Layers of Deceit (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 9) Page 7

  She was plainly surprised, even bewildered, that he should have said such a thing. And because of this she thought about it and she realized that beauty was made for happiness.

  María was right, he decided. The señorita was different from all those other women who had come here. She would never visit another man’s bed unless she truly loved him … ‘Señorita, perhaps if we start now, we can soon finish. When did you last see Señor Steven Cullom?’

  ‘When I said good night before going up to bed.’

  ‘Can you say what time that was?’

  ‘Not really … ’ She heard a door open and turned to watch Alan Cullom come out of the house. When he reached the table, she asked: ‘Have you any idea what time it was I went to bed?’

  Alan Cullom sat. ‘Something like half eleven.’

  ‘And had the señor been drinking?’

  She hesitated.

  ‘He’d been drinking heavily,’ said Alan Cullom flatly.

  ‘Something had upset him,’ she said.

  ‘Do you know what?’

  ‘I don’t, but he went to a cocktail-party before lunch and he was obviously very uptight when he got back. That’s right, isn’t it, Alan?’

  Alan Cullom nodded.

  ‘And was it because of this that he was drinking so heavily?’

  ‘We’re just saying he came back in a temper and spent the rest of the day with a bottle,’ said Alan Cullom. ‘We don’t know any more than that.’

  ‘Did you go to bed at the same time as the señorita?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘After the señorita left, how did he behave?’

  ‘He became more and more argumentative and so in the end I cleared off.’

  ‘Argumentative over what?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Could you be a little more specific?’

  ‘No. I’d had a bit of a skinful myself and the details aren’t all that clear.’

  Susan was looking both worried and uneasy. Alvarez remembered that María had reluctantly admitted that the two brothers had had a row over her. ‘After you went upstairs, did you hear your brother leave the house?’

  ‘I climbed into bed, watched the room go round a few times, fell asleep. If a bomb had gone off, I probably wouldn’t have heard it.’

  Alvarez half turned. ‘Señorita, did you hear anything?’

  She hesitated. ‘I don’t know … I suppose that sounds silly? But I wasn’t sleeping as well as usual and I suddenly jerked awake and I was certain I’d heard a telephone ringing. Only when I listened, there was nothing. I suppose really I was imagining it. When one wakes up suddenly like that, it’s often difficult to distinguish between dreams and reality, isn’t it?’

  ‘Whereabouts is the telephone?’

  Alan Cullom answered. ‘There’s one in the hall and one in Steve’s bedroom.’

  ‘Could the señorita from her bedroom have heard the telephone in the señor’s bedroom?’

  ‘Yes; in fact, much more clearly than the one in the hall. The dividing walls in this place are far from soundproof.’

  ‘Did you hear talking, señorita?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘Do you know what time this happened?’

  ‘I’ve no idea … It’s really rather silly of me to have mentioned it.’

  ‘Indeed not … Señor, did your brother own this house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And do you often stay here?’

  ‘Whenever I get washed up on the beach.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Alan … ’ she began sharply.

  ‘Look, Sue, I’m what I am and the Inspector’ll find that out quickly enough.’

  ‘And what are you, señor?’

  ‘A drifter. A boat bum. Give it a name, I’ll accept it.’

  ‘Sometimes you make me absolutely furious!’ She turned to Alvarez. ‘Alan’s got the awful English habit of running himself down as a kind of inverse boasting.’

  ‘That’s a novel interpretation,’ said Alan Cullom.

  ‘Is it? What’s the difference between you and the millionaire who points to his original Degas and says it’s not a bad little painting, is it? … Inspector, Alan’s been doing something which most people at one time or another have longed to do, but never had the courage. He’s seen the world as it really is, not as it appears on TV.’

  ‘I must remember that line of exculpation,’ said Alan Cullom ironically.

  She turned back. ‘And now you’re embarrassed to hear the truth.’

  ‘Or uneasy at being painted in false colours?’

  ‘If you won’t recognize the true colours, they’re all false.’

  Under that calm exterior, she was a real fighter, Alvarez thought admiringly. ‘Señor, do you know if your brother made a will?’

  ‘I presume he did. He was always careful over that sort of thing.’

  ‘Can you say which solicitor acted for him when he bought this house?’

  ‘I can’t. I was thousands of miles away at the time.’

  Alvarez thought for a moment. ‘Thank you very much for your help. I am sorry to have had to trouble you.’ He stood.

  Alan Cullom accompanied him into the house and, as they entered the hall, said: ‘Can you tell me what happens now? With respect to moving the body and arranging the funeral?’

  ‘Arrangements are being made, señor, for the body of your brother to be taken to the mortuary as soon as possible. There will have to be a post mortem. After that, unless the terms of the will are to the contrary, you will need to speak to one of the undertakers in Santa Victoria to ask him to arrange the funeral.’

  Alvarez waited for a moment, but nothing more was said. He opened the front door and went out.

  He had just driven through the gateway on to the road when he saw Artich trudging along with the heavy-footed but enduring gait of a true peasant. He turned off the engine and waited. ‘Any trace of the dog?’

  ‘No one’s seen it. And there’s no sheep been savaged.’

  ‘How did it get out?’

  Artich shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Have you ever known it get loose before?’

  ‘Never. It couldn’t, not with the fence right round.’

  ‘Did the señor ever put it away in the kennels in the morning?’

  ‘On a Sunday, he must have done because María and me didn’t come. Any other day he was too busy to worry about a dog. Only interested in the bitches,’ he added, and laughed at his laboured witticism.

  Alvarez used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. ‘Someone had better tell the guardía rural. It could lead to trouble.’

  ‘Hasn’t eaten anyone yet. Unless it had the two strangers for supper.’

  ‘What two strangers?’

  ‘Old Jorge saw ’em yesterday.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘How would I know when?’

  Alvarez started the engine again and drove off.

  CHAPTER 10

  Dolores looked across the dining table. ‘Is something the matter, Enrique?’ It became clear that he hadn’t heard her. ‘Enrique, is something wrong?’

  He jerked his attention back to the immediate present. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You’ve not said a word.’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘About women?’ asked Jaime.

  ‘Your mind,’ snapped Dolores, ‘needs washing.’ But she didn’t miss the fact that for a second Alvarez had obviously been disconcerted.

  ‘How can Daddy’s mind be washed?’ Isabel asked curiously.

  ‘It can’t, because there’s no soap strong enough.’

  ‘Why does it need strong soap?’

  ‘Be quiet.’

  Normally, Isabel and Juan, being Mallorquin children and therefore spoiled and often precocious, ignored any orders that were given, but experience had taught them that when their mother’s voice assumed a certain timbre it was necessary to do exactly as she said.
Isabel asked no more questions but she did wonder whether a detergent would do the job.

  ‘I suppose you’ve spent the morning on the beach,’ said Jaime, envisaging an army of bare-bosomed maidens.

  ‘I’ve been at Santa Victoria,’ replied Alvarez.

  Jaime drained his glass. He thought about refilling it, but realized that Dolores was watching him.

  Alvarez finished his last mouthful of Frito Mallorquin and asked if he might have some more, it was so delicious. Dolores served him and then, in a moment of absent-mindedness, put a spoonful on her own plate, completely forgetting that she had promised herself to go on a diet. As she ate, she wondered if Enrique had once again been fool enough to become involved with some totally unsuitable woman? Why couldn’t he have the sense to settle for a respectable widow who had a nice, clean house and some land?

  *

  After his siesta, Alvarez drove to the guardia post. In his room, he settled behind the desk and stared gloomily at all the paperwork on it. His eyelids were becoming heavy when the telephone rang, jerking him wide awake.

  ‘Inspector Alvarez? The superior chief wishes to speak to you,’ said the woman with a plum in her mouth.

  He waited.

  ‘Alvarez, where is your report?’

  ‘Which one, señor?’

  ‘On the death of the Englishman at Santa Victoria.’

  ‘I haven’t made it out.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The initial investigations aren’t yet completed.’

  ‘Alvarez, I trust you are not once again, with a faculty which I can only describe as one of perverted genius, about to turn a simple case into a complicated morass of inconsistencies?’

  Alvarez felt rather hurt. Why would he be blamed for events which had always been beyond his control?

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, señor.’

  ‘Then would you please be kind enough to answer me.’

  It hadn’t really seemed to be a question, more a statement of despair. ‘At the moment, señor, there are one or two points concerning the death of Señor Steven Cullom which in my opinion need to be investigated further.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be advisable at this stage to determine two facts which in the past have led to endless trouble. Are you certain that he is dead?’

  ‘There’s no room for doubt.’

  ‘When a case is in your hands, there is always room for doubt. Is the dead man Steven Cullom?’

  ‘Quite definitely.’

  ‘I am surprised at the progress you have made … Now, what are the points which still need to be investigated?’

  ‘On the face of things, the cause of death was an accidental fall down a terrace. But the body landed further out than seems reasonable. And the police doctor says there are traces in the wound in the head which look like grease and that the shape of the wound does not appear to be consistent with the shape of the rocks which are supposed to have caused it. In addition to that, the dog is missing.’

  ‘The dog is missing … I confess I fail to see the relevance. Perhaps I have missed something?’

  ‘At night the gates were shut and a guard dog was let loose in the grounds to protect the house; there appears to be no way in which the dog could get out. Yet the dog was missing this morning when the maid and the gardener arrived.’

  ‘Have any of the neighbours seen it?’

  ‘No. But in checking I’ve discovered that two strangers were in the neighbourhood yesterday.’

  ‘Foreigners?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that it might be important to know?’

  ‘Yes, señor, but so far there hasn’t been time to check.’

  ‘Was the dead man wealthy?’

  ‘From the looks of things, very.’

  ‘Who inherits the estate?’

  ‘I haven’t been able to discover yet.’

  ‘Are there any women mixed up in the case?’

  ‘He frequently had women to stay.’

  ‘Was one there last night?’

  ‘Yes. But she’s different.’

  ‘In what way?’

  How did one explain to a superior chief who was a self-satisfied Madrileño that there were in this world just a few women with eyes of warmth and hearts of love …

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Señor, from something the maid overheard, it seems reasonable to suppose that the señorita refused to sleep with him.’

  ‘Then why did he have her in the house?’

  ‘I cannot answer that.’

  ‘It might help you in your investigations, Inspector, if you could learn to have a less naïve appreciation of events … Report to me the moment you can be certain whether or not this was an accident.’

  The connection was cut without even an abrupt goodbye. Alvarez slumped back in the chair. Why was he always expected to have the answers before the questions had arisen? Especially when there were as many questions as fleas on a hedgehog … What was Susan’s relationship with Alan Cullom? How serious had been the row between the two brothers which María had overheard? Had there been another and more bitter one after Susan had gone to bed? How big was the estate and who inherited it? Was Alan Cullom the man Susan obviously thought him, or had he managed to pull the wool over her eyes because she always believed the best of people? …

  Worn out, he closed his eyes.

  *

  Alvarez had just decided it was time to think of returning home when the telephone rang.

  ‘This is Doctor Verdura. I’ve spoken to Professor Fortunato, at the Institute of Forensic Anatomy in Palma, and he tells me he hopes to carry out the post mortem next Monday. In the meantime, I have carried out a further, but still necessarily superficial examination of the dead man. Apart from the wound on his head, there are several areas of bruising on his left side. There are no signs of cellular reaction in these which may indicate that the bruising occurred after death. I can confirm that the shape of the wound is apparently inconsistent with the shape of the rocks which bore the bloodstains. The stains in the wound are almost certainly those of some form of grease.’

  ‘Are you saying that he definitely wasn’t killed by falling head first on to the rocks?’

  ‘I am making certain observations that are based on a superficial examination: these observations may be confirmed, they may be denied, by the PM.’

  ‘But he couldn’t have picked up any grease from either of the rocks.’

  ‘Can you be quite certain of that?’

  ‘I didn’t examine them all that closely … ’

  ‘Then I suggest that any conclusion be withheld.’

  ‘You wouldn’t like to give a … ’

  ‘I am not prepared to say anything more at this stage.’ Alvarez thanked the doctor for ringing. As he replaced the receiver, he sighed. It looked more and more like murder. Murders created so much extra work for him.

  CHAPTER 11

  The sargento, a broad-shouldered, pot-bellied man, perpetually bad-tempered because he suffered from chronic indigestion, looked up from his desk. ‘Well?’

  ‘Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo General de Policía, from Llueso.’

  ‘Then you’re the bastard who’s had all my men wasting their time, tramping the countryside?’

  Alvarez gestured apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, but I must try and find out where the dog’s got to.’

  ‘So my men, with much more important things to be done, have to waste the morning asking every half-witted peasant whether he’s seen a stray — ’ he stopped, searched amongst some papers, found what he wanted ‘ — a stray Giant Schnauzer, eating either people or sheep.’

  ‘Has anyone seen it?’

  ‘No one within three kilometres of Ca’n Cullom has seen anything of it.’

  Alvarez scratched his chin. ‘Wouldn’t you have expected someone to have?’

  ‘With thousands of dogs everywhere?’

  ‘But in this case … Anyway, th
anks for all your help.’

  ‘Do me a favour, will you? Next time, ask the municipal police. They’ve nothing better to do.’

  Alvarez walked along the arched passageway to the front of the guardia post and his parked car. He sat, began to tap on the wheel with his fingers. To a townsperson, it probably had seemed a ridiculous task. One stray dog. But from dawn to dusk the country people were out tilling their land and harvesting their crops and they saw and noted everything that happened around them — they would have noticed a large, black, wavy-coated dog with docked tail. So the fact that one had not been seen suggested this was possibly because it hadn’t been there to be seen. Yet it was missing … Look at the problem from a different angle. Someone wanted to get into the grounds, but there was the guard dog. So obviously it had to be got out of the way somehow if one were to gain entrance unscathed …

  He left Santa Victoria and drove along the winding lanes, past fields of almond trees, now showing their immature crop, and, where there was irrigation, tomatoes, peppers, aubergines, beans, potatoes, artichokes, and strawberries, to Ca’n Cullom.

  Artich was in the small garden room, beyond the garage. He did not hear Alvarez approach and was sufficiently startled to drop his cigarette. ‘What are you doing, creeping around the place?’ he demanded angrily.

  ‘Relax. I’m not paying your wages.’

  He bent down and picked up the cigarette. ‘Maybe you ain’t. The question is, who is?’

  ‘I can’t answer.’

  ‘I’m not working for nothing.’

  ‘Seems to me you’re not working.’

  ‘Bloody funny!’

  Alvarez sat down on a battered wooden chair. ‘Would you like to do me a favour?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I want you to help me look for a grave.’

  Artich’s lined face showed a growing uneasiness. ‘Who else has died?’

  ‘The dog, maybe.’

  Artich drew on the cigarette, exhaled. ‘Then the señor’s death wasn’t no accident?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

  He dropped the cigarette on to the concrete floor and stamped it out.

  ‘We’ll start up by the gates,’ said Alvarez. ‘And what we’re looking for is newly disturbed earth. It’ll have had the sun on it for some time, so it may be a bit difficult to distinguish … ’