An Artistic Way to Go Page 13

  ‘Maybe you’d like a full list of everything else I haven’t done?’

  ‘Then you will not know that Señor Cooper reappeared last night.’

  White blanked his expression so that it was impossible to gauge how, or whether, the news affected him. The ability to hide his thoughts was one he shared with the Mallorquin peasant – a similarity, Alvarez decided with pleasure, he would not welcome.

  ‘He’s at his place, then?’

  ‘In one sense, yes; in another, no.’

  ‘Can’t you say any goddamn thing straightforwardly?’

  ‘His body was discovered early this morning. He had been murdered.’

  White drank. He put the glass down. He said, neutralizing his tone so much that ironically it gained emphasis: ‘How murdered?’

  ‘He was struck on the head several times with something solid.’

  ‘What something?’

  ‘At the moment, that is unknown. The murderer took the weapon away with him.’

  The waiter returned and put a coaster down on the table, a glass on the coaster, and was about to add the bill when Alvarez explained that the assistant manager would be responsible for it. Looking doubtful, the waiter left.

  ‘Señor, when I last spoke to you, I said that Señor Cooper had disappeared and his car had been discovered in circumstances which made it seem he must have committed suicide. Yet there were certain facts which contradicted such a possibility. Now I know that he did not die then. So how to explain events? The only reasonable explanation that I have reached is that Señor Cooper wanted someone to believe him dead, but raising a presumption of suicide is not easy when there is no body; people in trouble often try to fake their own deaths. Murder, however, presents a different scenario. It is common for there to be no body for the simple reason that its absence is greatly to the advantage of the murderer, since without it there can often be no proof there has been a murder. So Señor Cooper, a man of talent, decided to set the scene for suicide, making certain that evidence must raise the probability that it was in fact a case of murder. Would one call that a double bluff? If this was the true position, one very important question has to be answered. What would make someone in Señor Cooper’s position – wealthy, married to a beautiful wife – go to such lengths? It would have to be something that so frightened him he could think of no other way of escape. What was that something?’

  ‘How the hell would I know?’

  ‘He was due to have lunch at home, yet after your visit on the Sunday, the maid described him as having been in a very distressed state and he left the house without a word of explanation. It would seem obvious that it was the subject of your conversation that so terrified him.’

  ‘We never got beyond small talk, British decorous style.’

  ‘That bores, but never frightens.’

  ‘Sure. So nothing I said frightened him.’

  ‘Why did you visit him?’

  ‘You need to be told everything six times? Friends back in the States suggested I look him up because he’d be glad to meet me. They couldn’t have been more wrong.’

  ‘You’d no other reason?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Then why did you previously visit the area and study the señor’s house through binoculars?’

  ‘I told you before, that’s all crap.’

  Alvarez sighed. He raised his glass and drained the last of the smooth, rich brandy. ‘Where were you last night between nine and ten?’

  White said contemptuously: ‘You think I killed the limey?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Like an honest politician is possible. Between nine and ten I was in the restaurant here. The meat was so tough, I sent it back with the suggestion the chef use it to resole his shoes. He’ll likely remember that.’

  ‘I should imagine he would.’

  ‘So you can return my passport.’

  ‘Not before I’ve heard from America as to whether or not you have any known criminal connections.’ Alvarez stood. ‘Thank you for your help, señor.’

  ‘If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a goddamn polite cop,’ White said violently, for once not bothering to mask his emotions.

  CHAPTER 18

  When Alvarez entered the small office in the boatyard, Delgado was swearing over the phone, using to the full the rich, colourful, sacrilegious obscenity with which the Mallorquin language was endowed. He slammed the receiver down. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a friendly welcome.’

  He delivered his opinion of friendly welcomes.

  ‘All right, let’s move on. I need to talk to Señor Burns.’

  ‘Then why waste my time?’

  ‘Since he works here…’

  ‘Works here, does he? That’s news to me! Rings up after lunch and says he’s suddenly been taken ill and is in bed. You can’t rely on a foreigner even to stay healthy.’

  Alvarez left and drove the short distance to the flat. The old woman was seated in the shade and he greeted her. She moved her head from side to side, mumbled something he failed to understand, and gesticulated with one hand. A bad day, he thought with sympathy as he climbed the outside stairs to Burns’s flat.

  He was about to knock on the door when he reasoned that if Burns were ill in bed, it would be kinder, if possible, not to make him have to come to the door. He turned the handle and pushed, found the door was unlocked, stepped inside and called out.

  ‘Who the bloody hell is it?’ Burns demanded.

  ‘Inspector Alvarez.’

  ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘A word.’

  ‘I’m too ill.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid I’ll have to come through…’

  ‘I’ll be out.’

  When Burns entered from the inner room, dressed in T-shirt and shorts, he appeared more belligerent than ill. ‘What gives you the right to come bursting in here?’

  ‘The door was unlocked. And since Señor Delgado told me you were too ill to work, I judged it kinder to enter, if that were possible, than to cause you to have to come to the door.’

  ‘Next time, try knocking.’

  ‘It would seem you have recovered.’

  ‘I still feel as if something were gnawing away at my guts.’

  ‘Then let us sit down.’

  ‘Let you clear off and come back when I’m feeling better.’

  ‘I certainly would like to, but for the moment that is impossible.’

  Burns sat.

  ‘I am sure you will have heard that Señor Cooper has been found dead?’ Alvarez said, after removing a pile of yachting magazines from the second chair.

  ‘He’s been dead for days.’

  ‘He has been missing, presumed dead. He was killed last night.’

  ‘All very dramatic, but what’s that to do with me?’

  ‘You knew him.’

  ‘Knowing him consisted of meeting him once at his place and not being offered a drink.’

  ‘But you know Señora Cooper well?’

  ‘And that gets your twisted mind all excited? We ran a course and when it was over, we said goodbye. So that’s the end of it.’

  ‘I would like to accept that, but for the moment cannot be so certain that your relationship with the señora is of no importance to my investigation.’

  ‘I’m telling you…’

  ‘When you and the señora were together, she could have said something that seemed inconsequential at the time, but may be of importance now when I have to try to find out who murdered the señor. Did she ever mention a Señor White?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did she ever say that the señor had been or was thinking of going to America?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has she spoken about the trouble the señor had with his neighbour over water rights?’

  ‘Just that the stupid old fool next door was forever causing hassle and they were having to employ a solicitor to make him see sense.’

  ‘When did y
ou last see the señora?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘I have to know.’

  After a moment, Burns said sullenly: ‘Like I’ve told you before, it was some good time ago. Before her husband vanished.’

  ‘Where were you last night, between nine and ten?’

  ‘Eating.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the Celler Verde.’

  ‘That is not here?’

  ‘Santa Maria.’

  ‘It is a fair way to go for a meal.’

  ‘So is there a law against travelling?’

  ‘Were you on your own?’

  Burns hesitated. ‘No,’ he finally said.

  ‘Who were you with?’

  ‘A woman.’

  ‘Señora Cooper?’

  ‘Haven’t I just said I’ve not seen her recently? I picked up a woman on the beach and she turned out to be a culture vulture and wanted to see the real Mallorca. So I took her to the celler and she loved the bare tables, trestles, wine casks and jugs of wine, and thought she’d been on safari.’

  ‘I shall, of course, have to establish that your companion was not the señora and so I will be questioning the staff and, if necessary, showing them a photo of her.’

  Burns swore.

  ‘Do you not understand that when a man has been murdered, I have to establish the motive for his murder? So I ask myself, suppose the affair between you and the señora had not come to an end and the señor had learned about it, what might have happened? I think that he was not a man with a generous heart, ready to forgive. He would have determined to do whatever most hurt his wife and, indirectly, you. And the easiest way of attaining that goal must be to change his will and leave her nothing, instead of everything. That frightened the señora because without the wealth how could she be certain to hold you? So she persuaded you to kill him before he could actually change his will…’

  ‘No!’ Rachael cried.

  They turned to see her in the doorway of the inner room. She was wearing a hand-embroidered silk blouse and an iridescent skirt and the shaft of sunlight that came through the window created a texture of light at the back of the room that touched her, as she stood with one hand to her throat, with a hint of ethereality.

  She moved forward, to become purely physical. She faced Alvarez, said in a small, husky voice: ‘How could you even imagine such beastly things?’

  ‘Sadly, it is my job to do so,’ he replied defensively.

  ‘But to suggest I’d want to hurt Oliver and would ask Neil…’ She swung round. ‘Tell him you wouldn’t ever have hurt Oliver, not in a thousand years, not for all the treasures of the world.’

  ‘If he thinks I’m a murderer, he’s a bloody fool,’ Burns said violently.

  She spoke to Alvarez once more. ‘You see?’

  ‘Unfortunately, señora, I know that he is a liar.’

  ‘Because he told you he hadn’t seen me in days and days and that it was someone else he took to the restaurant? He only did that to defend me. Don’t you understand what the local community would say if they ever learned? They rush to think the worst. It would give them enough to gossip about for weeks and they’d call me a complete bitch, having an affair when my husband was missing and probably dead.’

  ‘But you were…’

  ‘You think that because I was out with Neil last night and I’m here now … You’re just like all the others. And I thought you were so different because you seemed so kind and understanding … Just how wrong can one be?’

  ‘Señora, what am I to believe when I come here this afternoon and find you in the bedroom?’

  She sat on the bedraggled settee, rested her elbows on her knees, cupped her chin on her hands, stared into space. ‘Because we knew it was summer madness, we also knew it had to have an end. When it finished, we agreed not to see each other again. But then Oliver disappeared and I didn’t know how to live through the agony because I loved him so.’ Her voice briefly rose. ‘I loved him, despite what had happened. You’ve got to understand that.’ She once more spoke quietly. ‘The world seemed to be crushing me until I also wanted to commit suicide to bring everything to an end. Then Neil rang to say how sorry he was to hear what had happened and I begged him to take me out somewhere so that just for a short while I could escape. At first, he wouldn’t. He said that in the circumstances it was impossible. I went on and on, begging him; I even said he owed it to me because of what happened before. I’m not proud of that. It was a filthy thing to do, to blackmail him emotionally. But I was so desperate … In the end, he agreed. We had a meal in Santa Maria because we were as certain as we could be that no one else from Llueso would be there to see us. And being with him, realizing that the rest of the world was still alive, made such a difference.

  ‘Then I returned home and found Oliver, lying in the dressing-room, his head a terrible sight. It was like being put on the rack. Even though I knew he had to be dead, I tried to will him alive … The doctor came and wanted to give me a sedative, but I wouldn’t take it. I can remember thinking that since Oliver had suffered so much, I had to suffer as well … I was slightly crazy. But one corner of my mind remained clear enough to know that I had to pull myself together and that Neil could help me do that. So I phoned him. And because he’s someone who can really care, he told me to come here. With him, some of the blackness began to slip away. But you think … you think he and I…’

  ‘Señora, I have to say it again, when I arrived, you were both in the bedroom.’

  She raised her head, lowered her hands, faced him. ‘We were in this room when Neil happened to look out through the window and see you approaching. He said that if you found me here, you’d draw the wrong conclusion. I argued that you weren’t that kind of person and you’d understand, but he insisted we hide in the bedroom and make it seem the flat was empty, so you’d go away … Only you didn’t. And now I know I was so wrong about you. You’re just as ready to think the worst.’

  He would have given much to accept all she’d said, but duty drove him to say: ‘You arrived back at Ca’n Oliver early this morning to find your husband’s body. Where were you during the night and until six this morning?’

  ‘You think I’m still lying? You really can believe I’d spend the night with Neil when my husband was missing?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what I think, I have to determine the facts.’

  ‘Then I’m going to have to disappoint you once again. Neil was driving me home from the restaurant when I told him I couldn’t face spending the night on my own so I asked him to take me to Muriel’s. She put me up for the night, but I couldn’t sleep and in the end decided that since I’d have to face life sooner or later, it might as well be sooner. I wrote a note to explain and left it on the kitchen table, walked home. Which was when I found…’ She buried her face in her hands.

  ‘Satisfied?’ Burns demanded angrily.

  ‘Señor, sometimes one has a duty to perform…’

  ‘Which you’ve performed in hobnail boots. Why don’t you clear out?’

  He left.

  * * *

  Alvarez replaced the receiver. The owner of Celler Verde remembered the two foreigners, each of whom he’d personally served with tortilla, lomo con col, and Xulla del cel; he remembered them first because the celler was not frequented by many foreigners, secondly because the man had spoken in Spanish. He was hazy when it came to describing the man, but the woman … He’d have one like her on each arm after he’d won six hundred million on the lottery and persuaded his wife to see her cousins in Salamanca.

  Alvarez said that he might be asked to identify two photographs, thanked him, rang off. Even without photographic identification, there could be little doubt that it had been Rachael and Burns who had eaten at Celler Verde. So they also had an alibi …

  He was going to have to phone the superior chief. He sighed, reached down and pulled open the bottom right-hand drawer of the desk, brought out the bottle of brandy and a glass. He ha
d a generous drink, decided that in the circumstances he needed another.

  Salas’s greeting was typical. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I have to report, señor, that I have now questioned all those whom I identified as having a motive for Señor Cooper’s murder.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Each person has an alibi for the presumed time of death.’

  ‘Does that lead you to any conclusion?’

  ‘Obviously, none of them can be the murderer.’

  ‘Your perspicacity is unusually sharp.’

  ‘There is the one further possible suspect, whom I’ve mentioned before. Señor Field knew Señor Cooper well, does not have an alibi, and was at Ca’n Oliver during the evening. One of the maids saw him drive away, but can’t place the time; he admits to having returned home to arrive a little before ten.’

  ‘You refer to him as a possible suspect. With all the evidence to hand, you see no reason to regard him as the prime suspect?’

  ‘As I believe I mentioned, not only does he lack any motive, his relationship with the dead man argues against his having murdered him. Señor Cooper had helped him financially when his wife was seriously ill and that naturally left him deeply grateful. He spoke to me about these feelings and I have no doubt that he was telling me the truth. Beyond that, he possesses a tremendous desire to succeed as a painter – a desire that in some rather obscure way is fuelled by the memory of his wife – and Señor Cooper, who was in a position to do so, was giving him all possible help. Señor Cooper’s death brings that help to an end and, I think, makes it very unlikely he will ever become a true artist, which will leave his ambition, with its deeper meaning, unfulfilled.’

  ‘If he is an artist, he is probably a pervert. Examine closely the relationship between the two men.’

  And he had been accused of gratuitously introducing libidinous details into cases! ‘I would think it very unlikely that Señor Cooper was of such persuasion. He is married to a woman…’

  ‘Why must you always argue? Learn to do as you’re ordered, without comment.’

  ‘Yes, señor.’

  ‘Did you tell me that the house has a good security system?’

  ‘It’s very good.’