Murdered by Nature

by Roderic Jeffries

  Benavides stared at Alvarez with expressed anger. ‘The señora is not at home.’

  ‘I’ve come—’

  ‘She has asked me to inform you that you are no longer welcome at Son Dragó.’

  ‘I want a word with García, not her.’

  ‘She would wish you to leave the estate immediately.’

  ‘Is he here today?’

  ‘I do not know.’

  ‘I’ll have a look around to find out if you missed his arrival.’

  Benavides cleared his throat and spat.

  Alvarez returned to his car, picked up a plastic bag in which was a bottle of Fundador, walked along Roca Nesca to the garden shed. It was empty, but nearby a man was swearing. By a century cactus, its central column marking its coming death, García held the broken shaft of a mattock.

  ‘Getting violent?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘Immature wood with the strength of bloody cardboard.’

  ‘Nothing is as good as it used to be.’

  ‘Not when you turn up every other minute.’

  ‘It’s merienda time.’

  ‘I’ve a job to finish.’

  ‘With a broken mattock?’

  García looked at the plastic bag in Alvarez’s hand. ‘You wanting something?’

  ‘A chat.’

  ‘About what I’ve said a dozen times already?’

  ‘Something more important.’

  García ran the fingers of his left hand through his tangled, curly hair, picked up the mattock, walked to the garden shed, threw the pieces to the side of it, went inside.

  Alvarez passed the bottle to García, who looked at the label and said disparagingly, ‘You ain’t flush with euros, then. What’s the grub? Dry crusts of bread?’

  ‘I haven’t brought anything.’

  ‘Then you won’t be eating.’ He lifted two glasses out of the cane basket, half filled one and passed it, poured a second drink for himself. ‘What’s got you messing up other people’s working this time?’

  ‘Your sailing experiences.’

  ‘Ain’t got none.’

  ‘You went out with the señor in case of trouble from the engine.’

  ‘Didn’t happen often.’

  ‘Tell me about your trip with the señor very shortly before he died.’

  ‘Not been out in the boat for three, four weeks.’

  ‘Where were you when he died?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘Will your wife corroborate you?’

  ‘You trying to drag her into it?’

  ‘Merely pointing out that things can become tricky when one starts lying. Tell me about that night.’

  ‘Just done.’

  ‘I reckon it’s a lie.’

  ‘Reckon all you want.’

  ‘Would you describe the señora as a good woman?’

  ‘Don’t come better, same as the señor.’

  ‘It was she who said your daughter was to go to a clinica in Palma and paid the bills. Saved her life?’

  ‘Likely.’

  ‘A tragedy the señora should lose her husband and then fall into the present mess. One would have said she’d suffered enough. But life likes kicking someone who’s down.’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘She is the prime suspect for the death of Kerr. My superior is certain she poisoned him.’

  ‘Then he ain’t the brains to clean a pozo negro.’

  ‘As he sees it, the evidence has to point to her being the murderess.’

  ‘If you ain’t got nothing but balls to tell, clear off.’

  They drank. Alvarez held out his glass for a refill. García poured them both another drink. He brought a barra sandwich out of a plastic bag. ‘Only got one.’

  ‘There’s still something in the bag.’

  ‘What’s going to stay in it.’

  ‘There’s more pleasure to be gained by giving than receiving.’

  ‘You’re the first copper I’ve heard talk about giving when he don’t mean a ticket.’

  ‘Perhaps the police in Estart aren’t as kind as they are here.’

  ‘With you around? What d’you want so as I can get on with work.’

  ‘You haven’t finished eating and I haven’t started. You can pass over a bit of the barra.’

  ‘Manuel says you’re a real sod.’ García tore off a section of the bread.

  ‘That’s because I offend his sense of dignity.’

  ‘Because you’re so goddamn stupid, you think the señora could have had anything to do with Kerr.’

  ‘I am certain she had no part in his murder.’

  ‘When Manuel said the señora was hysterical after you’d spoken to her?’

  ‘Which is why I know she’s innocent.’

  ‘You have to kick a man before you ask him how he’s feeling?’

  ‘If I had not said what I did, I would not have learned she has to be innocent. Manuel is judging me by his interpretation of the evidence. I’m here to contradict his interpretation.’

  ‘Use a shotgun.’

  ‘That would complicate matters. I’m hoping the truth which you will provide will succeed.’

  ‘You think I know anything except she wouldn’t ever go near Kerr?’

  ‘Have you been doing a lot of cooking recently?’

  ‘When I’m married?’

  ‘There’s a lot of ash and half burned wood outside.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Been having barbecue parties?’

  ‘You’re talking shit.’

  ‘Or maybe boiling up bitter almonds?’

  ‘You want to see me in jail? You ain’t going to.’

  ‘I am trying to save the señora from being wrongly found guilty of murder. What was the fire for?’

  García poured himself another drink.

  ‘You don’t owe her on account of your daughter?’

  He called Alvarez a combination of names of such obscenity they were normally spoken only after knives had been drawn.

  ‘Tell me the truth, Felipe, and give me the chance to save the señora.’

  ‘And have you shout what I tell?’

  ‘I will treat it as sacrosanct as is a confession to a priest.’

  ‘You ain’t no priest.’

  ‘Would I be here if I were not doing everything possible or impossible to try to persuade that Madrileño he’s wrong to suspect the señora?’

  ‘D’you swear on your mother’s grave that what I say will help the señora?’

  ‘I swear I hope it will.’

  After a couple of minutes, García drank, then said: ‘Manuel told me the señor and señora had some sort of terrible trouble; she looked like she was desperate, he looked as if the pain was so fierce he couldn’t die quickly enough. So when the señor, shortly before he did die, said he wanted me on the yacht because he was sailing, I said what all the others did, it was madness. But I went with him.

  ‘There was a bottle of champagne in the tiny refrigerator and he opened it as we made for the Port. He offered me some. Said I didn’t want any while we was afloat. He finished the bottle. Never before seen him drink like that. He said there was something had to be done and would I help him. He wasn’t drunk, just not guarding his tongue. Said he’d be dead soon and he wasn’t scared of that, but was terrified of what would happen to Laura. He called her Laura, straight out, not señora like usual.

  ‘I didn’t know whether to stop him talking if he wasn’t sure what he was saying because of the booze . . . That’s straight, inspector. I wasn’t doing nothing to persuade him to tell more.’

  ‘I believe you.’

  García passed the bottle to Alvarez; there was only a token of brandy left in it. ‘If he couldn’t do something, Laura – called her that all the time – would be blackmailed until she hadn’t a euro left, yet he had always hoped to leave her enough not to worry.’

  ‘Did he explain why she was being blackmailed?’

  ‘Muttered something.’

&nbs
p; ‘A bigamous marriage?’

  García drank. ‘Seems there ain’t much you don’t know.’

  ‘You haven’t mentioned the bitter almonds.’

  ‘Got a fag?’

  Alvarez handed him a pack; he helped himself, struck a match for both of them.

  ‘There wasn’t no wind, and the señor stopped the engine in the middle of the bay. Said he had to do something to stop that bastard ruining the rest of Laura’s life. He asked how dangerous was bitter almonds. Told him I didn’t know how many one had to eat for ’em to be fatal, but it was a considerable number. He was quiet for a while then asked again if I’d help him. After what he and the señora had done for my daughter . . . He said to gather as many bitter almonds as there were.’

  ‘Did he explain why?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That was all he wanted?’

  ‘Smash them into a mush; put that in water for a couple of days, pressing hard down on it with weights. I was to go to the Peninsula and buy a distilling unit like students have.’

  ‘Did you do as asked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You knew what you were doing?’

  García shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘What did you do with the distilled liquid?’

  ‘Gave it to the señor. There wasn’t much.’

  ‘Did it have a smell?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I was to take him out in the yacht as soon as it started to get dark. The women said as that was ridiculous and he must stay in the house. He wouldn’t listen. He was weak as a child, but he was still a man when he said what was to be done.’

  ‘You sailed to where?’

  ‘Tied up on the outside jetty of the marina. He told me to go to a letting agency and find out where Kerr was renting. I went there and found him smoking a reefer. Told him the señor wanted to discuss a financial settlement.’

  ‘Did he hesitate?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How would you describe him at that time?’

  ‘In a hurry to get his hands on money.’

  ‘The three of you set sail?’

  ‘The señor gave me money for a taxi to my place.’

  ‘You weren’t worried about the señor sailing without you to help?’

  ‘Didn’t like him being without me if the wind suddenly got up and made things difficult, but he said what was to be.’

  ‘To begin with, Kerr could have helped.’

  ‘Didn’t act like he knew which was the bows and which was the stern.’

  ‘You watched the yacht leave, not knowing to where she was sailing?’

  ‘Wasn’t for me to know.’

  ‘You thought the señor wanted to talk things over with Kerr and offer him money to forget blackmailing the señora any further?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Law and justice. Many said they were inextricably joined together. He lacked a lawyer’s ability to defend that concept because life had taught him that the two could oppose each other.

  The law demanded Ashton be named the murderer of Kerr. Justice said that Laura Ashton should not have to suffer the mental anguish of knowing what her husband had done in her defence.

  As an inspector in the Cuerpo, he worked for the law, so his duty was clear. As Enrique Alvarez, he could not face the responsibility of not attempting to protect Laura from a lifetime of unjust guilt. ‘Have you considered what would be her thoughts if she believed her husband had poisoned Kerr? He deserved to die, but that would not help her find the relief of justification. She would bear the guilt of understanding that if, years before, she had not made the mistake of giving way to sad loneliness and the guiles of Kerr, there would never have been reason to have to remember a loved husband as a murderer.’

  ‘He was saving her from that sod,’ García said forcefully.

  ‘There’s someone else in trouble if things go on as they are now.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘When the señor asked you to turn the bitter almonds into a sodden mush and then distil the liquid, you knew why.’

  ‘Didn’t bother to think. Wasn’t my business.’

  ‘The law will say different.’

  ‘You swore you wouldn’t tell.’

  ‘How can the señora be cleared of the pain of knowledge without detailing the evidence which proves she had none?’

  ‘You bloody tricked me. You knew you was going to tell!’

  ‘I am trying to work out how to save the señora without involving you.’

  ‘You just said you can’t.’

  ‘If there were evidence that a stranger had been on the estate who’d wanted to know if Kerr was around, who clearly had some reason to hate Kerr, then in view of the lack of hard evidence against the señor – which only you can provide – then she could not remain a suspect.’

  ‘There ain’t been no one around asking.’

  ‘You have said you haven’t seen anyone, but when a man’s as busy as you, has the worries of looking after the garden, making certain no one is at risk of eating a bitter almond, something which didn’t seem important can slip the mind. And even if one might expect you later to remember an incident, why should you not decide it far too unimportant to tell me?’

  ‘Who’s going to take that?’

  ‘Depends who’s listening. If he’s a senior officer, from Palma, or maybe Madrid, he’ll believe Mallorquins are so stupid they can forget their own names. Still, supposing can’t help the señora; only some kind of action can. Don’t suppose you told anyone you were going to buy a distilling unit?’

  ‘I ain’t that stupid.’

  ‘You paid in cash?’

  ‘I said, the señor gave me euros.’

  ‘Smash the unit and discard the bits in different waste bins.’

  ‘But it’s like it’s just been bought, and it cost a lot.’

  ‘Smash it, Felipe, and no one will come along and wonder why you need a distilling unit and try to find out what was in it. There’s a load of wood ash outside. Scientists could be asked to examine it and find you’d been burning almond husks along with wood.’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘You ain’t so stupid as you look,’ García said.

  ‘I hope to be able to return the compliment.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Alvarez answered the phone.

  ‘Is that you?’ García asked.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I saw a man—’

  ‘Hang on. Who are you?’

  ‘You bloody well know.’

  ‘If you’re making a report, it has to be done officially so there can’t be an argument about who reported what to whom. You are?’

  ‘Felipe García. And you want to know who my grandmother and great-grandmother were?’

  ‘You have something to report?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A man on the estate who wanted to know if someone called Kerr was around.’

  ‘Did he say why he wished to know?’

  ‘Seemed like he was angry.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Silence.

  ‘Before Kerr died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shortly before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why haven’t you reported this before?’

  ‘Forgot.’

  ‘Previously, I have asked if you’d ever noticed a stranger in the gardens shortly before the señor died when it was not an “open” day. You replied you had not.’

  ‘Ain’t I just said, I forgot?’

  ‘What’s reminded you?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘I’ll ask again. What has recalled the incident to you? Did something very recently occur which jogged your memory because it had also happened just before or after you met the man?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘Don’t remember.’

  ‘Perhaps it wa
s something like seeing a black vulture overhead after a long time when you hadn’t seen one around?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Can you describe this man?’

  ‘Ordinary.’

  ‘A foreigner?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘English?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know that? Did he try to speak Spanish?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Proves he was English. Do you speak that language?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you couldn’t talk to him?’

  ‘Course I couldn’t.’

  ‘Then how did you understand what he wanted?’

  ‘Kept saying “Kerr” and pointing at the house.’

  ‘What did you do? Try to indicate with body movements that there wasn’t anyone but the family at home and he should clear off?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there anything more to tell me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank you for getting in touch.’

  Alvarez looked at his watch. There was time to speak to Salas. But as Agustín had written: better to consider well than reconsider badly.

  He phoned at six thirty.

  ‘Yes?’ Ángela Torres said curtly.

  ‘Inspector Alvarez. Is the superior chief there?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  The connection was made. ‘Yes?’ demanded Salas.

  ‘Inspector Alvarez reporting, señor. I have received a call from García who said—’

  ‘Inform me who García is and what is the significance of his “call”, by which I presume you mean that he phoned you.’

  Seniors underlined their superiority both to their juniors and themselves by unnecessary officiousness. ‘García is the gardener at Son Dragó. He has just reported that shortly before the death of the señor, he met a man on the estate who didn’t speak Spanish or Mallorquin – García believes he was English – but managed to make it clear he wanted to know where Kerr was. His manner is described by García as angry. We may at last have learned that an as yet unidentified man had a stronger motive for the murder of Kerr than any other person.’