Sun, Sea and Murder

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘You tell the stupid bastard it was a man.’ Higuero stormed into the shed, his expression one of unyielding stubbornness.

  There would be no change of evidence, Alvarez thought as he walked back to his car. He sat behind the wheel. Common sense said he was a fool to have deliberately goaded Higuero into refusing to admit error.

  Because of the evidence Sophie had provided, because of the false confession, it seemed very likely Sandra Drew had been driving. He started the engine, did not immediately drive off. There was just the chance Sophie had been maliciously lying, her perverse character finding it amusing to do so.

  The bedroom was cool, thanks to the air-conditioning unit set to a low temperature. On each bedside table was a filled glass – Veuve Clicquot in hers, Fundador on ice in his. They enjoyed the relaxation which came from satiation.

  He was the first to speak. ‘I have to ask you something.’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘To do with work.’

  ‘What an utter boor you can be.’

  ‘Did you tell me the truth when you said Drew had been here on the day Tyler was shot?’

  ‘Why should I have lied?’

  ‘Because it would have amused you.’

  ‘I gain my amusement in other ways.’

  ‘Were you lying?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You swear you weren’t?’

  ‘I’ll swear if you go on like this.’

  ‘It’s vitally important for someone I know the truth.’

  ‘I’m not interested in your someone.’

  ‘Drew was here that Thursday?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes. Ask again and I’ll say he bloody wasn’t.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He came here, as nervous as a kid of fifteen used to be when you were young. Wanted a drink, took time drinking it. I told him, if he was like that, take his conscience back to his wife and don’t play at being a grown man. In the end, he started undressing . . . I’ve told you that.’

  ‘Tell me again.’

  ‘His mobile rang. And he answered it!’

  ‘People have different priorities.’

  ‘The next thing, he’s shouting into the phone he’ll go there and look for something. He dressed and ran out.’ She giggled. ‘They say there’s always a first time.’

  He climbed off the bed.

  ‘If you think you’re going to make it a second time . . .’

  ‘I need to think and can’t do that next to you.’

  ‘What the hell d’you mean?’

  ‘I’ll return when I’ve done the thinking.’

  ‘Clear off now and I’ll goddamn well lock you out!’

  ‘I’ll take the keys with me.’

  ‘You think I’ll have anything more to do with a selfish peasant?’

  ‘Annoyed you haven’t been able to reduce me to servitude?’

  ‘Annoyed I was ever stupid enough to have anything to do with you.’

  He dressed, left the house and sat in his car. How could the phone call Drew had received have been so explosively important that he had left her bed? He had shouted over the mobile that he’d go there and look for it. Es Teneres? The gun which had killed Tyler, fired by Sandra? He had not known that very few revolvers or automatics, with their pimpled stocks and narrow triggers, provided worthwhile prints. When his wife had phoned as he was about to betray her with another woman and said she had shot Tyler, it was small wonder he had left in a wild hurry.

  Alvarez’s mind returned to the past. Sandra, convinced even a man like Tyler would finally respond to the request of a grieving mother, had returned to Es Teneres on her own, knowing her husband would have vetoed another visit. The cook was ill, Julia was trying to prepare a meal so she was unobserved.

  Tyler would have been contemptuously dismissive. Two people had been rundown and killed? Hundreds of people were killed on the roads every year. It was a fact of death. And if a couple walked in the middle of a country lane, arms about each other, careless of other users of the road, they were asking for trouble.

  Her grief had been exacerbated by his verbal cruelty. She temporarily lost all self-control. She frightened him with the strength of her fury. He had become alarmed, had brought the automatic out of a drawer in the desk to protect himself. His obvious cowardice had the effect of calming her down – he was even more contemptuous than she had thought. Noting her returned self-control, ashamed of his weakness, he had taunted her. If she was so mistakenly certain he had killed her daughter, would it help her to kill him? . . . If he wronged her, should she not revenge? . . . He would lay the gun down on the desk and she could use it. That was unless she lacked the courage to do anything but shout ridiculous nonsense . . .

  Her violet emotions had been re-engaged. Now beyond coherent thought, she had gone forward and picked up the gun. Not just frightened, but terrified, he had struggled to take it from her. In the struggle the gun had gone off. Or perhaps there had been no struggle. A strong-willed woman . . .

  Alvarez accepted he would never know the truth. Thankfully, there was no need to. Higuero would have to be asked yet again how certain he was that the driver of the car was male. There could now be no fear he would suffer uncertainty. The driver would be male. Which, ironic­ally, was the truth.

  Following the call on the mobile, terrified by what his wife had told him, Drew had rushed to Es Teneres to rescue the gun, fearful her prints would incriminate her. What had saved them both had been the temperature of the library, too cold to allow even a reasonable time of death to be given so that small inconsistencies of time had been ignored.

  Salas would truthfully be told there could be no further question regarding the sex of the driver. Since Drew had a solid alibi, the driver had not been he. In such circumstances, the only logical possibility was Tyler had been shot by an aggrieved husband. Unless and until that husband could be named, the killer would not be identified.

  Alvarez left the car, returned to the house, went upstairs. The bedroom had not been locked.