Murdered by Nature

by Roderic Jeffries

  ‘What have I just told you?’ Dolores snapped.

  ‘That wasn’t a personal comment, it was a kind of reminder,’ Juan answered.

  Jaime laughed. ‘Well said!’

  ‘Isabel and Juan, outside and play until it’s time for school,’ she ordered.

  They hurried into the entrada; slammed the front door shut.

  Dolores faced Jaime. Her words were coated in ice. ‘As a parent, you should wish your son to behave well, not encourage him to act like a tramp.’

  ‘But it was sharp of him,’ Jaime muttered.

  ‘My mother was correct.’

  ‘Was she ever anything else?’

  ‘You might manage to talk sense if you would only drink very little, but that possibility is too improbable for us ever to know.’

  ‘That’s a nice thing for a wife to say!’

  ‘It was your mother-in-law who said it.’

  ‘It’s a wonder you ever married me.’

  ‘She would have called it a mystery. Have you finished? If so, pass me your plate, knife, fork and glass.’

  He passed the first three.

  ‘Your glass.’

  ‘I am going to have a little more wine.’

  ‘You were.’ She collected up glasses, plates and cutlery, carried them into the kitchen.

  Jaime said: ‘Enrique, did your parents ever discuss her? I mean, what kind of a person she was?’ He indicated the kitchen.

  ‘My mother used to say she was very kind-hearted, ready to help anyone, but could be a bit sharp occasionally. You were asking for trouble when you laughed at Juan’s remark.’

  ‘How was I to know it would annoy her?’

  There were some for whom experience was no tutor.

  ELEVEN

  He had enjoyed a restful siesta, and it was well after five when Alvarez drove up to Son Dragó. García was using a fork to spread dung around a white and red multi-flowered hibiscus. He dug the tines into the soil, softened by watering, rested his hands on the handle and watched Alvarez approach.

  ‘Mule?’ Alvarez asked as he pointed to the contents of the wheelbarrow.

  ‘Horse.’

  ‘Best of the lot. Where d’you get it?’

  ‘Riding stables.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  García shrugged his shoulders. One did not provide information from which an advantage could be gained by another.

  Alvarez regarded the hibiscus. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen so many flowers on a single bush before.’

  García used an upturned mattock to transfer horse dung.

  ‘D’you remember talking about the almond trees at the bottom of the garden?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What kind are they?’

  ‘Prunus dulcis mostly.’

  ‘Doesn’t say anything to me.’

  ‘Does much?’

  ‘White blossom or pink?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘So some are bitter almonds?’

  ‘If you say.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘I don’t try to tell when someone thinks he knows what he’s talking about.’

  ‘The wind’s getting sharpish, so what about moving to the garden shed?’

  They walked to the small building, its wooden exterior marked by sun, wind, and rain. Once seated, Alvarez offered a pack of Marlboro cigarettes.

  ‘Know someone who runs ’em in?’ García asked as he took one.

  ‘You think I’d knowingly buy smuggled cigarettes?’

  ‘If you got the chance.’

  ‘How many of the trees are growing bitter almonds?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘A dangerous mistake, surely?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Doesn’t the Señor hold open days when people can wander around the grounds after paying a couple of euros which go to charity? Some stupid oaf might try to eat a bitter almond, not knowing what it is.’

  ‘I knock ’em all down and clear up before the open day in September. Anyway, there’s always a notice saying not to eat any fallen nuts.’

  ‘I haven’t seen a notice.’

  ‘Because it ain’t there. Move it after I’ve cleared the trees and burned all the almonds.’

  ‘Why not get rid of the trees?’

  ‘The señor liked the different coloured blossom.’

  Alvarez was about to remark that it seemed a dubious pleasure when he remembered the laboratory assistant’s long list of dangerous plants. Looking through the open doorway, he could see several oleander bushes. ‘When did you knock them down this year?’

  ‘Several weeks ago.’

  ‘It’s difficult to strip a tree, so maybe some were left?’

  ‘Not when I’ve finished.’ García stood, reached over to a small cane basket, brought out a bottle of 504 and a glass. ‘I’d likely offer you some, but you won’t want the common stuff.’

  ‘You imagine I drink only French cognac?’

  ‘Why not, when you know someone who runs cigarettes and you’ll get it cheap?’

  Alvarez was handed a well-filled glass. He raised it in greeting, drank. ‘I’ve asked if you ever saw Kerr in the garden.’

  ‘More times than a hen cackles after laying.’

  ‘If you were sitting in here, you wouldn’t see someone at the far end, by the almond trees.’

  ‘I only waste time when an inspector moans about the cold.’

  ‘You always have your merienda outside even when it’s raining and twice as cold as now?’

  There was no answer.

  ‘So there’s time, every day, when a man could help himself to bitter almonds still on the tree or fallen to the ground and missed by you, when you wouldn’t see him?’

  ‘Look through that.’ García pointed at the window, beyond which both the approach to the house and the track to the end of the promontory were visible. ‘No one’s been along since a German couple dug up the land with those bloody stupid walking poles.’

  ‘How did you react?’

  ‘Think I invited them in here?’

  Alvarez finished his drink and as he waited to be offered a second one, dismissed García’s claim that he spent little time in the hut. To sit and look out at a rare Mallorquin garden which stretched almost the length of the promontory, the bay, and the sea beyond the headlands, would be an irresistible temptation. ‘Did the señor often talk to you about the garden?’

  ‘Every day when he was fit enough to walk around.’

  ‘Would he sometimes be smoking?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you ever think he might be on marijuana?’

  ‘A man like him into dope? You’re as daft as Old Albert, who only found out he couldn’t walk on water when he drowned.’

  ‘It’s difficult to tell what a man will do, and I have to consider all possibilities.’

  ‘Then you’ll consider them on your own on account of me wanting to do the work I’m paid for.’ He brought the bottle of brandy out of the basket.

  About time, was Alvarez’s silent comment.

  García held the bottle steady with one hand, used a pencil to mark on the label the level of the brandy, replaced the bottle. He left before Alvarez could find the words to express his opinion of such miserly suspicion.

  If the coming telephone conversation became extended, he would not return home in time to relax and enjoy a brandy before the meal. But if he didn’t ring . . .

  ‘Who is calling?’ Ángela Torres said, in the tones of an official demanding a passport at a border control point.

  ‘Inspector Alvarez, señorita. Is the superior chief in his office?’

  ‘Why do you always ask?’

  ‘He might have been called away on some matter.’

  ‘Superior Chief Salas is only summoned on matters important enough to warrant someone of his rank and standing.’

  Spinsters of a certain age were often said to regard their bosses with stars in their eyes; in her case, she probably included a halo.
‘I should like to speak to him.’

  There was a wait, then a sharp: ‘Yes?’

  ‘Señor, in connection with the case of Colin Kerr, deceased, found dead in Llueso Bay on the first of the month . . .’

  ‘What was the direction of the wind?’

  ‘I don’t know. But does that matter?’

  ‘It does not.’

  ‘Then . . . why do you ask, señor?’

  ‘If I pose a question which is obviously irrelevant, it is a criticism of the unnecessary detail I am being offered.’

  ‘But you so often . . . It would be easier for me if I could distinguish which of your questions was meaningless.’

  ‘And I should find it easier if I could decide whether it is ignorance or insolence which dictates your speech. Why are you phoning?’

  ‘I have revisited Son Dragó and spoken to García. I asked him—’

  ‘Who is García?’

  Certain words danced on his tongue, but he managed to quieten them. ‘The gardener. Four of the almond trees produce bitter almonds. I said I was surprised they didn’t cut them down for the sake of safety, but it seems the señor used to like to see the contrasting colours of blossom.’

  ‘A dendrologist might find the information of interest; I do not.’

  ‘The bitter almond is a source of prussic acid.’

  ‘A scientific discovery of which you have become aware?’

  ‘It is important.’

  ‘To someone ignorant enough to eat them.’

  ‘But Kerr was poisoned by prussic acid.’

  ‘Your authority for saying that?’

  ‘It’s what the laboratory reported.’

  ‘I am interested finally to be told this.’

  ‘I mentioned it when I said I had questioned Señor Browyer.’

  ‘You are consistent in that you have reported neither fact.’

  He thought back. The intention had definitely been there, but his time in the garden shed at Son Dragó had been very relaxing.

  ‘No doubt, you considered the information of insufficient importance to mention until now?’

  ‘There is so much going on, señor.’

  ‘Is any of it concerned with your work?’

  ‘Señor Browyer denied knowing Kerr. I’ve no reason to think he’s lying.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It needs mental strength knowingly to poison someone; Browyer clearly has very little. To accept that when the victim swallows the poison, he is on the brink of hell and within seconds will fall and suffer unendurable agonies for an immeasurable time . . .’

  ‘If he endures them, they are not unendurable. Resist the urge to empty a dictionary of histrionic words.’

  ‘I asked him if he had ever knowingly seen Señor Ashton smoking a spliff. He denied the possibility. And it is almost a rule that drug dealers seldom sample their own products or they become victims.’

  ‘You still are unable to accept that Señor Ashton, with his wealth and position, was the most unlikely of men to enter the drug trade?’

  ‘How else can one explain the facts? Kerr received five thousand euros from Señor Ashton and the—’

  ‘I have previously pointed out that that is an assumption, not proven fact. As is the proposition to pass a handkerchief around a second casket since this might expose that the señor had a part in the drug trade.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘The laboratory failed to trace the slightest indication of marijuana, or any other drug, on the handkerchief you sent them.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Their report is reasonably intelligible.’

  ‘I didn’t know they’d given it.’

  ‘I informed you of the fact.’

  ‘No, señor, you did not. Had I known about the report, I would not have suggested a second casket, nor would I have questioned staff about the señor’s smoking. Just as the pressure of work caused me to delay my report, it must have done the same to you. Part of the trouble is that I asked the lab to test the handkerchief, but they reported the result to you. Had they got back on to me when saying what was the nature of the poison—’

  ‘You blame them for your mistakes?’

  ‘I don’t think anyone can be blamed for honestly forgetting.’

  ‘But for dishonestly forgetting? The laboratory found that the marijuana in the cigarettes from the dead man’s possession did not come from Morocco.’

  ‘Then it was probably from Algeria and transported there.’

  ‘It was grown in England.’

  ‘Impossible!’

  ‘A rash comment, even if made by a man such as myself. With ever-increasing frequency, it is grown indoors under a bank of electric light bulbs. You should now be able to understand your theory that Señor Ashton had any part in the drug trade is ridiculous, as is your suggestion to pursue the matter.’

  ‘I did not know about the nature of the tobacco in the cigarettes.’

  ‘You were informed by me some time ago.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t tell me, señor.’

  ‘I shall ask my friend, the eminent psychologist, what a continual denial of fact signifies.’

  The call over, Alvarez opened the bottom drawer in the desk. It seemed to be in keeping that there was only one small drink remaining in the bottle of Soberano.

  TWELVE

  The next morning, seated in his office, Alvarez wondered if, as Salas held, the motive for Kerr’s murder was money. It no longer made sense to consider Ashton had had any part in the drug trade. Then Kerr could not have learned this and blackmailed him over the fact. Yet if the money Ashton had drawn from the bank had not followed blackmail, for what possible reason would he have given it to Kerr?

  Was it coincidence that the money in Kerr’s possession had been within eight hundred euros of the five thousand Ashton had drawn? To explain, as he had, the difference between the two sums by saying the money had been spent on wine, women, a pullover and a bottle of malt whisky, was not only difficult to substantiate – not that he had yet tried to do so – but unlikely. There were still many female tourists who would welcome the company of an attractive man and not name the cost.

  Because of his belief in the possibility of drug smuggling, he had tended to overlook the bequests the staff were to receive. Ten thousand might not seem enough to encourage a murder, but these were constantly being committed for stupidly small amounts. Could one believe stately Benavides would murder for such a sum, or for ten times as much? But who could know the desires, fears, hopes, and guidelines of another human? The council of Port Llueso had been willed five thousand euros. Pleasant, but absurd, to imagine the council members agreeing to murder Ashton in order to gain that amount, that each member would trust his or her colleagues to divide the money equally.

  Let the money be the motive. Logically, Laura Ashton had to be the prime suspect. She had become rich. He had learned she was a woman of much compassion, but no man should believe he could correctly judge a woman’s character when she could deceive with a smile, speak love with a dagger in her hand. A woman would believe a younger man who swore she was more beautiful than the stars seen from the crest of Puig Major. But how could she have had any cause to wish Kerr dead? The staff unanimously agreed he had never visited the house; she had nursed her husband with the strength of love. Was there an as yet unknown man of her own age who, unknown to everyone else, had ingratiated himself into her affections? Had the staff, loyal to her, lied about there being any such companion? He was a damned fool to ask himself the questions. Was he not convinced she was as true and loyal as any woman could be? Yet he had accepted a man could not hope correctly to assess a woman’s true character . . .

  He looked at his watch. Merienda time.

  ‘You’re looking less than lively,’ was Roca’s greeting as he reached the bar in Club Llueso.

  ‘I’ve been turning circles in my mind,’ he answered.

  ‘Small ones?’

  ‘A coñac, a c
afé cortado and respect for your customers.’

  ‘How do I go about finding that?’

  Coffee and brandy were put down in front of him. He drank. Women were, by nature, devious, but Laura Ashton was an exception and he was ashamed to have doubted her, to have thought she could betray her husband when he was alive and perhaps his memory after his death.

  ‘Why so deep in thought? Thinking of meeting a lady who mistakes you for a gentleman?’ Roca asked.

  ‘Another coñac and café.’

  ‘Some people say “please” when they want something.’

  ‘Not when they know the service they’ll get here.’

  ‘When you meet your dream woman she’ll continue looking for her dream man.’

  ‘Yes?’ Ángela Torres demanded.

  ‘I’d like a word with the superior chief,’ Alvarez answered.

  ‘You are who?’

  He told her.

  ‘Yes?’ Salas’ curt question was clearly the origin of his secretary’s manner.

  ‘Inspector Alvarez, señor. Having considered the facts in the Kerr case, I think it could be informative to ask the police in England if he was known to them.’

  ‘On what grounds?’

  ‘The pathologist was of the opinion the scar on Kerr’s neck might well have been caused by a broken bottle.’

  ‘And if that was so?’

  ‘The use of a broken bottle in a fight surely means rough company. That would indicate a different background from what we have so far considered. It might well be that the money in Kerr’s possession came from criminal activity in England in which others were involved. He stole all the money and fled. He was traced to here and killed in revenge.’

  ‘Another theory based on the most unlikely proposition.’

  ‘I don’t see why you should say that.’

  ‘You have forgotten the evidence strongly suggests the money was provided by Señor Ashton?’

  ‘You have said one should not assume that.’

  ‘If they had killed Kerr out of revenge, they would first have searched for the stolen money and found it amongst his possessions in the villa.’

  ‘I still think it would be worth contacting the English police to learn if Kerr had a criminal background.’

  ‘It is surprising you have not found a way of introducing elephants into the case. Have you learned anything of consequence from Patera or Valles?’