‘I will explain in a minute. Are you a very skilful driver?’
‘A what? Well, I suppose I’m no worse than the next man.’
‘Did you realize that Steven Cullom was wealthy?’
‘Of course. Part of Steve’s pleasure came from making certain his impoverished cousins knew all about this.’
‘Do you know exactly how rich he was?’
‘How could I?’
‘His total estate is approximately eight hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds.’
‘Good God! I’d no idea it was of that order. Over three-quarters of a million! You don’t need to worry about rates and a mortgage with that sort of money, do you? But maybe then you worry yourself sick about keeping it. I hope so. I’d like to think that the rich don’t get off scot free.’
‘He didn’t,’ said the DC.
‘No, of course not … Edith’s always telling me that my tongue is sharper than my brain.’
‘Señor,’ said Alvarez, ‘do you know who inherits his estate?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea, beyond the fact that it won’t be me.’
‘In his will, practically everything is left to his brother.’
‘That’s fair enough. Amelia always said that although he was stupidly pompous to Alan, and Alan deliberately annoyed him, at heart they got on well together.’
‘However, under a will which was not executed, his estate was to go to his future wife.’
‘That’s to be expected.’
‘You knew he intended to marry again?’
‘Amelia told me that it was in the offing. To some socialite whose only interest in life is horses. Her attraction was her title and her entrée into high places And that makes him pathetic and not just plain nasty.’
‘You consider he was a nasty person?’
‘I know all about de mortuis nil nisi bonum, but I’ve never believed that death sanctified anyone. Steve behaved like a shit to Agnes — I met her a couple of times and quite liked her. Then she died and I never heard that he expressed one word of regret at her death. All he was interested in was how wealthy he now was. You know, when you see someone like him receiving so much, it begins to make you realize that there’s virtue in vice.’
‘Steven Cullom was almost certainly murdered for his money.’
‘So that means … You’re really saying that Alan did it?’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Well, it’s obvious. First you tell me Alan inherits everything, then that Steve was killed for his money.’
‘The one does not necessarily follow the other. Under the law in this country — and it is the same in mine — a man may not make money out of his crime. So if Alan Cullom is convicted of murdering his brother, he will not be allowed to inherit the money. Do you know who then would?’
‘No.’
‘His cousins.’
Ackroyd stared at him. ‘His … his cousins? You mean … Are you saying it could be Amelia and me?’
‘If he is convicted, yes. But that, of course, is quite different from saying, if he murdered him.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Originally, there were three cousins who might have benefitted — yourself, Basil Cullom, and Amelia Hart. Last year, Basil Cullom died in a car accident. This year, Amelia Hart could so easily have died in another car accident. Then both of them would have died before Steven Cullom and so they would not have inherited.’
For a moment, Ackroyd failed to appreciate the full significance of what had just been said. Then his face flushed and he spoke with sharp anger. ‘You’re not trying to suggest I know anything about the murder of Steven?’
‘If Amelia Hart had died earlier this year, you would have been the sole survivor who could inherit.’
‘You can’t make bloody stupid accusations like that.’
‘Where were you on the night of the second of June?’
He struggled to calm his emotions sufficiently to think clearly. Finally, he said: ‘I was staying with Amelia.’
‘At what time did you go to bed?’
‘How d’you expect me to be able to answer a question like that?’
‘I suggest you try.’
‘I just don’t know. I can’t place which day of the holiday it was. But all the time I was there, she never went out at night because she preferred not to.’
‘And you?’
‘I stayed in, of course, to be company for her. That was partially why I was invited.’
‘Did you ever leave the house after the señora had gone to bed?’
‘No.’
‘Can you prove you didn’t?’
‘Has anyone ever pointed out to you that it’s near impossible to prove a negative?’
‘The señora might have come into your room or you have gone into hers?’
‘Are you trying to suggest … ’
‘I’m asking if you think that the señora could vouch for the fact that on at least one evening you were in the house after she’d gone to bed.’
‘I’m quite certain she couldn’t.’
‘Where were you at the beginning of March of last year?’
‘Why d’you want to know that?’
‘Basil Cullom’s accident occurred on the third of March. Did you travel to Cumberland and sabotage his car so that it crashed and killed him?’
‘Of course I bloody well didn’t.’
‘Where were you on the first, second, and third of that month?’
‘Here. In my own home.’
‘Can you prove that?’
Ackroyd stared bitterly at Alvarez, then left the room. When he returned, his wife was with him. She said, her voice hard, her expression angry: ‘I don’t understand how you can make such filthy accusations. If you can’t realize that Maurice wouldn’t hurt anyone, I’m very, very sorry for you.’ She stopped. The silence lengthened. ‘Can’t you say something?’
‘Señora, I am truly sorry, but I have to investigate the facts,’ replied Alvarez.
‘And that means calling innocent people murderers? You may be allowed to do that sort of thing in your country, but you’re not in this. If there’s any more, I’m going to get on to our solicitor.’
‘Please, I know how terrible it is for you; believe me, I hate causing you so much distress. But I have to discover who did murder Steven Cullom.’
She was set off balance by his obvious and genuine sympathy. Her belligerence changed to bewilderment. ‘But you can’t think Maurice would do such a terrible thing.’
‘Can you tell us where your husband was on the first three days of March of last year?’
She squared her shoulders. ‘On the first we were here, together, on the second we went out in the evening to a meal because it was my birthday, on the third we were here.’
‘Señora, do you have a passport?’
‘Yes.’
‘May I see it, please?’
‘Why?’ demanded Ackroyd.
‘It will have the date of the señora’s birthday.’
He looked at his wife; she stared back with hopeless fear.
‘Well, how about getting it, then?’ said the DC sharply.
‘My birthday’s not then,’ she said, in little more than a whisper. ‘But he was here, all the time; he must have been. We can’t afford to go out. The only time he’s away is when we all go camping or when Amelia’s asked him.’
Alvarez stood. ‘Thank you for all your help, señora.’
Her voice rose again. ‘You don’t believe me. You don’t understand that he couldn’t… ’ She came to a stop, accepting that repetition would not ensure belief.
Alvarez said in Spanish: ‘If I need to question you again, I’ll come back.’
Ackroyd replied in English: ‘I’ve told you all I know.’
When the two detectives were seated in the car, Mather said, as he started the engine: ‘What’s the form now? Presumably you’ll ask us to arrest him and you’ll start extradition proceeding
s? I don’t imagine we’ll get anywhere now with that crash up in Cumberland unless, of course, he makes a confession.’
‘First,’ replied Alvarez, ‘I think I must return to Mallorca and ask Señora Amelia Hart a few more questions, just to make absolutely certain.’
Mather drew out from the pavement. ‘It’s no fun, is it? Going into a house like that, wife, kids, everything reasonably happy, and knowing you’re going to smash it all to pieces. Our job can be a real sod.’
Alvarez nodded.
CHAPTER 23
On Thursday night an airliner crashed in Peru, killing all the passengers and crew; in consequence of this, by Friday morning Dolores had tearfully buried Alvarez, even before his plane took off from Heathrow. So when he walked into the house in time for a late lunch, she greeted him with the fevered emotion to be expected on his return from the grave. It was quite some time — she’d been given her present and had been persuaded to drink a calming brandy — before she regained her normal poise.
‘I have prepared a special meal,’ she announced, overlooking the fact that had he died he would have been unable to enjoy it.
He sniffed the air. ‘It’s not … ?’
‘Lechona.’
‘If you’d asked me to choose, I’d have answered lechona, tasting of spicy heaven and with crackling to melt in the mouth.’
She was well satisfied. ‘Good. And there’s time for another drink before I serve.’
Jaime grabbed the bottle of brandy and refilled his glass. It was a long time since she had suggested he had another drink.
*
Ca’n Oñar came into sight. So beautiful, he thought … He parked, walked up to the front door, and knocked. After a minute, Hart opened the door. ‘You’ve really caught us on the hop! For once we had a late night listening to the radio, and this morning we decided to allow ourselves that most sybaritic of all pleasures, breakfast in bed. So we were only just getting up when you arrived. Which goes to show that self-indulgence never pays.’
‘I am sorry to be too early.’
‘It’s after ten and yet you can honestly talk about its being too early! That’s one of the things I admire so much about this island … Would you like a coffee?’
‘There is no need … ’
‘We’d like some more, anyway. Make yourself at home. Amelia will be out in a jiffy.’
Alvarez sat. A humming-bird hawk-moth began to work a deep red rose, just beyond the edge of the patio, and he watched it as it searched for nectar. A cicada started shrilling, stopped, started again. A quick movement on the nearest pillar caught his attention and he saw a gecko making its quick, wiggle-woggle way up to the top and then pass out of sight along the cross-beam …
Amelia came out on to the patio in her wheelchair. ‘Pat says he’s already apologized for our terrible slackness, so I won’t … And please sit down again.’
She settled the wheelchair on the far side of the table to him. ‘Well, what’s brought you this time? Something fresh?’
Before he could answer, Hart came out with a tray on which were three cups of coffee, milk, and sugar. As he passed the coffee round, she said: ‘Have you come to tell us that after all, Steve died in an accident?’
‘No, señora. He was murdered.’
‘Oh! I was hoping … It’s all so horrible.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Hart, ‘in spite of the fact that he was the kind of man he was.’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘There’s less horror in a sinner being murdered than a saint.’
‘There isn’t. It’s the murder that’s so awful and that doesn’t depend at all on the victim.’
‘So the murder of a sadistic torturer is no less heinous an offence than the murder of someone who’s never done anything but good?’
‘The act of murder is the same. It’s the consequences which are different. And in any case, it’s unfair to choose such extremes.’
‘On the contrary, you can always test the logic of an argument by taking it to extremes.’
‘Very Humpty Dumpty. When you say logic, the word means what you want it to mean.’ She smiled. ‘Poor Inspector! You must think we spend our days squabbling?’
‘I’m sure he can differentiate between an intelligent discussion and a squabble,’ said Hart. ‘And incidentally, you’ll find that as a policeman he agrees with me.’
She turned. ‘Well — do you?’
‘No, señora, I agree with you. Murder is always horrible because it affects so many — the murderer, the victim, and the innocent.’
‘I think that’s a slightly different viewpoint from mine. But so very true. Perhaps it’s enough to say it’s horrible and not to search out why.’ She spooned some sugar into her coffee. ‘I shouldn’t be having this — but I couldn’t face tea and lemon. Why are so many of our pleasures forbidden fruit?’
‘That’s obvious,’ said Hart. ‘To make them pleasurable.’ ‘I could discuss that at some length, but with lots of sympathy for our guest, I’m not going to … ’ She faced Alvarez once more. ‘You haven’t had the chance to tell us what you’ve found out now?’
‘I can be certain at last what was the motive for the murder.’ ‘What was it?’
‘Señor Steven Cullom’s fortune.’
‘And that goes to Alan … So you’re saying he murdered Steven?’ asked Hart.
‘No, señor. Under British law, he is not allowed to inherit if he committed the murder. In such a case, it will be as if Steven Cullom died intestate. Because all more immediate relatives are dead, his cousins would inherit.’
‘Are you saying … that Maurice and Amelia … ?’
‘I said that was so if he were convicted of murdering his brother.’
‘Good God! … And will he be convicted?’
‘No, I don’t think so. You see, he did not kill his brother. Someone else committed the murder, set the scene to make it appear it had been Alan. That way, Alan would not be allowed to inherit the estate he had been left in the will.’
‘Who’s this someone else?’
‘Is that not obvious? It has to be whoever inherits if Alan does not.’
‘But that’s saying … Either Maurice or my wife is the murderer.’
Amelia’s anger was immediate. ‘How dare you come here and make such an absurd and disgusting allegation.’
‘Señora, I am afraid there is truth in it.’
‘You can’t mean Maurice … ’
‘I have been in England, to question Señor Ackroyd. He was staying here with you on the night of the murder. His cousin was probably killed between two and four in the morning of the Friday. Can you say whether he was in the house at that time?’
‘But … but how can I say something like that? I must have gone to bed early because I always do — except occasionally, like last night. I often take a sleeping pill, so I sleep rather heavily. And even if I didn’t that night, I wouldn’t have dreamt of going into his bedroom … I couldn’t even have gone into it if I’d wanted. I sleep downstairs. He slept upstairs. And he wouldn’t have dreamed of coming into my room unless there’d been an emergency.’
‘If he’d taken the car, would you have been disturbed when it was started up and driven away?’
‘I … Yes, I’m certain I would have been.’
‘You are quite sure, señora?’
She hesitated, then shook her head. ‘I suppose I’ve got to be honest. It would have taken more than that to get through to me … But it couldn’t have been Maurice.’
Alvarez spoke to Hart. ‘You were in England?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Can you prove that you were there on the night of Thursday, the second of this month?’
‘Why should I try?’
‘I have to make certain of all the facts in this very sad case. I think that in English you have the expression, “to tie up all the loose ends”.’
‘I still don’t see that it matters a fig where I was.’
/> ‘You are the husband of one of the two surviving cousins — I am forgetting Alan Cullom for a moment. It will be best if I can say with complete certainty where you were, since that will negate one possibility.’
‘What possibility?’
‘The allegation that you committed the murder after flying out to this island for a few hours.’
‘Who the hell’s suggested anything that fantastic? Is that what Maurice did?’
‘Perhaps you would tell me if you can confirm that you didn’t fly here that night? I much regret having to ask, but it is my duty.’
‘Duty be … ’
Amelia interrupted. ‘Pat, the inspector has to do his duty.’
‘“Thank God, I have done my duty.” … All right. But I don’t suppose I can prove any such thing. I stayed with the Spencers on the first of the month. I know that much. They lent me the car to go on up to the Yeats near Newcastle. But I didn’t want to go that far in one go … That’s right, I stayed the night in a motel close to Nottingham.’
‘Then someone at the motel would have seen you during the evening?’ asked Alvarez.
‘Well, I don’t know about that. I arrived earlier than I’d expected and booked in and had to pay in advance. And from then on, I don’t believe I saw any of the staff. Like so many places these days, it was all self-service; make your own morning tea, polish your own shoes, and, since you’ve paid in advance, clear off when you feel like it.’
‘But wasn’t that the night when you went to the theatre?’ she asked.
‘Was it? … Well, I suppose it must have been since I wasn’t anywhere near Nottingham at any other time.’
‘You brought me back the programme and the ticket stub, knowing how I’d sentimentally remember when we went to West Side Story in London … ’ She turned to Alvarez. ‘I suppose you want to see them to make certain I’m telling the truth?’ She tried to speak lightly, but failed. Her husband had been doubted and so she was like a vixen defending its young.
Alvarez shook his head. ‘Señora, I could not doubt your word.’ He paused, then said: ‘I now have only one more question. Do you know how Steven Cullom’s dog acted towards Alan Cullom?’
Layers of Deceit (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 9) Page 17
