Layers of Deceit (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 9)

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘A what?’

  ‘The women in magazines whom people in trouble write to to ask for advice when they can’t face those near to themselves. Not that with Steven it was a case of asking for advice. That would have needed some degree of humility. His need was for contact with someone other than … ’ She stopped.

  ‘Yes, señora?’

  ‘You’ll have learned about his visitors?’

  ‘You mean, the ladies?’

  ‘In the circumstances, “ladies” is the wrong word.’ She smiled wearily. ‘And there’s me making an objective criticism? Maybe they were so desperate for friendship, even if falsely given, that if the cost was the use of their bodies, they were prepared to pay.’

  ‘He told you about them?’

  ‘To the extent that sometimes I decided he was boasting and said so. But nothing worried him until … He told me about one woman — girl, I suppose. Kept on and on about how sweet and innocent she was and how their relationship was justified because she brought out all that was best in him. I said that if she was as sweet and innocent as that, he was a swine to corrupt her and twice a swine to try to justify himself so hypocritically. That offended him and he left here in one hell of a rage. He did come to see me again, but things weren’t the same. I don’t think that what annoyed him was the fact that I’d accused him of corrupting her, it was because I’d called him a hypocrite. Rotters so often seem to be unable to admit to themselves their rottenness.’ Her voice sharpened: it became almost angry. ‘But I wasn’t going to take back anything I’d said. He’d behaved like the out-and-out rotter the rest of the family had always called him. This girl wasn’t a foreigner who was probably as experienced as he, but was truly an innocent. By seducing her, he was damning all foreigners on this island.’

  ‘Do you know the girl’s name?’

  ‘He must have mentioned it to me, but I can’t remember it now. He always told me their first names and I noticed something strange — they were always rather exotic. Samantha, Gwendoline, Henrietta and never a Jane or a Mary. Do the Samanthas lead giddy lives while the Janes stay at home and marry, or is it pure coincidence? … Pat says I’ve a political mind; always concentrating on inessentials. And because my mind’s so birdlike, I’ve just this second remembered the girl’s name. Beatriz.’

  ‘Beatriz! … What was her surname?’

  ‘He never mentioned surnames.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘He didn’t say that either … Do you know her?’

  ‘I may do,’ he answered bitterly.

  ‘Oh my God!’ She moved the chair until she could reach out and grip his forearm. ‘Please. If you find you do know her and she was terribly upset by what happened … Please don’t blame all of us for what one of us did.’

  ‘Of course not,’ he answered. But he knew fresh and even more bitter resentment at what the foreigners had done to his land and his people.

  She released his forearm and wheeled the chair back to where it had been. ‘Is there anything, anything at all, I can do to help?’

  ‘No.’

  They became silent, each deep in thought. He was the first to speak. ‘Señor Steven Cullom was at a party on Thursday and you were also there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did something happen there to upset him?’

  ‘I … I don’t know.’

  It was obvious that for the first time she had been less than honest. ‘Señora, this is very important.’

  ‘So am I supposed to indulge in some nasty, vicious gossip?’ She sighed. ‘Sorry, I’m making a fool of myself. But I can’t stop thinking of Beatriz. Is she … ’ She saw the look on his face and immediately understood that he would tell her nothing because it was a shame which had come to a fellow Mallorquin. ‘With women, Steven could be incredibly stupid. From something I heard, instead of restricting his affairs to foreigners who were right outside the community here, he’d become over-friendly with the wife of one of the local “pillars of society”.’

  ‘And the wife was there on Thursday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And was the husband also there?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Does he know what is happening?’

  ‘I can’t answer … And I wish to God I hadn’t told you because there’s probably not a scrap of truth in the beastly suggestion.’

  ‘What is her name?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell you.’

  He rubbed his chin. He said sadly: ‘Do I have to go back to Señor Pierson and ask him?’

  ‘So that that wife of his gets her bitchy claws into the story and makes a banquet out of it? … You’re a lot harder than you appear, aren’t you? You’re willing to use a form of blackmail to make me tell you the name.’

  ‘If it was murder, I have to find the murderer.’

  ‘And to do that you’re prepared to risk ruining other people’s lives?’

  ‘Sadly, the innocent so often suffer.’

  She stared out and watched a large, iridescent dragonfly dart past. ‘Yes, they do.’ She again moved her wheelchair until she could touch his arm. ‘At some time in your life, you’ve been innocent yet suffered a great deal, haven’t you?’ He hesitated, then nodded.

  ‘It’s strange, but suffering so often brings out compassion in someone, rather than a sense of resentment. It makes me think that God must have a sense of irony.’ She took her hand away. ‘Will you be compassionate?’

  ‘I will do what I can.’

  ‘You must promise me one thing. I only heard about it from Sylvia Bovis. She’s someone who dramatizes everything and perhaps what she says happened doesn’t really mean much. Talk to her first. If you find it was like that, there’ll be no need to go stirring up trouble, will there?’

  ‘None at all, señora.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  CHAPTER 13

  Lionel Bovis’s speech was slightly slurred, his movements were studied, and his gaze was sometimes unfocused. Sylvia was dressed in a black trouser suit with an elaborate pattern in gold-coloured thread and depending on one’s taste she looked either exotic or tarty.

  ‘Have a drink?’ said Bovis.

  ‘Mary Tudor had Calais engraved on her heart; no prizes for guessing what’s engraved on my husband’s heart,’ said Sylvia. A keen ear could catch contempt as well as resignation in her voice.

  Alvarez sat. The room was large and furnished expensively, with some Spanish pieces and some from either Britain or France. The mixture made for neither smart formality nor cheerful informality.

  ‘Well, what’s it to be?’ asked Bovis, as he stood in the middle of the Chinese carpet. He began to sway slightly.

  ‘A small coñac, please, señor.’

  ‘You’re asking for something he’s not familiar with,’ she said. ‘He reckons small drinks are what one gives to birds.’

  ‘Dolly birds,’ said Bovis.

  ‘In your state, you wouldn’t know what to do with a dolly bird if she fluttered straight into your lap.’

  ‘I’d pluck her, of course.’ He chuckled as he carefully walked over to an elaborately inlaid cocktail cabinet.

  ‘No one can accuse you of having a demanding sense of humour … ’ She turned and spoke to Alvarez. ‘So what can we do for you?’

  ‘Señora, have you heard of the death of Señor Steven Cullom?’

  ‘Haven’t heard about anything else.’

  ‘I am making some inquiries.’

  ‘Why?’

  There was a cold glitter to her wide, bright eyes and he thought of a snake, ready to coil itself around its prey. ‘Because his death may not have been an accident.’

  Bovis spoke from across the room. ‘What d’you … What d’you … ?’

  ‘We’ve reached the cracked record stage,’ she said. ‘You’re saying Steve may have been murdered?’

  ‘Yes, señora.’

  ‘Well, well, well! We do see life in this neck of the woods.’

 
‘Why should … Why should anyone want to … to kill him?’ Bovis asked. ‘I mean … I mean, it’s not as if he was married, is it?’

  She said to Alvarez: ‘Why come here, to us?’

  ‘To find out if you can help me with my inquiries.’

  ‘We hardly knew him.’

  ‘I believe you also went to the party at the Piersons’ house on Thursday?’

  ‘We did,’ said Bovis loudly. He began to cross the floor, concentrating very intently on the tumbler in his right hand. ‘And d’you … d’you know what? All he offered was champagne. What’s the good of that except to … to fill the belly with gas?’

  ‘Why complain?’ she asked. ‘It was alcoholic.’

  Bovis held out the tumbler and Alvarez hastily took it.

  ‘What d’you want to know about the party?’ she asked. ‘Did Señor Cullom meet a lady there?’

  ‘If he … he did, he was bloody lucky,’ said Bovis. ‘I didn’t … didn’t see one.’

  ‘You weren’t in any condition to see anything an inch beyond your nose,’ said his wife.

  ‘Who was the lady?’ Alvarez asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Forget it. I know what some people have been saying, but it’s none of their goddamn business.’

  ‘It has become my business now, señora.’

  ‘Then the best of Spanish luck to you, but I’m not passing on that sort of talk.’

  Alvarez remembered what Amelia had said. Presumably, Sylvia Bovis reckoned it was all right to gossip to her own nationals, but not to the Spanish police.

  ‘It’s … it’s not all talk,’ said Bovis. ‘Our Maggie’s got … got hot pants.’

  Her expression hardened. ‘Shut up, Lionel.’

  ‘You can … can always tell. And that pompous … pompous old idiot … ’

  ‘For God’s sake, shut up.’

  ‘He … he won’t be able to do much to cool … to cool her down, will he?’

  ‘Who won’t, señor?’

  Bovis looked surprised. ‘Ray, of course.’

  ‘Ray who?’

  ‘Ray Palmer, her husband. Don’t you … don’t you know anything?’

  ‘You bloody fool,’ she said bitterly.

  He stared at her. ‘What have I … have I done now?’

  She said to Alvarez, ‘Steven had a reputation and so every time he spoke to a woman some people’s tongues would start chattering. But it didn’t meant a damn thing.’

  Bovis spoke loudly. ‘Are you … are you saying our Maggie wasn’t sweet on Steve? Then why … then why were they together at that hotel in Palma?’

  ‘You’ve never mentioned that before. You’re lying.’

  He tried to put his finger to his lips, but missed and struck his chin. ‘Don’t … don’t let on. It’s a secret and I promised never to tell.’

  *

  The sun was low and would soon dip behind the mountains; shadows were long and they brought relief from the heat. The breeze had died away and the air was almost still, yet a couple of windsurfers were trying to sail. The Parelona ferry, bringing the last of the day-trippers back from that beach, carved a white swath through the cerulean waters of the bay.

  Susan, wearing a neat bikini, turned on to her side and studied Alan Cullom, who was lying on his stomach. ‘D’you know, you haven’t said a word for the last ten minutes.’

  ‘When it’s like this, who wants to talk?’

  ‘I do.’ She brushed some sand off her side. ‘I need to know why you’re still keeping me at arm’s length?’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘When I suggested going out for the day and getting away from everything, you weren’t exactly enthusiastic.’

  He made no comment.

  ‘And all the time we’ve been here, you’ve been acting like I’m bad news.’

  ‘Where’s it going to get either of us to act any other way?’

  ‘For God’s sake, how d’you know how anything’s going to get anyone until it happens?’ She turned back on to her stomach and rested her head on her right forearm. ‘Are you a lot more cut-up about Steven’s death than you want anyone to know?’

  ‘Stiff upper lip and all that jazz?’

  ‘Christ, I could hit you where it hurts!’

  ‘Not while I’m lying this way down.’

  ‘Always the side-stepping answer … Is something more wrong?’

  ‘Why d’you go on and on asking questions?’

  ‘Because I want some answers.’

  ‘Forget both answers and questions. Remember, this is the island where there’s no past and future, there’s only now.’

  ‘If you lived by that, you wouldn’t be acting as you are.’

  ‘How am I acting?’

  ‘Every time I want to talk about something, you duck, you weave, and you circle.’ She sat up. She wrapped her arms around her legs, interlocking her fingers. ‘Shall I tell you something?’

  ‘If you want to.’

  ‘When I decided to come to this island and stay with Steve, I was being incredibly naïve. But there was something more to it than just that … Have you ever had the feeling that if you do something the whole of your life will be changed?’

  ‘Not since I put a tin-tack on the form-master’s chair.’

  ‘Ducking, weaving, and circling once more. Are you so scared of admitting to any emotional weakness? … I had that feeling in Menorca. So when I came to Ca’n Cullom and discovered that Steve’s sole aim and object was to get me into his bed I realized that it was the same old world as before and I felt as if I’d been terribly cheated. Then one morning I was trying to make better friends with Karl and he suddenly ran off. I shouted to whoever it was to stand still and came up past the oleanders and … and it suddenly seemed as if maybe I hadn’t been cheated after all.’ She turned and looked at him; his eyes were closed. ‘Have you been listening?’

  ‘Of course,’ he answered vaguely, making it clear that he wasn’t really interested in a woman’s romantically exaggerated emotions.

  She nibbled at her upper lip. She wanted to give because she longed to receive, but he would neither receive nor give. If only she hadn’t met Steven at that outside café table in Mahón …

  *

  Dolores managed not to refer to what had happened until the children had left the house to play with friends in the street and Jaime and Alvarez were drinking the first of their ‘digestive’ brandies. Then, instead of removing the tablecloth, brushing down the table, and going through to the kitchen to wash up, she sat opposite Alvarez. ‘Enrique, something is wrong, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe he thought the caldereta was salty?’ suggested Jaime.

  ‘Would you hold your tongue until you’ve something sensible to say,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve never used too much salt in my cooking in the whole of my life.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said hastily, feebly trying to repair the damage of his facetiousness.

  She studied Alvarez, her proud, strong, handsome face expressing sharp concern. ‘What is troubling you?’

  ‘Nothing is,’ he answered.

  ‘Is there some way I can help?’

  ‘There’s nothing to help with.’

  ‘But there is trouble?’

  ‘All that’s happened is, I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘About that woman?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘About another one.’

  ‘Another! Sweet Mary!’ she murmured, aghast.

  Jaime whistled. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, if I had your problems I’d look a sight more cheerful than you do.’

  ‘We all know,’ she said, glad of the opportunity to be able to vent a little of her uncertain irritation on him, ‘that nothing would make you happier than to be with any number of women younger and far more attractive than me.’

  ‘I wasn’t meaning anything like that. All I was saying was, if I was Enrique — ’

  ‘You’d make an even bigger fool of yourself.’

  Jaime drained his glass.r />
  She leaned forward and spoke earnestly. ‘Enrique, you must listen to me. You must remember that to know a foreign woman is to be with trouble. And to know not one, but two at the same time … ’ She stopped, unable accurately to express such potential catastrophe.

  ‘What the devil are you talking about?’

  ‘These women. This second woman … ’

  ‘She’s married.’

  ‘You’re really living it up,’ said Jaime admiringly.

  ‘Married!’ exclaimed Dolores in tones of horror.

  ‘Here, you’re not thinking … ?’

  ‘But what else can we think?’

  ‘Then I’m sorry for you. Señora Hart, who’s confined to a wheelchair, is happily married. She’s one of the warmest people I’ve ever met and wouldn’t muck around with another man, not in a thousand years. And all you can think is … ’ He shook his head.

  Dolores did not like to seem to be in the wrong. ‘All right. Then what about this other foreign woman?’

  ‘It just so happens that she’s half my age.’

  ‘Since when did that have any effect except to make you twice the fool?’

  ‘And she has a man of her own age.’

  ‘Oh! … Then if that’s all true, why have you been so quiet?’

  ‘Because the caldereta was too salty.’

  She stood, moved the bottle of brandy, heaped up the plates and carried them out to the kitchen, furious but ever-dignified.

  *

  On Monday morning, the duty cabo at the guardia post in Palma Nova telephoned Alvarez. There was a butcher called Toni in the Calle Pescador at the back of town. Alvarez thanked him, replaced the receiver, and slumped deeper in the chair. When he had been alive, Steven Cullom had sown unhappiness: now that he was dead, that unhappiness was being reaped.

  CHAPTER 14

  Beatriz had returned to her work in a shoe shop near the front at Palma Nova and she was searching along the rows of shoe boxes when she saw Alvarez enter. Her face crimsoned.

  He came up and kissed her on both cheeks and asked after her family, to the annoyance of the blue-rinsed, heavily made-up, middle-aged Englishwoman who expected instant service.