‘You had ordered me to question the Kiernans because they were suspects. Had I not made that clear and had personally believed the accusation to be ridiculous, she would never have given me the information she did. There has been even more trouble. You insisted she be treated as the prime suspect. When I arrived at Aquila earlier, the manservant tried to prevent my entering the house on her orders. However, I went inside and persuaded her that she had to give me an alibi. That seemed to make it obvious that I was now wondering if she had murdered her uncle. She was deeply upset and . . .’
‘Was she able to provide an alibi?’
‘She had been in Palma, buying a dress in a shop called Perfección. It is a very expensive shop, but ladies seem willing to spend a great deal of money on themselves.’
‘I am very well aware of that. My wife . . . Continue.’
‘I spoke on the phone to the manageress and asked if she could confirm the facts. She checked the sales’ records and on the fourth, at twelve thirty-five hours, Señorita Farren bought a frock for four hundred and fifty euros.’
‘Was it made of gold thread?’
‘I don’t think it’s all that expensive by modern prices.’
‘I believe you are not married. You will leave such inane remarks to those who are.’
‘She paid by credit card. The person who made the sale could remember that the woman in question suffered from a facial disfigurement. Despite your insistence that the señorita was the prime suspect, there can be no doubt the buyer was the señorita and therefore could not have been responsible for her uncle’s death.’
‘Is it ignorance or incompetency which causes you to refuse to consider the possibility she hired someone else to carry out the actual murder?’
‘That is as impossible as your naming her a suspect.’
‘If that is so, has it yet occurred to you that everyone whom you believed had a motive has now been cleared of involvement in the death?’
‘Yes, señor.’
‘Have you conjured up further fantastical motives?’
‘No, señor.’
‘You still deny the possibility of suicide?’
‘Yes, señor.’
‘So have you come to any conclusion?’
‘The señor’s death was an accident.’
‘My understanding was that you were certain it could not have been.’
‘With all the evidence . . . It did seem . . . The forensic surgeon’s findings were that although there were no signs of contact with the cliff face, it was possible the bruising could have been caused during the fall.’
‘Was there not mention of a blow about which you have made great play?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the surgeon said it might also have occurred during the fall, but as there was no damage to the clothing, that did seem unlikely.’
‘He didn’t say “unlikely”.’
‘He understood your capabilities?’
‘One can’t always be right.’
‘Yet on the contrary, one can always be wrong.’
‘Señor, I could only . . .’
‘Because I made the mistake of accepting your judgments, I allowed you to continue an investigation which has been a waste of my time and of yours. In the latter case, such waste is of little account.’ Salas rang off.
There was satisfaction in completing a case, even when completion had produced only allegations of incompetence. No longer did he have to try to remember what he was supposed to have done and hadn’t; whether there was inescapable reason to speak to Salas or the necessity of expecting Salas to be in touch with him. He could take a little longer to enjoy his merienda; he could steal those few extra minutes for his siesta which were more valuable than those which had gone before.
‘It’s good to see you smiling once more,’ Dolores said as they ate.
‘Life is once more bearable with the case over and done with.’ He refilled his glass.
‘And the niece was not as nasty as you expected?’
‘Not . . .’ He remembered. ‘She was not, because I carefully followed your advice.’
‘Bet she thought you were overdoing things,’ Jaime said.
‘You are implying something?’ she asked sharply.
‘It did seem you wanted him to lay it on with a trowel.’
‘Naturally you would think that, since you are unable to understand a woman needs kindness, the occasional word of praise, an appreciation of how she sacrifices herself for others.’
‘If I started to talk to you as you said he was to do to that woman . . .’
‘Your words would be intended to hide your refusal to do as asked or I had discovered what you had not done.’
‘Wasn’t Enrique merely putting up a smokescreen?’
‘You cannot understand what I am saying because you have difficulty in considering anyone but yourself.’
‘Doesn’t matter what I say or do, I’m in the wrong.’
‘That is true.’ She spoke to Alvarez. ‘Do you have to see her again?’
‘No, thank goodness.’
‘Why do you say that? I thought you liked her.’
‘The relationship has entered the deep freeze. Further, every time she sees me, inevitably she’s sharply reminded of her uncle’s death.’
‘She must be suffering greatly.’
‘When she has a few million euros in the bank?’ Jaime asked.
‘Spoken like a man! If you win El Gordo this Christmas, I can be certain I will become of no interest to you since money will provide you with so much more than I can.’
‘You know that’s not how it is. You twist everything I say. I couldn’t live without you. I wouldn’t know how to continue. I would be dead while I was still living.’
‘You wield a trowel too heavy for your strength,’ she snapped.
Salas had not rung since Monday, not even to complain because he had not received the written report on the fatal accident suffered by Señor Robin Gill on Barca. Eventually, Alvarez acknowledged, he would have to draw up that report, but it seemed nothing was lost by leaving it until tomorrow.
He sat back in the chair and rested his shoes on the desk. Saturday was not long away. Then, he would enjoy the pleasure to be gained from letting the world slide by. The contemplation of a forthcoming pleasure could be almost as pleasurable as the pleasure itself. Provided no major case suddenly disrupted everything, he would slide away from work a little early, have a coñac at the Club Llueso and return home for a drink before lunch. It was too hot for a heavy dish so perhaps Dolores would cook Riñones en salsa. Popularly not thought of as a grand dish, but in her magical hands it became one. Then a siesta, whose boundaries would not be limited by the need to return to work. In the evening, meeting old friends in Club Llueso. Dinner at home. Bacalao a la riojana? Dried cod, chorizo, onions, tomatoes, pimientos, pepper, olive oil . . .
The phone rang.
‘Tollo here, Enrique.’
‘Who?’
‘You’re the great inspector today? I’ll remind you who I am. Not so long back, we took Matilde and Natalia to watch the Mar Déu del Arme, and it turned out you’d chosen the uncooperative one.’
‘I remember nothing of the sort.’
‘Convenient memory.’
‘It’s an offence to slander a member of the cuerpo.’
‘It’s a pleasure.’
‘Are you still running a contract service for farmers?’
‘What if I am?’
‘I’ll be along to make certain all your equipment is safe.’
‘Not your job.’
‘I’ll have received a complaint and will call in a qualified inspector who will uncover many problems.’
‘You can be a real sod!’
‘We understand each other. Why are you ringing? What’s your problem?’
‘The wife is threatening murder, the husband has a lump on his head the size of a chicken’s egg, and the second woman is having hysterics.’
&nb
sp; ‘Call a doctor.’
‘That’s been done and if you don’t turn up smartly, I’ll tell your superior chief you were too tight to answer the call.’
‘You’re a bastard!’
‘Like you said, we understand each other.’
‘Where’s the fun going on?’
‘Aquila. Bit of an odd name . . .’
‘Where?’
‘Becoming deaf in your old age?’
‘Who’s having hysterics?’
‘Someone said it was her uncle who fell off the cliff . . .’
Alvarez raced out of the room, down the stairs, past the cabo – who was astonished to see him moving quickly – out on to the street and along to his parked car.
A doctor was with Mary in her bedroom. Pablo had left in an ambulance. Luisa sat in the kitchen on the opposite side of the table to Alvarez.
‘How could he?’ she moaned yet again.
‘How could he what?’ he asked yet again.
She began to cry again.
He had tried to console her previously and had failed; there seemed no point in doing so again. He finished the coñac in the glass, poured himself another drink and added three cubes of ice from the ice bucket.
‘We’ve been married seven years. You understand, seven years?’
There could be no sensible response. It was not a short marriage, not a long one.
‘He always said a difference in ages meant nothing.’
It didn’t when the woman was younger than the man.
‘We lived in Lograsan.’
He nodded. He had no idea where she was talking about.
‘It was so old-fashioned there was still a paseo. All the girls watched him because he was so handsome . . .’
He wondered why the doctor had not yet returned downstairs? Was Mary seriously ill?
‘My parents were in a bus which crashed. I was their only child because that was what the good Lord had decided. They left me money and the house . . .’
He let his mind wander and only listened to snatches of what she said. Pablo had comforted her after her parents died . . . They had married . . . He had decided they would move from their ancient village and go to Barcelona where there was life. He had spent freely until there was nothing left of her inheritance . . .
They had come to the island because it was said to be easier to find work since there were many foreigners who were too lazy to do anything for themselves . . . She had been happy to work for Señor Gill and the señorita. But then she had not known Paquita lived nearby . . .
She had had no suspicions. Pablo had professed his love for her again and again . . . She had thought herself fortunate, even though she was a woman . . . That was until she found him with Paquita . . . She sobbed.
He wondered why it had never occurred to her that her husband, several years younger than she, who’d married her for her inheritance, would wander when there was no longer the money to hold him to her?
She had always done everything she could to please him. He had asked her to say he was with her that day. Of course she had agreed. A wife liked to please her husband. And how did he thank her? By bedding a puta . . . Heavier sobbing.
‘What were you protecting him from?’
She ignored the question. ‘I went to the pedicurist in the village in the morning because I have an ingrowing toenail. He was not there. His cousin had died, and he was at the funeral. I returned, went up to our bedroom to change my clothes and . . . He and his puta were on our bed. She covered herself as if ashamed, but she is a woman who has never known shame. I pulled her off the bed by her hair and said if she was not dressed and out of the house immediately, she would go out naked so all could see her for what she was.’
‘You told me earlier that he asked you . . .’
‘She went downstairs so quickly, she almost fell. Had I been near, I would have helped her fall. In the kitchen, Pablo called me names which I will not repeat. He demanded to know why I expected him not have fun with someone who could still give it. So I hit him.’
‘With what?’
‘The rolling pin which was on the table.’
The story contained the classical details of a marital break-up. But also . . . His imagination suddenly went into super-drive. Or insanity, as Salas would have it. ‘You mentioned he had asked you to say he was with you, and because he was your husband, you had protected him . . .’
Wailing, she interrupted him. ‘That he should take her to our bed and not one of the others!’ Her body heaved from her sobbing.
He tried again to ask the same question. She shook her head in-between sobs.
‘Why did he want you to say that?’
‘I don’t know.’ There was resentment in her harsh voice; how could he be concerned with anything but her tragedy?
‘Was it on the day the señor died?’
‘Our bed!’
‘He was not with you in the village that Friday?’
‘She was with him in our bed!’
To suppose Parra had wanted her to support his false alibi because he had murdered Gill was to suggest he had done so without any motive apart from the small legacy . . .
Doctor Fechal stepped into the kitchen. ‘I have done what I can for Señorita Farren, but unfortunately that was less than I wished. I wanted to make a brief examination in case there was a physical reason for her extreme emotional state, but she refused. She has also refused to take some pills which would help calm her. In such circumstances, there is nothing more I can do. If her condition deteriorates, get in touch with me. It may be necessary to take measures whatever her wishes.’ He paused. ‘You have my mobile number?’
‘It will be in the phone book, doctor,’ she answered.
Fechal left.
‘I will go up and see if there is anything I can do to help,’ she said.
‘Would you rather I did, since you also are so distressed?’
‘She is in her bedroom.’ She left.
Men could never be trusted. He emptied his glass and poured himself a third brandy. Luisa returned. In tones of disapproval, she said: ‘The señorita wants you to go up and speak to her. I have made certain she is decently dressed.’
He left and climbed the stairs. He had not asked which was Mary’s bedroom and several rooms led off the corridor. He opened three doors before he found it. Mary, fully dressed, sat on her bed, supported by a pillow held against the backrest.
She reached out her hands and he went over, sat, held them.
‘He . . . Pablo was with a puta . . . But he . . .’
‘Let’s talk about another trip to the bay . . .’
‘I heard screaming and rushed to see what was the trouble. Luisa was threatening the woman with whom Pablo had been in bed. But . . . but . . . again and again he’d said he loved me from the day he came to work here. I told him not to be ridiculous. I liked him, but would never marry him. Robin would have been furious. Pablo went on and on, telling me that he couldn’t bear to be without me, Luisa wanted to divorce him and he’d be free to marry me. I . . . I began to believe that at last there was a man who liked, loved, me for the person I was, who could make me ignore what happened in that garden in Ealing and I’d be able to mix with people and never flinch when a man touched me . . . Then I saw him with the naked woman and I understood he’d been secretly laughing at me for my naive stupidity. He didn’t care about me. No one does. You’re only kind to me through sympathy.’
‘You couldn’t be more wrong. Why do you think I’m here now?’
‘Because I asked Luisa to tell you I wanted to see you. But you only came and saw me because it will make me believe you genuinely care about me. You don’t. No one does. I’d be better off with Robin, dead.’
He had tried to make her understand she was not the outcast she believed herself to be, that betrayal did not damn the betrayed; she had every reason to face the world; her disfigurement was not nearly as great as she believed . . . But by what steps they had ended up on
the bed, naked, was beyond him even as they lay side by side.
‘Do you remember what I said to you?’ she asked. She rolled over and rested her breasts on his chest. ‘I told you, just friends. And you agreed. Another betrayal!’ There was laughter in her voice. ‘Are you going to marry me and make me an honest woman?’
‘I will always honour you, always want to be your friend, rush to help you, but I will never marry you. I am old – I mean, older than you. You now know you are very, very desirable, you have no need to hide yourself, to be ashamed of yourself. Young men will flock around you and you’ll choose the right one.’
‘Marry me, Enrique.’
‘And you won’t stop wondering if it was you or the money which attracted me.’
‘You’re a fraud, scared of being tied down! But there’s time for you to remind me what a strong husband you would be.’
‘If you had come down any later,’ Dolores said, ‘you would be eating lunch, not breakfast.’
He sat at the kitchen table. ‘I had to work very late.’
‘Visiting all the bars?’
‘There was trouble at Aquila.’
‘Again? What was it this time?’
‘The cook unexpectedly returned home to find her husband in bed with a puta. She thumped him so hard, he had to be taken to hospital.’
‘One wife who remains a free woman! And how was the señorita?’
‘Very upset, but I managed to calm her down.’
‘How?’
‘By persuading her that she was not the person she thought herself, that men would find her desirable.’
‘It is to be hoped she believed you to be speaking genuinely.’
‘I think she did.’
‘Yes?’ Salas said.
‘In connection with the death of Señor Gill, I have learned certain new facts which make it certain it was not an accident.’
‘There were three possibilities, so I suppose one must be prepared for you to discount each one in turn and then start again. Do you intend to tell me what has caused this latest reversal?’
‘It was because Luisa found her husband in bed with a puta.’
‘To your great interest?’
‘In her anger and emotional chaos, Luisa admitted she had been lying when I had questioned her. Parra was not with her at the time of the señor’s death. He had begged her to lie about it and she had done so. The truth is, Parra murdered Señor Gill.’
A Question of Motive Page 17
