Murdered by Nature Page 7

Pagés activated the computer on his desk, tapped on the keyboard, studied the screen. ‘On the twenty-sixth of last month, he withdrew five thousand euros.’

  ‘In cash?’

  ‘Is that not what you asked?’

  ‘Can you give me the number of the notes?’

  ‘You have very little experience of banking?’

  ‘Quite a lot on the debit side.’

  ‘There is no possibility of our providing the number of a single note.’

  Alvarez thanked Pagés for his help, without sounding sarcastic.

  NINE

  Alvarez phoned Palma. ‘Señor, I have spoken to the manager of Llueso Bank. I was right.’

  ‘I might not be so surprised if I knew the subject of your report.’

  ‘I was checking on the money, señor.’

  ‘What money?’

  ‘Payments in cash out of Señor Ashton’s bank accounts. You provided the authorization for me.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘The señor withdrew five thousand euros.’

  ‘Were the notes of high enough denominations for them to be traceable?’

  ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘Then it can only be an assumption that this money was paid to Kerr.’

  ‘But if—’

  ‘An assumption which has to be weakened by the fact that there were only four thousand two hundred in his possession when he died.’

  ‘He’ll have been spending freely.’

  ‘Eight hundred euros in a short time – on what?’

  ‘Women.’

  ‘You believe it credible in a short time to spend hundreds of euros on a woman?’

  ‘If she’s class. Or maybe there were three or four not class.’

  ‘The quality of your experience is regrettable. Have you been told it is a grave mistake to bend facts to support a theory?’

  ‘Frequently, señor.’

  ‘Apparently such words have been inadequately understood. There would have been no proof – I emphasize “proof” – that the money came from Señor Ashton had all five thousand been in Kerr’s possession. At best, there would have been a reasonable presumption. Due to the difference in totals there can be only the possibility the money withdrawn by Señor Ashton was paid to Kerr.’

  ‘He’d bought an expensive locally made sweater and a bottle of expensive malt whisky.’

  ‘You have ascertained their costs?’

  ‘No, señor.’

  ‘Have you spoken to misguided women to learn if he was known to any of them?’

  ‘No, señor.’

  ‘One enquiry I should have expected you to pursue.’

  ‘He arrived on a cheap package holiday and short of cash. If that money did not come from the señor, what was its source?’

  ‘Yet again, you presume a negative indicates a positive. You refuse to consider, for instance, Kerr might have entered a local lottery and won a small prize.’

  ‘Isn’t that using an assumption to deny the theory he might have been in the drug trade?’

  ‘The two are totally different in nature, but to explain to you why that is would take too long.’

  ‘Señor. I think we should have the brass caskets from Morocco tested for residue of cannabis. Also, the spliffs which were in Kerr’s possession should be sent to the laboratory to find which country the hashish came from.’

  ‘I see no necessity for either course.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Lateral thinking would remind you that a connection is not always direct. What is the most common motive for all crime? Money. The distribution of Señor Ashton’s wealth may well show a strong connection with Kerr’s murder.’

  ‘That does seem a little unlikely since—’

  ‘You will accept it is likely and determine the details of the will. Has the cook at Son Dragó provided any information of consequence?’

  ‘As I mentioned, there has not been time—’

  ‘Had you not suffered the possibility Señor Ashton had been engaged in the drug trade, you would have found the time to question her. You will speak to the forensic laboratory and tell them that their delay is hindering our investigation and we need results immediately.’

  ‘I don’t suppose that will make any difference.’

  ‘Should I need your opinion, I will ask for it.’

  Moments later, Alvarez phoned the laboratory. ‘The superior chief is shouting for a result in the Kerr case.’

  ‘That sort of work takes time, full stop.’

  ‘Can you give me an estimate that’ll keep him quiet?’

  ‘Tell him he might have an answer by Christmas.’

  Not a message that would be passed on.

  The front door of Son Dragó was opened by Benavides. ‘Good afternoon, inspector. How may I help you?’

  ‘Is Señora Ashton at home?’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘I should like to speak to her if she is willing for me to do so.’

  ‘I will ask. I’m sure you will understand she is very sad and depressed. Please enter, but be kind to wait.’

  He went into the hall. The wait was short.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to come this way, inspector?’ Benavides said when he reappeared.

  Alvarez was shown into a sitting room, less formal than the larger one. There was a large television set, DVD player, cabinet filled with disks, music centre and, at various places, elaborately patterned copper caskets. As Benavides shut the door behind himself, Alvarez brought out of his pocket a handkerchief, opened the nearest casket, and wiped the handkerchief about its interior. Approaching footsteps prevented his intention to repeat the work on a second casket.

  Laura, followed by Benavides, entered. ‘Señora,’ he ponderously announced, ‘Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo General de Policía.’

  ‘Good afternoon, señora,’ Alvarez said. ‘May I express my condolences at your tragic loss and my deep regret at having to trouble you.’

  ‘Thank you. Please sit.’

  Judging from what Benavides had said, he had expected her depression to be very marked. Sadness was there, but this was an acceptance, not an emotional rejection, of the tragedy that was life. ‘I will be as brief as I can be, señora. I am investigating the death of Colin Kerr. Amongst the items he left was a notebook in which was written the address and telephone number of this house. That gave reason to think he might have come here. Enquiries make this unlikely, but I have to ask if at any time you saw or heard from him?’

  ‘I have had no contact.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you other questions because we have learned that Kerr did not die from drowning; he may have been poisoned.’

  ‘My God!’

  He was unsurprised by her shocked surprise. Even for a policeman, poisoning provided the most premeditated, cruellest death; for a newly widowed woman, he understood it must become a brutal underpinning of her own loss.

  Her head was bowed, the fingers of her hands interlaced.

  He stood. ‘Señora, I apologize very sincerely for the distress I have caused. I will not trouble you any further.’

  She did not look up before he left. As he opened the front door, Benavides came into the hall. ‘How is the señora?’

  ‘Very upset.’

  ‘You are surprised when you intrude at such a time?’

  Alvarez left, walked over to his car. For once, Benavides had spoken like a man, not a servant.

  Wednesday morning brought cloud, showers and wind: winter unfolding its wings. Farmers welcomed the rain, tourists complained they were being cheated of their holidays in the sun.

  Alvarez had phoned two abogados and was about to try a third lawyer when his phone rang.

  ‘Inspector Alvarez,’ Ángela Torres said, ‘the superior chief wishes to know if you have established the details of Señor Ashton’s will?’

  ‘If you put me through, I’ll tell him.’

  ‘He is not here which is why I am asking you.’

  ‘Wil
l you say I have had a word with Señora Ashton.’

  ‘She has provided the details of her husband’s will?’

  ‘I decided she was in too emotional a state to ask her what they are.’

  ‘The superior chief will be surprised by your decision.’

  ‘Emotion for him being a foreign element?’

  ‘Have you anything to report which he might consider of importance?’

  ‘Not until I discover which abogado drew up the will in Spanish.’

  ‘The superior chief is likely to be surprised you have not yet already done so,’ she commented before she rang off.

  Forty minutes later, he dialled the last number on the list he had written down. The secretary who had a warm voice in contrast to Señorita Torres’, referred him to Señor Ramírez.

  ‘We drew up Señor Ashton’s will in Spanish as well as English to avoid any of the problems which might occur if there had only been the one. The two are exactly the same.’

  ‘Can you give me the details of the bequests?’

  ‘Not over the phone. If you need to know what they are, you must come here and read the will.’

  He sought a way of avoiding the journey to Palma, found none. ‘I’ll be in tomorrow morning.’

  He disliked any large town, but disliked driving in one even more since other drivers were selfish, irresponsible, and potentially dangerous. He had checked the timetable and found he could travel and return by train at reasonable times from Mestara.

  At Palma station, he hired a taxi which took him to the offices of Señor Ramírez. One of three secretaries, considerably older than the other two, showed him into a small conference room on two walls of which hung framed certificates of Ramírez’s legal qualifications. On the well-polished table were four glossy fashion magazines, an indication that the majority of clients were female. He sat and stared into space.

  After ten minutes – no doubt the wait had been to show that Ramírez was a busy man – he was shown into a very well-furnished office. Ramírez shook hands, spoke courteously, but in a manner which signified there would be little room for equality in their brief acquaintance. He was smartly dressed in a suit, his hair was cunningly cut to conceal approaching baldness, his head was egg-shaped, his waist a visible sign of good living. ‘Your reason for wishing to read the will?’

  ‘Colin Kerr, an Englishman found in Llueso Bay . . . ?’

  ‘Naturally, I have read about that. Do you believe there could have been a connection between the two men?’

  ‘Not directly. But Señor Ashton’s wealth might have been responsible for Kerr’s murder.’

  ‘Murder!’ A civil lawyer, enjoying a happy income from others’ domestic unhappiness, Ramírez was disturbed, shocked, by an encounter with crime of such brutality. He fiddled with a paper on the desk. ‘You think the will may in some way confirm the possibility?’

  ‘As my superior frequently states, money is the start of almost all crime.’

  ‘It is bitter to learn the harm it can bring.’

  Any less bitter than to suffer the harm that lack of it wrought? ‘If I may see the will?’

  ‘In English or Castilian?’

  ‘Either.’

  Ramírez opened a folder, brought out pages secured by tape, put them down on the far side of the desk. Alvarez reached forward, picked them up, and read, wondered why no legal document was ever written in plain, everyday language. He looked up. ‘Have you a sheet of paper and a pen or pencil?’

  ‘You have brought neither with you?’

  A weak attempt to underline his inefficiency. He was handed a sheet of A4 and a ballpoint pen, and he rested the paper on the elaborately inlaid desk and copied out pertinent details from the will.

  ‘Do you have a preliminary valuation of the señor’s estate?’ he asked as he returned the will.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘But you’ll have an estimate?’

  There was a pause before Ramírez answered. ‘The figure I’ll give is of no legal value. The total will be roughly seven million euros.’

  Alvarez’s thoughts wandered. Recently, politicians spending other people’s money had spoken of billions as once they would have mentioned millions. To an inspector, one million, let alone seven, still signified wealth beyond his comprehension.

  Back in his office, Alvarez reread the bequests in the will. They were straightforward and generous. Benavides and Beatriz were each to receive ten thousand euros in return for their loyal service; García, ten thousand; Inés, Patera and Valles (took time to remember that Patera and Valles were the dailies and he still had not questioned them), one thousand each; Port Llueso, five thousand to be used at the council’s discretion; two named charities, five thousand each; Son Dragó and any capital or income not specified, to his beloved wife.

  As, phone to his ear, he waited to speak to Salas, he watched a gecko climb up to the window, then ‘freeze’ as it looked over the edge of the window sill. How long before it decided it would be safe to move? Ten euros it would be at least one minute.

  ‘Yes?’ Salas said.

  The gecko went over the window sill. Forty-eight seconds. He had never been a successful gambler, even when betting against himself. ‘I have spoken to Señora Ashton.’

  ‘What have you learned?’

  ‘She never met Kerr or spoke to him over the telephone. She does not believe her husband knew him.’

  ‘She told you the terms of her husband’s will?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I did not ask her what they are.’

  ‘You considered it unnecessary to pursue so obvious a course?’

  ‘She was too emotionally upset.’

  ‘Her emotions are of no significance in such a case.’

  ‘Had you seen her, señor, you would not say that. At least, I hope you would not.’

  ‘You insinuate I lack sympathy?’

  ‘Perhaps that depends to whom you are speaking.’

  ‘You will return to speak to her and demand to see the will.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘You are under the misapprehension that you are in command of the investigation?’

  ‘I spoke to Señor Ramírez.’

  ‘Would it trouble you to identify him?’

  ‘After many enquiries, I learned it was his firm which had drawn up Señor Ashton’s will.’

  ‘Unnecessary enquiries, had you overcome your reluctance to ask Señora Ashton for the information. What are the details?’

  Alvarez read out the names and amounts of the legacies.

  ‘Have you not forgotten one name?’

  ‘I think not, señor.’

  ‘Did you not identify the nephew, Browyer, as a suspect because he would inherit under the will?’

  ‘Yes, but he is not named and there is evidence he knew he would be disinherited.’

  ‘Then you can no longer consider him a suspect.’

  ‘I think he must remain one.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It is possible he killed the señor because he was not in the will.’

  ‘Then we must consider all the other persons who are not included. A task at which even Hercules would have baulked.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand.’

  ‘You are correct.’

  ‘It’s probable that compared to his uncle’s style of living, Browyer’s life was very reduced and dull. Since the señor had told him over the phone he would give him no more money, this must have inflamed Browyer’s sense of injustice. He may have been sufficiently resentful to murder the señor.’

  ‘Your imagination seems to have no limit.’

  ‘There’s the other possibility that having heard about the drug running from Morocco, he was blackmailing the señor.’

  ‘That is a possibility which lacks even a shred of what you might mistakenly choose to term evidence.’

  ‘When I went to Son Dragó, to speak to the señora, I was shown into
a sitting room in which were several of the copper caskets the señor brought back from Morocco. I used a handkerchief to wipe around the inside of one of these and will send that, and the spliffs, to the laboratory to ask them to determine where the marijuana came from and if there was any trace of it on the handkerchief.’

  ‘As a Mallorquin, you clearly lack the slightest knowledge of how a visitor does, or does not, behave.’

  TEN

  Benavides held open the front door for Alvarez to enter Son Dragó. ‘I wish to apologize for my unwarranted remarks, inspector.’

  ‘They’re forgotten. How is the señora?’

  ‘Very troubled. She refused breakfast and ate hardly any lunch. Beatriz was so worried, she called the doctor. He said the señora should have a sedative; she is now sleeping.’

  After Juana-María died, Alvarez had suffered times when he had not wanted to eat or drink, but instead, perversely, to live with the memories which intensified his mental pain. ‘There is no need to disturb her since I came to have a word with Beatriz.’

  ‘She is in the kitchen, preparing a meal in the hope it will tempt the señora to eat when she is awake. I will ask Beatriz to speak to you in the staff sitting-room.’

  ‘And interrupt her cooking? I’ll have a word in the kitchen.’

  ‘Then it is to be hoped everything has gone as intended.’ Benavides smiled – the first time Alvarez had seen any expression but one of a solemn sense of duty. ‘When things go wrong, she is unbearable.’

  ‘The sign of a good cook.’

  The kitchen had large work surfaces, a refrigerator which delivered ice cubes, a deep-freeze, food processors of different shapes and sizes, a bread maker, two more machines which he failed to identify with a quick glance, and a double-oven cooker with gas-fed rings on the top. The scent of cooking was strong and sweet.

  ‘Something is going to have a five-star taste,’ he said.

  Beatriz looked briefly at him. ‘Me a la Mallorquina. You want something?’

  To enjoy some Me. It was quite a time since Dolores had cooked the dish – one which must please the most pernickety epicurean. ‘I’m Inspector Alvarez.’

  ‘Who else would invade my kitchen when I am cooking?’ She was built on a generous scale and lacked attractive features; nevertheless, she reminded him of Dolores when cooking because of her disdainful superiority, dislike of any interruption, focused attention on what she was doing.