An Air of Murder

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘Not from our ATM, certainly, and probably not from anyone else’s. We’re not geared up to billionaires with black cards.’

  ‘Would you like to ring me when you know the answer?’

  ‘No need for that. Hang on.’

  Alvarez was annoyed to be left waiting, phone to his ear.

  ‘I just had to confirm what I remembered. One customer, a foreigner, demanded two thousand five hundred euros in cash. It stuck in my mind because not only was the amount unusually high for a private withdrawal, we were short and had to get notes from our other branch in the village.’ Alvarez silently swore. He had expected this line of inquiry to take days, yet ironically his first call brought a result. ‘Who drew the money?’

  ‘That’s customer confidential.’

  ‘And I’m a customer.’

  ‘Lady Gerrard.’

  ‘Who?’ Surprise caused him to shout.

  ‘You near broke my ear drum.’ He repeated the name. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’

  ‘Has she been up to something she shouldn’t?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘You’ve obviously met her! Call her a bitch and you’re insulting female dogs. One day she came in and demanded . . .’

  Alvarez listened without understanding what was being said, his mind in too much chaos. Had he been asked to name the most unlikely person to give a starving waif a crust of bread, he would have named Heloise Gerrard, yet it seemed possible she had given Dora Coates two thousand five hundred euros. Or was it a coincidence; had she drawn the money for her own selfish use? Or had Dora brought the money found in her handbag from England? Or had Dora been given that by someone else?

  ‘Is there anything more you want to know?’

  ‘A basketful, but you won’t be able to tell me.’

  After he’d thanked the other and rung off, Alvarez poured himself a fourth drink. He wasn’t certain whether it was a congratulatory or commiserative one.

  Filipe opened the front door. You’ve chosen a bad day if you’ve come to talk to her.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Alvarez asked, as he stepped inside.

  ‘There was a phone call earlier on and since then she’s been making everyone’s life hell.’

  ‘Have you any idea what the call was about?’

  ‘You think I listen in to her conversations?’

  ‘If you have the chance.’

  ‘I couldn’t understand all she said because she was keeping her voice down, but it was to do with money. She wanted more and it sounded as if whoever she was speaking to wasn’t going to give her any. Funny thing about the rich – they’re never content.’

  ‘That’s because there’s always someone richer. Where is she?’

  ‘In the library. But this time, I’d better tell her you’re here.’

  Filipe left, returned within the minute. ‘She won’t see you.’

  ‘She’s no choice.’

  ‘You can explain that.’

  ‘Then show me the way.’

  They went into the sitting-room and through a doorway to a corridor, along that to the library at the end. Heloise sat at a pedestal desk; when she saw Alvarez, anger lined her face. ‘What does this mean?’ she demanded.

  ‘I have to speak to you, Lady Gerrard.’

  ‘Were you not told I would not receive you?’

  ‘Nevertheless . . .’

  ‘Nevertheless, you have forced your way into my presence.’

  ‘Hardly forced.’

  ‘Leave immediately or I’ll call the police.’

  ‘I am the police . . . I should like to ask you if you have recently drawn a large sum in cash from a bank?’

  ‘That is none of your business.’ •

  ‘I am afraid it has become so. I can assure you that what you tell me . . .’

  ‘I will tell you nothing and I regard any assurance from you as worthless.’

  ‘I’m sorry you should think so. What bank did you use?’

  ‘You are unable to understand plain English? Whether I have drawn any money from my bank is none of your concern and so I have no intention of answering your question.’

  ‘I have been informed two thousand five hundred euros in cash were recently withdrawn by you.’

  ‘How dare you grub into my affairs.’

  ‘Why did you need so large a sum in cash?’

  ‘This is monstrous!’

  ‘Was it to pay Señorita Dora Coates?’

  She stared at him, her expression now one of shock rather than anger.

  ‘Was it?’

  She stood, pushing her chair back with unnecessary force as she did so.

  ‘Why do you find it difficult to answer?’

  She turned away and he could no longer see her full face; in profile, years and character became more obvious.

  She spoke in a taut voice. ‘I will explain, merely to ensure you cease bothering me and leave. In England, people from a certain background acknowledge that privilege brings responsibility – a concept unknown in this place. When one has employed a servant who has retired, one recognises an obligation to concern oneself with her welfare. So when Dora Coates was here, showing the eagerness, common to her class, to impart details of her personal affairs, she told me how long she had had to save in order to come out to the island with her nephew. Since it became clear she could have virtually nothing to spend whilst here, I gave her a small sum to enable her to have a happier holiday, hoping she wouldn’t waste it on the usual tourist trash.’

  ‘I should not call two thousand five hundred euros a small amount.’

  ‘I am not surprised.’

  ‘In fact, Señorita Coates was hardly a poor woman. At her death, she owned property and a considerable sum in the bank, thanks to an employer who had named her in his will. As she was so ready to speak about herself to you, I am surprised she did not mention her good fortune.’

  She stood, crossed to a bell-push on the wall, pressed it. As she returned to her chair, Filipe entered. ‘The Inspector is leaving,’ she said.

  Alvarez led the way out of the room. At the front door, he said: ‘You told me she was annoyed when Señorita Coates and her nephew came here to see her?’

  ‘Bloody furious.’

  ‘Yet she’s just said she gave Señorita Coates a very handsome present because it’s the custom in England to be concerned with the welfare of past employees.’

  ‘You think she’ll give a shit about Ana and me after we leave here?’

  Alvarez stepped outside and crossed to his car.

  He was enjoying his second cup of hot chocolate and second ensaimada of the morning when the phone rang.

  Dolores, who was chopping up white onions, said: ‘Is it ridiculous for me to think you might answer that since I am so busy?’

  ‘It’s Saturday.’

  ‘Which leaves you even less capable than on the other six days of the week?’

  ‘I’m certain the call won’t be for me.’

  She dropped the knife she had been using, tore off a sheet of kitchen roll, and wiped her fingers. ‘The main trouble a man believes he can save himself, the more certain he becomes.’ She hurried out of the kitchen.

  He pulled off a piece of ensaimada and dipped it in the hot chocolate. Women could be very small-minded; they refused to understand that when men worked very hard all week while they did nothing but potter around the house, the men were entitled to rest over the weekend.

  She returned to the kitchen. ‘So it couldn’t be for you!’ She picked up the knife and resumed chopping with greater force. ‘As my mother used to say, “Ask a Madrileño the time and he’ll criticise you for not owning a watch.” ’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Your superior chief demands to speak to you.’

  ‘Impossible!’

  ‘Then you can tell the speaker he is every bit as rude as the man he is imitating.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday.’

  ‘Even were it a Sunday, such a man would neve
r discover any manners.’

  ‘Why’s he phoning me at the weekend?’

  ‘Perhaps if you speak to him, he will tell you.’

  Alvarez made his way through to the front room, picked up the receiver. ‘Good morning, Señor.’

  ‘Why the devil aren’t you at the post?’

  He looked across at the small carriage clock above the fireplace and was surprised to note the time was nearly ten. ‘Because of the pressures, Señor, I was at work very early. One of my tasks was to question a man who, I hoped, would be able to help me in one of my investigations. Unfortunately, he proved unable to do so. As I had not had breakfast, due to my very early start, I thought it reasonable to return home briefly to have something to eat . . . Are you ringing because something is wrong, Señor?’

  ‘You are so inept as to be unable to appreciate the appalling trouble you have caused?’

  ‘What am I supposed to have done to cause anyone any trouble?’

  ‘You force you way into the home of a noble English lady; you insult her; you inform her that without her knowledge you have been investigating her bank accounts; you imply she is a liar; yet it doesn’t occur to you she might find such action unwelcome?’

  ‘I did not force my way into Ca’n Jerome, I was shown in by the butler.’

  ‘Who informed you, you were not welcome.’

  ‘I had to speak to the señora. I was very careful not to insult her.’

  ‘She is of a very different opinion.’

  ‘Then it’s her opinion against mine.’

  ‘Leaving no difficulty in deciding whose to accept.’

  ‘I did make enquiries as to whether she had withdrawn a large amount of cash from her bank.’

  ‘With her permission?’

  ‘Since I had not actual proof to rely on, I thought it must be more tactful to . . .’

  ‘Tact is not a word you should feel free to use.’

  ‘I did not imply she was a liar.’

  ‘She did not tell you Señorita Coates was not well off and you did not say you were surprised the señorita had not mentioned her good fortune?’

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘Well? You find it difficult to answer?’

  ‘Yes, Señor. There are so many negatives I’m not certain what is the question.’

  ‘In the past, you have all too often shown your unsuitability for the position you hold; by calling a noble English lady a liar, by secretly investigating her financial affairs and thereby suggesting she might be engaged in an illegal enterprise, you have proved your unsuitability for any position. I am making a full report of the matter to the director-general, to which I shall attach my recommendation as to what action should be taken. In the meantime, and until his decision is made, you will continue working, but on no account will you have further contact with Lady Gerrard. Is that clear?’

  ‘But I believe she should be questioned further. I think she may hold the key to solving the deaths of Señorita Coates and . . .’

  ‘Have you been able to identify a motive for the señorita’s death other than Señor Gerrard’s?’

  ‘Not yet. But I am certain he did not kill her.’

  ‘A conclusion based on your expert knowledge of human psychology?’

  ‘During a case, one can get a feeling that . . .’

  ‘Efficient officers prefer facts to feelings. And only by entering the fantasies of a person with perverse interests can one suppose Lady Gerrard knows anything about the murder of Jiminez. Perhaps you are about to suggest she wielded the branch which smashed his head?’ Salas slammed down the receiver.

  Alvarez returned to the dining-room, where he brought a bottle out of the sideboard; he continued through to the kitchen. As he poured brandy, he expected to hear harsh words about men who dug early graves for themselves, but Dolores said, her voice filled with sympathy: ‘He was even more obnoxious than usual?’

  He nodded.

  Twenty-One

  WOULD HELOISE, WHO BY HER TREATMENT OF HER BROTHER-IN-LAW had exposed her mean, vindictive nature, have given Dora Coates two thousand five hundred euros merely in order to enjoy a financially carefree holiday? Alvarez wondered, as he sat in the office. Even if there were those in England who still defied modern attitudes and taxes and honoured noblesse oblige, she surely was not one of them. She considered no one but herself. Then why had she paid this sum to Dora Coates, whose previous visits had so annoyed her? Blackmail was one answer, but was it a feasible one? Had Dora been murdered to prevent further blackmail? Had Jiminez observed her murder through his binoculars and decided to blackmail the blackmailer, not understanding the danger this could entail?

  Blackmail concerning what? Sex had once been a constant probability, but in the past decades all restraints had disappeared so that now it was very difficult to suggest an activity, the threat of the exposure of which would be sufficient to provoke murder. Money? If one enjoyed the benefits of a large trust, one did not need to defraud or steal . . . Then perhaps his judgement of character was as poor as Salas believed; perhaps Lady Gerrard proved that one person could at different times possess opposite characteristics – be honest or dishonest, kind or cruel, generous or mean, depending on circumstances. If so, then she might well have freely given Dora Coates that money.

  He was a fool to keep asking himself unanswerable questions; more especially when he had been forbidden to question Lady Gerrard again.

  The phone rang. Vehicles in Palma reported that they had completed their search of the Renault Megane, hired by Colin Short, and there was nothing to report.

  ‘Are you sure there’s not a single trace?’ Alvarez asked. ‘You’d like to come here and spend a few hours trying to prove us wrong?’

  ‘It’s just I thought that . . .’

  ‘Then best think again.’

  It was still relatively early, but he needed cheering up. He left the office and went to Club Llueso for his merienda. When, three-quarters of an hour later, he returned, the phone was ringing.

  ‘The superior chief wishes to speak to you,’ said the plum-voiced secretary in her haughtiest tones.

  ‘Where the devil have you been?’ Salas demanded. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past half-hour. ’

  ‘Señor, I have been . . .’

  ‘Questioning someone who lives near your home? . . . I have spoken to the director-general and he accepts my recommendations. You are to appear before the hearing which will be convened to decide whether, in view of your incompetent and insolent behaviour, you are a fit person to remain in the Cuerpo. Until the hearing, a relief inspector will be detailed to the Llueso area; you will work with him, offering such assistance as you are capable of giving.’

  ‘Señor, I am convinced . . .’

  Salas rang off.

  Misfortune seldom walked alone. Of all his fellow inspectors, Alvarez disliked Rios the most. Rios made a point of dressing smartly, deferring to superiors, and enjoying work. As if that were not enough to damn him, he was a committed teetotaller.

  He arrived in the middle of Tuesday morning and announced he was taking charge from that moment.

  ‘I gathered it was more a cause of our working together,’ Alvarez objected.

  ‘You gathered incorrectly. I am to take charge of all investigations and you are to assist me . . . should I require you to do so,’ he ended curtly.

  Alvarez silently accepted that, in the eyes of Rios, he had done himself no favours by forgetting to shave that morning and not changing his shirt, which had become slightly stained during breakfast.

  ‘To begin with, I need your projections for all the investigations in hand.’

  ‘Projections?’

  ‘Notes on each case, with particular reference to facts established and facts still to be determined, plus the proposed course of inquiries.’

  ‘I don’t work quite like that.’

  ‘Even though that is the course laid down in the Manual of Procedure?’

&
nbsp; ‘Is it?’

  Rios crossed to the opened window and looked out. ‘I begin to understand why the superior chief said what he did.’

  ‘Which was what?’

  ‘It was a confidential discussion.’ He turned back. ‘I naturally will be concentrating on the two major crimes, the deaths of Señorita Coates and Jiminez. I understand you have made little or no progress in either case.’

  ‘That’s not strictly so.’

  ‘Have you, then, determined whether the señorita drowned accidentally or was murdered?’

  ‘I’m convinced she was either murdered or allowed to drown when she could easily have been saved.’

  ‘Successful investigation calls for certainty. From what the superior chief has told me, it is essential to question Señor Gerrard far more energetically and expertly than you have done since he had an obvious, indeed, the only, motive for her death.’

  ‘Maybe, but one can’t ignore character . . .’

  ‘One should pursue the obvious in preference to the arcane. I understand you have made no more progress in investigating the murder of Jiminez than the death of Señorita Coates?’

  ‘I’m certain I’ve established the motive for his killing. He was a peeper . . .’

  ‘The superior chief mentioned that unhealthy interests were liable to surface in your work.’

  ‘Jiminez observed Señorita Coates’s death and he either then or later identified the man who had pressed her head under the water or had been standing when he should have been saving. Later he tried to blackmail that person, never realising the danger of this.’

  ‘What is the proof?’

  ‘As yet, there is none.’

  ‘It is pure supposition?’

  ‘Which is based on facts.’

  ‘The interpretation of which is a skilled task so it will be necessary for me to study your notes. When you’ve handed me those, you can for the moment work on whatever other and minor cases are in hand, reporting regularly to me.’ There was a silence.

  ‘The notes.’

  ‘There aren’t any.’

  Rios spoke as if he had just been informed that a pterodactyl was advancing on him. ‘You’ve been conducting two major investigations and haven’t a single written note pertaining to either?’