Layers of Deceit (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 9) Page 3

  María wanted to know how he was, where he’d been, what he’d been doing, and how long was he going to stay? And, she continued almost in the same breath, wasn’t it just like him to turn up when she was preparing a truly delicious lunch for the señorita? Had he smelled the cooking? He answered in his easy, if frequently ungrammatical, Spanish that for weeks he’d been dreaming of her cooking. Then he filled the ice-bucket from the ice-making machine and returned to the sitting-room.

  He drank his first gin and tonic. When the glass was empty, he decided to leave the next drink until he’d washed. He went into the hall, picked up the holdall, and climbed the stairs.

  There was an oblong landing, off which led five bedrooms, each with bathroom en suite. The master bedroom, very large and with two dressing-rooms, was immediately opposite the head of the stairs while to the left of this was the main guest room; the three remaining bedrooms faced north and were on the other side of the landing. He crossed to the door of the main guest bedroom, opened it, and stepped inside.

  Susan had taken off her jeans and shirt and was lying on top of the further bed, wearing a red and black brassiere and bikini pants. For a moment she was too surprised to react, then she sat up. ‘Would you mind getting out of my room?’

  ‘But aren’t you … ’ He stopped. ‘Look, I’m sorry. But normally when no one else is staying here I use this room.’

  ‘And you’d already managed to forget that I was staying here?’

  ‘It’s just that I thought … ’ Again, he stopped.

  ‘D’you mind getting out?’ There was more than anger in her voice now.

  He left. She presented an odd mixture of character, he thought. It was almost as if she’d been embarrassed by his logical assumption that she was sharing Steven’s bed.

  *

  Being on the south-east slope, Ca’n Cullom lost the sun in the early part of the evening. In summer, there was a sharp change of light when the sun became hidden and then a slow deepening of twilight; for those who liked gentle peace, this was the most beautiful part of the day. Steven Cullom returned home as twilight was finally merging into darkness.

  Typically, he drove a very expensive car, a blood red Ferrari Boxer, even though it could not have been more unsuitable on the restricted roads of the island. He left it in the garage, went through the utility room to the kitchen where he met his brother. ‘You’re here! When did you arrive?’

  ‘In time for one of María’s masterpieces.’

  They were half-brothers, but both in character and physically they had little in common. Steven respected wealth, position, and the approval of others; Alan seemed to reject wealth and position, and, by his open disregard for others’ opinions, deliberately to court their disapproval. Steven, at 47, was a tall, large, heavily featured man, beginning to become flabby; Alan, at 28, was taller, hard and lean, and slightly battered-looking. A casual acquaintance might have described Steven as serious and solid, Alan as irresponsible; someone who knew them better would have added the hint of weakness in Steven’s character, the evidence of hardness in Alan’s. In a position of difficulty, Steven would always seek to escape by guile, Alan by strength. Both men instinctively recognized this. It amused Alan, but it was a source of irritation to Steven.

  Steven ran the palm of his hand over his rapidly thinning hair. ‘I’d have liked some warning … Why didn’t you let me know?’

  ‘Because I didn’t know I was coming.’

  He controlled his irritation which experience had taught him merely led to his looking pompous when matched against his brother’s irreverent mockery. ‘You must have had some warning?’ He crossed to the large refrigerator and opened the right-hand door to bring out a bottle of Codorniu Extra.

  ‘No one knew anything was wrong until the owner discovered he’d been swindled by the last charterer. By then, his cheques were bouncing left, right, and centre and before he’d time to draw breath a court order was slapped on the yacht and we couldn’t escape to sea. So that was that. I managed to work a passage on a yacht which was sailing from Cannes to here, much to your good luck or I’d have had to wire for funds.’

  ‘I told you from the first that that job was no good.’

  ‘True. But unfortunately you didn’t go on to suggest an alternative and, frankly, at the time I was beginning to get the impression that I might have overstayed my welcome.’

  Steven didn’t deny that. Like so many wealthy people, he was very quick to decide someone was trying to live at his expense, more especially when that someone was a relative. He gestured with the bottle. ‘You’ve met Susan?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘D’you know where she is right now?’

  ‘The last time I saw her she was still out on the patio, braving the mosquitoes.’

  Steven walked past Alan. ‘Will you bring three glasses with you? Tulip ones.’

  ‘You’re not using tumblers any longer?’ It was a childish remark, but there were times when Steven managed to irritate Alan. Strangely, it was almost always when he’d not had any intention of doing so.

  *

  Alan only heard the sound because he had, unknowingly, left the door of the bedroom unlatched and a slight draught had opened it a little. He laid the book down on the bed and looked up. The sound was twice repeated.

  He climbed out of bed, crossed to the door and opened it wide. Steven stood in front of the door of Susan’s bedroom, one hand on the handle, the other raised to knock again. He suddenly realized he was being watched and dropped his hand.

  ‘Pas çe soir, Joséphine?’ said Alan.

  Steven, face flushed, left and went along and into his own room. Alan closed the door, making certain that this time it clicked firmly shut, and climbed back into bed. The fact that Steven had been knocking suggested that Susan had locked the door, which in turned suggested that she’d not yet granted him her favours. Why not?

  Alan laughed aloud. Steve — who’d always had the desires of a randy billygoat — had recently had the money to follow up his fancies and he’d bedded any number of strikingly beautiful women. It was ironic that now he should be denied by one who, though perhaps piquantly attractive, was certainly no beauty. Very frustrating for him.

  CHAPTER 4

  Alvarez parked his car, crossed the pavement, and went along the narrow covered passage to the small patio outside the kitchen. As he came abreast of one of the three orange trees planted there, one of Juan’s and Isabel’s canaries began to sing. He looked up at the cage, suspended from a bracket to keep it clear of maruading cats, and smiled. If a canary sang when it first saw you, that meant good luck.

  He pushed through the bead curtain into the kitchen. Dolores, wearing an apron over a brightly coloured cotton frock, was by the stove, stirring the contents of a large saucepan. ‘That smells delicious. What is it?’

  She leant the wooden spoon against the side of the saucepan, turned, put her hands on her hips, and regarded him. ‘Always the first question! What’s to eat? Never, how am I, is my headache still agonizingly painful!’

  Damnit, but a man never knew what to say. Usually, she was delighted to be asked what she was cooking. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a bad head.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘But you’ve just said … ’

  ‘If I had had the most blinding of headaches, all that would concern you would be what was for the next meal.’ Her deep, musical voice was thick with scorn; her head was held high and her expression was haughty; she looked like a cantante flamenca communing with her soul.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, uncertain about what he was apologizing. He hurried through to the dining-room. Jaime was seated at the table in front of a bottle of brandy and two glasses. His expression was glum. Alvarez sat opposite him, reached across for a glass, and poured himself a very generous brandy. ‘Is there any ice?’

  ‘In the refrigerator.’

  Alvarez turned and looked at the doorway. To reach the refrigerator it woul
d be necessary to cross the kitchen. He drank, then said: ‘What’s up with her?’

  ‘How would I know? She was all right this morning when I left … But when I came back, five minutes ago, and asked what was for grub, she blew up like a volcano.’

  ‘She went for me for not asking how her headache was. Then when I did ask about it, she said she hadn’t got one.’ He finished the brandy. ‘D’you think she’s going a bit crazy, like some women do?’

  ‘God knows!’

  ‘You’d better do something about it if she is.’

  ‘What?’

  That was a good question. Spanish women still knew their place in life and normally observed it, rightly accepting unconditionally any criticisms their husbands were called upon to make. But Dolores was … different. And it was always best not to upset her …

  The front door was opened and then slammed shut. The two children rushed into the room. ‘I’m starving,’ Juan announced loudly. ‘What’s for lunch?’

  ‘Who knows?’ answered Jaime.

  ‘I’ll go and ask Mum … ’

  ‘You stay here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s safer, that’s why. She’s in one of her — ’ He hastily stopped as Dolores appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘I am what?’ she asked casually, as if the answer were of little account.

  Jaime mumbled something.

  She turned to the children. ‘Juan, have you washed your hands?’

  ‘They’re not dirty.’

  ‘Stop arguing. Upstairs and wash them. Isabel, lay the table — that is, if you can persuade your father and your uncle to move away from the bottle for long enough. And hurry, both of you, because you’re late and the meal is probably already ruined.’

  Lunch, despite the fact that the bacalao a la vizcaína turned out to be delicious, was a sombre meal. And the moment they’d finished the bananas and baked almonds, Dolores told the children to go out and play.

  Normally, being a precocious eleven-year-old, Juan would have argued that he wanted to stay in. But he had learned when it was necessary to do as he was told. He left, followed by his sister.

  Alvarez said: ‘And I’d better be moving. I’ve a lot of work … ’

  ‘Sit down,’ she ordered.

  He sat. He poured himself another brandy.

  ‘Sofía phoned this morning,’ she said. ‘She told me about Cousin Inés.’ Her voice and expression changed and suddenly it was obvious that she was very troubled. ‘You remember Cousin Inés?’

  Alvarez tried to recall her, but failed. On the island family ties were strong and there were so many ‘cousins’ that for a man it was impossible to identify them all.

  ‘She lives near Palma Nova and has two sons and a daughter. They came to Fernandez’s wedding two years back and you and Jaime couldn’t keep your eyes off Beatriz, the daughter.’

  ‘D’you mean that girl with beautiful black hair who looked like … ’ He stopped. It was difficult for a middle-aged man to describe a young naiad without sounding either lustful or ridiculous.

  ‘She … ’ Dolores’s face crumpled and she began to cry.

  Jaime stared at her with concern, then reached across the table; she gripped his hand. She was a woman of sharp emotions: when she was happy, she was on a cloud; when she was sad, her whole world wept.

  ‘What has happened to Beatriz?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘She … she tried to commit suicide.’

  They were shocked. They were of an age for the act of suicide to be a sin of terrifying magnitude; that a relation of theirs should have attempted it left them feeling as if they were partially to blame.

  ‘Why?’ asked Alvarez.

  ‘She won’t say. She cut her wrists with a knife, but missed the arteries. She won’t tell her mother or anyone why she did it and Inés is going out of her mind with worry. Enrique, you know how to get people to tell you things. Go and see Beatriz and find out what happened.’

  *

  The bay of Palma had once been beautiful, but beauty filled no bank balances; the shoreline had been developed and most of the beauty had been submerged under a concrete jungle. Yet, away from the overcrowded beaches, apartment blocks, hotels, memento shops, restaurants, discos, night clubs, and cafés, it was still possible to find a hint of what there had once been. Ca N’ Atona stood on rising ground and from the patio one overlooked the developed coastal strip to see the azure bay and the cloudless sky.

  Inés had been widowed when Beatriz, the youngest of her three children, had been ten and the financial struggle to bring them up was reflected in her lined, leathered face. Yet, just as with the bay, it was possible to discern the beauty there had once been. She fidgeted with her fingers as she sat at the rough wooden table set out on the patio. ‘I’ve begged and begged her to tell me. But she won’t … My Beatriz, who has always told me everything.’ Tears trickled down her weathered cheeks.

  Amadeo, the elder son, who was standing behind her chair, put a hand on her shoulder. Félix, the younger, seated at the table, looked up. ‘It was a man,’ he said fiercely.

  ‘That’s impossible … ’ she began.

  ‘I tell you, it was a man.’

  ‘She couldn’t do such a thing.’ She turned to Alvarez. ‘I’ve brought her up as a girl should be. So how could she behave like that?’

  ‘Things are often different now,’ he replied sadly.

  ‘We’ll find who it was,’ said Félix, ‘and we’ll kill him.’ He slammed his clenched fist down on the table. His father had been born in Jerez de la Frontera and in him ran the fiery, romantic, irrational passions of the Andalucian character.

  ‘It’s best not to talk like that,’ said Alvarez.

  ‘I’ll talk as I want.’ His skin was dark, his hair black, his eyes a very deep brown; touched with the gipsy, the Mallorquins said.

  ‘We don’t know … ’ began Amadeo.

  ‘Goddamnit, I know.’

  ‘Félix,’ Alvarez said, ‘you do not know, you only assume. Which means that without any evidence at all, you’re ready to besmirch your sister’s honour.’

  ‘You talk like an old fool.’

  ‘Félix!’ exclaimed his mother, shocked by such rudeness.

  He rose suddenly and went into the house, slamming a door behind him.

  ‘He’s always been so fond of Beatriz,’ Inés said in a low voice. She looked appealingly at Alvarez. ‘Surely he can’t be right?’

  ‘I pray to God he isn’t.’

  ‘Will you go and see her in hospital?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘If … ’ She stopped, swallowed heavily several times, then said in a whisper: ‘If she gives you a name, I beg of you, Enrique, don’t let Félix know what that name is.’

  *

  The clinic stood on the northern outskirts of Palma. Alvarez parked his car, then walked round to the main entrance. He spoke to the assistant director and, after identifying himself, explained that he wanted to talk to Beatriz Bennassar. But before he did so, had anyone in the hospital learned what had led her to try to commit suicide? The assistant director left the office, returning five minutes later to say she had discovered herself to be pregnant. He added that she had begged the hospital not to tell the family and, since she was of age, the request had been strictly observed.

  The psychological strain and the physical pain had touched her with a kind of radiance so that when Alvarez first saw her, propped up in one of the two beds in the room, he was shaken by the immediate thought that she looked like the Madonna. He handed her the flowers he’d bought from a stand in La Rambla, in Palma, then sat on the edge of the second bed. Both her wrists were bandaged and she kept touching a bandage with the fingers of her other hand. She was wearing a beautifully embroidered bedjacket which, he guessed, had been made by her mother.

  ‘I’ve just come from your family.’

  She turned her face away.

  ‘Your mother is desperately worried. She’s asked me to try
to find out what has happened. She’s frantic because you won’t tell her so she can know how to help.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be kinder to tell her? After all, she’ll have to discover before too long, won’t she?’

  ‘They’ve told you,’ she said wildly.

  ‘Yes, they have. But I promise you that no one in your family will ever learn what has happened from me.’

  She began to cry.

  He moved and sat on her bed and comforted her as he would his own daughter. After a while, she began to calm down and stop crying. ‘These days it’s not the end of the world,’ he said, trying to sound convincing.

  ‘I … I was so certain he’d marry me when I told him. But all he said was, I must get an abortion. I told him I couldn’t because it was not allowed by the Church. He … he … ’ She began to cry once more.

  Alvarez could guess what he’d said. If she was that pious, why had she let him seduce her? Such a man was incapable of understanding that for a woman love could become so great that she would even forget her faith, but that it had only been temporarily forgotten, not denied. ‘What happened when you refused to have an abortion?’

  ‘He said I was stupid and I had to have one. He offered me a hundred thousand pesetas. When I refused to take the money, he became angry.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Give me his name. I’ll persuade him to help you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not? Is he already married?’

  She shook her head.

  She loved him still, he thought, and in her heart there was the hope that he would return to her. ‘Don’t you understand that if he and I talked … ’

  ‘I won’t tell you,’ she said fiercely as she jerked herself free of him.

  He stood, crossed to the window, and looked out at the distant mountains.

  ‘What … what’s Félix saying?’