An Enigmatic Disappearance (7 page)

Alvarez sighed. He rang central control in Palma and asked them to issue a find-and-report on the missing BMW.

*   *   *

He stepped out of his car and stared at the countryside. Generally, it was poor land; thickly strewn with stones, in many places there were outcrops of rock that made an orderly cultivation impossible; there was very limited underground water so there could be only reduced irrigation; there were small areas where oranges grew, but mostly only fig trees flourished. Yet he coveted this land as much as any other. For a peasant, it was land, of whatever standard, which gave him cause for living and enabled him to endure the harshness of life …

There was a shout. ‘Have you news?'

He turned to see Ogden hurrying from the house. ‘I'm afraid not, señor.'

‘Why can't you find her?'

‘If she is still on the island, we will.'

‘What d'you mean, if she's still on the island? Of course she is. Why d'you say that?'

‘Perhaps it would be best if we go inside to talk?' Acting more as host than guest, Alvarez led the way into the cool sitting-room. Once they were both seated, he said: ‘Did your wife suffer any symptoms of food poisoning?'

‘What's that?'

He repeated the question.

‘Sabrina's missing and all you can do is ask if she was ill! God Almighty, I knew you lot were all…'

‘Señor, it could be important. I assure you that no detail is too small to be overlooked. Was your wife taken ill?'

‘No,' Ogden said angrily.

‘Did you have a meal at a restaurant on the day you were taken ill?'

‘No.'

‘You ate at home?'

‘If we didn't go out, we stayed at home, didn't we?'

‘Did your wife cook something different for herself?'

‘No.'

‘Then you both ate the same food. So why do you imagine that you suffered serious food poisoning, but the señora did not?' Watching Ogden, Alvarez saw confusion and then panic. Sweet Mary, he thought, the sun had begun to set in the east! Salas was right and the bout of food poisoning was in some way significant.

‘I … I had more meat than she did,' Ogden mumbled.

‘So it was the meat which poisoned you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Since you were so ill, the meat must have been badly infected. In which case, it seems surprising that your wife did not suffer at least mildly. Can you say why this was?'

‘I'm not a doctor.'

‘Of course not. But whoever treated you in hospital must have been curious to understand why you were poisoned, but your wife was not – did they not suggest a reason?'

‘No.'

‘Perhaps not even a doctor can know all the answers … Señor, is your wife very friendly with anyone in particular?'

‘No.'

‘You can suggest no one to whom she might go if extremely troubled, to find the kind of sympathy and understanding that at times a husband is unfortunately unable to offer?'

‘What d'you mean?'

Alvarez was puzzled by the other's tone which suddenly was belligerent, yet at the same time seemed to carry a hint of panic. He decided to introduce a small variation of the facts. ‘Merely that it sometimes helps to speak to a third party. I've been told she's very friendly with the Keanes.'

‘Them? They're no friends of ours.' He paused, then added: ‘We used to get on with 'em until he said something to Sabrina that really upset her.'

‘What was that?'

‘I don't know; I was talking to other people.'

‘Didn't she tell you later?'

‘She wouldn't, though I kept asking.'

‘Why was that?'

‘Because she said it was just so stupid, but it would get me really upset and she didn't want that to happen.'

‘Then presumably it was something of a very personal nature?'

‘I've just said, I don't know.'

‘Of course … Señor, I am very sorry to have to ask this, but I must. Is it possible your wife has been having an affair?'

Ogden, his features distorted by emotion, shouted a wild, incoherent denial.

Alvarez said goodbye. As he left the sitting-room, he recalled the old saying, ‘He who bellows the lie, often whispers the truth.'

CHAPTER 9

As he dipped a finger of coca into the hot chocolate at breakfast on Wednesday morning, Alvarez casually remarked that he would be driving into Palma. Dolores said, ‘Oh!' in a manner that invited further comment.

‘I have to go to Clinica Afret.'

Her alarm was immediate. ‘You are ill? What is wrong? Why have you said nothing?' As were most Mallorquins, she was a hypochondriac, on behalf of her family as well as herself.

‘It's nothing to do with me, it's work.'

She relaxed. ‘We are having a simple meal today so it won't take long to prepare.'

That was regrettable news. It was only when she complained of the need to spend the entire morning toiling at the stove that one could be certain one would be enjoying the best of her cooking.

She put a cleaned saucepan in the bottom of a cupboard. ‘Beatriz rang me only the day before yesterday and said it was so long a time since we'd seen each other.'

Belatedly, he realized the reason for this conversation. ‘Why don't you come in with me and I'll drop you off at her place?'

‘I've so much to do. No, I don't think so.'

If he accepted her refusal, lunch would be very ordinary indeed. ‘You deserve some time off. Let's make it a real holiday for you and when I've finished at the clinic we can have a meal at a restaurant?'

She pulled open a drawer and dropped a couple of kitchen spoons into it. ‘I suppose I could ask Elena to feed Isabel and Juan. But she and Jaime don't get on.'

‘Then he can stay here and get his own meal. Where's the problem with that?'

No problem for him.

*   *   *

Beatriz lived in a part of the city not readily accessible from the Ronda and it was a long and frustrating drive through twisting, crowded streets to her house. It was an equally difficult one from there to the clinic which was close to the northern outskirts. When he parked the car, he was hot, thirsty, and ill-tempered.

Haughty indifference to the quality of service provided was not confined to the Spanish bureaucracy; the woman at the information desk listened to his request in sullen silence and then said it was impossible. Even when he identified himself as a detective on active service, it was only with the greatest reluctance that she used the internal phone to call the Accounts Department and tell them that he was asking which doctor had attended Señor Ogden. Her annoyed surprise was obvious when Accounts were able to provide the information without any trouble.

Sequi's surgery was on the second floor of the west wing, the waiting-room on the opposite side of the corridor. As Alvarez sat there, surrounded by people who, he felt certain, were suffering from a variety of serious complaints, he promised himself that from then on he would cut down on his smoking, drinking, and eating, and he would take regular exercise.

The receptionist appeared in the doorway. ‘Inspector – the doctor will see you now.'

He left, followed by the resentful stares of those patients who were convinced he had jumped the queue on the strength of his rank. He crossed the corridor into a room that contained several pieces of equipment, all of which carried a sinister air.

‘I can give you a couple of minutes, no more,' said the doctor.

Alvarez looked away from a trolley at the end of which were clipped two gas cylinders – for use when a patient had suffered a crippling heart attack?… ‘I'll be as quick as I can. I understand you treated Señor Ogden when he was here recently?'

‘That's correct.'

‘He told me that he was suffering from very severe food poisoning as a result of eating infected meat. Is that the full story?'

‘Why d'you want to know?'

‘Señor Ogden's wife has disappeared and I'm trying to discover whether she left home voluntarily or something drastic has happened to her.'

‘And precisely how will knowing the cause of his illness help you decide that?'

‘To tell the truth, I'm not certain it will. But in every case, I try to establish all the details, even if on the face of things they don't seem to be relevant, because quite often doing this reveals a hitherto unsuspected important fact,' said Alvarez glibly, paraphrasing Salas's words. ‘Both he and his wife ate the meal which poisoned him, so it seems rather odd to a layman that even though he had more meat than she did, she didn't suffer any degree of poisoning.'

‘The causative agent was not meat, or any other food for that matter.'

‘Then what was it?'

‘Cantharidin poisoning. The first case I've come across in twenty years.'

‘What exactly is that?'

‘The active principle of cantharides, which is the crushed bodies of beetles called…' He swung his swivelling chair around until he could reach across and open the right-hand door of a glass-fronted bookcase. He brought out a book, put it on his desk and opened it. ‘
Cantharis vesicatoria.
I should have remembered, since it's used as a vesicatory plaster.'

‘What kind of plaster?'

‘It raises blisters on the skin to treat inflammations by causing the body to take defensive measures.'

‘How on earth did the señor come to eat something like that?'

‘Cantharides has a second identity – Spanish fly.'

‘The aphrodisiac?' Alvarez said, surprise raising his voice.

‘The so-called aphrodisiac. Further, it is not a fly, but a beetle, and is not peculiar to Spain but is found in many other countries. The name is an example of how some nationalities will stoop to any lengths to hide their own iniquities.'

‘Señor Ogden had been using that stuff?'

‘On his arrival, we had no idea what was the problem. He was suffering burning pains in the mouth, along the oesophagus, in the pit of the stomach and the remainder of the abdomen. He claimed he'd eaten something that was poisoning him and we tried, and failed, to identify what that could be. Further symptoms developed which made it clear that the poisoning was of a most unusual kind, but we made no progress until, in fear of death, he finally admitted he had taken cantharides. This enabled us to treat the symptoms, which we did with considerable success. He probably is too stupid to realize how fortunate he is not only to survive, but to do so suffering such little permanent damage.'

‘Why on earth did he take it?'

‘That is not obvious?'

‘Yes, of course,' Alvarez answered, in some confusion. ‘What I meant was, why risk something so dangerous?'

‘I talked to his wife, who did not suffer the embarrassed reluctance to tell the truth which so nearly cost him his life, and she explained that there had been difficulties for some time. She tried to persuade him to seek medical advice, but he refused to do so. Inevitably, the situation deteriorated until in desperation he decided on a dangerous attempt to resolve the problem and bought some cantharides.

‘Learning about the purchase, she tried to persuade him not to take such a risk; when he insisted on doing so, she took the precaution of researching the subject as far as possible and learned that the fatal dose of the beetle substance is generally held to be between two and three grams; she warned him never to take anything approaching that amount.' The doctor sat back, folded his arms across his chest. ‘Ironically, although medically speaking the substance is useless as an aphrodisiac, in his case it proved to be reasonably effective; belief can be the strongest of medicines.'

‘If he knew how much was dangerous, how come he overdosed?'

‘He maintained he never did. However, his wife told me that recently he has been drinking heavily and so it seems reasonable to accept that through inebriated carelessness, he made a serious mistake.' He unfolded his arms.

‘What impression did you gain about their relationship?'

‘The marriage was clearly under very considerable strain and from some of the facts I learned from her, one could not have criticized her had she left him. That she stayed with him, helping him as far as she could, suggests a very strong sense of loyalty. One hopes he has enough sense to appreciate that.'

Alvarez thanked the doctor and left. He wondered if Ogden was as convinced of his wife's loyalty?

*   *   *

Alvarez opened the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk and brought out a bottle of Soberano and a glass. He poured out a very generous amount of brandy. There were times when Dutch courage was essential.

He dialled Palma.

‘Superior Chief Salas's office,' said the plum-voiced secretary, as if announcing royalty.

‘Inspector Alvarez here. Can I have a word with him?'

As he waited, he drained the glass.

‘Has the woman turned up?' Salas demanded.

‘No, señor.'

‘Have you found out if she left the island?'

‘I'm still waiting to hear from both the airline companies and the ferry people.'

‘Has the car been found?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Why not? Why does everything on this island take twice as long as anywhere else?'

Alvarez wondered why Madrileños were always in such a rush when the only effect of this was that they were for ever tripping up over their own feet? ‘Señor, I have visited the clinic where Señor Ogden was treated and have spoken to the doctor concerned. Although Señor Ogden told me he was poisoned by meat, this was not true, so that the fact he had eaten more than his wife was of no account…'

‘If it was of no account, there's no need to waste my time mentioning the fact.'

‘He was poisoned by cantharides.'

‘What's that?'

‘Crushed beetle. And this isn't restricted to Spain, despite the name it's commonly known by…'