Sun, Sea and Murder

by Roderic Jeffries

  Two-thirds of the way along the ancient road, only partially metalled, a track branched off to the north and led to the narrow, fairly short Val de Teneres. As he passed through the sloping rock walls of the entrance, Es Teneres came into sight in the middle of the valley floor.

  He had first seen the manor house many years before it had been renovated and had been nearing the state at which renovation would not be financially viable . . . Whilst doing his army service, he and a companion had been detailed to set up a stand at the end of the valley to keep watch for men who were reputed to be carrying consignments of smuggled cigarettes from the beaches which lay beyond the mountains and hills. One night – a Sunday – they had heard the distant sound of mules’ feet on rock and had prepared to challenge the oncomers, only to feel knives at their throats and the quietly spoken warning that if they wished to see the sun rise, they should do nothing, hear nothing, see nothing. That was their report to the sergeant. Alvarez had never managed to decide whether he had played the part of a wise man or a coward.

  He braked to a halt in front of Es Teneres. He crossed the drive, climbed the two granite steps, entered the portico and rang the bell. The door was opened by a young woman, wearing an apron, whose midnight black hair framed a pleasantly featured face. ‘Yes?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d like a word with Señor Tyler. Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo.’

  Her inquisitive surprise was immediate, but she merely said: ‘Come on in. He’s in the sitting room. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  The hall was large and did not offer the note of welcome that a village house’s entrada would. The furnishings were modern, except for two leather-backed chairs, a wooden chest, heavily carved and with a massive iron lock, and a painting by a respected artist of the nineteenth century that was of a typical Mallorquin mountain scene.

  She returned. ‘He wants to know . . .’ She stopped, stared more intently at him. ‘You’re Dolores’s cousin.’

  He failed to identify her. Many women had deep black hair, but hers was unusually luxuriant and wavy and should have spurred his memory; it didn’t. If she was a relative, however distant, or a friend and Dolores learned that he had not recognized her, he would be in trouble. He tried to uncover her identity without exposing his ignorance. ‘And we last met in Inca at that shop which sells and sharpens knives.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been there. It was at Beatriz’s first communion.’

  His mind clicked into gear. Julia Gustavo. Her mother was a close friend of Dolores. A lucky escape. ‘Of course! I’ve been working so hard, my mind has become slightly muddled. Tell me, how are your parents?’

  ‘Father was off work for a time with a bad back, but he is much better now.’

  ‘Glad to hear that. And María?’

  ‘She had a nasty cold and the doctor said—’

  She was interrupted. Tyler stepped into the hall, addressed Alvarez sharply. ‘Do you speak any English?’

  ‘Yes, señor.’

  ‘Then you will say what you want.’ His tone was as arrogant as his words.

  ‘I am Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo General. You are Señor Tyler?’

  ‘That is not obvious? You wish to speak to me? Then you’d better come in here.’ He turned in to the room behind him.

  ‘Expects people to run when he calls,’ Julia said in Mallorquin in a low voice. ‘Gets furious when things don’t go as he expects. If the meal’s a couple of minutes late, he’s shouting.’

  ‘Impatience turns food sour in the stomach,’ Alvarez observed.

  ‘Everything has to be perfect; we even have to wear uniform when he has guests.’

  ‘Folie de grandeur.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘A starling thinking it’s an eagle.’

  She giggled.

  Tyler appeared in the doorway. ‘You may speak English, but you clearly do not understand it.’

  ‘Julia is an old friend, señor, and I have not seen her for a long time.’

  ‘She is not paid to waste time chatting.’

  ‘It is the habit for us to speak a few words of greeting when we meet.’

  ‘Your definition of “few” is not mine.’ He turned and entered the sitting room.

  ‘He speaks from both ends,’ Alvarez said. ‘But I suppose I’d better go in and talk to him or his blood pressure will climb. Give my salutations to Jorge and María and tell them I hope we meet again soon.’

  He crossed to the half-opened doorway and entered a richly furnished sitting room, cooled by the air-conditioning unit on one wall. Tyler stood to the right of a wide, open fireplace.

  ‘Hopefully, you will now forgo any further “tradition” and tell me why you are here,’ Tyler said.

  The English, Alvarez thought, were past masters at expressing their conception of social differences by the tone of voice. ‘There are certain enquiries I have to make, señor.’

  ‘Which can hardly concern me.’

  ‘I am here to determine whether or not they do.’

  ‘I fail to understand.’

  ‘We have been asked by the English police to find out if the driver of a car involved in a fatal incident which occurred in England is now on this island.’

  Tyler failed to conceal his sense of shock before he crossed to the window and looked out.

  ‘Two young people, a Señor Newcome and a Señorita Drew, were killed.’

  ‘Very unfortunate, but that cannot have anything to do with me.’

  ‘The driver’s name is reported to be Tyler.’

  ‘A common one.’

  ‘Yet less common when his Christian name is Cyril.’

  ‘The absurdity of that is obvious since I have been told there is another Cyril Tyler living somewhere nearby.’

  ‘I have spoken to him and he was not the driver involved.’

  ‘Then since I assure you neither was I, you can accept your enquiries do not concern me.’ He turned around to face Alvarez. ‘I am rather busy so if you would kindly now leave—’

  ‘I have many more questions.’

  ‘I have not the time or reason to answer them.’

  ‘Señor, are you reluctant to be questioned about the fatal crash?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then there is no reason not to discuss it.’

  ‘Are you trying to be smart?’

  ‘I would not attempt that.’

  ‘I’m damned if I like your attitude.’

  ‘Then I apologize for my manners.’

  ‘From necessity, one becomes accustomed to the lack of them out here.’ Tyler crossed to one of the chairs, sat.

  ‘You live in England, señor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Kent.’

  ‘And you own a farm?’

  ‘An estate.’

  ‘Were you there on Saturday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You did not leave home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You did not have lunch with friends?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Might you be mixing up the days in your mind, señor?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yet your friends say you had lunch with them on Saturday.’

  ‘What friends?’

  ‘The English police have give the name of Jackadon.’

  Tyler stood and crossed to the window again, stared out.

  ‘You say the police are wrong or that your friends are wrong?’

  ‘One or the other certainly is.’

  ‘You think both have cited the wrong day yet which is the same day?’

  ‘What the hell does it matter which day it was?’

  ‘Because it is important. Did you have champagne before the meal?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Did you have wine with the meal?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Several glassfuls?’

  ‘You are unlikely to appreciate that when offered a fine wine, one does not sw
ill it down, one drinks very conservatively.’

  ‘How many glassfuls did you have?’

  ‘How d’you expect me to remember? Two at the very most.’

  ‘Señora Jackadon’s maid thought you had four.’

  ‘How is she supposed to know?’

  ‘She was serving at table.’

  ‘And when asked by some clumsy policeman, said the first thing which came into her head.’

  ‘Did you have coñac at the end of the meal?’

  ‘Are you going to demand how many forkfuls of rhubarb crumble I ate?’

  ‘You can remember what the sweet was, even though you were not there?’

  ‘I said, I mixed up the days.’

  ‘Did you drink three coñacs?’

  ‘One. And if that maid says anything else, she’s lying.’

  ‘Why should she do that?’

  ‘Servants always black their employers behind their backs.’

  ‘Was she not employed by your friends?’

  ‘Of course she was. But her kind hate anyone they serve.’

  ‘You are saying she was lying simply because she served you at the table?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious? Why say I’d been drinking heavily except to make it seem—’ He stopped abruptly.

  ‘Seem what?’

  ‘It’s immaterial.’

  ‘Perhaps you were about to say, suggest that you might have been in an unfit state to drive a car?’

  ‘Ridiculous and insulting.’

  ‘Did you drive home after the meal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You did not judge that to be unwise?’

  ‘Why should I? I had drunk no more than at any other meal.’

  ‘What was the time when you left your friends?’

  ‘After six.’

  ‘You can be certain it was that late?’

  ‘When I say it was after six, it was.’

  ‘The maid says it was considerably earlier.’

  ‘I told you, she’s been lying for the fun of it. I’ve had enough of this stupidity. You can leave.’

  ‘The English police have given us detailed information so we could put these questions to you. But since you find my manner objectionable, would you prefer to return to England and speak to them directly?’

  After a while, Tyler said: ‘I apologize, Inspector. I have sounded rude. The fact is, I have been very worried because of certain financial problems and have been forced to make decisions which carry severe consequences for me if I have been wrong. So to have you come here and appear to believe, or at least consider it possible, I ran into two people and didn’t call for help, just left them and drove away, is insulting, not just a mistake which can be quickly corrected. I hope you understand.’

  ‘It is unfortunate I had to come at so stressful a moment for you, señor. But I am here, have already troubled you, so perhaps you will allow me to ask one or two more questions to satisfy the English police?’

  ‘I’d be grateful if you could be as brief as possible.’

  ‘Of course. When did you arrive on the island?’

  ‘Yesterday morning.’

  ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘By car.’

  ‘What kind of car do you drive?’

  ‘A Bentley.’

  ‘I have been asked to examine it in order to determine whether it has been in a collision.’

  ‘The answer to that is, it has. Which is a mortifying admission since I like to think I am a good driver. I wasn’t wearing sunglasses when I started to turn in to the drive and met the sun full on and for a couple of seconds was virtually blinded and ran into a bollard sited to stop people going into a drainage ditch. It stopped me very effectively.’

  ‘Your car is here?’

  ‘I called up the local Grua people and they put it on a low loader, took it to the garage in the port . . . You look surprised?’

  ‘With a car of such quality . . .’

  ‘A couple of trips back, I was strongly recommended to a local mechanic – even so, I was rather dubious about giving him my Rover which had developed a fault. He had it sorted out in no time flat. Knows his way around an engine blindfolded and when a job needs to be done quickly, he works to the finish regardless of hours and is honest enough not to find imaginary problems to shore up his bill.’

  ‘Perhaps you are talking about Garaje Verde?’

  ‘You obviously know the place.’

  ‘Estában Nieto has a considerable reputation.’ Partially of an unwelcome nature, Alvarez silently added. ‘I do not need to trouble you any further, señor. Thank you for helping me.’ He stood.

  ‘It is to be hoped the English police understand their mistake after hearing from you.’

  ‘I will make the facts as clear as possible.’

  ‘Since business is now behind us, surely we can enjoy a little pleasure. Will you have a drink?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What would you like?’

  ‘A coñac with just ice, please.’

  Tyler left the room, returned with two glasses, one of which he handed to Alvarez. Even by Mallorquin standards, it was a large brandy and of good quality. Unlike Tyler, Alvarez thought as he drank.

  FOUR

  At a reasonable hour of the morning, Alvarez drove down to the port and along to Garaje Verde. It was not a garage in the conventional sense since it was the ground floor of a house and in the past where mules would have been kept. It could accommodate only the car which was being repaired; any others had to be parked outside in the road. A hole in the ground took the place of a hydraulic lift; tools and three new tyres hung on the walls; the ‘office’ was a desk and cupboard at the far end.

  He parked, walked the twenty metres to the garage. Two men were working on the dark grey Bentley; one was down in the pit, the other was at the front end. The younger man looked up and across the bonnet. ‘Enrique!’

  ‘Didn’t expect to find you here.’ Emilio was the younger son of a friend.

  ‘Dad said it was time I stopped chasing girls and started to work.’

  ‘And you’re still doing more chasing than working,’ Nieto called out from the pit as he moved towards the steps.

  ‘Work is man’s curse,’ Alvarez said. He visually checked that both wing mirrors were intact.

  Nieto scrambled up to floor level. ‘If you want something done on your car right now, you’re out of luck.’

  ‘The perfect salesman!’

  ‘Suppose you’ve been driving without any oil because it’s too much trouble to check the level?’

  ‘My car’s working perfectly since I don’t bring it here.’

  ‘Then why bother us?’

  ‘I want to look at that to see whether I might buy one.’ He pointed at the Bentley.

  ‘The doors of hell will be shut and locked before you can afford that.’

  Alvarez walked to the far end of the garage. There was an inspection lamp with a long lead and he picked this up, shone it on the front end of the car. The front panels, nearside light pod and bonnet were missing. ‘Been in a smash from the look of things,’ he said, as he replaced the inspection lamp on the floor.

  ‘Hit a bollard in Parelona,’ Nieto said, suddenly miserly with words.

  ‘Careless.’

  ‘The sun blinded the owner as he was turning,’ Emilio said.

  ‘Turning where?’

  ‘Into the drive of a friend’s house.’

  ‘Keep your breath for work,’ Nieto said sharply.

  ‘Must have been quite a thump.’

  Emilio ignored Nieto’s rebuke, said: ‘Didn’t do all that much damage.’

  ‘When you’ve had to remove so much?’

  ‘Said he wasn’t going to have any dents on his car and everything needed to be as good as new and repainted.’

  ‘Was the bonnet badly dented?’

  ‘If it had been my car, I’d have lived with it. Pay good euros to get rid of something you couldn’t really see unti
l you got down and looked along the line of the bonnet?’

  ‘Clear off for your merienda,’ Nieto said angrily.

  ‘A moment ago you were shouting at me to work.’

  ‘Which you ain’t been doing because you’re so goddamn busy talking.’

  ‘What about the wing mirror?’ Alvarez asked. ‘Was there one missing?’

  ‘Does it look like there was?’ Nieto asked.

  ‘Just wondered if I was seeing double.’

  ‘There’s some think you can’t see single.’

  Alvarez left. He drove down to the front and parked, stared out at the bay. The far mountains edged a cloudless sky, sails of yachts and windsurfers were of many colours and design and added a touch of carnival; adults and children shouted their fun and pleasure as they played on the beach or in the sea. It was a scene to make man accept there could be joy in life.

  Spiritually heartened, he walked along to the nearest front café. A drink would cost at least twice as much as in one of the back street cafés, but there were times when the soul did not want to be troubled by economy.

  A waiter in open-neck white shirt, perspiring freely, came to his table.

  ‘A coñac and a café cortado.’

  As the waiter hurried away, Alvarez moved his chair further into the shade of the overhead umbrella. He looked across the pedestrianized road at a young, shapely woman in a minimal monokini lying down on her back on a towel. By her side, a man in brightly coloured shorts spoke to her and she smiled. Was he a travelling partner, a would-be holiday partner or a beach bum? The young could not understand how fortunate they were. In the past, no young woman would be unaccompanied by an elderly female relative with a suspicious mind and bikinis were forbidden by law.