Gradually the weary permanence of her thoughts about Hooper began to ease as Marius Larche’s face swam into her mind. Instinctively she knew he was troubled too. There was a hesitancy about him, a ruefulness that was subtle and elusive. At first he had seemed too laid back to have much authority, but when authority was demanded it came – and came quickly. She felt she had a good working relationship with him and didn’t find him patronizing. What was more, he clearly respected her opinion and Alison didn’t feel she had to battle against him as she had to with her English colleagues. Larche had taken her seriously, at face value; a Mediterranean man, how infinitely preferable to the Nordic type – mean of spirit, sharp in competition, insecurely looking over their shoulders, breathing in the thin, cold air of a sterile country, well past its imperial prime.
Alison sat down on the warm sand and stared into the gleaming, ebbing sea, now gently moving under the crescent moon. Quite suddenly, without procrastination, without even much surprise at actually having made one at last, she came to a decision. She would stop competing and marry Tom, and she would do her best to banish a little more each day the grim and all-pervasive shadow of Hooper and his invasion into her dreams. A sense of exquisite happiness instantly invaded her; for the first time in years she felt at peace.
Paco arrived to tell Marius Larche that dinner would be served in the guest house at nine. Looking at his watch, Larche saw that it was eight and he would have time for a leisurely shower. Then the telephone rang. It was Calvino.
‘How did you get on with Señora Tomas?’
‘I’ve read the letters and heard the tape. She was very co-operative.’
‘She was devoted to her husband.’
‘That’s what everyone keeps telling me.’
‘Do you doubt it?’
‘I usually doubt everybody and everything in a case like this, but I have no reason to suppose she wasn’t.’ There was a short silence then Larche continued. ‘Look, I want to spend tomorrow interviewing.’ He read him the list. ‘Alison Rowe will join me.’
‘They should all be around. But do you want one of my men to give them a ring – say, early tomorrow morning?’
‘That would be most helpful.’ There was a hint of surprise in Larche’s voice; he hadn’t expected Calvino to be so co-operative.
Calvino took the point. ‘The more we pool our knowledge …’
‘I shall definitely do that.’
‘You think you’ll get through them all in a day?’
‘I shall try. Suppose we have dinner tomorrow night – about nine?’
‘That would be a pleasure.’ There was another short silence. ‘Did you think that Anita Tomas was holding anything back?’
‘It’s impossible to say.’
‘Nothing obvious?’
‘She was clearly horrified by the letters – even more so by the tapes. I mean – they are horrifying. I couldn’t pin-point anything but I’ll talk to her again when I’ve seen everybody else.’
‘I’m glad you’re here, Señor Larche. I feel I need all the help I can get.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘She’s been on to my boss.’
‘She?’
‘Who else but Señora Tomas. Do you not understand what a powerful woman she is, Señor Larche?’ His voice rose.
‘Yes – I think I do,’ replied Larche slowly, conscious that Calvino was beginning to work himself into a frenzy.
‘She says I’m not listening to her, not achieving results.’
‘He’s only been dead two days.’ Larche paused. ‘Where is he going to be buried?’
‘At Empuries – where the Olympic flame was brought ashore last year.’
‘That’s a good place,’ Larche replied quietly.
‘Yes.’ Calvino was impatient now. ‘I have just two days before the funeral, señor; it’s not long enough. She wants to see some action by then.’
‘And if not?’
‘I could be replaced.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Yes, señor,’ said Calvino unhappily. ‘Just like that.’
‘Can she really have you replaced in this high-handed manner?’ Larche was incredulous. ‘I was told the Spanish government were looking for quick results but surely –’
‘I assure you she can,’ Calvino cut in. ‘I have been very thorough in my enquiries – so has my whole investigating team – but I would appreciate pooling information, particularly as you are something of a family friend.’
‘I’ll keep you in the picture,’ promised Larche.
‘Come over to the mainland tomorrow night,’ urged Calvino. ‘Meet me at the Coll. It’s a restaurant just off the main square. You can’t miss it.’
‘Very well.’
‘And by the way, will you be bringing your colleague – the one who is searching for the assassin?’
‘Of course.’
‘What do you think of this assassin theory – this Hooper business?’
‘I don’t think anything at the moment,’ replied Larche, wondering how much longer Calvino was going to detain him with his insecurity, ‘but I’m sure I’ll have more to tell you tomorrow night.’
Calvino rang off regretfully, as if the mere sound of Larche’s voice was reassuring to him.
Larche undressed and stood in the shower. It looks as if I’m suddenly becoming invaluable, he thought cynically.
Alison Rowe was also in the shower, thinking about Hooper again. Now that she had made her traumatic decision to leave the force she was discovering a new objectivity. Hooper’s face was etched into her consciousness and she was entirely confident that she would be able to identify him if the occasion demanded, but the occasion also seemed extremely remote. Alison allowed his face to slide into her mind. She would know his smile anywhere but it was impossible to describe – impossible even to draw. No identikit picture could possibly do justice to it. The full lips, the smile, the lustful pleasure – she knew for a certainty she would never forget him.
For some years she had wondered why Hooper hadn’t come to her – had never tried to kill her – for she was certain that he was aware that she could identify him. That moment of realization had been a two-way experience; she was sure of it. Did he have a wife and children? Was he a loner? What kind of sexual identity, sexual desires did he have? Was he crazy or was he calculating? Who was he? Her thoughts ran on and she knew there was little she could do to check them. That was what was so depressing about the state of her emotions. Hooper had made them his own.
Dinner was on a small candle-lit terrace overlooking the pool. At first, Larche thought it might only be for him and Alison and he felt a rush of adrenalin, but then he saw a third place had been laid and the elation was replaced by disappointment.
Larche sipped a gin and tonic and watched a firefly flicker amongst some bougainvillaea that bordered the pool. He could smell the scent of rosemary and a tiny breeze, as slight as the firefly’s light, cooled the warm air.
The crescent moon hung over the small valley in which the guest house lay; bare rock and small stunted bushes littered the rugged ascent to the main house. On the right, sheer cliffs soared above him but on the left, the rock fell gently away to the sea, which resembled a sheet of barely rippling silk. Small islands dotted the dark, winking expanse of water and Larche could just make out the mass of iridescent lights that marked the mainland. The silence was absolute, its cushion so intense that he started badly, twisting round abruptly when he heard the soft voice.
‘Excuse me.’
The man was standing in the shadows, tall, very thin, with a bald pate which shone pallidly, caught by the wan rays of the moon. Then he stepped into the candle-light and Larche could see him more clearly. The features were beaky, untanned, but even so Larche was struck by the unmistakable likeness to Eduardo. He was wearing dark grey trousers and a loose cotton top of a similar colour; a large wooden cross dangled from a heavy chain around his neck.
‘I’m sorry to have start
led you. My name is Blasco. Blasco Tomas. You will be Detective Chief Inspector Larche? I don’t think we met on any of your previous visits.’
‘No.’
‘I have to admit I’m hungry – despite everything.’ Blasco rubbed his hands together rather awkwardly and Larche noticed that they were swollen and disfigured with what he took to be arthritis. ‘The food here is very good, and the wine. I look forward to coming home occasionally; in fact I have to say that I make excuses to come. But this time …’ He made a rather hopeless gesture. ‘I wish I could say I had lost my appetite, but I always eat large quantities of food when I’m depressed.’ He spoke slowly and easily in English and his eyes never left Larche’s for a moment.
‘I’m hungry too,’ Larche replied quietly.
‘Are you making progress?’ The question was asked abruptly and Blasco’s fingers shook. With an effort, he made them steady again, but his body language clearly stated how uneasy he was.
Paco appeared with a pastis. He obviously knew exactly what Blasco preferred. Larche waited for him to disappear as silently as he had come before answering the question.
‘I’ve only just arrived.’ He didn’t want to put Blasco at his ease – nor did he wish to make him unduly defensive. Somehow Larche needed to strike a balance of detachment.
‘I’m very sorry. Of course I’ve heard about you …’ He paused and then spoke more positively. ‘If there’s anything you can do to discover the identity of my brother’s murderer –’ He paused again and continued with difficulty. ‘We were close despite our different callings and I loved him dearly.’
‘I shall do my best,’ Larche replied. ‘I have to say I feel I let Eduardo down very badly.’ Again he was confessing, he thought, this time appropriately enough to a priest.
‘I’ve discussed all that with Anita,’ said Blasco. ‘We both consider you have nothing to blame yourself for.’ He changed the subject rather quickly. ‘Are you finding that rather desperate man Calvino co-operative?’
‘Yes. But what do you mean, desperate?’
‘Well, I would imagine his head will be on the chopping block if he doesn’t find a positive lead very quickly.’
‘He said that himself.’
‘My sister-in-law is particularly … powerful, in terms of chopping blocks.’ Blasco sipped his Pernod and smiled at Larche rather as if he was sharing a deeper confidence than the one he was offering. ‘When would you like to see me?’ There was a cautious eagerness to his question, as if he was anxious to prove how co-operative he was going to be.
‘Tomorrow – one of Calvino’s men is arranging a schedule.’
Blasco looked surprised. ‘He is being helpful. I had a very long session with him, but I’m afraid he didn’t find me particularly illuminating. I can’t for the life of me think of anyone who would kill my brother – either politically or socially.’ There was a long pause which Larche didn’t attempt to interrupt, then Blasco continued as he had hoped he would. ‘My brother was a man of integrity – unlike most politicians – and he tried to carry out his duties in as Christian a way as possible. He was a great humanist – and he cared very much for the Spanish people …’
This is becoming a eulogy, thought Larche. What was more, he was certain that Blasco’s homily was protective. There was something about its intensity that was too powerful – almost too commanding.
‘… both in terms of the population at large, and locals here.’
‘What was the attitude of the locals to your brother?’
‘They’ve given him nothing but trouble ever since he restored the fishing industry at Sebastia, but that’s quite understandable. They are narrow, ill-educated people and they don’t like change.’ He sounded impassioned but still protective. Then Larche noticed that Blasco had begun to speak more casually, as if he had realized how artificial he was sounding. ‘Tourism is a well-established business here now and they’ve got used to it. Most of them didn’t want to go back to the old ways; they’ve largely been forgotten – and besides, it’s much easier to bleed tourists than earn a living by fishing.’
‘Would someone have killed him because of that?’
‘I don’t think so. I mean, it does seem an inadequate reason for such a drastic step.’
Does it, wondered Larche. Maybe someone stood to lose everything in Sebastia.
Blasco stood up as Alison Rowe came out on to the terrace. She was wearing a pale blue print dress, dark blue stockings and a jade necklace – a combination that made her look slightly austere.
‘Blasco Tomas – Alison Rowe.’ They shook hands and Paco brought in a first course of poached truffles. But it was not until they were into the second – Lobster Newburg – that Larche felt able to draw Blasco out even further on the subject of the island, Sebastia and the suspicious hostility of those on the mainland.
‘As Anita has no doubt told you,’ he began, ‘much of the old life of the Costa has been destroyed by tourism. When you go to Sebastia, all you’ll see is a simple fishing village, but in the harbour there are thirty boats. They’re bringing home big catches now and they have modern equipment. That’s the industry my brother made, and he was prepared to extend it to the mainland.’ He was beginning to sound defensive again.
‘But why don’t they want it?’ asked Alison, sipping the good white Chablis that had been served with the lobster. ‘The tourist trade’s falling off in the European recession, and isn’t the King trying to restore the environment, to drive everything up-market?’
Blasco nodded. ‘Yes, but I understand their reluctance. At least, I understand it to some extent.’
‘What extent?’ asked Larche quickly.
‘Eduardo appointed a manager in Sebastia to oversee the fleet and handle the distribution of its catch. He’s rather a controversial fellow unfortunately.’
‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked Alison.
‘He drives the fishermen too hard, insists they go out in all weathers.’
‘And was that Eduardo’s wish?’ asked Larche.
‘He was hardly ever here – and he believed in hard work. Lorenzo simply said he worked the men hard and Eduardo accepted it. But it’s more than that: Lorenzo dominates the village; he’s all-powerful. The fishermen are afraid of him, and so are their families. There are no unions involved; he can sack a man on the spot, deprive him of both his home and his livelihood, so as you can see – he’s a force to be reckoned with.’
‘Don’t they have any protection against him?’ asked Alison. ‘I mean – it seems so out of character for your brother to have treated them in this way.’
‘I just feel he had a blind spot about Lorenzo. Eduardo hardly had the common touch. In fact he was downright feudal.’ Blasco paused.
‘In what way?’ prompted Larche.
Blasco looked reluctant and then plunged into speech. ‘Well, the fishermen of Sebastia had to mortgage their cottages with Eduardo in return for the family trust’s financial assistance in providing modern equipment. Eduardo was always the businessman.’ Blasco paused uneasily. ‘He wanted people to be responsible – to understand and comply with the work ethic.’
‘That would have been understandably feudal,’ said Alison Rowe, thinking of her own background, ‘but it doesn’t account for Eduardo’s letting his servant run amok.’
Blasco bowed acknowledgement.
‘Why did Eduardo let Lorenzo get away with it?’ asked Larche, mystified.
Blasco shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I appealed to Eduardo time and time again, but he wouldn’t listen. For some reason Lorenzo could do no wrong.’
‘What does that imply?’ interpolated Alison. ‘That he had some kind of hold over Eduardo?’
‘I don’t know.’ Blasco drank some more wine. ‘I just don’t know.’ There was something so despairing about the way he bent over his glass that both Alison Rowe and Marius Larche felt an onrush of pity for him.
‘Did you tell Calvino all this?’ asked Larche very gently.
‘Oh yes. He’s already seen Lorenzo, but I don’t know if he came to any conclusion.’ He paused. ‘You must remember I don’t come to Molino very often – and anyway, I see things differently. My two brothers and their wives – even my nephew Salvador – they are people who revel in power and influence. Eduardo lived for politics; Anita for her music; Jacinto and Maria for pleasure and excitement. Even Salvador is ambitious. To what end I don’t know but I can feel it in him. It was the same when we were children: the powerful, privileged family; the love of power. It wasn’t as if it was all bad; Eduardo, as I’ve already told you, was in general a power for good, as far as any politician can be. But I didn’t want any of it. I’d always had a desire for the contemplative life. At first I wanted to be a priest and then I visited Fuego and knew that I wanted to join the community there – knew that that was what I wanted to do with my life. It all seemed gloriously simple at one time, but of course it’s been very hard.’
‘Do you spend all your time on Fuego?’ asked Larche.
‘No, I’m sent where I’m needed. I’m a qualified teacher so I’ve occasionally worked in schools, and very often amongst the destitute in Barcelona and Girona. In between I return to the island – to Fuego – both to seek spiritual replenishment and to help the community.’
Paco came in to clear the plates away and to place cheese and fruit on the table with more wine. When he had gone, Blasco said, ‘I’ve talked of myself and my own family, but I know nothing about either of you. Tell me about yourselves.’
Much to their own surprise Marius Larche and Alison Rowe found themselves telling him. Blasco was a good listener and clearly had a gift for drawing people out. Nevertheless, they both gave carefully edited versions of their lives, wondering at the same time if he suspected there was more.
Confessional Page 8
