‘Was the doctor here quickly?’
‘Quickly enough, but he said it wouldn’t have been any good if he’d flown.’
‘Nothing more?’
‘What more is there to say?’
‘The doctor wants to talk to me. When that happens it usually means there’s a problem and he’s worried about something. D’you know where’s the body?’
‘Taken to the morgue.’
‘I gather the señora is in bed. Have you spoken to her since the tragedy?’
‘She came back from her day out shortly after I found the senor, I told her what happened and I’ve kept an eye on her ever since. She’s sleeping.’
‘Thanks, apparently, to drinking well.’
‘What if she did?’
‘For her, that was kind.’
‘Do you have any more questions?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Then would you like some coffee and biscuits before you ask them?’
Her aggressive manner had softened. From experience, he knew that tragedy could create a temporary emotional bond. ‘I certainly would.’
Seated in the kitchen, he watched her pour beans into the coffee machine which had so many controls it probably needed a sharp mind to master its operations. She opened one of the higher wall cupboards and brought out a plastic container, then two plates from a lower cupboard which she put on the table. ‘I think you’ll like the shortbread since you’ve the look of a man who knows what to enjoy in life.’
He had eaten shortbread before. He helped himself to a second oblong piece; that was followed by a third one at her encouragement.
The coffee flowed into two cups. She put a sugar bowl and small, elegant red glass jug with cream in it on the table. ‘What d’you want me to tell you?’ she asked as, seated, she added sugar and cream to her coffee.
‘You mentioned Señor Russell. Have you met him?’
‘Frequently.’
‘He often comes here?’
‘Yes.’
‘A good friend?’
‘Of the señor.’
‘But not of the señora?’
‘He seldom came if she was here.’
‘What do you think is her objection to him?’
‘He drinks heavily when he does not have to pay the bill.’
‘That is not unusual.’
‘One cannot honour fine food if one’s taste is dulled by alcohol.’
‘He didn’t care what he ate?’
‘I cooked Perdiz a la Montañesa and he tasted nothing.’
However much Russell had drunk, it seemed inconceivable he had not appreciated quartered partridge fried in oil until golden brown, served with a sauce of onion, paprika, parsley, oil, salt, and lemon juice. ‘If he didn’t enjoy that culinary triumph, he must have been seeing treble, not double.’
‘He would not have known had it been dried cod.’
‘For him, a wasted banquet.’
‘And when they began arguing, a noisy one.’
‘What was their problem?’
‘How would I know? You think I left the door open in order to hear?’
‘Of course not.’
‘However …’ She paused. ‘Perhaps it was female trouble.’
‘A conflict of interests since the señor is said to have enjoyed many lady friends?’
‘It is not for me to malign him.’
‘It is your duty to tell me.’
‘Do you have a daughter?’
‘I am not married.’
‘Then if you have one, you will have left the poor mother to protect her.’
‘Now you’re maligning me. Protect her from what?’
‘Her own stupidity.’
‘We’re going round and round in square circles. What are you trying to tell me?’
‘A naive young woman will dream when a rich man smiles at her.’
‘Who is the young woman?’
‘Marta.’
‘And the man was Señor Picare?’
She did not answer.
Alvarez walked into the medical centre in Llueso. There were many people waiting in the square around which were the consulting rooms of several doctors. As he walked towards the one in which Dr Ferrer practised, a woman came out and another got up from one of the chairs and walked forward.
He hurried to check her. ‘Wait a moment. I have to speak to Dr Ferrer.’
‘I am next,’ she said belligerently.
‘Cuerpo.’
‘We are now a democracy and even the likes of you takes his turn.’
‘I am not ill and—’
‘You are here to buy fish?’
‘It is a matter of great importance and I will be as brief as possible.’ To prevent further objection, he hurried into the interview room.
Dr Ferrer briefly looked up, then back down at his desk. ‘Pascual Serra?’
‘No, I—’
‘Martin Rossello?’
‘I’m here to—’
‘You have not registered. If your visit is not in the nature of an emergency, you will first do so and then take your turn.’
I’m Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo.’
Ferrer visually examined him. ‘Have I not relatively recently examined you?’
‘Not exactly. We met—’
‘You have put on weight, having undoubtedly ignored my advice. Get on the scales.’
‘I don’t need to be weighed.’
‘Do I inform you what to do in your work?’
‘I’m here in connection with the death of Señor Picare. He drowned in his swimming pool.’
‘Having been called to his house, I am aware of that fact.’
‘Because he drowned …?’
‘You know more than I do until the post mortem?’
‘He might have died from some other cause?’
‘Unlike you, I cannot yet answer.’
‘I imagined—’
‘An unfortunate habit in both your occupation and mine. Why do you want to speak to me?’
‘I’m not certain—’
‘Another undesirable trait.’
‘Is it possible the señor did not die from downing?’
‘There are facts which need to be considered. There was no fine froth about nose and mouth. On the flesh above his right knee was a cut. I examined his nails and they were too well trimmed to have caused such injury while he struggled, as all drowning persons do; there was nothing about his swimming trunks capable of inflicting such a cut.’
‘You think, then, that death was probably not accidental?’
‘A possibility which has to be considered.’
If Picare had not died accidentally, there would have to be an investigation likely to be long and arduous.
‘I imagine you are ill-acquainted with international crime,’ Ferrer said.
Local crime was more than enough.
‘You will be unaware that one of the more successful methods of murder in England at the beginning of the last century was initially considered to have been a case of accidental drowning. The murderer, who married several times in order to gain the small capital each woman owned, in turn disposed of each “wife” to gain her money. He provided a small tin bath in which to wash and, when she was lying in it, he put a hand under her head, an arm under her raised knees – the bath was that small – and as quickly as possible pushed down on her head and pulled up on her knees. As is now well known, the sudden impact of water on the back of the pharynx or larynx causes vagal inhibition and sudden death.’
‘You’re suggesting someone suddenly grabbed the señor and pulled his head under the water to kill him?’
‘I am not.’
‘But …?’
‘I am naming a possibility. The lack of fine froth is indicative, no more. The slight bruising on an ankle might have been caused by a very minor bump; and as I have said, there was nothing in the pool or on his trunks to have caused the cut.’
‘How is one to know f
or certain what happened?’
‘The post mortem may provide the answer.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Then it will be for you to decide.’
‘But without a definite medical opinion, that may be very difficult, even impossible.’
‘My patients are being forced to wait, so you can leave.’
Dolores, Alvarez’s cousin, looked through the bead curtain which hung between kitchen and sitting/dining room. ‘Supper will soon be ready so there is no need to drink any more.’ She withdrew.
Jaime, her husband, waited to make certain she was not standing behind the curtain, watching, and slowly, to avoid the noise of running liquid, refilled his glass.
‘I’ve had an emotional morning,’ Alvarez remarked.
‘She said “no”?’
‘There’s a young woman, an older girl, really, who works in a large house. The English señor, a womaniser, was after her and filled her head with dreams of marrying him after he’d divorced his wife and living a life of luxury. A try-on which very seldom fails; one more reason why it’s nice to be rich.’
Dolores stepped through the bead curtain, flicked away a trail which had caught on her shoulder. ‘Can I believe what I have just heard?’
Puzzled, they stared at her.
‘What have you heard?’ Jaime finally asked.
‘That were I unable to manage any longer on my own with the unending task of keeping the house clean, cooking meals for which no wife need apologise, seeing the children are sufficiently tidy to go to school and I employed a young woman to help me, I must expect that one of you, perhaps both, would claim imaginary wealth in order to dishonour her?’
‘That’s absurd!’
‘You did not say “it’s a try-on which seldom fails; one more reason to be rich”?’
‘Enrique said that, not me.’
‘And did you contradict a statement so contemptuous of women’s purity or did you remain silent because you agreed?’ She returned into the kitchen.
‘Trust you to upset her when she’s preparing supper,’ Jaime said bitterly, in a low voice. ‘Now, she won’t take half the trouble over cooking she should.’
‘She didn’t understand what I meant. Judging the kind of man Picare obviously was, it was to be expected.’
‘He’s after them all?’
‘Why not when he had money?’
‘Some people are born lucky.’
‘His luck ran out. He drowned.’
The phone rang. They waited for Dolores to answer the call. There was a shout from the kitchen and Jaime reluctantly went through to the entrada to pick up the telephone. The phone call reminded Alvarez he had intended to speak to Salas on his return to the office; it would do for tomorrow.
Jaime returned, carried on through to the kitchen. ‘Aguenda wants a word.’
Dolores had been concentrating on the contents of a saucepan on a low heat. ‘Take this.’ She handed him a wooden spoon. ‘Keep stirring, but not fiercely or you’ll have everything bubbling out on to the stove.’
He watched her leave. Aguenda was more interested in other people’s affairs than most and the chat with Dolores could continue a long time, leaving him stirring. Years before, no Mallorquin male would have been asked to help with the cooking.
THREE
Alvarez opened the bottom drawer of his desk and brought out a glass and half bottle of Napoleon Peteca, poured himself a generous tot. The brandy was rough, but one did not buy a Bisquit Dubouche merely to gain confidence.
When the glass was emptied, he lifted the receiver, dialled.
‘Yes?’
Ángela Torres, as did Salas, spoke to someone as if from on high. For her, Salas could do no wrong. Had she been younger and of a less pugnacious nature, one might have wondered if her feelings for Salas were more than professional. ‘Inspector Alvarez from Llueso.’
‘What is it?’
‘I need to speak to the superior chief.’
‘He is exceedingly busy.’
‘This is important.’
There was a silence before Salas said, ‘Yes?’
‘Inspector Alvarez, señor, from Llueso.’
‘I am aware of that.’
‘I have been investigating the death of Señor Picare.’
‘I am also aware he drowned in the sea.’
‘In his swimming pool, señor.’
‘Then your previous report was inaccurate.’
‘Señor, I did not say the sea.’
‘Was he English?’
‘I think so.’
‘It has not occurred to you to determine so necessary a piece of information? Where is his pool?’
‘By the side of his house.’
‘I was asking where the property is located.’
‘Above Urbanization Reus. That’s on the south side of the main road from Llueso to Mestara. The doctor seemed to suggest the drowning was not an accident.’
‘What does “seemed to suggest” mean?’
‘Dr Ferrer mentioned some facts which he would not have expected. There had not been a fine froth about the nose or mouth, there was a cut on one leg which could not have been caused by his fingernails, because they were very well-trimmed, swimming trunks, or anything about the pool; there was slight bruising on one ankle.’
‘In the face of those facts, why is Dr Ferrer not more certain? Have you misunderstood him?’
‘No, señor.’
‘Then you will speak to him again and ask for a firm opinion.’
‘He mentioned a case in England which he thought might be relevant.’
‘What was the case?’
‘A man more than once married a woman with some money and each time he drowned her by suggesting she washed in a tin bath—’
‘It is hardly credible to quote a case from the Middle Ages.’
‘I gathered this occurred towards the end of the nineteenth century.’
‘A time at which no bathroom in Spain was without running water and a proper bath.’
‘But on this island …’
‘Bears no relevance to circumstances on the Peninsula. There, after the first murder, signs of the struggle would have been efficiently noted and the man found guilty, suffered the penalty of death and no further woman would have suffered.’
‘It seems not, señor. By pushing her head under the water with one hand and pulling up her legs with the other, an unexpected rush of water hits the larynx … or the pharynx …?’
‘You are not aware where each is situated?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Or inexactly. The larynx is a cavity in the throat which encloses the vocal chords; the pharynx forms the cavity which is the upper part of the gullet. Is that what caused Picare’s death?’
‘Dr Ferrer said there could be no certainty until the post mortem and even then there might not be any.’
‘A typical medical excuse for failure. When will the PM be?’
‘I don’t yet know.’
‘What is it your intention to do before that takes place?’
‘It’s difficult to know what can be done until we know the result.’
‘A typical excuse for doing nothing. It is not necessary to learn the señor’s financial situation, who were his friends and acquaintances, was he known to have caused deep resentment, had he been the subject of threats?’
‘Is there any point in doing all that before the cause of death is established? If it becomes clear that death was accidental, all the work would be wasted.’
‘Was the dead man wealthy?’
‘I should imagine very much so.’
‘I prefer fact to the product of your imagination.’
‘In order to provide a base for his house, it must have taken many hours of work with heavy machinery to level the land …’
‘You may omit technical details with which you are unlikely to be cognisant. If wealthy, that provides a motive for his murder.’
‘But a
s yet, señor, there is no certainty …’
‘You fail to understand that an hour’s investigation taken immediately after an incident is worth far more than one undertaken later.’
‘But in this instance—’
‘You will question the doctor and demand a firm judgement, not possibles and perhapses. You will question the widow and staff in order to appreciate all the relevant circumstances surrounding his death. Is that clear?’ Salas did not wait for an answer, cut the connection.
Alvarez awoke and discovered his siesta had lasted only slightly more than an hour. Salas had disturbed his sleep pattern. The rising heat from the marble window ledge, wavered and had a hypnotic effect; he closed his eyes. He had made his report and Salas could hardly expect him to carry out a futile investigation immediately.
Dolores’ call from downstairs awoke him.
‘Enrique, are you dead?’
‘Did she expect him to answer if he were? He reluctantly got up, went through to the bathroom and enjoyed a cold shower, dressed. In the kitchen, Dolores was seated at the table, reading. He waited for her to put the book down, prepare his hot chocolate and set out biscuits on a plate. She continued to read. He coughed, then again.
‘You have a cold?’
‘I have to return to the station.’
‘Since you are already very late, no doubt you will wish to do so quickly.’
‘I thought perhaps you could make me some chocolate?’
‘Will you still be awake by the time it is made?’
He would quickly acknowledge she was generous with affection and kindness, to others as well as the family, but her tongue could be sharp.
She closed the book, stood. ‘It was ready when you were due to come downstairs. Since it seemed you were not working any more today, I drank it. Do you expect me to prepare some more for you?’
‘It would be very kind.’
‘As my mother used to say, expectation costs only words.’
He sat, looked across the table at the cover of her paperback. It was at an angle and he could only read the words: Love is … Did it finish off Eternal Happiness or perhaps The Devil’s Sword?
In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery Page 2
