A Question of Motive

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘Then I am unable to assist you.’

  ‘Have you ever been to a party at his house?’

  ‘Once, since I did not realize the mixed nature of the event.’

  ‘Was there trouble during that party?’

  ‘Are you here because of that bloody stupid nonsense?’

  ‘If you are referring to an incident concerning the maid, Eva, yes, I am. I believe Señor Gill ordered you out of his house and told the manservant to make certain you left immediately because you had molested his maid.’

  ‘Quite incapable of understanding I could never behave in the manner he claimed.’

  ‘Did you molest her?’

  ‘Damn your insolent question!’

  ‘More than one person has told me that you did.’

  ‘Give me their names and I’ll sue them for slander.’

  ‘Would you like to tell me what did happen?’

  ‘The waiting was so poor, I had to go into another room to refill my glass. The maid started to come out, holding a tray of canapés, didn’t look where she was going and banged in to me. The tray went for a burton; I had to hold on to her to save myself falling. The next thing is, she starts screaming.’

  ‘It was pure chance your hand ended up under her skirt?’

  ‘That is a monstrous lie.’

  ‘Eva claims you ran your hand up her leg.’

  ‘An uneducated woman’s fantasy.’

  ‘She also says you fondled her body.’

  ‘Perverted imagination.’

  ‘You deny the allegations?’

  ‘You imagine I would mess around with a maid?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I doubt you are capable of understanding that a person in my position would never betray himself in such a manner.’

  ‘Did you have a friend present who will confirm your account of events?’

  ‘You are inferring I’m a bloody liar?’

  ‘I have made no such inference, señor.’

  ‘Haven’t you just asked for corroboration?’

  ‘That is necessary since at the moment, it is just your word against Eva’s.’

  ‘You’d give her evidence the same weight as mine?’

  ‘Why not? You must have been very angry when you understood how people would be regarding you with amused contempt. You decided to return to Aquila and have a row with Señor Gill. When you arrived, he was, by chance, on his own. Mary was in Palma and the staff were away. Señor Gill was either studying or photographing the orchid of which he was so proud and therefore was beyond the fencing. What happened then? Did the opportunity to gain revenge on the man who had named you a lecherous bounder become too great to resist? You approached him, saying you were there to apologize, and pushed him over the edge?’

  ‘Ignorant absurdity.’

  ‘What is your friend’s name and address?’

  There was a long silence before Foster finally said: ‘Harrison. Flat four, Neckham, Port Llueso.’

  ‘One final question. Where were you around one in the afternoon on Friday the fourth?’

  ‘Is that when he fell? I don’t know where I was and I don’t give a damn.’

  Alvarez stood. ‘It would be to your benefit to remember.’ He went into the hall and approached the front door. Perez hurried past him to open it. ‘A fruitful meeting, Inspector?’

  Alvarez was in the car before he thought of a smart answer.

  FOURTEEN

  Neckham was a four-storey block which had replaced one of the old family homes along the pine walk. As he approached the building, Alvarez’s annoyance increased. One more feature of the past had vanished in the name of profit. Years previously, the row of large, detached houses, each within its own grounds, luxurious by the standards of the day, had been owned by the grandees, mainly from Palma, who had occupied them during the summer and often at times of festivals. Now there were many fewer and those which remained had often been split into two or three flats.

  Hot and slightly breathless from the walk, he turned into the small garden and continued into the lobby which was lined with lightly engraved glass. How much more attractive had been ancient wood and lime-washed walls. The name board by the post boxes set in the wall listed G. Harrison on the top floor. He crossed to the lift – one modernism of which he approved.

  Under the switchboard was a button on its own, marked ‘Penthouse’. He pressed this. Through a small grill, a man asked: ‘Who is it?’ Obviously, the hoi polloi were to be kept at bay. He gave his name.

  The lift rose, stopped, and the door opened. A man was waiting in the long passageall. Tall, balding, he wore an open-neck shirt and linen shorts. On his right wrist was a gold Rolex.

  ‘Señor Harrison?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I apologize for troubling you, but I have some questions I’d like to ask.’

  ‘No doubt, following your visit to Mr Foster?’

  Perhaps Salas might have expected him to drive directly from Foster’s house to Harrison’s flat in order to prevent any collaboration between the two men. But since there would have been at least a twenty-minute gap whilst he was driving down to the port . . .

  ‘Come on through after you’ve told me what you’d like to drink.’

  Here was a man who understood that when in Mallorca, one did as the Mallorquins did. He asked for a brandy.

  The sitting room was well furnished in modern style; through the picture window much of the bay was visible above the pine trees. Live there and one had no need to seek beauty.

  He was standing by the window when Harrison returned with a glass in each hand. He passed one to Alvarez. ‘Admiring the view?’

  ‘As beautiful as anywhere in the world.’

  ‘A true Lluesian!’

  There was a sharp buzz in the hall.

  ‘That’ll be my wife, back from shopping. Please excuse me.’ He went out.

  Alvarez continued to stare at the bay as he drank. Wealth had brought this view of paradise along with the flat. Some sage of a parsimonious nature had said that wealth did not make for happiness. It certainly gave happiness a hefty leg up.

  Harrison returned, carrying two shopping bags, along with his wife whose age was probably very similar to his, but whose appearance, through the skills of make-up and dieting, suggested she was several years less. ‘Inspector Alvarez, Susan.’

  ‘Hullo, Inspector,’ she said with a smile. He returned her greeting. Her stylish appearance reminded him he had intended to change his shirt that morning.

  ‘George says you’re here because of that unfortunate episode at Aquila. So very unnecessary . . . I must go through to the kitchen and start to prepare lunch.’ She took the bags from her husband and left.

  At Harrison’s suggestion, Alvarez settled on an easy chair.

  ‘If you’ll tell what you’d like to know, Inspector, I’ll do my best to answer.’

  ‘You were at the party given by Señor Gill at which there was an unfortunate incident?’

  ‘I was, with my wife. It was very unfortunate that Robin made such a scene of it when he could have handled matters far more diplomatically.’

  ‘Yet he must have been annoyed when a guest molested his maid.’

  ‘He should have realized that simply wasn’t possible. Frank won’t object if I say that he wouldn’t molest a maid if they were on their own and she was stark naked. It simply doesn’t fit the picture he has of himself. He was a little squiffy which was why he tripped and grabbed hold of the maid for support.’

  ‘Eva claims his hand went up inside her skirt.’

  ‘Panicky imagination. I’ll bet that unlike so many of her contemporaries, she is still constrained by the moral guidelines her mother laid down. Reputation is as valuable as virginity; lose either and any chance of a good marriage is lost. Maybe a hand did land on her buttock or breast as Frank tried to hold his balance, but that was unintentional.’

  ‘You seem very certain of that.’

  ‘I was close by
when Frank started to come into the room as the maid was leaving with a tray of canapés. Frank tried to avoid her, stumbled, caught hold of her to prevent his falling, and the next second she was screaming.’

  ‘Señor Gill thought it was far more serious.’

  ‘Because he wasn’t present and was too ready to accept her wild accusations.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Señor Foster about that incident?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘What did he say about it?’

  ‘Cursed Robin in quarterdeck style for being so stupid.’

  ‘Was Señor Foster very angry?’

  ‘For a time. But then . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘He’s a queer old bird. After a while he decided this cloud did have a silver lining.’

  ‘What did he mean?’

  ‘His wife declared she was humiliated by his behaviour, was not prepared to suffer the unspoken sneers of friends, was returning to England and didn’t know if she’d return. He declared it as the most productive fumble he had never had.’

  ‘He welcomed his wife leaving him?’

  ‘You have not met her? A born spinster.’

  ‘But he must surely have been disturbed by the knowledge many believed he had sexually assaulted a young lady?’

  ‘Meeting him casually, you’d never think him the man who lurks behind the mask. Eventually, he found even that amusing. He thought some of the widows would start asking him for drinks.’

  ‘He seemed far more concerned than that when I spoke to him earlier.’

  ‘What would you expect? To be questioned by a policeman. So very infra dig.’

  Alvarez looked at his watch. It was only seven minutes since he had last looked, yet he had judged it to be at least twenty. A brave man would not fear shadows. But he was not a brave man. Perhaps he should consider the evidence once more before making a report? Perhaps Salas had left the office to misplay a game of golf?

  He phoned.

  Of course the superior chief was in his office, working, Señorita Torres waspishly told him. ‘Wait.’

  The connection was made. ‘Inspector Alvarez from Llueso speaking, señor.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I have been conducting further enquiries concerning the death of Señor Gill. I questioned Señor Foster who, as you will remember . . .’

  ‘Then there is no need to waste my time telling me.’

  ‘I asked him where he was at the time of Señor Gill’s death. His reply was that he did not know and did not care. I found it difficult to judge whether those were the words of a man who couldn’t be bothered to remember because he was innocent of Señor Gill’s death or was intending to give such impression.

  ‘I asked him about his alleged sexual assault of Eva. He said he had automatically held on to her to prevent himself falling and had not touched any part of her to cause alarm.’

  ‘What did that mean?’

  ‘Her breast or her . . .’

  ‘You will not continue.’

  ‘At no time had he slipped his hand up her leg.’

  ‘She was hardly likely to have made so embarrassing a claim unless she had good reason to do so.’

  ‘Señor Foster thought it was wishful thinking.’

  ‘Outrageous!’

  ‘Understandable.’

  ‘Your comment is as outrageous as his. No young woman would ever wish to suffer such attention.’

  ‘I don’t think one can be certain of that.’

  ‘You can condone such behaviour?’

  Alvarez hastily said: ‘Señor Harrison confirms Señor Foster’s evidence. Señor Foster was making his way into a second room as Eva was coming out of it. She banged into him or he tripped, instinctively held on to her in order not to fall. If his hands made contact of an undesirable nature, this would have been unintentional.

  ‘One might not expect his innocence to lessen the anger he must be expected to have had for Señor Gill’s behaviour. Being publicly ordered out of the house made it obvious that Eva’s accusations were accepted as justified. However . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It does seem Señor Foster was not as furious as one might imagine, considering the dead man so publicly ordered him out.’

  ‘You are referring to Señor Gill, when he was alive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You have yet to understand the difference between a live and a dead man.’

  ‘Señor Harrison suggested Señor Foster was originally furious, but eventually treated the incident as a beneficial one.’

  ‘The alleged assault of a young woman can be beneficial? Their imagination is perverse.’

  ‘It wasn’t the assault, it was the allegation. His wife felt so humiliated that she returned to England.’

  ‘Extraordinary.’

  ‘Something else was said which seems to confirm Señor Foster was not burning with fury.’

  ‘One does not burn unless there is a cause.’

  ‘Señor Foster was wondering if some of the widowed ladies would be inviting him.’

  ‘That is likely when they will believe he has behaved so disgracefully?’

  ‘For one or two, it could well be a . . .’ Alvarez stopped sharply.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘I’ve forgotten the word, señor. Perhaps the inference should be judged to be black humour.’

  ‘What inference?’

  ‘That the widows . . .’

  ‘Can you never finish a sentence? Speaking to you is like trying to finish a jigsaw with missing pieces. Are you now saying that Señor Foster was regarding the episode almost lightly?’

  ‘It does seem so.’

  ‘You understand that if he was not extremely angry and his anger did not last, he will not have had reason to encompass Señor Gill’s death?’

  ‘That is logical.’

  ‘Why is why you are so reluctant to accept the fact? You have repeatedly claimed to know the motive is to know there was murder. You have introduced motives which can only be described as the products of an incoherent imagin-ation. As a result, a great deal of time has been completely wasted.’

  ‘No, señor, not wasted. My work has reduced the number of suspects and I still have to question Señor Kiernan.’

  ‘The last man you claim has a motive. Then according to you, he must be guilty. I expect this case to be completed within the next twenty-four hours.’

  Alvarez replaced the receiver.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘I met Beatriz when I was shopping,’ Dolores said, as she put a plateful of cut bread on the dining-room table.

  As she returned to the kitchen, Alvarez and Jaime tried to guess what that remark portended. In turn, each shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘She is obnoxiously inquisitive,’ she called out.

  ‘Show me the woman who isn’t,’ Jaime muttered.

  ‘She wanted to know if Enrique is finally getting married.’

  Alvarez had to ask: ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘What would you expect me to say?’

  Only the gods could answer that.

  ‘I said such matters were not to do with me since you are my cousin, not my son. Do you know what she then said?’

  They remained silent. Her tone had been indecipherable.

  ‘She said you looked more like my father than a son.’

  ‘Silly bitch!’ Alvarez muttered.

  She looked through the bead curtain. ‘It was strange to receive a compliment from her. But, of course, I do look considerably younger than you, even though there are few years between us. However, I do not drink alcohol as if it were water.’ She retired.

  A woman’s calendar ran backwards, Alvarez thought. There were only very few years between them. And when she had been cooking or tidying the house, was hot and flushed, she could be mistaken for his older sister.

  Dolores called out: ‘She remarked that the woman was considerably younger than you.’

  Alvarez drank. Her reason for thi
s conversation was clear.

  ‘She was not a beauty, but who, at your age, could be choosy. When she’d finished, I said her tongue was too loose, you were doing a good deed and helping an Englishwoman overcome the death of her uncle. That made Beatriz look stupid.’ She looked through the curtain again. ‘I trust that she was the woman who you were with? That it was not some foreigner half your age?’

  ‘I was with Mary.’

  ‘And it is simply your good nature which causes you to see her so often, to leave work and take her down to the beach?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Need a suggestion?’ Jaime asked.

  ‘You wish to say something you will consider amusing, but we will find juvenile and objectionable?’ she asked.

  ‘I was just going to say something pleasant.’

  ‘Which was?’

  He fiddled with his glass.

  ‘You have forgotten? Or, for once, you have found the manners not to speak obscenely in front of me? Aiyee! A mouse tries to roar, but can only squeak.’

  ‘Stupid female,’ Alvarez muttered.

  ‘Hang on.’ Jaime spoke angrily. ‘She may talk stupidly, but you don’t insult my wife.’

  ‘I was referring to Beatriz. Her saying I looked like Dolores’ father.’

  ‘Why get upset over that? She once told Dolores she’s seen me eyeing a bit in a bikini in the old square.’

  ‘Had you?’

  ‘Can’t remember. It would keep women quieter if they didn’t have so much time to push their noses into other people’s business. Of course, then they wouldn’t have anything much to occupy themselves.’

  Jaime had been speaking too loudly.

  ‘Unless they are married,’ she called out, ‘when they are forever having to deal with their husbands’ stupidity.’

  Kiernan’s flat faced inland and the only view was of the tops of mountains above other buildings. The rectangular sitting room was ill-proportioned and in order to watch the television, chairs had to be set out as in an old-fashioned railway carriage. The furnishings were Ikean.

  Kiernan and his wife were in their late sixties. Within minutes, Alvarez had learned how for years they had longed for the sun, sea, and peace the island offered. Kiernan had retired, they had sold up in England and moved. For a while, life had matched their dreams. Then had come the financial crisis and the depreciation of the pound against the euro. The cost of living had risen sharply – electricity had doubled, or more, in price – and they had had to contemplate returning to England. They had very soon learned it would be difficult to sell their flat and the amount they gained would be insufficient to buy much of a house in England. Their son, with two children, didn’t have room for them in his home . . .