Layers of Deceit
Roderic Jeffries
© Roderic Jeffries 1985
Roderic Jefferies has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1985 by William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd
This edition published in 2017 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 1
Snow covered the mountains: it had fallen on the roofs of the village houses and even settled on the land: in a visual paradox, it lay on the ripened fruit of orange and lemon trees.
The clouds had finally been blown away and now the sun shone to lend sparkle to the snow. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ said Amelia, from her wheelchair.
‘For my money, the only time snow’s beautiful is on Christmas cards,’ replied Hollingborne, six foot four and with a ramrod-straight back.
‘How can you be so prosaic?’
‘Because I like to be warm.’
Eve Hollingborne laughed. ‘Surely you know by now that Tony prefers the pleasures of the flesh to those of the soul?’
‘If I wanted snow, I’d go and live in Switzerland,’ said Hollingborne, in his sharp-toned voice which so often tended to make a statement a challenge.
‘There’s not much fear of that unless the firm doubles your pension. Anne was saying only the other evening that she reckons the cost of living in Geneva is twice what it is here.’
‘My God, twice!’ exclaimed Hart, Amelia’s husband. ‘And we couldn’t afford to live here except for Steve lending us the house and car.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get moving or it’ll be supper-time before we’ve had lunch.’
‘And I’m hungry!’ Amelia smiled at the Hollingbornes. ‘Thanks so much. It’s always such fun coming here.’ She spoke in a way that made it quite clear her words were not mere social conventions. She possessed a genuineness that was unmistakable and people who met her and were initially inclined to be friendly out of sympathy for her infirmity soon discovered a different basis for their relationship because she offered them something that was relatively rare — a warm, undemanding understanding. Friendships among the expatriates of Llueso, as in most such small communities, tended to be of the back-stabbing variety.
She moved her wheelchair forward until the front wheels were just short of the three steps. ‘Are you ready, Pat?’
He came forward to take hold of the back of the wheelchair. ‘OK to move?’
‘I’m holding on … If you let go, d’you think I’ll toboggan all the way down?’
‘I suggest we don’t try and find out.’ He tilted the chair until the front lifted and the weight came on the back wheels, then let the back wheels ride down one step. ‘Are you still all right?’
‘Fine. As I said to Carol when she asked me why I didn’t have one of those new electric chairs which climbs up and down stairs and does all sorts of other things, I’m much better off with you. You can’t short-circuit.’
‘The trouble with her is, she’s never learned to think as well as talk,’ said Eve, annoyed that Carol, a very wealthy woman, should have been so tactless as to ask such a question of the Harts who were obviously not very well off.
Hart moved the wheelchair down the second step, then the third. This brought it to a turning-circle of level land and he let go. ‘You’re on your own.’
Amelia used one wheel to swing the chair round until she could look to the south. ‘It really is gorgeous with all the snow.’
The Hollingbornes’ house was almost at the top of the mountainside urbanización and from it there was a view across six kilometres of flat land to the mountain-ringed bay, now even bluer than usual because of the contrast offered by the snow.
‘I’d still prefer it to be warm,’ said Hollingborne.
She laughed. ‘You’re just an unrepentant Philistine.’
‘Why else d’you think I was in the Ministry of Arts?’
Hart opened the passenger door of the Panda and Amelia manoeuvred the wheelchair until it was alongside the doorway, at a slightly inclined angle. He applied the brakes. ‘Now I’m wedging the wheel.’ He jammed the toe of his right shoe against the outside back wheel, thus preventing any chance of its moving backwards.
She lifted her legs and moved them until her feet were to the side of the footrest, reached up to gain a hold on the top of the opened door, and hauled herself upright. Hart released the brakes of the wheelchair and drew it back. She lowered herself, still holding on to the door, turning as she did so and pushing backwards so that she settled on the seat. She used her hands to lift her legs into the car. It had been an awkward manoeuvre, potentially even a dangerous one, but she insisted on employing it because then she was almost independent.
Hart collapsed the wheelchair into its folded position and lifted it into the rear of the car, whose back seat had been folded flat. ‘Do we see you at the Cranfords’ on Thursday?’ he asked the Hollingbornes.
‘You do not,’ replied Eve, her tone now sharp. She was still a handsome woman, but over the past few years the lines around her mouth had begun to betray the fact that she could be bitchy.
‘No doubt we’ll see you somewhere else, then … You must come and have drinks at our place.’
‘You must come and have a meal,’ corrected Amelia, through the opened window. ‘You haven’t had one with us for weeks and I don’t know how many we’ve had with you.’
‘Not enough,’ said Eve. She spoke emphatically. She’d never have put it so baldly, even to herself, but to see someone as handicapped as Amelia face the world with such cheerful courage made her ready to count her blessings rather than her frustrations.
Hart climbed into the car and started the engine. He backed and turned, having to use two locks because the turning circle in front of the garage was, from necessity, a small one. Amelia called out a final goodbye, then they drove out and started down towards the first of the hairpin bends. He said: ‘Judging from Eve’s reactions to my asking about the Cranfords, she and Sue have had a row as rumour suggested. I wonder if Basil’s chasing Sue?’
‘I don’t suppose he’s doing anything of the sort. You’ve just got a nasty mind.’
‘What d’you expect after living out here for four months?’
‘It’s nearer five.’
‘Is it really?’ As they approached the tight right-hander, he braked and changed down into first, double de-clutching because this had become second nature even when unnecessary.
‘We came out on the twelfth of September and today’s the fourth of February.’
‘I hadn’t really realized we were in February.’
‘Time out here just vanishes, doesn’t it?’
‘Maybe we’ve reached the speed of light.’ He rounded the corner, careful to hug the inside, despite the chips of stone which had flaked off the rock-face, because several French lived in the urbanización and they never seemed decided on which side of the road they drove. ‘We’r
e very soon going to have to think about returning, then.’
‘Yes, except … Did I tell you that the last time I spoke to Steve he said he didn’t think his friends were coming out after all?’
‘You didn’t, but he did.’
‘Did he also hint that he might offer us the chance of staying on if we want?’
‘No.’
‘Suppose he does make the offer — how will you feel about it?’
‘More to the point, how will you?’ he asked, as they neared the next bend, a left-hander.
‘I don’t really know. It’s wonderful out here, but …’
‘But what?’
‘Don’t be annoyed at what I’m going to say?’
‘After three of Tony’s gins I couldn’t be annoyed if I wanted to be.’
‘Well, the thing is, this is the third time he’s had us out. He lends us the house, a car, won’t let us pay for the maid or the gardener … It can get quite difficult to go on and on accepting charity.’
‘What a load of cod’s! It’s not charity, it’s conscience money.’
‘For heaven’s sake! He can’t help being rich.’
He smiled. ‘I suppose it is being a little unfair on him … I guess it’s just that being married to you, some of the family prejudices have rubbed off on to me.’
‘If they have, they didn’t originate with me.’
He changed gear and turned into the corner. ‘Of course not. As Basil once said — in sheer exasperation, probably — you’ve got the nature of a saint.’
‘The damn fool! You won’t ever catch me clutching at martyrdom.’
‘You can have saints who aren’t martyrs.’
‘Stop being so ridiculous.’ It was true that since her illness she’d had to fight life much harder than most people, but that made her a fighter, not a saint. It annoyed her when people confused the two.
‘You’d love it here when it warmed right up. Especially with the swimming.’
In water, she could still move relatively freely; it gave her the illusion that her legs were still under her command.
They left the corner, travelling at little more than twenty kilometres an hour. For someone who had once enthusiastically rallied, he was now a conservative driver.
‘I suppose I’d have to go back sometime, to check our flat’s OK … You’d be able to cope on your own for a very short time, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, of course. But we could always ask Maurice if he’d like to come out.’
‘Again? After all, he’s only just returned.’
‘Why not? He can’t normally get away, not with that brood of a family. I thought you liked him?’
‘He’s quite amusing when he’s not on about money.’
‘Wouldn’t you be, if you’d six mouths to feed?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Then stop being so critical.’
‘I hear. I obey … So we stay on here for the summer?’ He accelerated gently away from the corner and changed up into second, then third.
‘Aren’t you counting your chickens even before the eggs have been laid?’
‘I’d say it’s pretty certain or he wouldn’t have passed on the hint to you about our staying.’ He braked for the coming right-hander. The brakes began to grip, then they went slack. ‘Christ!’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘The brakes have gone.’ They were gaining too much speed, despite being in third, because the coming righthander was the fiercest of the four corners. He went into neutral, revved, into second. The car slowed, but it was still going too fast. Into neutral again, but when he tried to make first the gears refused to mesh because he’d been a fraction out in matching car and gear speed. On the outside there was a sheer drop, unguarded; on the nearside, a tall rock face. With only a couple of seconds left in which to avert disaster, the instinct was to try to ram the gear home. Experience had taught him to overcome instinct. He held the gear in neutral, revved fiercely, waited until the revs had peaked and were just beginning to die, and then tried again to engage first. The gear slid home.
He pulled on the handbrake and that and first gear began to slow them, but their speed was still too great as he entered the corner and the car began to slide. Using the accelerator, since the car was front-wheel drive, and opposite lock, he regained control, but left the corner quickly.
The road down to the fourth and final bend was not so steep and their speed did not become dangerous. They rounded the corner with a quick squeal of rubber and some body lurch, then there was a straight road, level after a couple of hundred metres. Eventually, the handbrake brought them to a stop.
She reached out and gripped his right hand. ‘That was interesting, but I don’t think I want to try it again.’
CHAPTER 2
Alvarez turned off the new square — new only in the sense that it was not as old as the one right in the centre of Llueso — and walked along Calle Luis Vives to the garage. In the show window was a gleaming-smart Seat Ronda. A far cry from his ancient Seat 600 which was beginning to arouse the derision of irreverent little boys. He sighed. New Rondas were for the doctors and the foreigners of the world, not the overworked detectives.
He went into the main body of the garage and skirted the pit. Two mechanics were standing round a wrecked VW with German plates. ‘Where’s Julio?’ he asked.
After a moment, the elder mechanic shrugged his shoulders.
A middle-aged man, wearing glasses on a round, pudgy face, his hands oily, came up to Alvarez. ‘Magdalena saw Dolores yesterday afternoon and she said she wasn’t too fit — nothing serious, I hope?’
‘A cold, that’s all. But it’s a nuisance because it means she may not bother with things as she should.’
‘I know. If Magda’s got one of her heads, the grub’s poor. And that’s not funny after a hard day’s work.’
They thought about the crosses they had to bear. Finally Alvarez said: ‘I’m looking for Julio.’
‘What’s the time?’
‘Near enough to a quarter to ten.’
‘Then he’ll have gone off for his breakfast.’
Alvarez’s expression brightened. ‘I’ll go and find him.’
He left the garage, crossed the road and went along to the Bar Alhambra. Inside, half a dozen men were standing by the bar and Roselló was one of them.
Roselló was roughly the same age as Alvarez, but his face was less lined and he looked younger. He said: ‘I suppose you want something?’
‘I wouldn’t say no to a coñac.’
‘I’d bloody faint if you did.’
‘A large one.’
‘Here, d’you think I’m made of money?’
The man on the far side of Roselló said: ‘You must be, seeing what you charged for working on my car.’
‘You try employing half a dozen layabouts and see how rich you end up. Try to get ’em to do a proper day’s work and they laugh in your face. And you can’t sack ’em, not without paying a fortune.’
‘Things aren’t like they used to be,’ said the barman, as he pushed a glass across to Alvarez.
Alvarez sipped the brandy. Things had changed beyond measure, from the moment the Caudillo had died and democracy had come to Spain. With democracy had come pornographic films and videos, an ever-growing rate of drug addiction, an explosion of thefts and muggings, and a young who refused to learn the oldest of all truths, that in this world one never got something for nothing …
Roselló drained his glass and looked at Alvarez, but sadly came to the conclusion that he would not be offered the other half. ‘I’d best be getting back. If I’m not there, the lazy sods stand around, doing nothing.’
Roselló was in far better condition than his corpulent body suggested and his rate of walking was brisk, so that by the time they reached the garage Alvarez was out of breath. They went past the inspection pit and stopped by a light blue Panda. ‘This belongs to an Englishman from Santa Victoria,’ said Roselló. ‘He’s lent it t
o a cousin who’s staying this end of the island. She’s in a wheelchair, but as cheerful as they come and hasn’t got her nose in the air, like some of the bitches who just shout louder and louder when I can’t understand what the hell they’re trying to say … ’
Alvarez listened without impatience to the long, rambling complaint, content to let time slide on towards lunch and those squid, stuffed with sausage and sautéd with onions, tomatoes, dry sherry, and ground cinnamon — always assuming that Dolores had the strength of mind to pull herself together …
Roselló finally returned to the matter in hand. ‘A couple of days ago we got to pick this car up. She and her husband had been up at one of the top houses in El Cielo and when they were driving down the brakes failed.’
‘That’s one hell of a place for that to happen!’ Alvarez studied the car more closely. ‘They must have been near the bottom, or they’d have crashed.’
‘The brakes went before the third bend.’
‘That’s the worst of the lot, isn’t it?’
‘The wife said her husband used to go in for car rallies. He used the gears and the handbrake to slow them down enough to get round the corner.’
‘Sooner him than me.’
‘And me.’
Alvarez shook his head. ‘Where’s my interest in all this?’
‘I brought the car back on the end of a solid tow-bar and left it until yesterday evening, on account of having so much other work to do. Then I put it over the pit and checked to see what kind of a job it was going to be … ’ He paused for a moment. ‘One of the brake lines was fractured and all the fluid had run out.’ He looked up. ‘From the look of things, that line could have been deliberately damaged.’
‘How sure are you?’
‘I’m not. That’s why I said “could have been”. They live down a dirt track and you know as well as me how stones get thrown up all the time, and there’s no knowing where a stone’ll end up … But if you asked me to come straight out and give an opinion, I’d say it wasn’t a stone, it was something like a knife.’
‘If it was deliberate, would it have to have been done at the house where they’d been?’
Layers of Deceit (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 9) Page 1