Dead Clever (14 page)

He walked to the edge of the field and along to the large cisterna into which the water from the well was pumped; he turned the main stop-cock to cut the flow of water. That done, he climbed on to a rock—which had been incorporated into the side of the cisterna—and stared inside; it was still half full. Lucky land to have so plentiful a supply of water. But to the people who had farmed it, it had brought only bad luck. Was that because they had not dedicated their lives solely to it, but had also gone to sea? And how stupid was he being when he wondered whether land could possibly influence the lives of men? Yet throughout the ages, men had fought because of it, so surely it had cast an influence over both their lives and deaths . . .

Elena was now walking towards the house, shoulders bowed, pace slow and deliberate, mattock in her right hand. He knew a sudden rush of emotion and wanted to shout that her reward must lie somewhere ahead, but he kept silent because she would have been bewildered and that would have made him feel a fool. He went round the edge of the field, a longer but quicker route than walking back through the crops.

As he reached the dirt-floored patio, she said: ‘You’ll have some wine?’ She went into the house.

He sat on one of the new patio chairs and stared out at the field. After a couple of minutes, Elena returned with a tray on which were an earthenware jug and three glasses; behind her came Ana, wearing a brightly coloured frock that did not suit her somewhat stocky figure.

‘Where’s Pedro?’ he asked.

‘He’s asleep,’ Ana answered.

‘The last time I saw him, he was being fractious and you wondered if he was teething—is he better now?’

‘It was only wind,’ said Elena.

Ana’s mouth tightened, but she said nothing. Elena filled the three glasses with wine and passed him one. The wine was rough. ‘It’s good,’ he said. It was always good for a man to be reminded of some of the past.

‘What do you want with us now?’ Ana demanded.

He noticed how drawn was her expression and how nervous her movements. Her fears had changed, not gone. Miguel would live, but might there be a second attempt to kill him, would he be charged with smuggling and sent to jail? . . . Alvarez spoke quietly and with a sincerity that could not be mistaken. First, he explained, he needed to be certain that the brothers had not been engaged in the drug trade; once he was satisfied of that, he would do everything he could to help. So he needed to speak to Miguel and in order to do that he must know where he was hiding now.

Ana looked at Elena for a decision. Miguel was her husband, but Elena was his grandmother and there were times when it was still a relief to respect age and experience.

Elena wiped her mouth on the back of her calloused, earth-stained hand. ‘You’re a cousin of Dolores and she is a cousin of ours.’

He nodded. He had agreed to honour the ties of kinship. He fervently hoped that he would not learn that Miguel and Carlos had been running drugs, whereupon he would have to dishonour those ties.

‘He’s at Son Lluher,’ she said.

Son Lluher stood in a valley which was protected by two walls of cliffs that at one point were only a hundred metres apart. Tradition had it that the Moors had determined to sack and pillage the village, but had been repulsed by fifty-one villagers who had stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the gap and, facing death with pride, had successfully fought to defend their families and homes. History showed that the Moors had never attacked the village, but the villagers sensibly preferred tradition and celebrated the glorious heroism of the fifty-one in the middle of September every year.

The village had grown in size, but not by much since there was no industry and no tourism. The few foreigners who lived in it tended to be either of an eccentric or a depraved nature. In sharp sunshine it looked charming, but in winter, when low cloud stretched from mountain to mountain, it gathered a lowering, forbidding character. There were still men and women from other parts of the island who surreptitiously crossed themselves whenever they met someone from Son Lluher.

Alvarez drove up the gently rising road and came to a halt in the small square; on the far side was the stubby church in which were kept a number of bones taken from some of the fifty-one who had fallen in battle—these were said to cure erysipelas and kidney stones. He climbed out of the car and spoke to an old man, who directed him down the second side street. When he reached the fourth house, he stepped into the entrada and called out.

Catalina Daviu, a cousin of the Navarro family, middle-aged and plump-about-to-become-fat, came through from the next room. He introduced himself as a friend of Elena’s and said that she had asked him to call in and see how Miguel was getting on and Catalina accepted this without question. She led him through the next room and out to a small, enclosed patio in which grew four tangerine trees and one banana palm; on the far side was a single room.

Miguel, responding to a call, came out of the room. He recognized Alvarez immediately and said wildly: ‘Why d’you let him in?’

Catalina, bewildered, stared from one to the other of them.

‘Elena told me you were here,’ said Alvarez.

Certain that his grandmother would have suffered the torments of the Inquisition rather than betray his whereabouts if to do so could have meant he was in any immediate danger, he became calmer. ‘What d’you want?’

‘To find out the truth.’

‘You’d best come in.’ He turned and walked back into his room, his uneasy movements showing that he was still in considerable pain.

The small room smelt dusty and, despite the fact that there had been no rain for weeks, damp. The furniture was a hotchpotch of pieces which gave the impression of having been discarded from the main house at different times as they had been replaced. In one corner, and the only new thing present, was a colour TV set.

Miguel slumped down on the bed and stretched out his right leg to ease it. Alvarez chose the stronger-looking of the easy chairs. Miguel, with a nervous gesture, ran fingers through his wavy black hair. His cheekbones were high and prominent, his nose long and beaky, his mouth full and firm, his skin a leathery deep brown—knowing he went to sea, it was easy to visualize him as a corsair. ‘What d’you want to know the truth about?’ he asked, attempting to speak with careless indifference.

‘Smuggling.’

‘Then why bother me? I’ve never . . .’

‘Your father was the smartest smuggler working from the port and until recently I’d have said you’d inherited all his skills, but now I’m wondering.’

‘I’m a fisherman and that’s all. If Dad did bring a pack or two of fags ashore . . .’

‘One or two thousand packs at a time. You realize you could need help if it’s not to happen again?’

It was obvious that Miguel had thought hard and long about that.

‘Who dislikes you and Carlos so much he put a bomb aboard your boat? And why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Then think. I’m here to help you.’

‘How the bleeding hell can you?’

‘By finding out who planted the bomb and making certain he doesn’t get a second chance. And to do that I have to know why he planted it. Were you running drugs?’

‘No.’

‘They pay a hundred times better than any other cargo.’

‘If they paid a thousand times better, d’you think a Navarro would filthy his hands with them?’

‘Your father certainly wouldn’t have done.’

‘Neither would we.’

‘So what were you carrying?’

He was still reluctant openly to admit that he’d been engaged in smuggling, but in the end he mumbled: ‘Just the usual sort of stuff.’

‘No one would have wanted to murder the two of you for doing what you’d always done. So you must have cut across someone who was interested in a far more profitable line and who didn’t like you horning in on his racket.’

‘I said, we bloody well weren’t running drugs.’

‘And I accepted that. So now tell me what you were carrying or doing that paid for the new car, the new furniture, the new kitchen equipment, and enough bottles to stock a bar?’

‘Just the usual.’

‘I promised Elena and Ana I’d do what I could for you, but if it weren’t for that I’d leave you to get blown up the next time, you being so stupid . . . Let’s try once more. When you were out at sea some time before the bomb, you saw another boat which attracted your attention, didn’t you?’

Miguel showed his uneasy surprise, but didn’t answer.

‘And it did something unusual?’

He was silent for a while, then he said slowly: ‘We were watching her in case the Customs had started chartering private craft. We heard the bastards sometimes do that sort of thing to try and hide themselves.’

‘This was around eleven at night and it was cloudy, so how were you keeping watch on it without radar?’

‘She started showing a lot of light.’

‘You’ve made it obvious you were keeping tabs on her before that happened.’

‘Well, we’d . . . we’d one of those sights which work at night.’

‘An image intensifier? Where d’you get that?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘I suppose the army’s found itself one short . . . You were watching it, but weren’t picked up by radar because you were too far away, or too low in the water, or just too cunning. What did you see?’

‘A parachute!’ Miguel looked at Alvarez as if expecting to be angrily disbelieved.

‘And?’

‘Just before it reached the sea the man released himself and splashed down; all the extra lights except one spotlight were switched off and the boat manoeuvred alongside and picked him and the parachute up, then sailed on.’

‘Leaving you scratching your heads?*

‘It didn’t make sense. I mean, someone parachuting into the sea in the middle of the night with a boat waiting to pick him up.’

‘You didn’t hear the plane?’

‘No.’

‘Then the next day you learned about the plane crash and there was no mention of the pilot being rescued and you began to wonder even more about what was going on. Did you know right away whose boat it was?’

‘When she came beam on, we did.’

Like any true seaman, they could recognize every craft which regularly used the port. ‘What happened when it became obvious that everyone else thought the pilot had died with the plane?’

‘Carlos said that since there was something queer going on we ought to have a word with señor Bennett.’

‘What he was really saying was that it would be worth your while trying to put the bite on him even though neither of you could figure out what was really happening?’

‘I said it was a stupid idea.’

‘Because you were against doing anything illegal?’

‘You can sneer all you bloody like . . . Look, it wasn’t as if whatever the Englishman was up to was doing us any harm.’

‘You’re prepared to live and let live, but Carlos wasn’t?’

‘He’s always been wild and wouldn’t stop to think. He had a novia who’s the nicest girl you could meet and there’s money in the family, but he wouldn’t settle down and marry her. Said he wasn’t ready to put on a straitjacket yet.’

‘And since that was his character, he decided to go ahead and talk to the señor?’

‘He kept on and on that we’d a chance to make some real money.’

‘If that was what he was after, why didn’t he ever suggest you moved into drugs?’

‘He did,’ mumbled Miguel, contradicting what he had said earlier. ‘I wouldn’t listen.’ He blushed from the shame of the admission that his brother had been prepared to blacken the name of Navarro.

His embarrassment satisfied Alvarez that this was the truth. ‘He saw the English señor. Did you go with him?’

‘I refused to have anything to do with it.’

‘What happened?’

‘The Englishman laughed at him. Told him the police wouldn’t believe a mere fisherman against a man as rich and as important as him.’

‘Not even when there were two of you as witnesses?’

‘I’ve just said, I wouldn’t have anything to do with it.’

‘Carlos would not have told the señor that you had refused.’

‘Didn’t make any difference. The Englishman said he’d been recording everything and if Carlos spoke to the police, he’d be up for blackmail.’

‘Hadn’t Carlos thought of that danger?’

‘He never thought about what could go wrong.’

‘If the señor refused to pay hush money, what paid for all the new things in the house?’

‘A couple of days afterwards we were mending our nets when he walked along and said he wanted a word. I cleared off. Later, Carlos said the señor had agreed to pay if we kept our mouths tight shut.’

Why the abrupt reversal of policy? wondered Alvarez. Had Bennett reconsidered the situation and decided he was in a weaker position than he’d originally judged? But if he had proof that Carlos had been trying to blackmail him, he surely could be certain that that wasn’t so. As a lifelong smuggler, Carlos had a strongly developed sense of survival and therefore must have accepted that if an allegation of blackmail was corroborated by a tape-recording, he was in real trouble. No, the reason for Bennett’s actions had to lie elsewhere . . . The Crown and Life Insurance Company were denying the fact that Green had died in the crash; their evidence in support of this contention was far from watertight; but while Carlos’s evidence in a criminal action against Bennett for aiding and assisting an attempted fraud would have carried little weight (after proof of the attempted blackmail), his evidence in the civil action would surely have provided the clinching factor. So it was Green who had been endangered by Carlos, not Bennett; it was Green who had paid the hush money, through Bennett; and it was Green who had set the bomb which had been designed to kill both brothers, since he’d no way of knowing that Miguel did not pose a threat.

Alvarez sighed. He was now satisfied that at no time had Miguel been guilty of anything beyond time-honoured smuggling. But Carlos had been murdered and his murderer had to be arrested and tried and that could not be done without publicly exposing Miguel as a smuggler, which inevitably would result in his being arrested and charged . . .