His thoughts turned to Rhinehart's creations. He had enjoyed the music in the studio, yet something troubled him about it too. It was creating a snag, in his mind, that would drive him crazy until he discovered what caused his negative feelings relating to Beethoven's Pastoral. Just as he entered his office, it occurred to him. He'd seen an old science fiction movie from the 1970's a few months back on the telly. It featured the Pastoral. The film's punch line was that in the future, life was sustained on earth by recycling dead people into a food stuff. Not a good omen when investigating the death of a cook.
- 5 -
Tea with Armondo
Duncan's fault tree analysis was still running on his laptop. At least it hadn't crashed. That was a good sign. He could sure use a cup of tea about now. He decided to ask Frogo if the dining room had any. He checked his watch. It was after four p.m. when he poked his head into the director's office, half expecting to find him gone for siesta. To his surprise, he was at his desk, working away.
"Hallo, Frogo. By chance, would the dining room have a spot of tea for someone like me this afternoon?"
"Of course. It will be deserted down there, though. I'll grab a café cortado for myself," the director said, rising from his chair and joining Duncan in the hall.
As they walked to the dining room Duncan said, "I enjoyed spending time in Rhinehart's and Juliette's studios today. Their work is brilliant."
"Sí, Rhinehart's art is very unique. That's what landed him a position here. Juliette's talent is beyond her years," Frogo added.
"Where is Juliette from? I could not place her accent."
Frogo turned and raised an eyebrow at Duncan.
"Do you like her?" he asked.
"Yes, I do fancy her a bit," Duncan admitted with candor.
He felt an easy friendship with the director, even though he had known him but a few days.
"Ah, she's from the Argentine. Spanish is the predominant language in Argentina, but there are over 40 languages spoken in that country, including dialects. That may be why her accent is hard to pin down," he said.
The dining hall was deserted as Frogo predicted. He followed his new friend into the kitchen. As the director worked a coffee machine and located tea bags, Duncan ambled around the area. Through a doorway, he spotted a table for two set with linens, crystal and china. He sauntered up to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. Looking around this smaller room, he noted fine cupboards and copper pans hanging from semi-circular pot racks on a wall. This area resembled a fancy home rather than a restaurant kitchen. Lost in thought, he didn't hear the man approaching from behind until it was too late.
"What are you doing here?" a voice growled near his ear.
Startled, he jumped to his feet, knocking a chair over in the process. Frogo came running. Duncan spun and found himself eye to eye with Armondo. The chef, red faced and sweaty, snorted like a bull, forcing his hot breath in the Scotsman's face. Duncan waited for him to paw the tile floor with his hoof.
"This is the inner sanctum of Chef Armondo! No one comes here without an invitation. Who is this, this peasant?" he shouted, each word containing more decibels than the last.
Duncan felt the bones in his ear rattle and thought he might get dizzy. By now Frogo joined the duo in the Inner Sanctum, and he busied himself taking the blame for Duncan's misstep.
"Maybe you should install a No Trespassing sign, Chef," Duncan quipped while Frogo gestured for him to keep quiet.
There, he saw it. Armondo did paw the tile with his hoof. Duncan had witnessed the chef bullying the kitchen help the other night and did not intend to back down. He'd been taken advantage of enough in the last six months. He wasn't going to take anything from this glorified cook.
The fact that Duncan stood his ground befuddled the chef, providing enough time for Frogo to placate Mondo and walk him from the room. He turned as he left and jerked his head towards the outer kitchen, signifying Duncan should head there as soon as possible. Duncan set the fallen chair upright and meandered back to the main cooking area, in no hurry.
He found the beaker of hot water left by Frogo and an array of tea bags. He chose a good Earl Grey and allowed the bag to steep until the steaming liquid was dark. Then he grabbed some milk from a nearby refrigerator and added a splash to his drink. Duncan leaned against the counter and took a sip, waiting for Frogo to return. In a few minutes, the director was back. He looked frazzled for the first time since Duncan arrived. He grabbed the coffee with milk he'd abandoned on the counter and shook his head at Duncan before heading into the dining hall.
The two took their seats at a table. Duncan waited for Frogo to speak. The Scotsman was rather amused at the whole situation.
"You shouldn't antagonize Mondo, Duncan. Rumor has it the man used to wrestle as a professional in Mexico!"
Duncan burst into peals of laughter. The vision of Armondo in tights would take some effort to erase from his mind. Frogo's grave countenance reflected the seriousness of the matter.
He managed to stop laughing and said, "Listen, Frogo, don't worry. I can take care of myself," trying to reassure the director.
The next instant, a plate of biscuits was slammed down on the table, between the two men. Crumbs flew all over the linens.
"What is so funny?" Armondo asked, eyes bulging with anger, as he took a seat beside Duncan.
"Chef, did you ever wrestle for money in Mexico?" he asked, looking Armondo in the eye.
Frogo's arms flew up towards the ceiling in dramatic fashion as he threw himself back in his chair and whimpered with disgust and fear for what might come next. The room filled with a heavy silence as the chef eyed Duncan up and down.
"No, Peasant. But I would look good in a wrestling getup, no?" Armondo said with all sincerity.
Duncan couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. Mondo and Frogo looked at each other and then at Duncan as if he'd lost his mind. After a moment, the chef and the director joined in his merriment. The three men guffawed for some time.
"You need a tasty with your tea, no?" The chef gestured towards the biscuit tray and continued, "you English want some sweet nibble. I was not prepared, but from now on I will be ready for you at tea time, Peasant," Mondo said after the snickering died down.
"I'm Scottish," Duncan corrected, "but we take tea too."
Mondo turned to Frogo.
"I will take tea with this peasant from Scotland from now on. You are free to join us, if you like," the chef stated.
"Thank you, Mondo," he replied to the chef's offer.
This was about as much excitement as Frogo could handle for one day. The new sous chef would arrive tomorrow and that promised to be a difficult situation at best.
"You know, I have heard these rumors of my wrestling career. People see my athletic physique and make assumptions. Some are true, some are not," Mondo said as he rose from the table, his chin lifted high, serenity plastered on his face.
He strutted off, chest puffed like a rooster.
After the chef returned to the kitchen, Frogo whispered, "I cannot believe you asked him about the wrestling!"
Duncan shrugged and said, "I often take the direct approach. Armondo didn't mind."
"No, it seemed to break the ice," Frogo admitted, chuckling.
As they strolled back to their offices Duncan asked, "Don't you take a siesta?"
"No, I get most of my work done during siesta. There's no one to bother me then."
"I've been meaning to ask, what kind of name is Frogo? I mean, what are the origins of your name? It's quite unusual," Duncan stated.
The director placed a hand on his chest and said, "I am a Spaniard. Born and raised here. My mother, she was born in Brazil. Each of my parents claims the other chose my Christian name. So, I'm not sure if it's a family name or just a mistake on my birth certificate."
Duncan stared at the director for a second before both men burst into laughter again. Getting away from Scotland was proving a good experience for Duncan. He hadn'
t laughed this much in quite some time.
"Do you want to join me for dinner again tonight, Duncan? I could request Juliette join us," Frogo suggested, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I'd like to, but I think I better work. My brother is joining me in two days and I want to be able to spend some time with him. Once he arrives, I may begin taking siestas."
"Very well. I will have to entertain those two beauties we met last night by myself. I have a feeling they'll be back at the bodega."
Frogo winked at Duncan before entering his own office. Duncan settled into his chair and checked his computer. He found no emails. This was a far cry from the days when he ran a department at Lawful and General. His computer program was still running, 40 percent complete.
He first reviewed the accident information from the police reports, translated into English for his benefit. According to his research, the stove weighed almost 450 kilograms. The crew should have lifted it by sling, instead of only cables. Photos of the scene showed no sling present. Unlike most accidents involving fatalities, there were no close-up pictures of the corpse, just various shots of the crane and stove from angles that did not feature the victim. A suspended load should never be left unattended. Every crane operator knew that. The cable was not kinked, twisted, or damaged per the Guardia Civil, or local police. The lift capacity of the ATLAS 4000 was 1,815 kilograms, so the stove's mass was not an issue. The cable appeared to be rigged directly over the stove's center of gravity, according to witnesses, which was proper.
Duncan moved on to witness interviews. The Guardia Civil questioned the crane operator, Juan Mendez, and his crew of two people, Ernie Valdez and Joseph Avilar. The crane operator stated that they departed at siesta, leaving the stove suspended high above the courtyard. Before they returned to the job site, the owner of their company, Philip Torillo, informed them that continuing would break Spanish law. After the long trip to Manchiego that morning, they could not work after four p.m. without violating strict government regulations. They decided to return the next day and finish the job. Somehow, later, the rigging was released and the stove fell on Ms. Peña, at the exact moment she stood beneath.
Frogo had mentioned that equipment failure caused the cessation of work. Duncan read further. The crew members were under the impression there was an equipment failure. The police surmised it was both an equipment failure and adherence to labor laws which halted progress at the academy that day. Why didn't the workers have their story straight? Something was definitely amiss with this case. Duncan read through everything again, to be sure he didn't miss any details. A trip to the local garrison post, or police station, would be necessary.
"Are you certain you wouldn't like to come along tonight?" Frogo asked as he popped his head in Duncan's office.
"No, I really can't. But do you have time for a few quick questions?"
"Of course. You have carte blanche, you know," he said, grinning.
Duncan chuckled and said, "I know, I know. This will only take a moment, I promise."
Frogo nodded and took a seat opposite the investigator.
"You mentioned that equipment failure was the reason the crane crew left early the day of the accident. Did the ordered parts ever arrive?"
"Hmm," Frogo scratched his chin and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling before continuing, "I don't know. I never signed for anything and I don't believe it was on anyone's mind, after what happened."
"Well, I can understand that. When was the crane removed?"
"The following week, maybe Wednesday. After the police questioned the crew and finished their on-site investigation."
"Who hired the crane company?"
Frogo again scratched his chin and paused before saying, "I'm not sure. I assumed Ms. Peña made the arrangements since she was in charge of buying the kitchen equipment."
"One last question," he promised. "Did any next of kin ever surface for Ms. Peña? Any mention of a law suit?"
"No on both counts, Duncan. I don't believe she had any next of kin. In fact, the police asked us for that information, but her employment file was empty where family was concerned."
"Can I go over that employment file?"
"Of course, I'll just go grab it," Frogo said, rising from his chair.
The director left and returned within seconds, handing the file to Duncan.
"Thank you, Frogo. Oh, and be sure and have a good time tonight at the bodega!" Duncan called after the director as he left for a night on the town.
He checked his fault tree program. It had progressed to an 80% completion. He decided to google the crane company. He found several old advertisements for the Alcala Crane and Equipment Company, or Grúa y Equipos de la Empresa, in Spanish. Duncan also spotted two articles about the accident in local newspapers. He used a translation program to convert the text to English, but learned nothing new.
Deciding the best course of action was to have his private detective gather information on Alcala, he shot Ben Davis an email requesting background on the equipment company, its ownership, and employees working the day of the accident. He also wanted to know their current whereabouts. Duncan then forwarded the names of the all the artists, in residence at the time of the accident, to his detective. He wanted the investigator to look into possible connections with Ella Peña, criminal backgrounds, et cetera. He then returned to studying the police reports, preparing for his visit to the garrison post tomorrow.
It was ten p.m. when Duncan's analysis program finished. With apprehension, he checked the results. His fault tree concluded that human error caused the accident, not equipment failure. Now, he would need to develop another fault tree to determine exactly what kind of human error was to blame. His stomach rumbled as he remembered he was supposed to call Mary and let her know his dinner plans. He stood and checked his pants for the scrap of paper where he'd written the casa's phone number. His front pockets were empty.
Duncan pushed away the tuft of hair that always overhung his forehead, running his hand through his thick tresses. He seemed to forever be in need of a trim. He scratched his head and tried to remember where he'd placed that paper. No answer came to him, so he opted to visualize the number. He concentrated on what the black ink looked like against the cream scrap. His near photographic memory came through, and Duncan entered the information on his cellular phone before calling Mary.
"Hallo, Mary? Sorry this is so late, but I just remembered about dinner."
"That is all right Señor Dewar. Will you want me to prepare something for you?"
"Yes," Duncan answered, checking his watch. "I should be there shortly after eleven. Will that do?" he asked.
"Very good, Señor. I will see you then."
Duncan thanked her and signed off. He figured the walk home took only ten minutes or so, but he wanted to get a jump on setting the parameters for his new analysis. Tomorrow, he'd ask Frogo to get him into the police station where he hoped to speak with the officer in charge. Maybe he could get his new fault tree started before the day was over. That would free him up to greet Angus the next day and spend time with his brother.
Before leaving the academy, he took a quick look at Ella's employment file. It contained her identification badge, job application, and insurance forms. Her photo on the badge shocked him. He studied the victim's face. Something about Ella repulsed him, he hated to admit. She had straight, shoulder length hair that was black with a few streaks of gray. Her skin had a sallow pallor, with the exception of her nose, which was pink. She had what could only be described as black, beady eyes. Even though she smiled for the photo, deep lines ran from the corners of her mouth to her jaw line, intimating an unhappy disposition. Something about Ella Peña seemed evil.
He strolled back to the casa, disturbed by what he'd noticed in Ella's photo. The streets teemed with people as villagers made their way to and from the town's restaurants and bodegas. After spending the day inside, the fresh air felt wonderful on his face and he paused every hundred meters to gaze at the
stars overhead. Streetlights were sparse in Manchiego, and the Spanish skies clear, so Duncan viewed more celestial bodies than he'd seen in a long time.
By the time he reached the casa, hunger gnawed at his stomach. He used his key to enter and an enticing aroma met him at the front door. Duncan forgot about Ella and headed straight for the kitchen where Mary stood at the stove, shaking an iron skillet over a burner.
"Ah, Señor Dewar, please take a seat," Mary gestured towards the kitchen table where a place was set for him. "Your meal is almost ready."
"Please call me Duncan, Mary," he said, easing into a chair.
"Yes, Señor Duncan," she replied, concentrating on the skillet.
Duncan smiled, realizing it was pointless to ask her to drop the Señor. He inhaled, enjoying the scents of garlic, tomatoes, and seafood. Mary brought the iron pan to the table and emptied its contents onto Duncan's plate. Steam rose to meet him as he examined what looked like pasta, shrimp, tomatoes, and chunks of white fish. The food sizzled on his plate and smelled delicious.
"This is a traditional pasta served at home. It is close to paella, but made with noodles instead of rice. I hope you enjoy," Mary said.
She busied herself with cleaning up while Duncan took his first bite.
"It's wonderful," Duncan mumbled, his mouth full of pasta and shrimp.
He felt lucky to have a housekeeper who could cook. Mary smiled as Duncan wolfed down the entire plate of food in minutes. As soon as he finished his dinner, he thanked her and headed for bed. He hoped to get up early in the morning to get a jump on the day.
- 6 -
A Peasant Meets the Police
Duncan rolled to his left and grabbed his watch from the nightstand. It was seven-thirty a.m., local time, early enough for a jog. He dressed and slipped from the house without seeing Mary. He planned to run to those hillsides covered in wheat that he spied on his first day at the casa.
Mystery: The Cook's Comeuppance: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 3) Page 5