An Enigmatic Disappearance

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘And do you want to know what make of shoes she wears? And does she brush her teeth up and down or side to side?’

  ‘Just the kind of scent.’

  Ogden drank heavily, put the glass down, stood, held on to the table for a moment to secure his balance, then walked carefully into the house.

  Ogden’s manner seemed to be touched with something close to hysteria, Alvarez thought. Alcohol induced, or was there some strong emotion which had to be hidden gripping him?

  Ogden returned, slumped down on his chair.

  ‘Have you found a bottle of your wife’s scent?’

  ‘I told her, the stuff’s nothing more than alcohol and a bit of synthetic stink. Fifty quid for enough to dampen the back of your hand! If you want to be a millionaire, start making scent and give it a bloody silly Frog name.’ He drank.

  ‘What is the name?’

  ‘Feux … Feux…’ The third time, he succeeded in saying: ‘Feux d’Amour.’

  ‘Then I can tell you, señor, that almost certainly the señora spent Sunday night not far from here and on Monday she drove to the airport, stopping off at a supermarket in Inca on the way. As yet I do not have confirmation that she flew from the island on Monday, but I think we can be certain that she did.’

  ‘Impossible!’

  ‘Her car is at the airport and in it is a receipt from the Supermarket Viranyo in Inca for the purchase which was made on Monday of a small bottle of Feux d’Amour.’

  Ogden was silent for several seconds, then he shouted: ‘Why should she do that?’

  ‘You can answer that question more readily than I.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Only you can be certain if she had reason to leave you.’

  ‘Of course she bloody didn’t.’

  ‘Two days ago, I went to Clinica Afret and spoke to Dr Sequi. You were not poisoned by bad meat, but by an overdose of a substance that is commonly called Spanish fly.’

  Ogden made a sound at the back of his throat that was not a cry, yet contained the pain of one. Alvarez looked away and at the hills, sadly certain that little could be more humiliating than having one’s private self exposed.

  ‘The doctor shouldn’t have told you; it’s a breach of professional confidence; I’ll have him struck off the register.’

  ‘Since the information may be very germane to my investigation into your wife’s disappearance, it was his duty to give it to me.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with it. I suppose you’re laughing at me like all those bastards did in the hospital?’

  ‘Señor, I have learned never to laugh at anyone for fear they can all too easily find cause to laugh at me. Life had become very difficult for both of you, hadn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And when you were so ill, the señora was put under even greater strain emotionally. Isn’t it very possible that when she could be certain you would fully recover, she felt she had to leave here to be on her own for a while?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then has she formed a friendship, perhaps with a younger man, that she has decided to pursue?’

  ‘She loves me,’ Ogden shouted wildly. ‘D’you hear, she loves me. You’re a fool to think she’d ever leave me for anyone else.’

  ‘Whatever the cause of her leaving the island, I have to assume that she did so voluntarily. This means the case is no longer a police matter and I am closing the investigation.’

  ‘I’ve always known this place is still in the Dark Ages, but this is bloody ridiculous! She’s not gone anywhere voluntarily. She’s in trouble. You’ve got to find her…’

  ‘Her car is at the airport and I’ve written down the reference number of the parking spot.’ Alvarez brought a square of paper out of the pocket of his shirt and put that down on the table. ‘It’s locked, so you’ll need to take the spare key; if you haven’t one, ask the local BMW agents to help. There’s no sign of the ticket so you’ll need to explain the circumstances to the attendant at the gates.’ He stood.

  ‘Why won’t you understand? Because I’m a foreigner? What the hell does it matter to you that I’m going crazy with worry?’

  ‘As I have just explained…’

  ‘You’ve explained bloody nothing.’

  Alvarez turned towards the door of the house.

  Ogden’s tone changed. ‘For God’s sake, I beg you, help me.’

  Alvarez was scornful of this change from angry rudeness to humble supplication, yet knew sympathy for the other – what could be more emotionally traumatic than fearing one’s wife had gone off with another man while grasping at the faint hope that she had not? ‘There is only one thing more I can do. If you will give me the names and addresses of your wife’s friends in England, I will ask the authorities there to find out if any of them can say where she is now.’

  CHAPTER 11

  After merienda at the Club Llueso, Alvarez returned to the post and settled behind his desk. Saturday! Lacking any major incident, work would stop at lunchtime and not resume until Monday morning. However, there was one cloud on the horizon. It was necessary to phone Salas … If the devil beckoned, it was pointless trying to run away. He reached forward and picked up the receiver, dialled.

  ‘Superior Chief Salas’s office.’

  ‘Inspector Alvarez speaking, señorita. May I have a word with the superior chief?’

  ‘He is not here this morning. He has very important duties elsewhere.’

  The cloud disappeared as he remembered reading in the Diario de Mallorca that an amateur golf tournament was starting that day. ‘Then may I leave a message? I have good reason to believe Señora Ogden has flown to the United Kingdom of her own accord, despite the lack of confirmation through the airline companies, and this means we are no longer concerned with her disappearance; however, in order that Señor Ogden may be satisfied we are doing everything in our power – as the superior chief has so pertinently pointed out, good public relations are essential in all dealings with foreigners – I suggest it would be a good idea to ask the English authorities to check with the friends whose names the señor has supplied to find out whether any of them has news of her present whereabouts.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes, señorita.’

  She cut the connection with the same rude abruptness that Salas would have shown.

  After replacing the receiver, he studied the clutter on his desk. With nothing urgent in hand, this was obviously the time to find out if any of the unopened mail was important and to sort and tidy all the papers and files … But it was very hot and man was not made to work in excessive heat …

  He awoke in time to hurry home to lunch.

  * * *

  On Thursday, he was contemplating nothing in particular when the internal phone buzzed. ‘There’s a man here wants to see you,’ said the duty cabo.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Perhaps by asking him?’

  ‘He’s English and speaks Spanish like a dying duck, so you can have that pleasure.’

  This surely meant trouble in one form or another; most of the island’s problems were caused by foreigners. Reluctantly, he came to his feet and made his way downstairs.

  Standing by the desk of the duty cabo was a tall, well-built man who wore a suit. Such unusual elegance worried Alvarez. He said in English, his tone wary: ‘Good morning, señor. I am Inspector Alvarez.’

  ‘Aubrey Maitland.’ He shook hands briskly. ‘It’s been quite a job tracking you down – no one seemed to know where to find you.’

  ‘I suppose the problem was that members of the Cuerpo generally operate from the quarters of the Policia Armada y de Trafico, but Llueso is an exception.’ An exception designated temporary; in Spanish, ‘temporary’ had many meanings.

  ‘At least it provided the taxi driver with a profitable fare.’ He smiled.

  Maitland’s manner was warm and friendly and Alvarez smiled back, despite his worry that this meeting
might disrupt his morning’s schedule.

  ‘I’m here hoping to discuss someone of interest to both of us – Bevis Ogden.’

  ‘Then perhaps you would like to come up to my office?’

  ‘May I suggest an alternative? That we combine pleasure with business and find a restaurant where we can have a chat over a drink, or two, and a good meal. Would that suit you and if so, can you recommend somewhere?’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, but first I must check if I’ve any work too urgent to be delayed.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Alvarez spoke to the cabo. ‘Find the señor a chair.’

  Scowling, the cabo stood and made his way towards the far doorway beyond the stairs.

  Switching back to English, Alvarez said: ‘I will not be long. I have told the cabo to bring you a chair so that you can sit while you wait.’

  ‘Thanks, but you needn’t have bothered. It’s good to stand.’

  The English suffered many peculiarities. Alvarez made his way to his office, sat, mopped the sweat from his forehead and neck, picked up the receiver and dialled. When Dolores answered the call, he said, sounding suitably rushed: ‘Some very urgent work has just come in which means I may not be able to get away on time. Will that upset lunch?’

  ‘Why should it?’

  ‘You might be preparing something special.’

  ‘I had to help Luisa who’s been ill and whose no-good husband thinks the best way of getting her better is to spend his day drinking in a café, so I’ve only just returned home. It will have to be a very small lunch.’

  ‘Then it won’t matter too much if I do have to stay on here, working?’

  ‘What will you do for a meal?’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll nip out for some tapas.’

  ‘You shouldn’t let them mess you around like this.’

  ‘Sometimes one has to sacrifice oneself for the good of the community.’

  ‘I’ll see there’s a good supper to make up for it.’

  Truly, one could have one’s cake and eat it. ‘No man deserves such kindness.’

  ‘That’s true. But I am a fool who does not stop to think the truth.’

  He replaced the receiver. He was being asked to choose the restaurant. Since the size of the bill would not concern him, quality, not quantity, was the criterion. But to find quality was not all that easy because a restaurant which served a memorable meal yesterday might well provide a forgettable one today – Mallorquin chefs were notably men of moods. That remembered, people were praising the Montserrat which had a French chef which should mean greater consistency. The Annera amb naps was reputedly of unsurpassable quality …

  * * *

  Beyond the converted finca there was a wide patio, shaded overhead by mats of split bamboo, and a large swimming pool; the boundary of the property was marked by a row of vines, trained on wires, and a stone wall.

  ‘This,’ said Maitland, who had removed coat and tie, ‘is heaven! Doubly so since it was overcast and drizzling at Gatwick.’

  The scene was made even more attractive by the two young ladies who, topless, were sunbathing on the far side of the pool.

  A waiter came up to their table and put on it two glasses, each containing several cubes of ice, poured brandy into one and gin into the other. He left a bottle of tonic by the side of the glass, hurried off.

  Maitland studied his glass. ‘If a publican gave one this much gin at home, one would know he’d flipped!’ He added tonic, then raised his glass. ‘To an island that’s learned the art of living.’ He drank. ‘What about getting the business over with so we can enjoy our meal in peace?’ he suggested as he put his glass down.

  ‘A very good idea.’ The other might be English, Alvarez thought, but his instincts were civilized.

  ‘I’ll begin with a little history. For several years I worked in the insurance world as a loss adjuster, and modesty should, but doesn’t, prevent me saying I was quite good at the job; sufficiently active, anyway, to come to the notice of several companies after becoming something of a thorn in their sides. So presumably it was on the principle of poacher turning gamekeeper that I was approached to join a newly constituted organization.

  ‘For years, insurance companies suffered an increasing number of suspect claims which had been carried out with sufficient skill to make the proving of fraud very, very difficult. As time went on, it became clear that when a fraud was successful against one company, it would be repeated against another, but because of professional embarrassment at being made a sucker, there was no exchange of information between the first and the second, so the latter was not forewarned by the preliminary moves; worse, afterwards, all the available evidence of both cases would not be viewed together when to do that might well provide the necessary proof.

  ‘A few heads were banged together until they stopped wittering on about the perils of sharing confidential information and then the majority of companies agreed to set up a special investigative umbrella body to which all known or suspected fraudulent claims, or even those that didn’t smell right, would be referred so that details could be compared with other cases and any apparent similarities noted, whereupon a very detailed and extensive investigation would be carried out … Which brings me to Bevis Ogden. Has his wife reappeared?’

  ‘No. Despite the fact that no airline reports carrying someone of her name on any flight after Sunday, the sixth, the evidence suggests she flew back to Britain on or after the Monday. Following up this probability, I’ve asked for inquiries to be made in England among her friends.’

  ‘Which, in a slightly roundabout way, is why I’m here now … For many years, Ogden had his life insured for half a million pounds and his wife’s – Dorothy – for a quarter of a million. On their divorce, he immediately cancelled her policy. On his marriage to Belinda, he took out a policy on her life for half a million. For three years, premiums were paid, then Ogden informed the company that he had just learned his wife had died and he would be claiming on the policy as sole beneficiary of her estate. Asked for the death certificate, he said that he’d already been in touch with Spain, where she had died, and requested it be sent to him … To register a claim even before obtaining the death certificate suggests unusual urgency, so it’ll be no surprise to know that it was viewed with – as they say – a measure of suspicion. After making certain inquiries, the insurance company concerned passed the file over to us with a request for a full investigation … How much do you know about Ogden’s background?’

  ‘Almost nothing.’

  ‘Then I’ll paint in the essentials so you can understand the course of our inquiry and I’ll list them as finally assembled, not in the chronological order in which we uncovered them.’ Maitland drained his glass. ‘Talking is thirsty work. You’ll join me in another?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He signalled to a waiter who came across, took the order, carried off the dirty glasses.

  ‘Ogden,’ Maitland said, ‘worked as a commodity broker. He married Dorothy thirty-five years ago. She has been described as warm hearted and generous, but not the kind of woman to make heads turn. He earned a very considerable salary and in addition invested heavily in Lloyd’s.

  ‘Roughly eight years ago, he met Belinda. Much younger than he; to judge from photographs she’d make most male heads turn so sharply there’d be a lot of ricked necks.’ The waiter returned and put two glasses and a full bottle of tonic on the table. Maitland filled his glass. ‘From all accounts, he conceived such a grand passion for Belinda that he made a laughing stock of himself. However, Dorothy didn’t have that kind of a sense of humour and after trying to make him see sense, and failing, she divorced him.

  ‘He married Belinda almost before the ink was dry on the divorce papers. He’d had to make a large settlement on Dorothy, but was still a reasonably wealthy man and Belinda was able to spend, spend, spend.

  ‘When Lloyd’s first met big trouble, he appeared to be all right because none of the syndicates he was
with seemed to have been involved in the areas of huge losses. But then it turned out that one of them had been, but had fraudulently been concealing the fact. As a result, all the names were called on to make heavy payments and, as one of the bigger investors, his debts were considerable.

  ‘He could have retrenched – met his debts by liquidating assets, moving into a smaller house, leading a more frugal life. But with a much younger wife who, he must have realized in his saner moments, had married him for his money, that option wasn’t open to him because if their lifestyle became too reduced, she’d be off. So they continued to lead an unfettered life of luxury with the inevitable result that soon he was facing financial meltdown.

  ‘The firm in the City for which he worked had an absolute rule that no partner should trade on his own behalf. Desperate to find money from somewhere, Ogden began trading for himself. This fact was discovered and he was sacked. So now he was without a job, very low on capital, and married to a young woman who was not going to welcome a life of hardship. Before long, he owed money everywhere, his bank was for ever writing him nasty letters, credit cards were withdrawn, friends started having previous engagements … All the usual problems of growing poor with an additional one – either he found a fresh source of money or he was going to lose Belinda.

  ‘One day, she did not return home after shopping. Late that night, he contacted the police. As usual, initially they did not give the case priority since there were no circumstances suggesting criminal activity and most missing persons soon reappear. But she didn’t. And after a while, they judged the case to be serious and stepped up their investigation.

  ‘Ten days after her disappearance, Ogden received a letter, posted in Paris, in which Belinda wrote that she’d left him because she’d met someone else. He showed this letter to the police, which brought the investigation to an abrupt stop.

  ‘Four months later, he received a letter, signed Jim – no surname – which told him that after suffering very serious injury following a fall, Belinda had died; before she’d died, she’d managed to write the note which he enclosed. This was a rambling, mawkish attempt to justify her desertion.