In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery Page 6

  ‘How are you now?’ he asked Marta.

  ‘All right,’ she listlessly answered. Then said shrilly, ‘He died because of me!’

  ‘You weren’t in any way responsible for what happened.’

  ‘If I’d … but I … couldn’t.’

  ‘You must understand that what happened was no fault of yours, that you had no responsibility whatsoever. You should be proud, not troubled, that you had the good sense, the character, not to give in to his ugly suggestions.’

  She briefly looked at him, then back down at the floor. ‘Do … do you mean that?’

  ‘I have never spoken more truly.’

  She turned suddenly and hurried out. He hoped he had managed to afford her some emotional relief.

  Rosalía returned. ‘The señora must have cried out in her sleep. Your glass is empty again. You are very thirsty?’

  ‘I didn’t refill it.’

  ‘Marta didn’t show you where to go?’

  ‘I didn’t ask her to. I’ve been trying to convince her she was in no way responsible for the señor’s death by refusing his advances.’

  ‘She’s so very naive. I’ll get the drinks and whilst I’m up, is there anything else you’d like?’

  ‘What are the options?’

  ‘Vinegar and salt crisps or Dutch cheese crunchies.’

  EIGHT

  Slightly breathless, despite having climbed the stairs slowly, Alvarez sat at his desk. As if by pressure contact, the phone rang.

  ‘You have managed to reach the office this morning after being delayed by many problems?’ Ángela Torres asked. ‘Or perhaps you have been too busy to answer on the two previous occasions I have tried to phone you?’

  ‘I was delayed by questioning witnesses in the Picare case, señorita.’

  ‘The superior chief will speak to you.’

  That she was not married was no cause for surprise. Only a man with masochistic tendencies would have ever considered the possibility.

  ‘Alvarez,’ Salas said sharply. ‘Why have you not reported the result of your questioning of Señor Russell?’

  ‘I haven’t yet had the chance to speak to him.’

  ‘You consider his evidence to be of no account?’

  ‘On the contrary, señor. I decided it was best first to speak to Rosalía who is the cook at Vista Bonita.’

  ‘You consider it necessary constantly to remind me who she is?’

  ‘On a previous occasion, you have blamed me for not identifying the persons concerned.’

  ‘With reason.’

  ‘I have questioned Carolina Pellisa.’

  ‘You have made no reference to her before. You expect me to know who she is by divination?’

  ‘The daily who works at Vista Bonita.’

  ‘Identify someone before you talk about him or her.’

  ‘But you’ve so often …’ He stopped. A mouse did not argue with a cat for long.

  ‘What has she told you?’

  ‘There are two versions regarding the state of the Picares’ marriage. Carolina’s impression was that it had settled down into the usual rut.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘A couple quieten down over the years and prefer to watch television rather than have fun.’

  ‘I believe you are not married.’

  ‘No, señor.’

  ‘Leave to others judgment on the behaviour of those who are.’

  Rumour said the Salas’ marriage was far from vibrant. ‘Rosalía suggests that at first the marriage was normal but then it deteriorated and arguments were frequent and at times so fierce that violence seemed likely.’

  ‘How do you reconcile the two descriptions?’

  ‘At the moment, I find that difficult.’

  ‘You will determine which is accurate.’

  ‘It may be rather difficult …’

  ‘Were I to record the number of times you have said that, I might well run out of numbers. You will also question, as you should have done at the beginning, Señor Russell.’

  Hotel Tamit had no claim to stars. It was two roads back from the sea front and would not please those who sought luxury in the bedroom, the public rooms, or Pilotes amb safrà with a bottle of Vega Sicilia in the dining room.

  Alvarez spoke to the receptionist who sat behind a semi-circular counter desk. ‘Señor Russell? I think I saw him go out so he may be on the beach.’

  ‘Can you suggest whereabouts he might have gone?’

  ‘It’s a long beach.’

  He knew that. It could take a long time to find the man. ‘When’s lunch served here?’

  ‘Half past one.’

  To wait for Russell to return for a meal would avoid having to search amongst tens of dozens of sunbathers and swimmers and he might not return home in time for his lunch. The thought of missing the meal was too unwelcome to consider. Dolores might be cooking Llengua de xot amb salsa, not only one of his favourites, but of Jaime’s and the children’s. He would be left an inadequate portion for his return. ‘I’ll try to contact him another time.’

  ‘If it helps, he often eats at Café Mar along the beach. Do you know him?’

  ‘Not by sight.’

  ‘Red, curly hair. You can’t mistake him.’

  Ignoring the prohibition of vehicles along the front road, he drove a few hundred metres along it, passing the large houses once owned by the wealthy from Palma who had spent much of the summers in them. The beach café had expanded from its makeshift beginning and now served simple meals at tables on the sand, each shaded by a sun umbrella. He heard Russell before identifying him; a booming laugh guided his gaze to a red-headed, bare-chested man, wearing multi-coloured swimming trunks, who sat opposite a blonde, younger than he, who wore a bikini which would not survive even a mild trimming.

  He walked across the sand, which became caught up in his sandals, irritated his toes and him.

  Russell had raised his glass when he noticed Alvarez approach. He lowered it.

  ‘Señor Russell?’

  He put the glass down. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo General de Policia.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘A detective,’ said his companion.

  ‘Oh … Why?’

  ‘I need to learn if you can in any way help me with regard to the unfortunate death of Señor Picare?’

  ‘It was a hell of a shock to learn what had happened, but I—’

  She interrupted him. She stood. ‘I’ll leave you two on your own.’

  ‘No need to move,’ Russell hastily said.

  ‘I need to freshen up. See you at our table in the dining room.’

  They watched her until she became lost amongst other people.

  ‘You … you think I can help?’ Russell asked uneasily.

  ‘You may enable me to understand better the circumstances of what happened. Had you known Señor Picare for long?’

  ‘Several years ago; from time back in England. I went into the local pub and he was sitting at the bar and talking to Cecily inbetween her serving drinks.’

  ‘You became friendly with them?’

  ‘Not right away, of course, but after a while. Frankly, I found her … I probably sound precious, but I don’t like to hear a woman making crude innuendoes and jokes even if it’s to encourage the customers to buy another drink.’

  ‘Why d’you think they came here to live?’

  ‘At a guess, she’d more than one man eager to show her his garden. But Neil sold his farm to a developer for a fortune and she gave him the thumbs up. They married. She wanted to live somewhere with better weather and eventually he agreed and they ended up here. You’re interested in all that?’

  ‘I like to learn as much as I can.’

  ‘There’s a rumour going around that he didn’t just drown.’

  ‘The water in the pool was kept low so that he could never be out of his depth. A post mortem has shown he suffered no illness which was likely to
have caused a sudden unconsciousness or incapacity.’

  Russell leaned back in the chair and the sunshine escaped the edge of the umbrella and covered the lower half of his face. He moved to his left. ‘I sunburn easily and got caught the other day. The air is so clear, one doesn’t realise the damage the sun can cause. I’ve been told that local doctors and chemists call it their patron saint.’ He called a waiter over. ‘What will you drink, inspector?’

  ‘I should like a coñac with just ice, please.’

  Russell gave the order. As the waiter walked away, he said, ‘Does you being here, asking about them, saying there was nothing medically wrong with Neil, mean rumour may for once be right and the drowning was not accidental?’

  ‘We cannot be certain so we have to consider all possibilities. That is why I have needed to question you, but you’ll be glad to know I will soon stop. Did Señor Picare know you were here on holiday or did you meet by chance?’

  ‘I’d written to say I’d be out and would like to meet up again.’

  ‘He didn’t invite you to stay at Vista Bonita?’

  ‘Unfortunately not – it would have been a sight more comfortable than the hotel. I expect Cecily put the dampers on that possibility. Still, I was invited to supper, which she called dinner, on my first evening. Not that she wasn’t a bit frosty.’

  ‘Would you describe their marriage as happy?’

  ‘Reasonably so. Cecily wanted to live a far more social life than he did which may have caused a few upsets, but I don’t know.’

  ‘Otherwise all was calm?’

  ‘As far as I could tell.’

  ‘Why do you think that dinner was not a success?’

  ‘Neil and I talked about old times, she became bored and left, he opened another bottle. Pretty soon, he said that if he was given the option, he’d go back to farming. I laughed, made some comment about being careful or his wishes might come true and that got him talking. Despite all Cecily’s ribald behaviour behind the bar back in England, she was unenthusiastic about making the bed springs squeak and demanded her own bedroom. He’d wondered if she was two-timing him and even employed a private detective to check up on her. Result was completely negative.’

  ‘Do you know if you are named in the señor’s will?’

  ‘He did once say he’d leave me something for old time’s sake.’

  ‘You are to receive a legacy of ten thousand pounds.’

  ‘Ten … ten thousand?’

  ‘You are surprised?’

  ‘I’m gobsmacked. I thought he was talking about a couple of hundred …’ He stopped, stared at Alvarez. ‘Are you now wondering if I’m sufficiently broke to have thought it a good idea to drown him since he had said what he’d leave me and I was desperate for the money?’

  ‘I have not considered the question until now. Since it is you who have raised the possibility, did you kill him?’

  ‘Christ, no! Don’t you understand, we were friends?’

  ‘If Señor Picare became convinced his wife was not having an affair, was their relationship as before?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you understand why not?’

  ‘I assumed he couldn’t wholly believe the report the detective had given him, his suspicion had upset her too much for a full reconciliation, or, more likely, she knew full well how much he was having on the side’

  ‘Did he ever mention divorce?’

  ‘No. But if he had, I reckon he’d have said that it was better to try to put up with things rather than have to give her most of his money because the courts always favour the wife. He hadn’t got used to big money and still thought like a small farmer. He’d suggest we went out to a café and it would be a case of his round, my round.’

  As it should be now, but wouldn’t, Alvarez thought. ‘You were at Vista Bonita the day he died.’

  ‘And he was alive when I left.’

  ‘You didn’t say goodbye to the señora?’

  ‘I presumed she was still out and anyway I was too thoughtful to annoy her and find out.’

  ‘Why would a normal courtesy do that?’

  ‘She regards me as a baleful influence. I’m not wealthy and fail to corroborate her in public when she says his farm was over four hundred acres of prime grazing land and his home-bred cows won many awards at agricultural shows.’

  ‘Did he have many friends here?’

  ‘Fewer than he would have done if on his own.’

  ‘He still seemed to enjoy himself?’

  ‘With the women. When you talked about friends, I thought of men or couples.’

  ‘You’ll have met several of his female friends.’

  ‘He wasn’t generous.’

  ‘You didn’t meet any of them?’

  ‘Only one.’

  ‘Her name?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘Think harder.’

  ‘At the moment, all I can tell you is that she came out to the island after her husband died. She put on a soulful face and Neil took her to a meal at the Residencia to cheer her up. That will have got her thinking of diamonds.’

  ‘She had an affair with Señor Picare shortly after her husband died?’

  ‘She had lived in Essex.’

  ‘Why should that explain anything?’

  ‘The devil once stayed there, but found conditions so extreme he hurried back to hell.’

  ‘Is she still on the island?’

  ‘I think she rents a flat.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m not certain. Incidentally, I’ve remembered her name. Lynette.’

  ‘Her surname?’

  ‘Hasn’t yet returned to my memory.’

  ‘Give me some more names.’

  ‘She’s the only one from his coven I met.’

  ‘You never learned through her – women find it difficult to keep such information to themselves – who were his other female interests?’

  ‘Not after I took her to a meal at a local restaurant and she mentioned to Neil what poor quality the food had been.’

  ‘Was he annoyed to learn you’d taken her out?’

  ‘He called it a sparrow challenging a golden eagle.’

  ‘Rather humiliating for you?’

  Russell shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Is there anything more you can tell me which might be of consequence?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing.’

  ‘Then I have no need to trouble you further. Thank you for your help.’

  It was almost nineteen hundred hours when Alvarez once again parked in front of Vista Bonita. Rosalía opened the front door.

  ‘What d’you want?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you if no one else is listening.’

  ‘You’re full of hopeless optimism for a man who won’t see fifty again.’

  ‘I’m still in my early thirties.’

  ‘And you believe in fairies.’

  ‘I’m here to have a word with Marta.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time. She’s at home.’

  ‘Is she still depressed?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Is the señora here?’

  ‘She’s away.’

  ‘Then at least she’s better. So you’re on your own.’

  ‘And going to remain so.’

  ‘What are you preparing for supper?’

  ‘Escaldums de vigilància.’

  Chickpeas – even Dolores has some difficulty in making them into a dish to enjoy. ‘No doubt they’ll be delicious.’

  ‘You’ll never know.’

  ‘Where does Marta live?’

  ‘With her parents.’

  ‘And they live where?’

  ‘You think she wants you around when she’s at the bottom of everything?’

  ‘Probably not, but I have to have a word with her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To confirm or deny what I’ve been told. I’ll be as brief as I possibly can.’

  ‘I don’t remember the addr
ess.’

  ‘It’ll be written down somewhere in case someone wants to get in touch with her.’

  ‘Could be, I suppose,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Have a search for it.’

  ‘Then you stay right here.’

  ‘Why are you so suspicious?’

  ‘Your eyes are more truthful than your tongue.’

  ‘You must feel very flattered.’

  ‘I was eleven when I learned a man’s flattery has only one target. Do you stay where you are or do I forget where to look for the address?’

  ‘You’re a hard woman.’

  ‘Far less trouble than a man who’s hard.’

  He watched her walk across the hall to a small table under which were telephone directories and a notebook of personal addresses and phone numbers.

  She returned, handed him a small square of paper on which she had written an address and number. ‘That’s everything, so there’s no need to stay.’

  He returned to his car. Women were suffering from hedonism when they thought men were always lusting after them.

  Ca’n Porta was a casita which had been enlarged in weathered stone to provide the amenities of modern life as opposed to the basic necessities of the past. A number of roof tiles had not yet been degraded to a dull, blotched colour by the weather and showed that the enlargement had been fairly recent. The door was opened by Eva Amengual who epitomised the traditional older Mallorquin woman. She honoured the past, was a little overweight but not obese, her features expressed determination leavened by a touch of humour, her manner was direct, sometimes overbearing. She spoke Castilian with occasional difficulty because her youth had been spent during the suppression of Mallorquin which had banished the language to the home or conversations with fellow, trusted Mallorquins.

  ‘I should like to talk to Marta …’ he began.

  ‘She cannot speak to you,’ she replied sharply.

  ‘I know she’s very unhappy.’

  ‘And yet you think to disturb her further?’

  ‘I fear I have to.’

  ‘You consider yourself of greater authority than her mother?’

  ‘Because, unfortunately, Señor Picare died—’

  ‘Death was never more deserved. Marta was betrayed by the Englishman, as Spaniards always have been.’

  ‘She is young …’