‘Señor and Señora Morton-Smith live in Raix. Her maiden name was Pearson, Miranda Harriet Pearson. So I will speak to her as soon as possible.’
‘Which is immediately. You do not think it necessary to tell me where Raix is?’
‘I thought you would know, so did not wish to waste your time.’
‘It is difficult to decide whether you lack any common sense or are once more trying to be insolent.’
There was a pause.
‘One thing is significant,’ Alvarez said.
‘What?’
‘That she is married.’
‘Since marriage is a normal occurrence amongst reputable people, the significance escapes me.’
‘Señor Gill’s bequest has to suggest, as I pointed out previously, there was adultery.’
‘Only to someone who relentlessly seeks immorality.’
‘I will question her to learn what was the relationship between her, her husband, and Señor Gill.’
‘Are you now suggesting there was a very close relationship.’
‘A ménage à trois? I rather doubt that. I’m surprised, señor, you should refer to such an event.’
‘I was doing no such thing. Only a disturbed mind could presume I was.’
‘What I meant was, whether the husband had any suspicion of his wife’s affair.’
‘One day, you might learn to say what you mean. You will interview her this evening and report to me tomorrow morning.’
‘But . . .’
‘You are about to tell me she has flown to India?’
‘It is already seven thirty.’
‘Time is of no account to those who wish to carry out their tasks efficiently.’
‘It will take well over an hour to get there because one has to drive slowly over the mountains and the road often has no guard and there can be a fall of ten, twenty metres . . .’
‘You are still unable to control your irrational fears? You will go there in the early morning and report to me the moment you return.’
‘Yes, señor.’
If he arrived too early, he would interrupt their breakfast.
Relatively few tourists drove from Llueso to Laraix and along the Tremontana. What the many missed were the bleak, often dramatic mountains, weathered and striated by wind and rain, occasional narrow valleys which were once farmed but now were abandoned by those no longer willing to accept such harsh surroundings, and the wildlife – amongst which, the prince was the black vulture, the king, the golden eagle.
Alvarez reached the Laraix monastery, founded to honour the small figure of the Virgin Mary which had been observed when a miraculous light had been seen under a bush. After so nerve-racking a drive, he needed to relax and a coñac at one of the cafés helped him. Fifteen minutes slid by before he drove past the monastery and continued up to Raix.
The bungalow was at the highest point of the small village and provided a dramatic view of the mountains which both humbled a man and enhanced their majesty. Three concrete steps gave access to a rising path of stone chippings which bisected a garden in which some of the plants seen at sea level could not be grown because of winter cold and snow. He knocked on the front door. It was opened by a slightly younger man than he, who held keys in his right hand. ‘What do you want?’ he asked in mangled Spanish as he looked at his watch.
‘Señor Morton-Smith?’
‘Yes?’
‘Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo General de Policia.’
He began to speak in poor Spanish but stuttered to a halt.
‘Would you like to speak English, señor?’ Alvarez said in that language.
‘Thank God for that! Is something wrong?’
‘I am here merely to ask a few questions.’
‘I’m in one hell of a rush; late already to get to the airport and pick up friends. Could I possibly see you when I get back?’
‘Is your wife here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I need not detain you. She can probably tell me what I need to know. And if she can’t, I will speak to you another time.’
‘That’s jolly kind. Do come in.’
As he entered, Alvarez reflected that luck was with him. He could question her without her husband’s being present. A short passage gave access to the sitting room which was large, probably at the expense of other rooms. Picture windows offered the same sweeping view he had enjoyed when by the car.
‘Miranda, this is Inspector Alvarez. He speaks perfect English and wants to know something, but has kindly said I can continue on to the airport. If you can’t answer his questions, he’ll come back another time.’
She said hullo to him, and he replied.
‘I’ll be off, then,’ Morton-Smith said hurriedly. ‘Again, many thanks, Inspector.’ He left in a rush.
‘Please sit,’ she said.
She was in early middle age, attractive but certainly not beautiful. Light-brown hair, round face with dark-brown eyes, a pleasant mouth, a graceful neck.
‘May I offer you a drink, Inspector?’
‘That would be very welcome. We call this the thirsty month.’
‘With reason. What would you like?’
‘A coñac with just ice, if I may.’
He watched her leave. Not a woman he would have expected to cuckold her husband. But then women were masters of deception.
She returned, handed him a glass and sat. ‘Your health.’
‘And yours, señora.’ He drank.
‘How may I be able to help you?’
‘I am glad you are on your own, señora.’
‘Why?’
‘I have to ask you about a matter that is very personal.’
‘Then it’s me you want to speak to, not Alex?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Why should you be glad I’m on my own?’
‘Have you learned that Señor Gill, who lived near Llueso, very unfortunately recently died in a fall?’
‘Oh, my God!’ She stared through the window.
‘You knew him?’
It was a time before she answered. ‘Yes.’
‘Very well?’
‘No, I can’t say that; not recently, anyway. Unfortunately, he and Alex never got on well together, so after we moved here, we only saw him occasionally.’
‘Was there any reason for this lack of friendship?’
‘Just a case of two people who are polite to each other, but have no wish to become genuinely friendly. Ask them why and they probably couldn’t answer.’
‘Your husband may not have said so, but was he worried about your past friendship with Señor Gill?’
‘Good heavens, no. It was a case of “I do not like thee, Doctor Fell”, and not “I hate thee Doctor Fell”.’
‘Might he not have been worried about the degree of that friendship?’
‘Inspector, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re getting at.’
‘Señor Gill has left you a legacy of ten thousand pounds in his will.’
‘Poor Robin,’ was her delayed reaction.
‘Yet none of his staff could tell me who you were.’
‘Hardly surprising since we saw Robin so seldom and when we did, we had lunch in a restaurant. The only time we went to his house was for a large party and his staff wouldn’t have known who we were.’
‘Can you suggest why he left you a legacy?’
‘Friendship.’
‘It could be said to be unusual for friendship to be so generously rewarded.’
‘What an odd and rather nasty thing to say!’ She waited for him to comment, but he remained silent. ‘You’re not . . . You don’t think I might have had an affair with him?’
‘Yes, señora.’
‘I’ll be damned! You see me clothed in scarlet?’
‘It is not true?’
‘Couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m a boring, old-fashioned wife who likes to remain faithful to her husband.’
‘Señor Gill did not get
on with your husband, you did not see him often, yet he left you several thousands of pounds.’
‘You don’t believe me when I tell you we had no affair?’
‘My job demands I believe no one unless I have good reason to do so.’
‘That must make your life difficult and miserable.’
‘It certainly does not make for cheerfulness, señora.’
‘I will try to lighten your misery. My father and Robin were great friends. Robin was an inventor and thought up something in the early electronic days which he was convinced would be very successful. He hadn’t much money, so he asked the bank to fund him, but they weren’t convinced and refused. My father offered Robin his savings to go ahead. Robin was highly successful and soon repaid the debt. He never forgot my father’s kindness and I imagine this legacy is because of that. You say you’re conditioned to disbelieve me, so you’d better read the letter he wrote to my father when he repaid the money and which I’ve kept for sentimental reasons.’
He stood. ‘Señora, having insulted you once, I will not do so again by asking to read the letter.’
He left.
Alvarez picked up the receiver, paused, replaced it. Surely there had to be some way in which to avoid the unavoidable?
There was not. He lifted it again and this time dialled.
‘Yes?’ said Angela Torres.
‘It is Inspector Alvarez speaking . . .’
‘Wait.’
He picked up a pencil and drew a childlike picture of Salas with two devil’s horns on his elongated head.
‘It is now well into the morning,’ Salas said. ‘Were you not instructed to phone me the moment you returned to the office?’
‘It took time . . .’
‘I am uninterested in mindless excuses. Are you going to make a report or is there nothing to say because you omitted to carry out your orders?’
‘I drove to the home of the Morton-Smiths and . . .’
‘Who?’
‘Miranda, the wife, was Miranda Pearson before marriage. As I arrived, he was leaving . . .’
‘Who was?’
‘The husband.’
‘Then say so.’
‘That was very fortunate.’
‘Why?’
‘It meant she . . . Señora Morton-Smith was on her own.’
‘She confessed to her adultery?’
‘No, because . . .’
‘Of your incompetent questioning.’
‘Because the reason for the legacy was not what it had seemed to be.’
‘Appeared to you to be.’
‘Her father had helped Señor Gill financially in the past and the legacy was a further expression of his thanks to, and regard for, her father.’
‘To be certain I am hearing what you believe you are saying, do you no longer believe this legacy to be a consequence of the wife’s adultery with Señor Gill?’
‘That is so.’
‘Señor Morton-Smith had no motive for murdering Señor Gill?’
‘It seems not.’
‘Then another of your proposed motives is exposed as nonsense.’
‘It did seem obvious . . .’
‘Only to an obsessed mind.’
‘That’s not just.’
‘Only because it does not mention obtuse and impercipient.’
The line was dead.
THIRTEEN
Luisa opened the front door of Aquila. ‘Good morning, Inspector,’ she said cheerfully.
‘And to you. Is Parra not here?’
‘He has driven into the village to buy some stores. Will you come through? The señorita will be very glad to see you.’
He followed her, unkindly decided she had put on a little weight since he had first met her unless her dress was too tight for someone with her posterior dimensions. She and Pablo made an unlikely couple, but then in another’s eyes, many couples were strangely matched. One saw beauty, warmth, trustworthiness; another, plainness, egotism, unreliability. But for this, would there be marriages?
Mary smiled as he followed Luisa into the sitting room, cooled by the air-conditioning unit. ‘I’m sorry I was out the last time you were here.’
‘It’s given me the chance to come here this morning.’
‘Would you like coffee, señorita?’ Luisa asked.
Mary looked at Alvarez. ‘For you?’
‘Yes, please.’
Luisa left.
‘Is this business or pleasure?’ Mary asked.
‘Ninety-five per cent pleasure, five per cent questioning.’
‘There can still be some you haven’t asked?’
‘They grow like viruses.’
‘And are often as nasty. Is the sun worrying you? If so, lower the awning.’
‘It’s fine, thanks. Makes the room cheerful.’
‘But when the sky’s all cloud, the mountains become dark, the island sulks . . . Enrique, would you help a maiden in distress?’
‘Of course. What’s wrong?’
‘Something silly. I dreamt Robin and I were picnicking and when I awoke . . . I’ve been feeling lost. As you walked in here, I wondered if you’d take me down to the bay again?’
‘Naturally.’
‘“A verray parfit gentil knight”. Ask the questions quickly so they’re over and done with.’
‘I don’t know how long ago it was, but at one of your parties, there was trouble with a guest. Can you remember that?’
‘I’m not certain what “trouble” means. When a number of expats get together, there are often hiccups. Someone plays the fool and lands in the pool, drinks too much, helps himself to a bottle of champagne to take home or is rude because he’s so superior – wives of retired high-ranking servicemen are past masters at that.’
‘A guest was objectionable to Eva.’
‘Him! When Robin learned about that, he was furious. It wasn’t just Frank’s appalling behaviour. Robin knew I’d be upset because it would make me remember. He ordered Frank out of the house and told Pablo to make certain he went.’
‘He must have felt humiliated?’
‘Angry because he claimed Robin was making a scene out of nothing. For Frank, wealth equals superiority, so maids are for the taking. Why d’you want to know about this?’
‘He must have believed he had reason to hate your uncle.’
‘I suppose . . . Enrique are you thinking . . .’ She stopped.
‘I’d just like a word with him. What’s his surname?’
‘Foster.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘On the outskirts of the port in a large house with every possible accessory – sauna, indoor pool as well as an outdoor one, gymnasium. It’s called Ca’n Foster, naturally.’
‘Is he married?’
‘To Agatha. A grande dame. Or so she believes. Leaves the island in the summer because the sun isn’t good for her complexion. If she had one left, one could understand her complaint.’
‘Does he remain here?’
‘Mostly. Probably by choice.’
‘I’ll call and have a word with him, but from the sound of things, not by choice.’
‘When?’
‘This afternoon. Right now, a rescue drive down to the port takes priority.’
Ca’n Foster was a large and lumpy house, the garden was large with water-thirsty lawn and flower beds, the outdoor pool was large, and the Bentley in the garage was large.
The front door was opened by a middle-aged man, dressed with the formality of an upper servant.
‘Is Señor Foster here?’ Alvarez asked.
‘You are?’
‘Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo General de Policia.’
The man’s surprise was momentarily visible. ‘Will you come in, please, and I will ask if Señor Foster is free.’
The hall was large, the colourful carpet on the marble floor was large, the two vases, filled with flowers, were large, and the paintings of hunting scenes in England which hung on one wall were large.
‘Would you wait here, Inspector.’
Alvarez studied the paintings and tried to make sense of the English pleasure in risking death on horseback.
Foster entered the hall from one of the adjoining rooms. He was just under two metres tall, lean, and his face had the features of a man who never doubted his own authority. ‘What do you want?’ He spoke in English – Spanish was for foreigners – with clipped tones.
‘I should like to ask you some questions, señor.’
‘Why?’
‘I am investigating the death of Señor Gill and have reason to think you may be able to help me’
‘You think incorrectly.’
‘Nevertheless, I shall need to ask you certain things.’
‘I suppose you’d better come in here.’ He walked towards the nearest door and stopped. ‘Perez.’
Perez, who had let Alvarez into the house, hurried into the hall.
‘I’ll have the usual.’
Foster opened the door and went into the room. Alvarez followed. ‘The usual’? A drink? He would be asked what he would like; he could reasonably hope for one of the top brandies.
‘I haven’t time to waste, but you might as well sit.’
They sat.
‘If you’re investigating Gill’s death, why come here?’
‘I think you knew the señor?’
‘We’d met.’
‘You were not great friends?’
‘No.’
‘Was there a reason for that?’
‘The good lady went to a lot of trouble trying to teach the niece how to behave in society – proper society, not the ragbag here. Gill told her not to interfere. One is not friendly with someone capable of such rudeness. We may meet in a shop, but both the good lady and I try to avoid doing so if possible.’
‘Who is the good lady?’
‘Who the devil do you think? My wife.’
‘Is she here?’
‘In England.’
The door opened and Perez entered with a silver salver on which was a filled flute. He held the salver out for Foster to take the glass, then left.
Alvarez was as surprised as outraged by the appalling manners of his not being offered a drink while Foster enjoyed champagne.
Foster put his glass down on a runner on the small table at his side. ‘Do you intend to say why you’re here?’
‘I need to speak to all who knew Señor Gill in order to learn if there was the possibility someone had reason to wish him dead.’
A Question of Motive Page 13
