In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery (20 page)

‘That made me remember something Neil had said several years before at the pub when he'd drunk too well. If you've got money, you choose your target and she comes running. Cecily was behind the bar and told him that if he was a millionaire – it was before he sold the land – he'd have to look far and wide to find any woman who'd take a step in his direction. He replied that if he were rich, she'd visit his farm whenever she was invited.'

‘Which, I gather, is roughly what happened. How does that have anything to do with your meeting Marta?'

‘There was something else he used to say. If you take them to posh restaurants, drive them around in a sharp car, take them to theatres and they still hold out, give them some jewellery that looks expensive and you won't have to open the bedroom door, they'll do it for you.

‘When I saw the jewellery on Marta, heard he'd given it to her, I realised he was after her and being young and unworldly, she couldn't judge why he'd been generous.'

‘Why couldn't it have been a good-natured gift?'

‘When a middle-aged employer gives a piece of jewellery to a young female employee?'

‘You would not accept the possibility Señor Picare was aware of Marta's insecurity and thought the gift might provide her with the confidence she could gain from possessing something others didn't?'

‘No.'

‘Did you speak to Marta?'

‘Warn her what he was after? To her, I was all but a stranger and she had no reason to believe what I said. She would have been embarrassed and shocked because I could imagine she would ever give way to Neil.'

‘You did nothing.'

It had been as statement, not a question. Russell's voice rose. ‘I was going to sit around after what happened to June?'

‘Who is she?'

‘My daughter.'

‘You are married?'

‘On paper.'

‘Your wife stayed in England when you came here?'

‘She'd already left me and taken June with her when she went to live with another man. I came out here to get over things. A few months after I arrived, I had a letter which had gone all around the Balearics because it had the wrong post code. She wrote that Peter, her new man, was trying to mess with June and would I have them back.'

Alvarez noticed Russell's fingers were tightly clenched. ‘Did you not reply?'

‘You think me such a shit, I ignored what she'd told me? She'd given me a telephone number. When I rang, a man told me my wife and June had left there and he couldn't say where they'd gone.'

‘Have you heard from your wife again?'

‘No,' he said, his voice low. He spoke more strongly. ‘She had the name of this hotel so if I was here, she could write or phone me. For June's sake, I wanted to beg them to return. She had emptied our joint savings accounts and Mr Universe had great muscles, but nothing more. That's why, even knowing how much Neil would enjoy being lord of the manor, contemptuously handing a groat to a peasant, I asked him to lend me some money. I had to, for June's sake. I imagined Peter putting his hands on June, telling her it would make her feel happy …' He stopped abruptly, lowered his head.

‘Sorry,' he mumbled.

Alvarez pressed the service button by the side of the bed.The maid who entered, stared at them, her expression enigmatic.

‘My friend,' Alvarez said, ‘has just had some bad news and needs a drink. Will you bring the same as before – one coñac with ice, one lager?'

She left.

‘I have to ask you something more,' Alvarez said.

Russell did not respond.

‘When by the pool at Vista Bonita, did you accuse Picare of grooming Marta?'

Russell replaced the handkerchief in his pocket. ‘Yes.'

‘Did you threaten him?'

‘I said I'd make him suffer if he ever touched her.'

‘How did he react?'

‘Laughed.'

‘What did you mean by “suffer”?'

‘I … I was so distressed …'

‘In such an emotional state, it's probable you said you'd kill him since that was shortly before he died.'

‘When I left, he was alive. I was so choked thinking about June, I went to a bar and drank myself stupid.'

‘Which bar?'

‘I can't remember.'

‘Where is it?'

‘I didn't kill him.'

‘Where is the bar?'

‘Somewhere in the port.'

‘Because of the circumstances, you have to remember the name if you're to convince me you're telling the truth.'

Russell stood, went over to the window, stared out. It was a couple of minutes before he said, ‘It seemed Italian …'

Alvarez waited.

‘Bar Venezia.'

There was a knock on the door, the maid returned and placed two glasses on the bedside table, picked up the old ones. ‘Who's paying?'

‘I am,' Alvarez replied.

‘Four euros.'

‘It's Gran Duque dé Alba?'

‘Aren't you used to paying for services?' She waited for the money, left after a hard look at Russell.

Bar Venezia was on the front, towards the western end of the port. It was always advantageous when wishing to question the owner of a bar to ask for a drink and pay for it. When Alvarez had finished a generous coñac, he said, ‘I need to know if anything unusual happened here a few weeks ago.'

‘Why?'

‘Nothing you need worry about.'

‘I worry about everything, especially the illegal, immoral increase in rates when the banks have made such a mess of things, people can't drink as they used to.'

‘Is there somewhere at the back where we can have a chat?'

The assistant was told to carry on, the owner, followed by Alvarez, went into a small office, its space made much smaller by table, computer, filing cabinets and several unopened cases of San Miguel. There was only one chair. The bar owner, after muttering Alvarez might as well sit on it, settled on the edge of the desk.

‘What is it you're after?' he asked.

‘To know if you can remember one of your customers. He's English and was so concerned about something which had happened, he came in here and drank heavily one night a couple of weeks ago.'

‘It used to happen whenever a busload of tourists turned up.'

‘Late thirties, well-built, speaks a kind of broken Spanish. And while you're remembering, I'll have another coñac and maybe you'd like something?'

‘You buying?'

‘Yes.'

‘Just joined the cuerpo?'

The bar owner shouted out the order. He said more quietly, ‘There was an Englishman who came in here and drank like alcohol was about to be made illegal. Can't exactly remember what he looked like.'

‘Was he plastered in the end?'

‘Set in cement.'

‘What happened?'

‘We got him out before he collapsed.'

‘Threw him out?'

‘Called a taxi. Driver wasn't keen, but he made the Englishman pay up double what the fare was going to be before they started.'

‘The Englishman was able to tell the driver where to go?'

‘In the end. And if I'd been him, I'd of used the money he spent on booze to move to a better hotel.'

‘D'you remember the name?'

‘Hotel Tamit.'

Traffico, after the traditional complaints, provided the number, make and colour of Frank Macrone's car.

Alvarez left the post and walked along the shadowed side of the road, yet still felt as if every last drop of sweat was being wrung out of his body. His car did not have air-conditioning and the drive was equally debilitating. Since dehydration could be fatal, he stopped briefly at Bar Llueso.

Alvarez pressed the bell at the side of the front door of the bungalow below Vista Bonita. A woman, heavily made-up, opened the door. He introduced himself, began to explain who he was and why he was there.

She interrupted him. ‘You don't look like a detective,' she observed, her words thickly spoken.

‘I apologise,' he said facetiously.

‘You're here because of them up top?' A nod of the head indicated Vista Bonita.

‘Yes.'

‘Best come in.'

The entrada was over-furnished. He followed her into the sitting room, equally overburdened, cooled by air-conditioning.

‘I was about to drink,' she said. ‘What would you like?'

‘About' was obviously a mistiming. ‘A coñac with ice, please.'

He watched her cross to a table at the side of one of the armchairs, pick up a glass, realise it wasn't empty and drink was left in it. She left the room, walking with care. He was not, he accepted, going to learn anything from her, but at least she understood Spanish hospitality.

On her return, she handed him one glass then, to his surprise, sat at his side on the settee. ‘What d'you want to know?' she asked.

‘I'd like a word with your husband as well as you, señora.'

‘He's doing what he always bloody well does, playing golf.'

The coñac was of some quality, yet he couldn't immediately name it. ‘Señora …'

‘Poppy.'

‘Tell me what you can remember about the morning of Thursday, the twelfth of July.'

‘Wouldn't remember, but it'd be as boring as every other day.'

‘You can't say if you were here?'

‘Where else? You think he'd leave me with the car when he needs it to go off and play golf?'

‘Would you have stayed here all morning?'

‘Must have done without the car.'

‘Can you think of anything which might mark that day?'

‘Like him spending the time with me?'

‘Do many cars usually pass here to drive on up to Vista Bonita?'

‘How would I know?'

If she often enjoyed as many drinks as she obviously had so far that day, she wouldn't. ‘Might you have seen a brown Fiesta that Thursday?'

‘What's that?'

‘A car. One of the Ford models.'

‘My father wouldn't have a Ford; it was common. You need to drink up so as you can have another.'

If other occupants of the houses and bungalows were as mind-away as she, it was going to be a waste of time to question them.

She stood, had hurriedly to put a hand on his shoulder to regain her balance. She picked up her glass with some difficulty, left.

Her husband was ill-advised to leave her on her own. As the Mallorquin saying put it: A woman ignored was easily persuaded. The blonde hair was almost certainly naturally coloured, her lips were shaped to be of use, her body delightfully proportioned, her short skirt, when drawn up as she sat, had revealed a generous proportion of attractive legs.

She returned, sat more closely to him than before. ‘I only ever drink when someone else is here. I do it to be hospitable.'

As he only drank to be hospitable. ‘Have you roughly any idea when your husband will return?'

‘When it's too dark to see the ball.' She leaned against him. ‘Do you play golf?'

‘I'm afraid not. I lead a very quiet life.'

She edged closer; he felt the swell of her breast on his forearm.

‘When you do play, what d'you like doing?' He didn't answer. ‘You don't want to tell me because I'd be shocked? I wouldn't, no matter what you told me. There's no need to worry, Frank won't be back for a long time.'

It was dangerous to rely on one person's assurance as to what another would or would not do. He stood, she lurched sideways across the settee. Her skirt had risen higher, but she made no move to lower it.

‘Thank you for the drink, señora.'

‘Let's be more comfortable and have the next one in the bedroom.'

He crossed to the entrada.

‘Are you one of them?' she shouted angrily.

He left, walked to the next-door bungalow. A dog barked, but no one opened the door in answer to his knock. There was small point in wasting more of his time.

He drove down to the port and parked off-road by the middle of the bay. The beauty of the scene – deep-blue water, almost enclosed by mountains whose rugged slopes were sprinkled with shadows due to outcrops of rock, criss-crossed with the many colours of sails, soothed his mind and enabled him to accept that nothing was more futile than to regret refusing what had been offered.

‘I want to speak to the superior chief,' Alvarez said.

‘You would like to speak to him,' Ángela Torres sweetly corrected.

He waited.

‘Yes?' was Salas' greeting.

‘Inspector Alvarez reporting on his investigation into the unsolved death of Neil Picare, señor.'

‘Your flippant manner is unwelcome.'

He would always be in the wrong. ‘Following your orders, señor, I have spoken to those living in the properties at the foot of Vista Bonita.' Since he had not specified ‘all', he had not specifically lied. ‘Unfortunately, I have not been able to learn anything of consequence and as I remarked previously, because the amount of traffic up and down the road is considerable, it is bound to be very difficult to find anyone to provide that. One lady had to ask me what was a Fiesta. Another husband was playing golf and the wife had taken the opportunity to drink rather more than was reasonable, so she was not a reliable witness.'

‘Perhaps you were not a reliable questioner?'

‘Why would you say that, señor?'

‘You clearly did not question any of them as soon as you were ordered to do so.'

‘I deemed initially I should speak to Russell.'

‘As I ordered.'

‘I learned the cause of the row which Rosalía overheard. Russell has a daughter, June. The marriage was not a success and his wife and June left him, despite the close and happy relationship between him and his daughter. When his wife wrote him a letter, he learned her boyfriend was trying to mess around with June. He immediately wanted to get in touch with her and persuade them to return. She'd provided a telephone number, but the letter took so long to reach him that when he rang, it turned out she and June had left there without providing any forwarding information.