The Ambiguity of Murder

by Roderic Jeffries

  He looked at the telephone. Salas would be expecting a report. But the superior chief always demanded that every report be comprehensive and until Karen Robertson and Dolly Selby had been questioned, this could not be. Obviously, it was too soon to phone him.

  He settled back in the chair and pondered on the vagaries of life so deeply that he awoke only moments before it was time to leave the post and return home.

  CHAPTER 13

  As Alvarez turned off the road into the drive of Ca’n Jerome, he came bonnet to bonnet with a BMW and had to brake sharply. The woman in the passenger seat gestured angrily at him to back out. He took his time to get out of his Ibiza and walk round to the passenger side of the BMW. Remembering the photograph, he identified the woman inside as Karen Robertson. Not quite as young as he’d thought, but certainly less than half her husband’s age; probably blonde by design and not happy chance, though if so, her hairdresser was an expert; beautiful by the standards of the catwalk, which demanded an air of sullen disinterest, no doubt a shapely body, but the sun reflected so fiercely on the half-lowered window that it was impossible to see below the tops of her shoulders …

  ‘You’ll know me the next time you see me!’ She turned to the driver. ‘Tell the old fool to get his car out of the way.’

  Her companion spoke in good, if stilted, Spanish. ‘Would you be kind enough to move so that we can leave here?’

  The driver, judging by his features, quietly pitched voice, and somewhat bizarrely coloured, yet obviously expensive, shirt, could well be the man who had driven her to Son Fuyell …

  ‘Is he deaf or just plain bloody stupid?’ she said.

  ‘Señora, I am not deaf but as to my level of intelligence, I think it is not for me to comment.’

  Lockhart said, sotto voce: ‘When you’re rude, why is it that your listener always speaks your language perfectly?’

  ‘You are Señora Robertson?’

  She looked uneasily at Lockhart.

  ‘Sweetie, he’s only asking your name, not your age,’ Lockhart said.

  ‘But who is he?’

  ‘An interesting point.’ He spoke to Alvarez. ‘Without becoming too personal, who are you?’

  ‘Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo General de Policia.’

  ‘A policeman!’ Her voice rose. ‘What’s he want?’

  ‘No doubt he’ll soon explain.’ Lockhart paused, then added: ‘Though on this island, it’s safer never to assume anything.’

  ‘Señora,’ Alvarez said, ‘I am making inquiries following the death of Señor Zavala and should like to ask you some questions.’

  ‘I won’t talk about it.’

  Lockhart said to Alvarez: ‘She has a very sensitive nature and easily becomes disturbed by tragedy.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I regret that it will be necessary for me to speak to her. So if you will back your car, I will drive in and then we can go into the house.’

  ‘I said I won’t.’ Karen Robertson’s voice was shrill. ‘It’s all too upsetting.’

  ‘I will make every effort not to disturb you any more than is absolutely necessary.’

  ‘I like your style,’ Lockhart murmured.

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ she said wildly.

  ‘Sweetie, I think you have to face the fact that policemen are trained not to recognize negatives.’ He looked past her at Alvarez. ‘Her overriding concern is for her husband.’

  ‘Of course. But is that relevant?’

  ‘He is a possessive man – who would blame him when he has such riches as she to guard? – and this means that he can respond very deeply on an emotional level. It is disturbing to be questioned by a policeman – even if one has never done anything more reprehensible than suck someone else’s Smartie – and if Karen becomes upset, he will become very disturbed. The doctor has repeatedly warned him that because of severe ill-health, he must avoid the slightest emotional storm.’

  And if he learned his wife had been enjoying an affair with Zavala, he would suffer an emotional hurricane – or give the appearance of doing so? ‘Naturally one does not wish to upset him, but it really is too hot to remain here whilst I talk to the señora.’

  ‘Then let’s seek a solution agreeable to both parties, as Zeus said just before he changed into a swan. Would my flat in Port Llueso provide an agreeably neutral sanctum?’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Then if you back on to the road…’

  ‘It is always potentially dangerous to do that. So perhaps you will back into the drive to let me enter and turn?’

  ‘Are you a man with a commendable regard for road safety, or one who likes to have the last word?’

  ‘I will leave you to decide that.’

  Lockhart laughed as he engaged reverse gear and backed.

  Just under half an hour later, Alvarez entered a flat that seemed to him to have been decorated by an anarchist; there was a chaos of colours which assaulted the senses. Only the view through the large picture window of Llueso Bay, quietly, eternally beautiful, offered a sense of harmony.

  He sat on a luxuriously comfortable chair covered in a material which didn’t just clash with that of the chair next to it, but fought. ‘Señor, it will be best if I speak to the señora on her own.’

  ‘I am a very discreet person and good at giving moral support.’

  ‘You think that that will be necessary?’

  ‘I was using the word in a general sense and not in a specific one.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Karen said shrilly, ‘can’t you ever stop trying to be smart?’

  ‘It’s become clear that my services are not only not wanted, they are also not appreciated.’ Lockhart stood. ‘I shall be in my den and a call will have me running.’

  After he’d left, Karen began to fidget with the belt of her dress which, amongst the surrounding clash of colours, looked less smart than it had. She glanced at Alvarez, saw he was regarding her and hurriedly turned away. ‘What do you want to know?’ she muttered.

  ‘I understand you knew Señor Zavala?’

  ‘Who says I did?’

  ‘Your husband.’

  ‘All he meant was, we’d met him at parties.’

  ‘The friendship was entirely casual?’

  ‘Of course it was.’

  ‘You are quite certain of that?’

  ‘Do I have to tell you ten times before you understand?’

  ‘You did not visit him at his house and when not with your husband?’

  ‘That’s a ridiculous question.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You can’t understand why?’

  ‘I fear I am not conversant with the customs of foreigners.’

  ‘You’ve got to be bloody ignorant of everything not to realize that if I had seen him at his place, people would have talked.’

  ‘Because you are a married woman?’

  ‘Why else?’

  ‘They would not suppose the relationship to be purely Platonic?’

  ‘The lot who live here? Their favourite occupation after drinking is tearing people’s reputations to shreds.’

  ‘Then it is surprising you took such a risk.’

  ‘What are you getting at? Haven’t I just said I never visited him on my own?’

  ‘The two maids at Son Fuyell have identified you as a lady who visited Señor Zavala when on her own.’

  ‘They’re lying. Their kind always do. It’s a way of getting their own back.’

  ‘Why should they want to do that?’

  ‘Because they’re so jealous.’

  ‘You don’t think that when they see the way in which some foreigners behave, jealousy is their last emotion?’

  ‘I’m not going to be insulted like this.’ She got to her feet and hurried over to the door, pulled it open. ‘Theo!’ she shouted.

  Lockhart ran into the room, almost colliding with her. He came to a stop, studied her. ‘You sounded to be at the end of your resistance. But there’s not a sign of dishevelled clothing. Did y
ou shout too soon?’

  ‘He’s being bloody insulting,’ she said furiously.

  ‘It may not be intentional.’

  ‘He’s accusing me of visiting Guido on my own, just because the two maids said I did.’

  ‘If that’s what they’ve told him, of course he has to put the possibility to you. All you have to do is laugh at the impossibility.’

  ‘He thinks all foreigners behave badly.’

  ‘Clearly a man of propriety.’ He spoke to Alvarez. ‘Guido’s death has upset her. Not because there was a special relationship between them, but because she takes to heart the solemn warning that any man’s death diminishes one. Indeed, a friend has only to suffer and she suffers.’

  ‘Señor Zavala is not suffering.’

  ‘That’s a heartless thing to say.’

  ‘Murder is heartless.’

  ‘But are we talking about murder?’

  ‘I am certain you have long since realized that his death may not have been an accident.’

  ‘How easy it is to be certain on other people’s behalf.’

  ‘Therefore I need to know the truth of the relationship between the señora and Señor Zavala because it may be significant.’

  ‘I’ve told you, there wasn’t any,’ she said wildly.

  Alvarez said to Lockhart: ‘I understand you frequently take the señora for a drive?’

  ‘Occasionally I have that pleasure.’ Lockhart finally sat.

  ‘And at times you have taken her to Son Fuyell?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘The evidence of those who saw you.’

  ‘Eye-witness evidence is notoriously inaccurate. Why would I do such a thing?’

  ‘Perhaps for the pleasure of knowing you were helping her to betray her marriage.’

  ‘How exquisitely perverse!’

  ‘Tell him that’s horrible!’ she shouted. ‘Tell him you’ve never taken me there.’

  ‘My angel, we have a problem. Policemen have a nasty habit of becoming annoyed if they believe one’s lying to them and they start chuntering about perverting the course of justice – as if justice weren’t totally perverted from the beginning. I have to admit that the thought of a Spanish jail positively makes me shiver.’

  ‘God, you’re a coward!’

  ‘I would prefer to say that I was born with a reluctance to sacrifice myself, however noble the cause … Inspector, you are a man of sharp acumen. Therefore, you will appreciate that black is black only when there is no light. I have driven Karen up to Son Fuyell and left her there, but not for the reason that your imagination no doubt suggests. She is a young lady of great vitality who fell in love with and married a man of considerable presence, but who, being of more years, lacks her energy. Sadly, however much one loves and is loved, in such circumstances there can be moments when one feels a need. She confided in me that when talking to Guido at a party, she mentioned her liking of traditional jazz and how Jerome so hates it that she never listens to it at home. Guido told her that he had an extensive collection of early jazz by the masters, rerecorded and digitally cleaned – whatever that means – sounds slightly dubious – and if ever she wished to listen to some of it, he would be delighted for her to do so. Being by nature chaste, she asked me if I would accompany her, a chaperone beyond the possibility of doubt. My reply was unequivocal. Regretfully, I find all jazz so discordant as to be disturbing. My soul craves quiet consent. To have to listen to it for any length of time would be a penance I wasn’t prepared to suffer, not even for her sake. But why should she not go on her own? Honi soit qui mal y pense. Those who knew her would never harbour the slightest doubt that she would observe all the proprieties. Were St Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins doubted? She accepted that that was true. And when I used to drive her home, I never had the slightest doubt that my advice had been faultless. So relaxed and cheerful was she, she had me wondering if my dislike of jazz was mistaken. So there is the truth. What do you say?’

  ‘It is quite a story.’

  ‘If I knew you better, I could judge whether that was said with a naive or a forked tongue.’

  Alvarez turned to Karen: ‘Señora, you visited Son Fuyell several times?’

  ‘And if I did?’

  ‘Were you always on your own?’

  ‘He’s just told you why.’

  ‘Where did Señor Zavala keep his large collection of jazz records – or was it on tape or discs?’

  She looked at Lockhart; he examined his fingernails. ‘I … I can’t remember.’

  ‘You have forgotten so quickly?’

  ‘You’re confusing me.’

  ‘I am sorry; that is certainly not my intention. But when I searched the house, I found no such collection.’

  ‘I can’t help that.’

  ‘Did you always tell your husband when you were going to see Señor Zavala?’

  ‘How could I when I didn’t know I was? I’d drive off with Theo and mention how bored I was and he’d suggest taking me to Son Fuyell so that I could hear the music.’

  ‘Why were you bored?’

  ‘This isn’t Monte Carlo, for God’s sake.’

  ‘After you’d visited Son Fuyell, did you always tell your husband where you’d been?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘And he never raised any objections to these visits?’

  ‘Why should he?’

  ‘There are husbands who would be disturbed.’

  ‘We trust each other.’

  ‘He didn’t ask what happened at Son Fuyell?’

  ‘Nothing happened.’

  ‘Did you sometimes break off from listening to the music to go down to the pool and have a swim?’

  She hesitated. ‘I might have done when it was very hot.’

  ‘So you always carried a costume with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But there was at least one time when you didn’t bother to wear it, wasn’t there?’

  ‘No. What are you suggesting now?’

  ‘That you sunbathed, and almost certainly swam, in the nude.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t.’

  ‘The gardener claims to have seen you by the pool without a costume on.’

  ‘He’s a dirty old man, like Emilio who can’t look at me without mentally undressing me.’

  ‘The gardener is lying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have to tell you that it will be entirely in your own interests to confirm that that is so since then I will have no reason to question you further and you will be saved any unfortunate embarrassment. Will you be prepared to prove you have been speaking the truth?’

  ‘Sweetie, don’t be rash…’ Lockhart began.

  ‘Of course I will,’ she snapped.

  ‘Then I shall arrange a time that is convenient to both you and the doctor.’

  ‘Doctor? What’s he to do with it?’

  ‘Lorenzo Frau told me that you had what he described as a birthmark on your buttocks. When a doctor tells me you carry no such mark, I will know Lorenzo is a liar.’

  Her expression tightened. She cleared her throat. ‘I…’

  ‘Yes, señora?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered. There was one time when I’d forgotten to take my costume, but it was so hot that I thought just for once it would be all right to swim with nothing on. How was I to know that the beastly man was a Peeping Tom?’

  ‘So it is you who are the liar, not Lorenzo?’

  ‘I forgot. I tell you, I forgot.’

  ‘As you seem to have forgotten that on this occasion Señor Zavala was with you and he also was without clothes.’

  ‘Theo, you’ve got to help me,’ she cried desperately.

  ‘Sweetie, mendacem memorem esse oportet or, to paraphrase freely, when a lie threatens to catch up with you, either shake it by the hand or run like hell.’

  ‘You bastard!’

  ‘I hope so. My mother always swore her husband fathered me, but through choice I’
ve never believed her.’

  She began to cry.

  ‘Señora,’ Alvarez said, concealing his scorn, ‘I am not concerned with the life you choose to lead. But I must know something. Has your husband ever accused you of having an affair with Señor Zavala?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Even if he has never directly accused you, might he have suspected?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How can you be so certain?’

  ‘He’s so jealous, he’d have created hell … You won’t tell him, will you? I swear it didn’t mean anything. It’s just … Please understand. Jerome’s so dull and always moaning he’s ill and Guido was so alive and different … Please, don’t tell Jerome.’

  ‘Señora, if there is no cause to do so, I will not.’

  ‘Oh, God, why did we stay by the pool instead of going up to the house?’

  A question, Alvarez thought, which perfectly summed up her character. He stood, said a polite goodbye, left. He had stepped out of the flat into the small square when Lockhart appeared in the doorway. ‘You should display a warning, Inspector. Do not take me at face value.’

  Even by the time he reached his car, Alvarez still couldn’t be certain whether that had been an insult or a compliment.

  CHAPTER 14

  Alvarez awoke, but did not open his eyes. When sleep had departed, but reality not fully intervened, a man could float on a cloud above the world and all its troubles … A shout from below brought him crashing down to earth.

  ‘Enrique, are you ever going to get up?’

  Women seemed constitutionally incapable of relaxing and so, because of their selfish natures, made certain men never had the chance to do so.

  ‘It’s after five o’clock.’

  Time should not be worshipped; a slave, not a master.

  ‘If you don’t come down right away, there’ll be no hot chocolate because I have to go out.’

  He climbed off the bed, put on shirt and trousers, went along to the bathroom to wash his face in cold water.

  Dolores was standing by the kitchen table, reading a book. ‘If you spend any more time in your bed, you’ll grow roots,’ she said, without looking up.