The Ambiguity of Murder Read online

  ‘Señor, would you mind if I sat?’

  There was no answer.

  Alvarez sat. He studied the bottles on the table, but the hint was not accepted.

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, I have to ask certain questions which may give offence if the reason for them is misunderstood.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’

  ‘It could seem I’m suspicious of the person to whom the question is put; but in truth, it is only asked in order to make certain that I can confirm innocence.’

  ‘It’s a pity you can’t speak understandable English.’

  ‘I fear I can only do my best.’

  ‘That’s what the damned doctors keep saying. Doesn’t help when the best is no bloody good.’

  ‘Señor Zavala died on the second of this month…’

  ‘Good God, have you barged in here to go through all that again?’

  ‘The medical evidence suggested he died between seven and nine in the evening. I am asking people if they can prove where they were at those times on that day in order to be certain they can know nothing about Señor Zavala’s death.’

  ‘Why come here and make a nuisance of yourself?’

  ‘I should like to make certain that you could not have been involved.’

  ‘Are you trying to suggest I might?’

  ‘You perhaps had cause to dislike him?’

  ‘No one liked him. He covered himself in so much scent you could smell him a mile away.’

  ‘And that was not preferable to the alternative?’

  ‘In my country, men smell like men, not women. Leastwise, that’s how it used to be. But the country’s gone to hell; everyone wanting two holidays a year and all the wrong people making money. Where’s it all going to end, that’s what I’d like to know.’

  ‘It is possible, in a happier nation. Señor, did you ever wonder why your wife was so friendly with Señor Lockhart? Have you ever had reason to disapprove of the friendship?’

  ‘What the hell do you think? I’ve told her often enough that it doesn’t do our image any good to be seen with the likes of him, but she can’t see that. Just keeps saying he’s so amusing. When I was younger, his kind wasn’t thought amusing.’

  ‘You’ve never seen any other reason to object to the friendship?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is.’

  ‘The last time you were here, you tried to act as if you could give orders. I’m not putting up with all that again. Clear off.’

  ‘Señor, have you ever had reason to object to your wife’s friendship with Señor Lockhart, other than on the grounds of the type of person he is?’

  ‘Are you going to get out?’

  ‘Only after you have answered my questions.’

  ‘If you’re here in ten seconds’ time, I’ll tell the maid to get the gardener to throw you out.’

  ‘You do not seem to understand that since I am carrying out an investigation, I am entitled to ask whatever questions I wish. If you continue to refuse to answer them, I will have you brought to the post in Llueso where you will stay until you change your mind.’

  ‘Are you threatening to lock me up?’

  ‘Only if that becomes necessary.’

  ‘Don’t you understand I’m English?’

  ‘Unfortunately for you, that does not prevent your being restrained.’

  Robertson drained his glass. He poured himself another drink.

  ‘Do you intend to help me, señor?’

  ‘I don’t remember what the question was,’ he blustered.

  ‘I’m sure that you do.’

  Robertson drank.

  ‘I’m sorry, señor, but since you insist on refusing to…’

  Robertson’s manner suddenly became conciliatory. ‘I’ve never had any other reason … The thing is, she’s a bit younger than me and still likes going around. I can’t take her everywhere because I’m not fit enough and so in a way it’s good her going with him because I can be certain he won’t try anything. Not that she’d ever respond. She’s totally loyal. I know people think there are problems when there’s a little difference in ages, but it’s never been like that for us.’

  ‘She has not been friendly with any other man?’

  A little of Robertson’s belligerence returned. ‘Haven’t I just said so?’

  ‘She was not seeing Señor Zavala before he died?’

  ‘Of course she wasn’t. How dare you ask such a question.’

  Alvarez would have liked to shatter the other’s stupid, bombastic attitude, to make him realize that there was no fool like a complacent fool, but he would never willingly cause pain to any man, even one who treated him with rude contempt. ‘It is a question which had to be put, señor. Earlier, I said I needed to know for certain where people were at the time of Señor Zavala’s death. Will you tell me where you were?’

  ‘It’s a hell of a long time ago.’

  ‘Does that mean you cannot be certain?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. It’ll be a damned sight easier if you leave me to say what I mean. Since it was the evening, I was here, unless we were out for dinner.’

  ‘Would you have made a note of any such invitation?’

  ‘Naturally we keep a social diary.’

  ‘Please look at it and see if you were with friends that evening.’

  Robertson seemed about to refuse, but then he emptied his glass, stood – to the accompaniment of many groans – and went indoors. When he returned, he had a small diary. He sat, opened the diary, flicked through the pages, found the one he wanted. ‘We hadn’t a dinner party that night. I had to go and see a specialist at the Playa Neuva hospital and that was a complete waste of time!’

  ‘Do you know the specialist’s name?’

  ‘I can’t remember. They’ve all got ridiculous names.’

  ‘You’ve no idea?’

  ‘Maybe it was something like Canals.’

  Alvarez stood. ‘Thank you for all your help, señor.’ He managed not to sound too sarcastic. As he walked away, Robertson poured himself another drink; passing through the sitting room, Alvarez imagined velvet-smooth, ice-cool brandy comforting his parched throat …

  A BMW drove in and stopped by the side of the Ibiza. By the time he had descended the steps to the drive, Karen was out of the BMW. She hurried round the bonnet. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded breathlessly.

  She wore a white blouse and underneath almost certainly no brassière; the pink-coloured trousers could hardly have hugged her shapely hips and smoothly rounded bottom with greater care. Even though he knew her to be a bitch, even though he could be certain she regarded him as too old to be remotely interesting, he could not prevent his mind supposing. Small wonder that, when in despair after his mistress had deserted him, Miguel Cuñelles had written: In the presence of a desirable woman, every man is weak. ‘I have been speaking with your husband, señora.’

  ‘What about?’

  Lockhart spoke through his opened window. ‘Be careful, sweetie. Remember my warning about the shy, sly, self-effacing inspector.’

  She ignored him. ‘What have you been saying to Jerome?’

  Alvarez answered her. ‘I asked if he could tell me where he was on the evening of the second of this month.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To learn if I could confirm that he knew nothing about the death of Señor Zavala.’

  ‘Or that perhaps he knew everything?’ Lockhart suggested.

  Karen swung round. ‘For God’s sake, shut up.’ She turned back. ‘What did he tell you?’

  Alvarez said: ‘That he consulted a specialist at the Playa Neuva hospital.’

  ‘That was all?’

  ‘He did also mention his firm belief that you were not seeing Señor Zavala before his death.’

  ‘Why should he say that? You must have asked him and made him suspicious. You sod!’

&
nbsp; ‘Señora, I merely asked if you had been friendly with the señor and he said that you had not because – I could not quite follow the reasoning – Señor Zavala used rather a lot of perfume.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him … You know…’

  ‘He clearly believes such a possibility to be impossible.’

  ‘Oh!… I’m sorry about what I said a moment ago. It was just me being really stupid. You’re far too nice and kind to have told him.’

  Ironically, he preferred her when she was not trying to be pleasant and was not hiding her disinterested scorn.

  ‘You can breathe again,’ Lockhart said.

  ‘You’re not half as amusing as you think!’ Her tone was shrill. She spoke to Alvarez once more. ‘You’re certain he doesn’t believe that…’ She became silent.

  ‘I am as certain as I can be,’ Alvarez assured her.

  ‘You’ve been very kind and I really do appreciate that … I’d better go and see how he is. He said he wasn’t feeling at all well, but as Dominica was there, I thought it safe to leave him just for a little while.’

  ‘Who could doubt your concern?’ Lockhart asked.

  She smiled at Alvarez, ignored Lockhart, crossed to the steps and climbed them, took a key out of her handbag and unlocked the front door, went inside after a quick goodbye wave.

  ‘I trust you admire her as much as I do?’ Lockhart said.

  ‘She offers cause for admiration?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘That’s unworthy of you. It makes you sound small-minded and not the broad-minded, perspicacious inspector you so clearly are. Of course she must be admired. Hasn’t she pulled the wool over her husband’s eyes, despite his advantage of a coarse and illiberal mind. She might have gone far if –’

  ‘If Señor Zavala had lived?’

  ‘Not necessarily. But he could have been the catalyst. As I’ve said many times to her, she was being naively optimistic when she believed Guido would have her on her terms. He was a man for whom the chase was more piquant than the consummation; he would never have found any difficulty in casting her off when that seemed an advantageous thing to do. She just refused to admit that he might do to her what he had done to so many other women. Desire blinds, does it not, Inspector?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘I might believe you, with your sad expression, if I had not watched you visually stalk her as she crossed from here to the house.’

  About to deny the allegation indignantly, Alvarez checked the words – that was the reaction Lockhart sought. ‘We have a saying, A candle is not finished until the wick is gone even if it gives little light.’ He changed the conversation. ‘What have you and the señora been doing this morning?’

  ‘Shopping.’

  ‘The señora carried no parcels or bags into the house; there are none lying on the seats of your car.’

  ‘What an observant person you can be!’

  ‘Is she, with your connivance, already meeting another man?’

  ‘Why should you consider that possible?’

  ‘You have an air of self-satisfaction.’

  Lockhart laughed. ‘I can’t tell you how pleasant conversation with you is.’

  ‘Is she seeing another man?’

  ‘Is the answer of any consequence to your present investigation?’

  ‘I can’t tell until I know the answer.’

  ‘Then let it remain no more than a possibility. The art of living a full life is to be uncertain about everything but other people’s ages … Nothing could brighten my day more than for you to drive down to the port and continue our conversation over a few drinks in my flat.’

  ‘I’m very busy.’

  ‘Small reason to deny me the pleasure of your company or to deny yourself the pleasure of some Gran Reserva Osborne, a brandy that challenges all but the truly great cognacs.’

  * * *

  He was awoken by the last trump. ‘What’s up?’ he asked hoarsely, expecting the four horsemen to gallop through the bedroom.

  Dolores banged on the door of his bedroom again. ‘If you don’t hurry up and move, you won’t get to the office before it’s time to come back.’

  Which seemed the perfect reason for remaining where he was. But the superior chief might ring, ostensibly in search of information, in reality to check that his inspector was at work. Doubting Thomas could have learned a thing or two from Salas.

  ‘The coffee’s cold because you didn’t come down on time.’

  She could make fresh. He sat up and wished he had not, as pain streaked through his head and he became aware of a taste in his mouth that went beyond description … Lockhart had tried to drink him under the table. In the event, it had been Lockhart who had ended up wide to the world, sprawled out in a chair, head lolling back, mouth open … Hopefully, if he awoke, he would feel so ill that never again would he be stupid enough to try to out-drink a Mallorquin …

  As Alvarez entered the kitchen, Dolores said: ‘I shall never understand how men can be such fools.’

  He slumped down on the chair by the table.

  ‘They drink until they boast what great hidalgos they are, then act like cockroaches when their heads ache and their stomachs revolt.’

  ‘Do you mind?’ he murmured plaintively.

  ‘I mind very much. You will remember what happened at lunch?’

  He struggled to recall the past and failed.

  ‘Clearly it is nothing to you that I slave all morning to cook the meal! It is not even of passing account that I sacrifice my life trying to please. Being a man – and sometimes, as now, something less than a man – you are only concerned with yourself.’

  He struggled to stem the flood. ‘I never stop thinking how wonderful you are. I respect you…’

  ‘I will remind you how much you respect me. So much that when I serve Bacalla a la Mallorquina – cooked to perfection – you say it looks like yesterday’s Ous de Soller and laugh at such wit!’

  It was impossible he could have acted so crassly.

  ‘So! So despite so gross and ignorant an insult, I shall not stop cooking because a woman’s life is determined as a burden and she cannot escape her fate. But mark this well, Enrique Alvarez. Never again will I seek a special dish, never again will I work myself into an early grave to cook it, since those who will eat are incapable of appreciating what I have provided. Your chosen pleasure is to swill yourself stupid and to mock.’

  ‘You can’t understand…’

  ‘It is you who has to understand that I am no longer prepared to be a slave.’ Head held high, she crossed to the bead curtain and passed through it.

  The coffee was cold. There was no coca, not even a stale slice. His head was thumping like a runaway engine and the taste in his mouth had worsened. The present was bleak enough, but if Dolores held to her threats, the future was going to be unbearable.

  * * *

  The receptionist in the hospital suggested that a doctor with a name like Canal was probably Dr Canellas. Alvarez walked along a couple of corridors and sat down on one of the chairs set outside the consulting room. His thoughts became ever bleaker. Dolores, prone to exaggeration, often threatened trouble, but seldom wrought it. Yet this time, she had sounded like someone determined to carry out what she said. If only women possessed a developed sense of humour …

  The nearest door opened and a nurse looked out. ‘Inspector Alvarez.’

  He stood, carefully. He entered a room that contained an examination bed, equipment that would have scared him had he looked at it and imagined its uses, and a desk at which a doctor sat. He introduced himself.

  ‘So what’s your trouble?’ The doctor visually examined Alvarez with professional interest.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I need to know if someone is a patient of yours and if he is, to find out something.’

  ‘You are asking me to ignore medical confidentiality?’

  ‘No, of course not. The problem isn’t m
edical. It’s whether you can confirm a certain person consulted you?’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Señor Jerome Robertson.’

  Canellas’s manner changed and became more friendly. ‘That name sounds familiar.’ He turned to the nurse. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

  She giggled.

  ‘Inspector, without breaking any confidences, I can confirm that he is one of my patients, despite his frequently expressed opinion that I am no more competent than many of my colleagues on the island.’

  ‘Did you see him on the second of this month?’

  ‘It is quite probable. He is a frequent visitor.’

  ‘Would it be possible to check?’

  Canellas spoke to the nurse. ‘Check through appointments for the inspector.’ He looked at Alvarez. ‘I’m a very busy man.’

  Alvarez accepted the curt dismissal and stood. He had hurriedly to reach for the back of the chair for support.

  Canellas studied him with renewed interest. ‘Are your hands beginning to shake? Do you find you’re having difficulty in balancing?’

  ‘I just tripped over my own feet.’

  ‘Because you are unable to lift them?’

  ‘Nothing like that. Thank you for your help.’ Alvarez hurried out of the room. Were his hands beginning to shake from time to time; was he occasionally having difficulty in balancing; had his feet become clumsily heavy? Had the doctor discerned the symptoms of some fatal illness which until then had been hidden from himself? He could have asked. But it would have needed a braver man than he to do so.

  The nurse stepped out into the corridor. ‘Señor Robertson had an appointment on the second of the month.’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘Seven-thirty. But I remember that the doctor was held up by a sick patient and he could not see Señor Robertson immediately. The señor complained about that. Even for a foreigner, he is a rude and arrogant man.’

  ‘How long d’you think he had to wait?’

  ‘Not nearly as long as he said. Perhaps half an hour.’

  ‘And he would have been in consultation for maybe another half-hour?’

  ‘Probably a little less than that.’

  So now the only suspect was Algaro.

  CHAPTER 22

  On Saturday morning, Salas was in an ill-tempered mood. ‘You realize the import of what you’re saying?’