A Maze of Murders (5 page)

Sheard, his expression now sullen, did not answer.

‘You don't know how?'

‘No.'

‘The question hasn't intrigued you?'

‘I mind my own business.'

Sheard's hands and body were tensed and beads of sweat were pricking his forehead despite the relative coolness of the room. Yet weakness could become strength through desperation. Alvarez decided that for the moment it was best not to pursue the matter directly any further but there might be another way to confirm that the other was lying. ‘The two of you have been going around together?'

‘Yes.'

‘For much of the time?'

‘All the time.'

‘Then you do not have a job?'

‘No.' Once again, he spoke with unnecessary force.

‘Then you are a lucky man since you do not have to work to live! Your money comes from England?'

‘Yes.'

‘Which bank here handles the transfer?'

‘What … Why d'you want to know?'

‘In my job, I have to confirm as much as possible, whether or not it's really of any importance. So I will need to ask your bank to confirm what you've just said.'

Sheard began to fidget. ‘I…' He flicked the edges of the paperback. He spoke in a rush. ‘Friends bring the money out in travellers' cheques.'

‘At which bank or banks have you changed these?'

There was no answer.

Alvarez's tone was friendly. ‘Señor, do not forget that I am Mallorquin.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘Should I learn of a foreigner who has a job, but who forgets to inform the authorities and in consequence does not pay any tax, my only response is envy. I feel no desire to denounce him.'

Sheard hesitated.

‘Of course, if I discover that fact in the course of an investigation and there is no way of concealing it from my report, my superior, who is Spanish, may well be of a different mind.'

Sheard drew a deep breath. ‘All right, I do odd jobs for the ex-pats.' He suddenly showed a rare flash of pride. ‘There's always plenty of work going because they're either too old or too superior to do it themselves. And I'm good at the work.'

Since Sheard had been lying the second time he had spoken so forcefully, it seemed reasonable to assume that the first occasion had also masked a lie. But why lie about Lewis's knowing or visiting anyone? Because this had a direct bearing on the other's disappearance? Yet whilst it was easy to envisage Sheard's engaging in some minor criminal activity at no apparent risk to himself, it was difficult to believe he would do so if the crime were major and the physical risk obvious. But, of course, if his half-formulated interpretation of events was correct, there had been no physical risk. And the reward? Surely that had in some way to be connected with Lewis's new-found wealth?… ‘Señor, please tell me all you can remember about Thursday night, from the moment you met the two señoritas.'

Heartened by Alvarez's friendly manner and apparent dismissal of what had gone before, Sheard spoke with a measure of confidence. His evidence only twice contradicted Kirsty's and on each occasion the point was of no consequence.

‘You have a good memory,' Alvarez said flatteringly. ‘Perhaps it will help me clear up one final point. When Señor Lewis opened the second bottle of whisky, did it look as if he had to break the seal of the cap?'

‘I wasn't watching. But seeing it was a full bottle, the top would've been sealed, wouldn't it?'

Alvarez was surprised that Sheard had not spoken forcefully.

*   *   *

Alvarez parked, crossed the pavement, and entered the front room. The air tingled with the scent of cooking. In the dining-room, Jaime sat at the table, a bottle of brandy and an empty glass in front of him. ‘I don't know what's for grub, but it's making me hungry.'

Alvarez brought a glass out of the sideboard, filled the glass with brandy, added two cubes of ice from the insulated container. ‘From the smell, it could be Estofat de xot. She's not cooked that for months.'

‘You're making me even hungrier!' Jaime reached across the table for the bottle, but as he did so there was the swish of the bead curtain to warn him that Dolores was coming through from the kitchen. He hastily withdrew his hand.

Face damp with sweat, she stepped into the dining-room. ‘I'm sorry, but the meal's going to be a bit late because the shopping took such a long time, what with not finding what I wanted and meeting people who would talk.'

‘She who travels slowly prolongs the pleasure of arriving,' Alvarez said.

‘There's not much pleasure in shopping with all the foreigners around.' She turned. ‘You've time for another drink,' she said over her shoulder as she went back into the kitchen.

Jaime picked up the bottle. ‘Where did you learn these peculiar things you say?'

‘Probably at school.'

‘Bloody odd school you must have gone to.' He refilled his glass. He drank, put the glass down, looked at the bead curtain and said in a low voice: ‘Have you noticed Dolores?'

‘What about her?'

‘I think something's up.'

Alvarez's concern was immediate. ‘You mean, she's ill?'

‘Not exactly ill. But acting strange. Comes in here a moment ago and says the meal's going to be late so have another coñac. You know what she's usually like. Says I'm a drunkard when I'm on my first drink. Another thing. It's days since she's yelled at me over anything. Why's she like this?'

‘How would I know? Maybe it's because your cousin made such a hit with her.'

‘Are you suggesting she and him…?'

‘Have you gone crazy? If she heard you suggest that, she'd yell so hard your brains would scramble.'

‘Well it just seemed like that's what you were implying.'

‘Do yourself a favour and stop thinking.'

‘But it makes me worry, her behaving like this.'

‘If a man offers you a lamb for free, don't bother to ask him where he got it.'

‘I suppose you learned that at your school as well?' He drank deeply. ‘Well, I'm glad I didn't go to it.'

CHAPTER 7

Built before the Civil War, Hotel Vista Bella had catered for wealthy families from Palma or the Peninsula who spent much of the summer enjoying the quiet tranquillity of the port. Then, events both inside and outside Spain had dramatically affected the number of such guests and times had become very hard. The advent of the package holiday trade had offered a return to prosperity, but the family who owned the Vista Bella had been reluctant to accept it because they had had the foresight to realize that it must change the character of the hotel. Strangely, they had not at first realized that it must to an even greater degree change the whole character of the port with the result that the wealthy, whose prime requirement was exclusivity, would no longer favour it. Events, however, had soon forced them to acknowledge the fact that if they were to stay in business, they had to come to terms with the change. They had modernized and greatly enlarged the hotel, but in keeping with their ethos had – in so far as this was possible – continued to run it with the caring efficiency shown in the past, despite the fact that many of the guests bore little resemblance to their predecessors.

Alvarez turned off the pavement, went down the stone steps and into the foyer. He spoke to the desk clerk and explained that he wanted to examine Señor Lewis's room. The desk clerk called the assistant manager who, since the manager was not present and responsibility could not therefore be shifted, finally and reluctantly agreed to the request.

Room 24 had a wide balcony and Alvarez stepped on to this, stared out at the bay, and wondered if the many tourists ever appreciated to the full the beauty that lay before them. He sighed. Judging by the average tourist, it seemed unlikely.

He returned to the room. On the bedside table was a paperback with a lurid cover; the single drawer was empty. The dressing-table had nothing on it that was not hotel provided; the drawers were empty. He crossed to the built-in cupboard and slid back the right-hand door. On the floor was a battered canvas hold-all in which was dirty clothing, a pornographic video tape bought locally, and a carton of Lucky Strike which still contained four packs. By the side of the hold-all was a pair of brown shoes, in the left-hand one of which was a thick wad of banknotes. Mostly of ten thousand peseta denomination, they added up to seven hundred and sixteen thousand pesetas. He folded them up and replaced them. Hanging up were two pairs of jeans and a denim jacket. In the breast pocket of the jacket was a passport, a wallet which contained seven thousand pesetas, a five-pound note, and a packet of condoms; in other pockets were a crumpled up receipt from Gomila y Hijos, another, even more crumpled, from a restaurant in Bitges, and a used train ticket from Bitges to Barcelona.

He stood at the foot of the nearer bed and mentally reviewed the facts. Lewis had over seven hundred thousand pesetas in cash, yet only days previously he had been virtually penniless; the money and the passport surely negated the possibility – a very slight one – that his disappearance had been intended; prior to arriving on the island he had been on the Peninsula, yet had not told Sheard this (if Sheard were to be believed) …

He'd come to the hotel hoping to find answers; he seemed only to have raised more questions. He left and drove to the harbour, parked on the eastern arm and walked to where the
Aventura
was moored, dwarfed by the gin palace in the next berth. The gangplank was narrow and lacked any hand ropes, but most would have crossed it without a second thought. Altophobia provoked a hundred and one thoughts and caused him to have to summon up every ounce of willpower before he could make the crossing, miserably conscious of the ridiculous figure he cut.

The saloon door was shut, but not locked. He went inside and was gratified to see that nothing had been cleared up. On the port side, immediately for'd of the settee, was a table on which were three glasses, one of them on its side, an empty bottle of Bell's whisky and another over three-quarters full; on the deck by the starboard settee was a glass on its side, a T-shirt, jeans, pants, and a pair of sandals.

He picked up the two bottles and four glasses, put them in a plastic carrier bag retrieved from under the table. Once more, very frightened, he walked the plank.

He drove into the port and along to a dingy bar in one of the backstreets owned by a man who, despite the fact he was illiterate, had a keen business brain and charged tourists in search of local colour twice as much as his regular customers.

‘You look like you've just lost the winning lottery ticket,' the owner said, as he put a glass of brandy in front of Alvarez.

‘That's just how I feel.'

‘Woman trouble?'

‘I've more important things to worry about.'

‘If you think there's anything more important, you're getting really old.'

*   *   *

The bank's new branch in the village was laid out on the open plan, with the manager's desk in full view of customers but partitioned off by plate glass. Contrary to traditional caricature, the manager was cheerful and friendly and he actually enjoyed helping people overcome their financial problems, especially if while doing so he could enjoy the Mallorquin pastime of circumventing one or more of the multitude of rules and regulations. A short, rotund man, balding, yet with bushy eyebrows, he came round the desk and shook hands. ‘Nice to see you, Enrique. How's the family?'

‘They're all well,' Alvarez replied.

‘Give Jaime and Dolores my regards … Now, how can I help you?'

‘I need some information.'

‘In connection with what?'

‘On the face of things, there's been an accident and a man's drowned. Only there's no body so it's not certain he's dead; and if he is, I've the feeling it wasn't an accident. So if I can establish that there is a motive for his death, things should become clearer. Do you follow me?'

‘I hope so.'

‘I'll put it in concrete terms. A man arrives on the island and is hard put to rub two five-hundred-peseta coins together; yet within a few days he's staying at the Vista Bella, chartering a motor cruiser for a hundred and fifty thousand, and has well over seven hundred thousand in cash. It seems logical to suppose that the newly acquired wealth has a direct connection with his disappearance and I'm trying to find out if logic is fact.'

The manager rested his elbows on the desk, joined the tips of his fingers together. ‘And the inference is?'

‘Drug trade,' Alvarez replied succinctly. ‘Killed because he was trying to pull a fast one on either the supplier or the purchaser. I might gain a lead if I can identify the source of the money.'

‘So you're going to ask me to check for details of movements of unusually large amounts of cash?'

‘And to ask all other banks to do the same.'

‘But unfortunately you do not have a court order calling on us to co-operate?'

‘It would take forever to get that. And in this case, time could be very important.'

The manager said reflectively: ‘It's only a few days since I learned that the son of a cousin of mine has had to go into a clinic which deals with drug abuse … Can you suggest any names to make the search easier?'

‘The best I can offer is the reasonable certainty that the money will have been drawn by someone who speaks English.'

‘Hardly much use when there are thousands of British residents on the island … This will take time.'

*   *   *

Despite having enjoyed a good siesta, Alvarez found it very difficult to stay wide awake as he sat in the stuffy office. Soon, it became impossible. He settled back in the chair, closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to wander. It had just attained the gentle incoherence which immediately preceded sleep when the telephone rang. After a while, it became silent. Contentedly, he recalled the comment of the Duke of Plesencia when informed that his wife had just died. Even a hurricane must cease. His mind once more drifted peacefully … The phone rang again.