Murdered by Nature Page 3

  Modern youth enjoyed good education, but that did not improve their intelligence. ‘To your knowledge, has one of your male guests disappeared between three and six days ago?’

  ‘How are we supposed to know that?’

  ‘Has a room not been occupied; has someone not been seen in the restaurant after previously eating there regularly?’

  ‘We don’t do rooms,’ said the blonde.

  ‘We don’t eat in the dining room,’ said the older, black-haired woman. It sounded as if she would have regarded it as demeaning had she done so.

  ‘Where’s the manager’s office?’

  The blonde pointed. On the opposite side of the square reception area was a door on which was painted ‘Manager’.

  He silently swore because he had not noticed the notice and must appear gormless to have needed to ask.

  The manager was relatively young; the lines on his round face expressed uncertainty and weakness. He was one of the few men in the port dressed in a suit, and despite the air conditioning, his forehead and neck carried beads of sweat.

  Why the hell didn’t he take off the coat and tie? Alvarez wondered. Imagined they provided him with authority? He introduced himself.

  ‘Pedro Sardagne. More trouble?’

  ‘You’ve been having some?’

  ‘If I have a day with no more than a drunk trying to break up everything and a woman screaming because she hopes someone tried to get into her bedroom, I’m in luck. Whatever the problem, you’ll have a drink?’

  Alvarez’s opinion of the manager greatly improved. ‘If you insist.’

  ‘What would you like?’

  ‘Coñac with just ice will go down a treat.’

  Over the internal phone, Sardagne ordered one brandy with ice, one orange juice. He noticed Alvarez’s surprise. ‘If I had a hard drink every time I’m driven mad by the clients, I’d be taken out of here in a coffin.’

  ‘Things are as bad as that?’

  ‘This morning, one of the male guests has been annoying local females; the policía came along and behaved as if it was my fault. I told them, I don’t know why he’s on the prowl when there are a dozen young ladies staying here who likely don’t want to be ladies.’

  ‘Looking for variety?’

  ‘Anything’s possible.’

  There was a knock on the door and a waitress entered. At the manager’s instructions, he handed Alvarez a glass, put the orange juice on the desk, left.

  The quantity of brandy was generous, the quality superior to that which would be offered to the tourists.

  ‘Are you here, inspector, because of visitors not paying for their drinks, nicking things from shops, drunken behaviour?’

  ‘One dead man.’

  ‘Makes a change.’

  ‘He’s possibly a tourist because of the whiteness of his skin, and that’s as far as we can go. Picked out of the sea and no ID. I have to find out who’s missing.’

  ‘You want to know if one of our guests is? That’s going to be difficult.’

  Which was what he had told Salas. Sardagne had staff to do the work. ‘Has a bedroom gone unoccupied?’

  ‘One empty bed usually means another is doubly occupied.’

  ‘The room will have been unused for at least three days. It’ll have been tidy, the bed won’t have been slept in. The maid will have noticed.’

  ‘You credit them with an interest in their job?’

  ‘I’d like to question them.’

  ‘I suppose you want me to organize things?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  ‘Doubt it counts if I do. But it won’t be the first time the day’s routine gets upset.’

  Since Alvarez’s day had been ruined, he knew little sympathy for the other.

  Maids were individually called to the office. Teresa was the first. She was taller and thinner than a woman like her would have been fifty years before, due to the better diet that prosperity had brought.

  ‘The inspector wants to ask you something,’ Sardagne said.

  She faced Alvarez.

  ‘A man, possibly a foreigner, has been found dead in the bay. There’s no way of directly identifying him, so we’re having to do that indirectly. Does any bedroom you deal with seem to have become unoccupied?’

  ‘All the beds have been slept in.’

  ‘And the rooms have shown signs of use?’

  ‘In the usual mess. Seems like some of them haven’t lived in a decent home.’

  ‘You’ve no reason to think someone who was staying here at the end of last week or beginning of this one has disappeared?’

  ‘No.’

  Seven more maids provided equally negative reports.

  ‘I’ll have a word with the restaurant staff,’ Alvarez said as the last maid left the office.

  Sardagne complained weakly. ‘They’ll all be extremely busy at this time of morning.’

  ‘I’ll not keep them away from work any longer than necessary.’

  None of the waiters had served a guest who would have been expected to continue to eat in the restaurant, but who had failed to do so.

  Filetes de salmonete en papillote was not served at lunch. Dolores said she had been too busy helping a neighbour in trouble during the morning to do much cooking. Chickpeas, even when served in a spicy, tasty sauce, remained chickpeas.

  Jaime quietly complained that helping a neighbour at the expense of a worthwhile lunch proved women were unable to get their priorities correct.

  Alvarez was in bed, the soft arms of sleep about to embrace him, when the telephone rang downstairs. He ignored it.

  ‘Enrique,’ Dolores called out.

  If he did not reply, she would assume he had fallen asleep and might not try to wake him . . .

  ‘Shall I tell that man from Madrid you’ll get back to him when you’re out of bed?’

  Only a man of Salas’ nature would ring on a Saturday afternoon. He climbed out of bed, dressed, went downstairs and through to the entrada where the phone was on a small olive-wood table. ‘Alvarez speaking, señor.’

  ‘I am interrupting your leisure?’

  ‘How do you mean, señor?’

  ‘Since you are at home and not at your office. One may presume you are not working.’

  ‘That’s because I have been questioning hotel staff until very recently. I had a quick meal and was resting for a moment before returning to work.’

  ‘I expected to hear from you before lunch.’

  ‘It did not seem necessary to bother you since I learned nothing that was relevant.’

  ‘A common occurrence. It seems clear that you fail to understand a negative can bear as much value as a positive.’

  ‘When they are opposites and therefore cannot give the same answer? That is except when they are said to do so, and then how can that be correct?’

  ‘Can you interpret what you have said?’

  ‘When a negative is multiplied by a negative, there are those who say the result is positive. Yet if I owe ten euros and then my debt is doubled, I don’t have a credit of twenty euros.’

  ‘To explain the matter to you would take far more time than is available. How many hotels have you visited?’

  ‘Two, señor.’ Alvarez added one for luck.

  ‘Why so few?’

  ‘It has proven a very lengthy task. The manager was reluctant to have the staff questioned because the aparthotel was full and often the necessary staff were not immediately available.’

  ‘You learned nothing of significance?’

  ‘None of the staff provided any evidence to suggest one of the guests was missing.’

  ‘And at the second hotel?’

  ‘How d’you mean, señor?’

  ‘You visited two hotels and have reported the results of your first enquiries. I am now asking what you learned at the second one.’

  ‘I was momentarily a little confused.’

  ‘Momentarily?’

  ‘The result was again negative.’ />
  ‘Then these two hotels can be dismissed from your enquiries. A clear example of how two negatives provide a positive.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s much of a positive.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘If I’m trying to identify a man in a busy town and I stop someone to ask if he is Señor Fosca and he says he isn’t, that’s hardly a positive when there are thousands of other men who will have to be asked.’

  ‘There are thousands of hotels and aparthotels in Llueso, Port Llueso and Playa Nueva?’

  No. But—’

  ‘Restrict your analogies to those which possess logic. Do you intend to leave home and resume your enquiries?’

  ‘I was about to do so when you phoned.’

  ‘You will report again tonight.’

  ‘That is likely to be rather late, and since tomorrow is Sunday, perhaps you would prefer me to wait until Monday morning unless I am able to make a positive report rather than one which is two negatives?’

  ‘I should prefer you to do as ordered without an inane argument. I will be at my office until well into tomorrow due to the forthcoming conference. You will not disturb my sleep.’

  His own sleep had been the problem.

  FIVE

  Alvarez left Hotel San Deandro in Cala Roig and walked to his car. The manager had been aggressive, the staff unhelpful. The hotel boasted four stars and, he was loftily informed, no guest would ever willingly forego even a day’s absence so it was unsurprising that no guest was absent. He had not been offered a friendly drink. Luxury could be very miserly.

  He sat behind the wheel, lit a cigarette and decided to call it a night. How far could Salas expect him to widen the area of search? Mitjorn and Playa Nueva, even Cala Baston? To question the staff in all the hotels in those resorts would be an endless task. And as if that was not sufficiently disturbing, there were all the villas, chalets and flats let to tourists. Since many of these were not registered – Mallorquins had a pragmatic approach to taxes, foreigners soon learned – there were few records of which properties were let; to check if someone had disappeared and for some reason not been reported as missing, each let property would have to be identified and the owner questioned. Tomorrow, after the post-morten, it would be time to seek the aid of local newspapers.

  The morgue was on the north side of the village, largely shielded by a house; lacking windows, it had the spiritless appearance of a minor supermarket. Villagers passed it on the other side of the road.

  ‘I suppose I should comment on your prompt arrival,’ Doctor Bellejos remarked with light sarcasm.

  By Mallorquin standards, Alvarez was not late.

  Bellejos, looking slightly theatrical, wore a white paper coat, zipper overalls, overshoes, and a hair covering. ‘Since you are now here, inspector, we will begin.’

  Alvarez tried, and failed, to disassociate himself from what was happening to the body on the slab of marble. Only a would-be saint wanted to be reminded what death could entail. His own doctor had recently said he should give up smoking and drink far less if he wanted to see his grandchildren. Since he wasn’t married and had, to the best of his knowledge, no grandchildren, it tended to be a warning to ignore. Nevertheless, the possibility that one day he might be opened up on a marble slab . . .

  ‘The body bears a healed scar on the neck. Do you want to see it close up?’

  He didn’t. Very reluctantly, he crossed and tried to view only the semicircular scar on the right of the neck, below the ear. He returned to where he had been as the photographer worked to the doctor’s instructions.

  Bellejos told the mortuary assistant to prepare the body, walked over to where Alvarez stood.

  ‘I believe my colleague, who first inspected the deceased, hesitated to say if drowning was the cause of death?’ Bellejos said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He was observing the wisest forensic advice. Appearance can be both indicative and fallacious. Despite having been recovered from the bay, the deceased did not drown. Water and foreign matter entered the mouth, nostrils and throat, there were small traces in the terminal air passages, but this was not beaten into a fine froth and the lungs were not ballooned.’

  ‘Then what killed him?’

  ‘Laboratory tests are needed to answer that, which is why, as you saw, I have taken particular care in extracting internal samples.’

  He nodded; he had not watched.

  ‘Due to prolonged immersion in water, which is still comparatively warm, physical deterioration is such that there are no symptoms definite enough to offer an opinion other than that poisoning has to be considered.’

  Yet more trouble, he thought.

  He drove back to the post, went up to his office and gloomily accepted that it might be a Sunday, but although he had already worked for a long while, he might be ordered to continue. After reporting the death to the local media, he brought the bottle and a glass out of the bottom drawer in the desk, poured himself a consoling brandy. When they had spoken last night, Salas had said to phone as soon as the results of the post-mortem were known. Yet he might have forgotten. He phoned Palma, hoping, convinced, there would be no answer.

  ‘Superior Chief Salas’ office,’ Ángela Torres said.

  There remained the chance she was on her own. ‘It’s Inspector Alvarez, señorita. Can I have a word with Señor Salas?’

  ‘He is not here.’

  Relief misguided his tongue. ‘Risking the pleasure of enjoying himself?’

  ‘It will not occur to you that he has been working all morning, was recently called away and will be returning shortly.’

  ‘I’ll ring again.’

  ‘Wait. He has just returned.’

  He waited. It simply was not his day.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Inspector Alvarez, señor. I have just returned from the post-mortem.’

  ‘Of whom?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It was optimistic to believe you might.’

  ‘The victim was the man who drowned in the bay. He did not drown.’

  There was a pause before Salas said: ‘Are you aware there is an inconsistency in what you have just said?’

  ‘The forensic doctor said he did not die from drowning.’

  ‘Yet initially you referred to the victim who drowned in the bay.’

  ‘To identify him to you, señor.’

  ‘Have you read Alfredo Fiscá’s great work, Mutilado de hecho, in which he wrote “fact is always a potential liar”?’

  ‘No, señor.’

  ‘There is little room for surprise.’

  ‘When I referred to the dead man as having drowned, it was to name him as the subject of the post-mortem, not to state the cause of his death.’

  ‘In as few words as possible, ignoring any attempt to assist my understanding, what have you learned?’

  ‘Despite all my work, I have been unable to identify the dead man. The post-mortem has established he did not die from drowning. The pathologist was reluctant to offer any cause of death, but did say it may have been poison.’

  ‘When will the forensic results be known?’

  ‘I have been given no estimate.’

  ‘Perhaps you have not thought to ask for one?’

  ‘The samples may not have yet reached the laboratory.’

  ‘You accept that there is nothing more to be done until you have their report?’

  ‘Far from it. I have spoken to the local papers.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To request them to publish details of the dead man in order to learn if anyone can identify him. I also spoke to the assistant director of the local news programme on the television.’

  ‘I am at a loss to remember when you requested my permission to take such steps.’

  ‘I reckoned the need to know his name was more urgent than observing bureaucratic rules.’

  ‘“Bureaucratic rules”, as you are pleased to call them, are designed to prevent junior officers’ potent
ial mistakes. Did you provide an adequate description of the dead man?’

  ‘As good as I could.’

  ‘One has to hope. It is interesting to realize that, from your point of view, a rapid response to the request would mean you would not have to question the staff in the many remaining hotels.’

  ‘That had not occurred to me.’

  ‘A man accused of stealing books is advised not to plead innocent because he cannot read. Have you considered the consequences if the cause of death was poisoning?’

  ‘It is difficult at the moment to do more than accept it indicates murder, suicide or accident.’

  ‘It is not disrespectful to the deceased to hope it was an accident and that the brief investigation into his death will not be subject to the mishaps which frequently follow one conducted by you.’

  Salsa de cebollas blancas – large white onions, butter, olive oil, milk, egg yolk, marjoram, salt, and pepper – failed to dispense Alvarez’s sense of grievance. ‘The superior chief would complain about how an angel flies.’ He helped himself to more wine, but not sufficient, since Dolores had been regarding him as he did so.

  ‘In trouble yet again?’ Jaime was annoyed that Dolores looked at him as he was about to pick up the bottle.

  ‘He condemned me for using my initiative.’

  Having cleared the table and set down on it almonds, oranges and bananas, Dolores sat, picked up a baked almond. ‘Why did he behave like that?’ She put the almond in her mouth.

  ‘We can’t identify the man who drowned in the bay. I’ve been working day and night to find out who he was and have failed, so I got in touch with the papers and local TV, request them to publicize his description and ask if someone can put a name to him. How could one show better initiative than that? Yet Salas blasts me for not obtaining his permission to act. Only a man like him bothers about rules.’

  ‘He is a Madrileño, which is why he thinks he need show no manners when he phones here and demands to know where you are. Even a peasant first wishes a good morning.’

  ‘When it’s the afternoon?’ Jaime asked.

  ‘You have already drunk too well?’

  ‘Haven’t had the chance,’ he muttered.

  Not a word of commiseration from either of them. It had, Alvarez decided, become an age in which compassion was forgotten. He watched Dolores go into the kitchen to get him a steel knife to peel an orange.