The Ambiguity of Murder

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘Then why should he have been resigned?’

  ‘Perhaps because he wanted to be.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t get that.’

  ‘You can still meet someone who lives by standards. He’d have been called a gentleman in the days when that was a mark of respect rather than sarcasm. I reckon something had happened which caused him to feel guilty, guilt deserved punishment, therefore he must suffer punishment. Perhaps confirmation that he’d had a woman in the car who shouldn’t have been there?… And now he’s suspected of murder?’

  ‘The Spanish police don’t go that far, but it’s clear they think him a possible suspect in a possible murder. There is one last thing, sir.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Can you give me the names of the chauffeur and whoever it was who granted him diplomatic immunity?’

  ‘I seem to remember defence counsel managed to flush out both, but what they were, I haven’t the slightest idea.’

  ‘They’re probably on record. So do you think you could be very kind and check them out?’

  ‘You’re asking me to spend my retirement ploughing through ancient files?’

  ‘It would be a little more information to feed through to Majorca. These days, the buzz word is PR and it would be a good move to make the blokes over there realize how much trouble we’ve taken on their behalf.’

  ‘You think they’ll give a damn? Public relations? An excuse for incompetence!’

  CHAPTER 17

  Alvarez mopped his forehead, cheeks and neck with a handkerchief. It was not a hot summer; it was a summer straight from the fires of hell; it left a man struggling to find the energy to keep his eyes open …

  One of the two female civilians at the post walked into his office. Spain had enthusiastically embraced the theory of sexual equality in the workforce; before some sections of the workforce responded, the female intake would need to be more feminine. ‘Fax,’ she said, her voice grainy, as if she had been working the fields for hours without a drink. ‘It’s your job to collect ’em.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was one to collect.’

  ‘Been trying to get hold of you for long enough. Spend your time asleep, I suppose.’ She slapped the fax down on the desk, left. He wondered how much longer her linen slacks would withstand the strain they were under.

  He read the fax, whistled, looked up at a gecko on the ceiling. ‘What is the superior chief going to say to this?’ The gecko did not answer, but looked as if it could guess.

  Zavala had awarded Rojas Algaro diplomatic immunity, which meant the defence had been unable to prove Bailey’s claim that the Jaguar had hit the girl first, sending her up into the air to brush his car. To know that a man had prevented one from proving one’s innocence, had condemned one to a prison sentence, was cause for wild thoughts and dreams of revenge throughout the incarceration; unexpectedly to meet a man at a cocktail party and learn from his boasting that he was not just a Zavala, but the Zavala, was to discover that the means for revenge were to hand …

  Was this motive stronger than those of Robertson and Pons? Only they could accurately judge how strongly their motives drove them. But what was certain was that of the three, only Bailey owned an Astra shooting brake …

  What should his next move be? Did he act and then inform Salas; did he first inform Salas of his intended action? It was a tricky decision. He decided to make it over a cup of coffee and a brandy.

  He was within a hundred metres of the Club Llueso, trying to edge his way through a drifting stream of tourists who had been brought to the village by bus, when a voice behind him said: ‘Mr Holmes, I presume.’

  He came to a stop and turned to face Lockhart. ‘No, señor, Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo General de Policia.’

  ‘Now is that a naively innocent reply, or one carefully constructed to make me look foolish?… You intrigue me, Inspector, though for your peace of mind I hasten to add, only in an intellectual sense. You possess that gift, invaluable to anyone who has reason to hide the course of his thoughts, of being able to look vacuous even when most cerebrally active.’

  ‘How can that be certain if my expression is so vacant?’

  ‘The more I see of you, the more I appreciate you. Come and have a coffee.’

  ‘I don’t think I have the time.’

  ‘On this island, still an outpost of gracious living, time has no meaning.’

  ‘My superior chief would not agree.’

  ‘Superiors never agree with anything, which is why they are so superior. Please don’t deprive me of your company.’

  Alvarez followed Lockhart up the steps to the higher part of the square and across to where tables and chairs were set out in front of one of the cafés. As they sat in the shade of a sun umbrella, a waiter hurried across, suggesting Lockhart was a regular customer who was liberal with his tips.

  ‘What would you like?’ Lockhart asked.

  ‘Coffee cortado, please.’

  ‘And a coñac to go with it, of course. You have the measure of a man who makes a point of observing custom.’ He gave the order, produced a silver cigarette case. ‘Do you smoke?’

  ‘Regrettably, yes.’

  ‘Regret your virtues, not your vices; throughout history, virtue has caused far greater disasters than vice ever has.’ He opened the case and Alvarez took a cigarette, then flicked a lighter for both of them. He drew on his cigarette, said: ‘Pander to my enjoyment of the inessential and tell me if the case of the drowned diplomat is solved?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Was it murder?’

  ‘Even that isn’t certain.’

  ‘Excellent! Mysteries need time to mature.’

  ‘Señor…’

  ‘The name is Theodore. My parents had an unfortunate sense of humour.’

  ‘Do you think Señor Robertson suspected his wife was having an affair with Señor Zavala?’

  ‘You are asking me to betray friendship?’

  ‘Did you not betray it each time you drove the señora to Son Fuyell?’

  ‘There is acid behind the soft soap? No, inspector of morals, I did not. My friendship is with Karen, whom I love dearly because she is amusing and supremely selfish. By contrast, Jerome is the kind of man who demands to be betrayed when he is not ignored. A little man from the outer suburbs of some ghastly town, he made a lot of money and lacks the wit to spend it elegantly. He’ll repeat the latest stock market figures with unseemly relish, but try to talk about the genius of Velázquez and he’ll tell you he has no interest in Spanish football.’

  ‘He must have wondered why the señora and you so often went for a drive.’

  ‘If so, it would only to have been to question her taste of companion.’

  The waiter returned and put cups, milk, sugar, and two glasses, down on the table, spiked the bill, hurried away.

  Lockhart added milk and sugar to his coffee, stirred. ‘You really believe Jerome could have sufficient manhood in him to murder Guido?’

  ‘People are not always what they seem to be to others.’

  ‘You would grant the man hidden depths? Let me assure you that his depths are as shallow as his taste in wine.’

  Alvarez drank some coffee, replaced it with brandy. ‘Of course, if Señor Robertson were to be charged with the murder, inevitably his wife’s affair would come to light. Since you are her friend, you would not wish that to happen.’

  ‘You can believe I would risk my bad name by lying to you in a good cause?’

  ‘If that amused you.’

  ‘We understand each other better and better. Jerome never suspected the truth. First, because he dislikes me so much he could never accept the possibility I might have helped to make a fool of him, secondly, because he is so pompously self-satisfied that he’s incapable of imagining his wife could cuckold him … Does that convince you?’

  ‘It’s an opinion I’ll bear in mind.’

  ‘Oh, man of little faith! Here am I, trying to help, and you treat me wit
h doubt and even suspicion … Let me prove my bona fide. From what Karen has told me and from your talking to me, I gain the certain impression that you are searching for a motive for Guido’s death – that is, a stronger one than the natural wish to relieve the world of his presence. Am I right?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘A furious row would suggest a very antagonistic relationship, would it not?’

  ‘Normally.’

  ‘And a very antagonistic relationship can end in violence?’

  ‘At times.’

  ‘Inspector, if discretion is the better part of criminal investigation, you are a titan in your chosen field.’ Lockhart finished his coffee, then his brandy. ‘You will have the same again?’

  Alvarez saw no reason to refuse.

  Lockhart called a waiter across, gave the order. He moved his chair to keep within the shade of the sun umbrella. ‘One has to be so careful of the complexion … Guido was a man of catholic tastes. I’m sure you appreciate that?’

  ‘It depends on the context.’

  ‘The context of truth. Having met him several times at the ghastly cocktail parties the local, self-declared socialites insist on holding, he suggested I might like to visit his home and enjoy his collection of paintings by modern artists. I asked him if he had any Llulls, and he had two, which does suggest he possessed slightly better taste than his manner suggested. Taste is so important and I decided to accept the invitation. I drove up to his place – could anything be less tasteful? Even if he wasn’t responsible for its building, he needn’t have lived there – and Inés welcomed me in. I feel certain she’s a flighty girl, but why not? Soon, she will be too old to fly. She told me Guido was with a friend and the two men were down by the pool, so why didn’t I go down there? The easy manner with which she made the suggestion seemed to negate any possibility that my unscheduled appearance would cause an embarrassment, so that is what I started to do. I was halfway to the pool when it became very obvious that Inés had exaggerated when she had named the visitor a friend. Guido, who was out of sight, was having a furious argument. Rows make me feel very unsafe and I was about to return to my car when he and another man emerged from the poolhouse. When he saw me, he cursed me and accused me of spying. He was beside himself with rage and I became quite trembly. I tried to assure him that far from spying, I was there because of his open invitation to look at his paintings – not etchings, please note – but I might as well have spoken to an olive tree. As you will imagine, my one desire became to extract myself from so invidious a position, so I left. I have always considered self-preservation to be an admirable trait.’

  The waiter returned, served them, left. Lockhart stirred sugar into his coffee. ‘You do not seem very impressed with my revelation, which I should have expected to arouse great interest.’

  ‘I already knew about the row,’ Alvarez answered.

  ‘I should have realized that a man with your talents would have divined all. Then you even know the identity of the second man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he is a suspect?’

  ‘Not exactly a suspect, since the precise nature of the death is not yet established,’ Alvarez replied evasively.

  ‘But you agreed that antagonistic relationships often end in violence. Surely here there is motive enough?’

  ‘There are other matters which have to be considered.’

  ‘Your discretion is exasperating.’ Lockhart drank. ‘I, in my admiration for you, will offer a gem that life has, painfully, taught me. Never trust a man with a downturned moustache: upturned, inventive; downturned, sadistic.’

  ‘I will remember that.’

  ‘Guido’s companion had a downturned moustache. Rest assured, he is capable of the vilest outrage without a moment’s hesitation.’

  Santiago Pons might have a stubbled face when he could not be bothered to shave, but he had never had a moustache.

  Lockhart raised his glass and stared at Alvarez over the top of it. ‘There seems to have been a shift of emotion. You no longer bear the smug visage of a man who has just been excitedly told what he already knew.’

  ‘Describe the second man.’

  ‘Quite definitely, not my type.’

  ‘Ill-featured?’

  ‘How very percipient. I do find that ugliness casts a cloak over even the most charitable impulses.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘I seldom make that judgement because it’s a knife edge between flattery and insult.’

  ‘What was this man’s name?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. There was no graceful introduction.’

  ‘His nationality?’

  ‘I had no way of judging as I did not hear him speak. Since Guido was shouting in gutter Spanish, one must presume he understood the language, if not at such a low level.’

  ‘Are you sure this second man is not a figment of your imagination?’

  ‘Why should I take the trouble to invent him?’

  ‘To divert attention from Señor Robertson.’

  ‘I thought we’d agreed that that was unnecessary? Will a full description satisfy you? Early thirties, slick black hair, dark-brown eyes, ears that stuck out and should have been attended to when young, a thin mouth containing bad teeth under that disgusting moustache – any man of taste eschews unnecessary hair – a pointed chin, a bull neck, and a complete lack of dress sense … Is that sufficient?’

  ‘Perhaps too much.’

  ‘What is that supposed to signify?’

  ‘It is very detailed when you saw the man for so short a time.’

  ‘Your suspicions are in danger of becoming a phobia. I always take great note of people’s appearances. For instance, although we have not in total enjoyed each other’s company for long, I have noticed how your hair is beginning to thin at the crown.’

  ‘It is not,’ Alvarez said indignantly.

  Lockhart laughed.

  CHAPTER 18

  As soon as Alvarez arrived at Son Fuyell, Susana and Inés asked him what was to happen to their jobs, and they seemed either not to listen to his answer or else to disbelieve his assertion that he didn’t know, because they repeated the question several times. Half an hour passed before he was able to say: ‘You know Señor Lockhart, don’t you?’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘He used to drive Señora Robertson here?’

  ‘The lady who came even though she was married?’ Susana sniffed loudly.

  ‘Did he ever arrive on his own?’

  ‘Never,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Hang on,’ Inés said. ‘There was one time.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Yes, there was. Don’t you remember, you asked the señor for extra time off because your sister was ill and he didn’t want to give it to you. The señor was here then.’

  ‘My niece. Such a stupid girl.’ The set of her mouth made it clear that she had no intention of explaining the nature of her niece’s stupidity.

  ‘When was this?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘Not all that long ago,’ Inés answered.

  ‘Margarita was in hospital at the end of last month and the beginning of this,’ Susana said.

  ‘Tell me about the time Señor Lockhart came here on his own?’

  Inés played with the spoon by the side of her empty mug. ‘It’s difficult to remember much.’

  ‘Try your best.’

  ‘Well … There was a knock on the front door and it was him. Said he’d been invited by the señor whenever he had the time. I told him, the señor and visitor had just gone down to the pool and to go there. Wasn’t no time before he was back and left. Can’t say I was all that surprised, since the señor was in such a foul mood. Him and the other man had been shouting at each other from the start.’

  ‘What was the trouble?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘You might have heard what they were arguing about.’

  ‘In this place, you can hear ’em, but not understand unless the do
or’s open. And when I took coffee in to ’em in the large sitting room, they became silent, but from the looks on their faces, anything could happen.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘Well … If they’d started fighting, I wouldn’t have been surprised.’

  ‘You imagine too hard,’ Susana said.

  ‘You should’ve seen them, then you wouldn’t talk like that.’

  ‘What time of day did this other man arrive?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘The señor had just come down for breakfast.’

  ‘Was the visitor expected?’

  ‘Didn’t sound like it when the señor swore like anything after I told him who had arrived.’

  ‘What was the visitor’s name?’

  ‘It was something like … Algaba, only it wasn’t that.’ She stared across the kitchen table, her sight unfocused. ‘Alfaro; Alfonso; Algarra?… Algaro, that’s it! Who says I haven’t got a good memory?’

  ‘I do,’ answered Susana, ‘when it comes to remembering what needs doing.’

  ‘What about his Christian name?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘Visitors don’t tell me that. Unless later on…’ Inés giggled.

  Susana looked disapprovingly at her.

  Alvarez briefly wondered just how disturbed Inés had been by Zavala’s approach in the library? Perhaps she’d been more annoyed than upset, realizing that compliance on her part was most unlikely to lead to her becoming chatelaine of Son Fuyell … ‘Tell me, d’you think this Algaro was from the island?’

  ‘I’m certain he wasn’t. He spoke Castilian and with a terrible accent. Maybe he was from Galicia.’

  ‘Do you think he was a maricón?’

  ‘Are you joking? It was women the señor was interested in.’

  ‘Yet it seems he invited Señor Lockhart to the house.’

  The two women looked at each other, doubtful, then surprised. Finally, Inés said: ‘These days it seems you can’t never be certain until…’ She stopped when she caught Susana’s look.

  ‘Try to describe him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be seen with him, that’s for sure!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘’Cause he was uglier than Rodolfo, what works in the bakery.’