In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery Page 8

  ‘Good morning, inspector. I understand you wish to speak to my husband. I am afraid Jacques is in Antibes.’

  She spoke Spanish fluently, with only a light accent, which surprised him. The French seldom bothered with other languages, being entirely concerned with keeping their own historically, grammatically and contextually pure.

  ‘In fact, Doña Poperen, it is you I wished to talk to.’

  ‘Juana must have misunderstood you. There is reason to speak to me?’

  The door opened and a ratter ran in, followed by Juana. The dog stopped in front of Alvarez’s chair, stared at him, barked.

  ‘Be quiet, Petite,’ Juana ordered.

  The dog quietened, Alvarez moved an arm, the barking recommenced. A true Mallorquin breed. No offered friendship until convinced it would be returned.

  ‘Why is Petite in here when I have a guest?’ Marie Poperen asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, doña, but she escaped as I came to ask you if you wished for something.’ Juana moved quickly, caught Petite and held her under her arm.

  ‘You would like some coffee?’ Marie asked.

  ‘Thank you, but I think not,’ Alvarez answered. Custom now dictated a drink was offered.

  ‘Very well,’ she said to Juana who left with Petite.

  Alvarez started the conversation on a friendly note, despite the rejection of custom. ‘A charming little dog.’

  ‘I am very fond of her. Inspector, what brings you here?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, to talk about Petite.’

  ‘He has been injected against rabies.’

  ‘I believe you regularly walk him in the village in the morning?’

  ‘Is that forbidden?’

  ‘I am not concerned with matters which consider dogs.’ He again tried not to sound annoyed at her muddling of importance. ‘I am in the cuerpo.’

  ‘So I was informed.’

  ‘I need to know if you do walk him in the village?’

  ‘Really?’

  She had decided to be the grande dame. He would be direct. ‘My question is this. Why should you regularly walk him in the village when there are very many hectares here in which he can run without the risk of traffic.’

  ‘I would not expect that to concern you.’

  ‘Is your husband often away?’

  He waited, then repeated the question.

  ‘Once again, I consider I have no need to answer.’

  ‘You have a reason for not wishing to answer?’

  ‘My husband travels to France several times a year for business reasons. Having answered you, please be kind enough to leave.’

  ‘I believe you knew Señor Picare?’

  ‘I met him.’

  ‘Frequently?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Was it once a month, once a week?’

  ‘You expect me to remember every luncheon, every dinner to which my husband and I were invited?’

  ‘And not to meetings when you were on your own?’

  ‘You wish to ask something, but lack the character to do so directly? Were Neil and I lovers? Frequently, when Jacques was in France. Did he know this? Yes, as I know he returns to Antibes more often than business demands because of Denise Disault.’

  ‘This did not concern you?’

  ‘Why should it? Caviar is delicious, but eat it every day and one will long for a different taste.’

  ‘Which may prove to be bitter.’

  ‘Making the return to caviar tasty once more.’

  ‘When will Don Poperen return?’

  ‘When he wishes to refresh his palate.’

  ‘You do not know?’

  ‘Probably soon. And to celebrate our reunion, we will dine at the new restaurant in Sineu which has a French cook … Have I dismayed your island morals, inspector?’

  ‘You have explained how to lead a happy life.’

  Alvarez should have known what Salas’s reaction would be to his report.

  ‘You are saying she had no hesitation in admitting both she and her husband are committing adultery and that to the knowledge of the other?’

  ‘It seems reasonable to suppose these visits to Vista Bonita were not simply social.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A married woman on her own constantly visiting a married man whose wife is not on the island is not doing so just to be a thoughtful neighbour.’

  ‘The conjecture of a mind which prefers guilt to innocence. What did she admit?’

  ‘I have just explained, señor.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  ‘I see no reason not to.’

  ‘A judgment which cannot be accepted unquestioned. She is married to her husband?’

  ‘Would she be married to anyone else?’

  ‘You are insolent.’

  ‘If I had spoken as you did, señor, I am sure you would have addressed me in similar vein.’

  ‘You will refrain from incorrectly presuming what I might say. Have you questioned her husband?’

  ‘He is in Antibes on business and because Madame Disault lives there.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘His little cabbage.’

  ‘It amuses you to speak nonsense.’

  ‘It’s the French for mistress.’

  ‘I am well aware what it means. My remark was to remind you that any attempt by you to give the impression of sophistication is unlikely to succeed. Have you requested the French police to question the husband?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I need your authority to make the request.’

  ‘Which would have been given had you thought to ask for it as soon as you were made aware of the regrettable circumstances.’

  ‘Then I now have your authority, señor?’

  ‘Yes.’ Salas replaced the receiver.

  Alvarez poured himself a reviver. When he saw what was left in the bottle, he made the mental note to buy more brandy at the first opportunity. He spoke on the telephone to the Interpol representative in Madrid and requested that the French police in Antibes be asked to question Poperen and learn if he was aware of his wife’s adultery.

  He returned home to lunch.

  He awoke, levered himself upright in the chair, answered the phone call. The French police had been able to identify Mademoiselle Disault and speak to her. She had not known Monsieur Picare. Monsieur Poperen paid the rent of her flat and provided her with an allowance.

  Alvarez congratulated them on the speed with which they had worked.

  ‘We knew she lived in Antibes, so the task of identifying her was not as great as it might have been since she was the named tenant of the flat. I hope the information is of value.’

  ‘Very much so,’ he politely assured them.

  ‘The French,’ Alvarez reported to Salas, ‘have identified Mademoiselle Disault and can confirm she is Poperen’s mistress.’

  ‘Would that investigations on this island were carried out as swiftly and successfully.’

  ‘It wasn’t as difficult as it might have seemed …’

  ‘You would have declared the task impossible.’

  ‘They knew she lived in Antibes; that it was likely she worked for Poperen.’

  ‘A probability which might well have escaped you.’

  ‘I don’t think that is so, señor.’

  ‘You discount experience?’

  ‘She was distressed by the questioning, very likely because she was reminded that he would no longer be financing her if Poperen had had anything to do with the death of Picare.’

  ‘Your cynicism is unnecessary.’

  ‘It was the person to whom I spoke who made that observation. The French are realistic in such matters. We can now dismiss the possibility that she was in any way connected with the case.’

  ‘The reason for such conclusion?’

  ‘Denise Disault was not married. There was no husband sufficiently outraged by her affair to murder Picare.’

  ‘Due to
the immorality which in these days has overcome morality, she may well have had another lover who discovered her illicit relationship with Picare.’

  ‘If there were such a man, he must surely have wondered at the source of her money. With threats or observation, he would have learned about Picare. In which case, he would have accepted the situation provided he benefited.’

  ‘The French speaker also offered that proposition?’

  It seemed reasonable to agree. ‘Yes, señor.’

  ‘Their degree of mental morality is regrettable. You will ask the French authorities if she did have a lover; if so, to identify him.’

  ‘This may well take longer than before,’ he was told. ‘It is unlikely she would have restricted herself to one lover, when he would frequently not be with her.’

  The French, he decided, would not be bothered to pursue the investigation.

  Jaime and Alvarez sat at the table after supper had finished. Dolores was washing up, the children were out, playing with friends.

  ‘How’s life?’ Jaime asked, as he passed the bottle.

  ‘Same as ever.’ His glass refilled, Alvarez returned the nearly empty bottle of Valdepenas to the centre of the table. ‘All work, no play and Salas shouting.’

  ‘I wonder if he’s quite the bastard you always make him out to be. What’s he done this time?’

  ‘Keeps moaning about the immorality of modern life.’

  ‘Because he’s not getting his fair share of it?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘What’s so immoral?’

  ‘A married man had a petit choux in Antibes. The wife knew about her and didn’t give him hell.’

  ‘Sounds like a marriage made in heaven.’

  Dolores stepped through the bead curtain. ‘Whose marriage is so fortunate?’

  Alvarez hurried to answer her. ‘A couple I’ve heard about. They live here, but he frequently goes to France on business. Some wives would be worried by the thought of what he got up to in France, but she isn’t. I was telling Jaime what a remarkable woman she was.’

  ‘Remarkable? You consider I would not trust my husband if he travelled to France without me?’

  ‘I know your trust is complete and unshakable.’

  ‘Would you describe my marriage as made in heaven?’

  ‘I have always considered it to be.’

  She returned into the kitchen.

  Jaime spoke very quietly. ‘What’s she on about?’

  ‘Seeking confirmation you’ve never had any regrets about marrying her.’

  ‘Why does she get in such a state because I met Teresa by chance, suggested a drink in Bar Español and made the mistake of sitting at an outside table. Inés saw us and was on the phone to Dolores before we’d finished our drinks? You’d have thought we’d been found in bed together.’

  ‘Many women would have considered that a future possibility.’

  ‘That I should be so lucky!’ He drank deeply.

  Alvarez drove slowly along the road, three back from the sea, bordered by bungalows and houses, largely built as second homes for foreigners and now heavily taxed since the owners were not resident in Spain. Casa Mirabel was a small bungalow, similar to others, with a small front garden in which a few sad plants grew, stunted by the salty air. He rang the bell to the right of the front door. A not quite middle-aged woman opened it.

  ‘Señora Metcalfe?’ he asked

  ‘Yes.’

  That single word identified her nationality. He spoke in English, explained he wished to speak to her.

  ‘It’s about the collision we had in the car?’

  ‘That will be dealt with by Trafico.’

  ‘Thank God no one was hurt. The other driver kept shouting it was all my fault and he and his passenger became so excited I was grateful when a local police car came along.’

  ‘I fear we Mallorquins can often become excited.’

  ‘I always go around a roundabout on the outside lane. The policeman seemed to say I should have been on the inside lane and then the other car would not have hit mine. But he was overtaking so I thought he had to be at fault. Can you tell me which lane I should have been in?’

  As with so many questions in Spain, they were only answered when there was need. ‘You should ask a local policia.’

  ‘I did and I don’t think he knew.’

  Neither did he, now that he considered the problem. ‘Señora, is your husband here?’

  ‘He’s playing tennis. Doesn’t matter how often I tell him that’s crazy in this heat and he’ll have a heart attack. He won’t listen.’

  He tried to lessen her fears by saying several foreigners played tennis in the summer and he knew of none who had suffered a heart attack, which was both true and an indirect lie since he would have been unlikely to hear of such an unnecessary death. ‘Señora, I should like to speak to you and, later, your husband, about the tragedy concerning Señor Picare.’

  ‘My husband must be here.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I need his support.’

  ‘For a particular reason?’

  ‘Don’t you know a wife always needs her husband’s support when something unexpected and unpleasant has happened? It seems with you being here, there must be some truth in the rumour that his death was not an ordinary accident.’

  ‘We cannot be certain, but there is reason to believe it may not have been.’

  ‘And you think we can help you? But of course we can’t.’

  ‘I have been told you were friends of his.’

  ‘As were many other people.’

  ‘Amongst whom there may well be someone with reason to have been unfriendly. You may be able to help me determine who such persons might be.’

  ‘You think it may be one of us since we’re foreigners? You’d believe anything of the English because of Gibraltar. But ask you where’s the difference between Gibraltar and Cuela and Melila and you can’t answer.’

  ‘I assure you that I am in no way influenced by the presence of the British on Spanish land—’

  ‘British land.’

  ‘Let us not argue over a subject which has disturbed relations between the two great nations over so many years.’

  ‘All right, pax. I’m afraid I became rather heated.’

  ‘A sign of pride in one’s own country, señora. I will, as you say in England, lay my cards on the table. It has become necessary to speak to ladies who knew Señor Picare.’

  ‘Then you must be busy.’

  ‘Did you visit him at Vista Bonita?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When you were on your own?’

  ‘My husband did not accompany me because he would have been bored to tears.’

  Alvarez’s imagination went briefly into overdrive. ‘Did he know you visited Señor Picare at his home?’

  ‘Yes. You are surprised?’

  ‘I have to consider Señor Picare’s reputation.’

  ‘And you now think it necessary to add my name to those he “entertained”? I am dismayed and flattered. Dismayed you believe I could have been eager to betray my marriage without a second thought, flattered you consider Neil would have had the slightest lascivious interest in an aging woman.’

  ‘Far from aging, señora.’

  ‘Words to compensate for your over-reaching imagination? I did go to Vista Bonita quite often. And every time, I would find Neil to say hullo provided he was not entertaining in the bedroom. So now I imagine you’re wondering what iniquity attracted me.’

  ‘I would not consider such possibility.’

  ‘A moment ago, you seemed more than ready to do so. My reason for going to Vista Bonita was far less interesting than imagination suggests. I went there for cooking lessons.’

  ‘Cooking lessons?’ he confusedly repeated.

  ‘The cook there … I can never pronounce her name.’

  ‘Rosalía Mulet.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know she’s a wonderful cook, as she’s always
ready to say. We have eaten there two or three times – Neil and his wife were inviting minor ex-pats to prove they were socially broad-minded. The meals could have been served in a five-star restaurant. I found out the name of the cook and went up to his place when I knew he was away. I met Rosalía, flattered her shamelessly, asked her if she would show me how to cook more interestingly than I managed. John now says I must have descended from Escoffier.’

  Even when not in the cuerpo, a Mallorquin had an inbuilt tendency to look for an ulterior motive. Was he naive to accept what she said because she spoke firmly, with confidence, and must realise how easily her story could be checked? Did she present so unlikely a story in the belief that its very unlikelihood would give it credence?

  ‘I have one last question, señora. I’m afraid it may give offence, but it has to be asked. Did Señor Picare ever attempt to seduce you?’

  ‘When his choice was capons, not old hens?’

  He stood. ‘Thank you for not taking offence.’

  They heard a car enter the drive. ‘That will be John,’ she said.

  ‘In order not to cause any problem, señora, I will say I have been asking you about the car collision.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, but there’s really no need. He’s easily amused.’ She called out, ‘I’m in here, John, with Inspector Alvarez.’

  Metcalfe entered. He was wearing a shirt with sleeves that were rolled up; he had no right arm.

  ELEVEN

  ‘I have spoken to Señora Metcalfe,’ Alvarez reported over the phone.

  ‘And?’ Salas demanded.

  ‘She is an attractive woman, rather because of her personality than her appearance. When I questioned her, she said immediately that from time to time she had visited Vista Bonita.’

  ‘Picare was attracted by her, whatever her features, and she sold her virtue to gain the benefits of a rich man’s company.’

  ‘A very unjust judgment. She went to Vista Bonita to obtain cooking lessons.’

  ‘That is the latest euphemism for adultery?’

  ‘She had lessons from the cook, Rosalía.’

  ‘She needed to be shown how to boil an egg? It is to be hoped for Señor Metcalfe’s marriage that his naivety equals or surpasses yours.’

  ‘He lost his right arm three years ago. Before then, he’d been a keen sportsman who had to restrict his eating. His wife set out to give him the most tasty cooking she could manage in an attempt, which she knew must be weak, to compensate. Her love for him was not lost along with his arm.’