerned, there was always violence; the caller had spoken in Castilian, not Mallorquin, and the accent could well have been South American …
He returned to the dining room.
‘Was that anything?’ Jaime asked.
Dolores, who was about to serve the meal, studied him with an expression he could not read. ‘Nothing of any consequence,’ he answered.
‘From the look on your face, it was importan
t.’
‘Try concerning yourself with your own affairs and not other people’s,’ Dolores snapped.
For once, Alvarez was grateful for her intervention.
* * *
He dialled Palma and had to wait a couple of minutes before Salas came on the line. ‘Señor, at lunchtime I received a telephone call in which the man at the other end asked if I was Inspector Alvarez, then said, “You’re history if you don’t call off the questions.”’
‘Did you ask what he meant?’
‘There wasn’t the chance. He rang off as soon as he’d said that.’
‘It’s probably a hoax.’
‘But wouldn’t a hoaxer have been more inventive? How would a hoaxer know we’ve asked for inquiries about Algaro to be made? And maybe it’s not really possible to be certain from just hearing a few words, but I’m pretty sure his accent was South American.’
‘You judge the threat to be genuine?’
‘I think that’s likely.’
‘I presume you’ve no idea where the call came from?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘If genuine, this proves that the allegation that Algaro, when working at the embassy, was concerned with drug smuggling is virtually confirmed. At the moment we cannot judge whether the call was made on the island, the Peninsula, in England, or in Bolivia, which leaves us with no guide to the scale of events … The art of frightening a person into a certain course of action is to increase pressure until it is believed it can no longer be resisted. You will be contacted several times. Tell Telefonica to put a tap on your office and home lines.’
‘Señor, I –’ Alvarez stopped.
‘Well?’
‘If the threat is genuine, then it will be executed…’ He gulped. There were times when the choice of the wrong word was worse than unfortunate. ‘So will we ask the inquiries to be discontinued?’
‘Good God, what a ridiculous question!’
‘But … As you said, pressure will be increased until it cannot be resisted.’
‘My words were, until it is believed it can no longer be resisted. As a serving police officer, you are immune to such pressures.’
The Ambiguity of Murder Page 16