‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,’ his wife said.
Alvarez drained his glass, stood.
‘Leaving before you’ve had the other half?’ Keane asked.
‘Regretfully, I must return to work.’
‘More rumours to investigate? What an exasperating life you must lead, pursuing not the uneatable, but the uncatchable.’
Alvarez said goodbye. Keane remained seated, but Cora accompanied him to the front door. ‘You must understand,’ she said, speaking very quickly, ‘Clive will say things without thinking how they sound to someone who doesn’t know him. It really is impossible that he ever chased after Sabrina. We’re far too happy for him to do something like that.’
‘Then you are to be congratulated as well as envied, señora.’
As he settled behind the wheel of his car, he thought that perhaps her insistent manner, so clearly uncharacteristic, had been occasioned by the fear that her husband would find little difficulty and even less reluctance in being unfaithful to her.
* * *
Alvarez looked at his watch and with a sense of disbelief saw that only twelve minutes had passed from when he had last checked the time; one hour and eighteen minutes remained before he could leave the office and return home. He slumped back in the chair, all too conscious of a thumping head and a mouth that tasted to be beyond its sell-by date. He should not have refilled his glass quite so often. Yet it would have appeared rude if, as he reminisced with Pedro about the years since they’d last met, he had sat in front of an empty glass.
Ada Heron intrigued him. He was convinced she possessed a sharp intelligence, yet she allowed Ruffolo to reduce her to simpering stupidity. And why did she take so little care over her personal appearance? Was this ignorance or a deliberate one-finger gesture?…
The phone interrupted his wandering thoughts. He dragged himself upright and reached across the desk, lifted the receiver.
‘Traffic. It’s been one hell of a job tracking down the registration number.’
What number was the idiot talking about?
‘Are you still there?’
He wasn’t going anywhere. ‘Someone came in and needed something in a real hurry and I had to show him where it is.’
‘The jefe’s muttering about sending your department a special invoice for the time it’s taken.’
‘Is he likely to?’
‘God alone knows what he’ll do and maybe even He isn’t smart enough to guess … Are you ready?’
He wrote down the registration number he was given, thanked the caller, said goodbye, replaced the receiver. Only then did he finally remember why he had requested the number.
He slumped back in the chair. Until now he had not bothered to make a report because there were so few facts and little angered the superior chief so much as uncertainty. But if there was the possibility, however remote, of Traffic’s submitting a bill for extra work, it behoved him to inform the superior chief of what was happening before the other gained an incorrect view of events.
He dialled Palma. The plum-voiced secretary told him to wait. He waited.
Salas’s manner was as aggressively curt as ever. ‘What is it?’
‘Inspector Alvarez, señor, from Llueso…’
‘Good God, man, do you think I don’t know where you are based?’
‘I have to report that an Englishwoman, Señora Ogden, has disappeared…’
‘When?’
‘She was last seen by her husband on Sunday after lunch…’
‘It has taken you two days to inform me of the fact?’
‘I wanted to be able to make a full and accurate report before I advised you.’
‘An admirable ambition, but one that if followed would ensure I never heard from you again.’
‘Clearly, it has been essential first to determine whether she disappeared of her own volition or has met some form of trouble. It does seem that her disappearance may be voluntary.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Early in the year, she may have been having an affair.’
‘It really is extraordinary how keenly you dredge up even the slightest suggestion of salacious behaviour. Have you ever consulted a psychiatrist?’
‘Señor, I can only detail the facts as they present themselves.’
‘Then present them to me with as few unsavoury details as possible.’
He did so.
‘You have learned nothing to confirm the suggestion that the relationship between the señora and Ruffolo is an unnatural one?’
‘There’s been no suggestion of that.’
‘It’s only a moment ago you were saying they had committed adultery.’
‘Oh! I thought you meant…’ He came to a stop, certain that it would be a great mistake to explain exactly what he had thought. ‘It’s true there is no definite proof of an affair, but I did find Señor Ogden’s reactions to his wife’s failure to return home to be rather unusual. If time were passing and your wife still hadn’t turned up, wouldn’t you telephone friends to find out if she had stopped off to see them, rather than just getting drunk…’
‘I am not in the habit of getting drunk,’ Salas said angrily.
‘Of course not, señor. I was merely trying to explain why his reactions seemed sufficiently unusual to suggest they were significant.’
‘What possible significance can there be in a foreigner’s becoming drunk? For most of them, that is a natural state.’
‘But in his case, I wonder if it points to the fact that he was afraid that she wasn’t returning home because she had gone off with another man; that he didn’t phone friends because to do so would seem to confirm rumours and expose him to ridicule, whereas if he remained silent it might be that his fears would turn out to be groundless and she’d return. His drinking was to help him hold on to hope and keep his fears at bay.’
‘Was the Italian telling the truth when he said he hadn’t seen the señora for some time and then only at parties?’
‘I’m not certain. I’m sure he’s an accomplished liar, but in this instance he may be telling the truth because Señorita Heron would make certain it was very difficult for him to play around.’
‘In such a context, the use of the word “play” reveals a deplorable attitude.’
There was a short silence.
‘Why was Señor Ogden in hospital?’
‘He was suffering from severe food poisoning.’
‘But his wife was not?’
‘That is so.’
‘Did they previously eat in a restaurant and have different dishes or did they eat at home and have different food?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’
‘Why not?’
‘I didn’t think the question could have any bearing on the señora’s disappearance and I…’
‘An efficient detective is one who understands that until a case is solved it is impossible to be certain what is truly germane and therefore establishes every fact connected with it; a clever detective is one who recognizes that the unexpected, the illogical, the anomaly, the break in routine, the change of character, however apparently inconsequential, perhaps marks the path to the truth. The incompetent detective, on the other hand, is blind to everything but the obvious and is content to accept that without question.’
Alvarez had no doubt into which category he was placed.
‘Find out why Señor Ogden suffered food poisoning and Señora Ogden did not.’
‘Yes, señor.’
‘Have you asked the airlines and ferry companies to check their passenger lists to see if Señora Ogden is known to have left the island?’
‘No, señor.’
‘Do I have to instruct you in even the most basic steps of an investigation?’
‘The trouble is, they always complain so bitterly when we ask them to do something like this. It seemed best to wait until we can be more certain of the señora’s probable movements…’
‘In other words, to
pander to their inefficiency is more important than to do your job properly?’
‘Of course not…’
‘Then you will very soon be in a position to tell me whether or not the señora is known to have left the island in the past two days. Do you understand, very soon?’
Since it seemed Salas might be about to ring off abruptly, Alvarez said hurriedly: ‘As I mentioned earlier, Señora Ogden drove off in her car. Its present location could well suggest where she might be.’
‘Are you looking for congratulation for having finally shown a spark of constructive thought?’
‘Unfortunately, Señor Ogden couldn’t remember the registration number and he said there were no papers in the house that would give it. So I asked Traffic to trace the number, using his name and address. It seems this took a long time because their computer is geared to do things the other way round and they’re complaining about that and threatening to send us an invoice. But as you’ve just pointed out, however long the search took, the cost cannot be considered because every fact has to be followed up.’
‘How much are they threatening to charge?’
‘They haven’t said.’
‘Did you first repeatedly try to make Señor Ogden remember the number, at times using the proven method of introducing the question suddenly and even violently to jog his memory? Did you order him to search every possible space in his house?’
‘I didn’t like to trouble him too hard at such an anxious time for him…’
‘Since when have you considered it right to consider someone’s feelings at the department’s expense? If Traffic do forward an invoice, I shall personally hold you responsible for meeting it on the grounds of your inability to do your job efficiently.’ Salas cut the connection.
Alvarez sighed. He rang central control in Palma and asked them to issue a find-and-report on the missing BMW.
* * *
He stepped out of his car and stared at the countryside. Generally, it was poor land; thickly strewn with stones, in many places there were outcrops of rock that made an orderly cultivation impossible; there was very limited underground water so there could be only reduced irrigation; there were small areas where oranges grew, but mostly only fig trees flourished. Yet he coveted this land as much as any other. For a peasant, it was land, of whatever standard, which gave him cause for living and enabled him to endure the harshness of life …
There was a shout. ‘Have you news?’
He turned to see Ogden hurrying from the house. ‘I’m afraid not, señor.’
‘Why can’t you find her?’
‘If she is still on the island, we will.’
‘What d’you mean, if she’s still on the island? Of course she is. Why d’you say that?’
‘Perhaps it would be best if we go inside to talk?’ Acting more as host than guest, Alvarez led the way into the cool sitting-room. Once they were both seated, he said: ‘Did your wife suffer any symptoms of food poisoning?’
‘What’s that?’
He repeated the question.
‘Sabrina’s missing and all you can do is ask if she was ill! God Almighty, I knew you lot were all…’
‘Señor, it could be important. I assure you that no detail is too small to be overlooked. Was your wife taken ill?’
‘No,’ Ogden said angrily.
‘Did you have a meal at a restaurant on the day you were taken ill?’
‘No.’
‘You ate at home?’
‘If we didn’t go out, we stayed at home, didn’t we?’
‘Did your wife cook something different for herself?’
‘No.’
‘Then you both ate the same food. So why do you imagine that you suffered serious food poisoning, but the señora did not?’ Watching Ogden, Alvarez saw confusion and then panic. Sweet Mary, he thought, the sun had begun to set in the east! Salas was right and the bout of food poisoning was in some way significant.
‘I … I had more meat than she did,’ Ogden mumbled.
‘So it was the meat which poisoned you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Since you were so ill, the meat must have been badly infected. In which case, it seems surprising that your wife did not suffer at least mildly. Can you say why this was?’
‘I’m not a doctor.’
‘Of course not. But whoever treated you in hospital must have been curious to understand why you were poisoned, but your wife was not – did they not suggest a reason?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps not even a doctor can know all the answers … Señor, is your wife very friendly with anyone in particular?’
‘No.’
‘You can suggest no one to whom she might go if extremely troubled, to find the kind of sympathy and understanding that at times a husband is unfortunately unable to offer?’
‘What d’you mean?’
Alvarez was puzzled by the other’s tone which suddenly was belligerent, yet at the same time seemed to carry a hint of panic. He decided to introduce a small variation of the facts. ‘Merely that it sometimes helps to speak to a third party. I’ve been told she’s very friendly with the Keanes.’
‘Them? They’re no friends of ours.’ He paused, then added: ‘We used to get on with ’em until he said something to Sabrina that really upset her.’
‘What was that?’
‘I don’t know; I was talking to other people.’
‘Didn’t she tell you later?’
‘She wouldn’t, though I kept asking.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because she said it was just so stupid, but it would get me really upset and she didn’t want that to happen.’
‘Then presumably it was something of a very personal nature?’
‘I’ve just said, I don’t know.’
‘Of course … Señor, I am very sorry to have to ask this, but I must. Is it possible your wife has been having an affair?’
Ogden, his features distorted by emotion, shouted a wild, incoherent denial.
Alvarez said goodbye. As he left the sitting-room, he recalled the old saying, ‘He who bellows the lie, often whispers the truth.’
CHAPTER 9
As he dipped a finger of coca into the hot chocolate at breakfast on Wednesday morning, Alvarez casually remarked that he would be driving into Palma. Dolores said, ‘Oh!’ in a manner that invited further comment.
‘I have to go to Clinica Afret.’
Her alarm was immediate. ‘You are ill? What is wrong? Why have you said nothing?’ As were most Mallorquins, she was a hypochondriac, on behalf of her family as well as herself.
‘It’s nothing to do with me, it’s work.’
She relaxed. ‘We are having a simple meal today so it won’t take long to prepare.’
That was regrettable news. It was only when she complained of the need to spend the entire morning toiling at the stove that one could be certain one would be enjoying the best of her cooking.
She put a cleaned saucepan in the bottom of a cupboard. ‘Beatriz rang me only the day before yesterday and said it was so long a time since we’d seen each other.’
Belatedly, he realized the reason for this conversation. ‘Why don’t you come in with me and I’ll drop you off at her place?’
‘I’ve so much to do. No, I don’t think so.’
If he accepted her refusal, lunch would be very ordinary indeed. ‘You deserve some time off. Let’s make it a real holiday for you and when I’ve finished at the clinic we can have a meal at a restaurant?’
She pulled open a drawer and dropped a couple of kitchen spoons into it. ‘I suppose I could ask Elena to feed Isabel and Juan. But she and Jaime don’t get on.’
‘Then he can stay here and get his own meal. Where’s the problem with that?’
No problem for him.
* * *
Beatriz lived in a part of the city not readily accessible from the Ronda and it was a long and frustrating drive through twisting, crowded streets to he
r house. It was an equally difficult one from there to the clinic which was close to the northern outskirts. When he parked the car, he was hot, thirsty, and ill-tempered.
Haughty indifference to the quality of service provided was not confined to the Spanish bureaucracy; the woman at the information desk listened to his request in sullen silence and then said it was impossible. Even when he identified himself as a detective on active service, it was only with the greatest reluctance that she used the internal phone to call the Accounts Department and tell them that he was asking which doctor had attended Señor Ogden. Her annoyed surprise was obvious when Accounts were able to provide the information without any trouble.
Sequi’s surgery was on the second floor of the west wing, the waiting-room on the opposite side of the corridor. As Alvarez sat there, surrounded by people who, he felt certain, were suffering from a variety of serious complaints, he promised himself that from then on he would cut down on his smoking, drinking, and eating, and he would take regular exercise.
The receptionist appeared in the doorway. ‘Inspector – the doctor will see you now.’
He left, followed by the resentful stares of those patients who were convinced he had jumped the queue on the strength of his rank. He crossed the corridor into a room that contained several pieces of equipment, all of which carried a sinister air.
‘I can give you a couple of minutes, no more,’ said the doctor.
Alvarez looked away from a trolley at the end of which were clipped two gas cylinders – for use when a patient had suffered a crippling heart attack?… ‘I’ll be as quick as I can. I understand you treated Señor Ogden when he was here recently?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘He told me that he was suffering from very severe food poisoning as a result of eating infected meat. Is that the full story?’
‘Why d’you want to know?’
‘Señor Ogden’s wife has disappeared and I’m trying to discover whether she left home voluntarily or something drastic has happened to her.’
‘And precisely how will knowing the cause of his illness help you decide that?’
‘To tell the truth, I’m not certain it will. But in every case, I try to establish all the details, even if on the face of things they don’t seem to be relevant, because quite often doing this reveals a hitherto unsuspected important fact,’ said Alvarez glibly, paraphrasing Salas’s words. ‘Both he and his wife ate the meal which poisoned him, so it seems rather odd to a layman that even though he had more meat than she did, she didn’t suffer any degree of poisoning.’
An Enigmatic Disappearance Page 5
