Confessional

by Anthony Masters

  Larche followed Paco into the cool, gloomy interior of the house.

  ‘I thought you might care to use Señor Tomas’s study, señor. Will you need a tape recorder?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, señor. I’ve already put one in there with a supply of paper and pens.’

  ‘That’s most efficient.’ Larche was hardly listening to the old man. He was wondering again how a person as shallow as Bernard Morrison had managed to achieve such an intimate relationship with Anita Tomas in so short a time. Was it just his proximity when she was in such a vulnerable, emotional state, or was there some particular reason why she had confided in Morrison?

  ‘I heard of the terrible tragedy in the cove this morning.’ Paco’s worn-out voice broke into his thoughts.

  Larche put a hand on his stick-like wrist. ‘Everything’s under control. We seem to have half the Spanish police force on the island.’

  ‘Yes, señor.’ He paused and then rattled on. ‘It was bad enough to have lost Señor Eduardo, but Father Blasco as well – he was such a very good man. Many times he has given me his blessing. Then there’s your own colleague. Such a –’

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Larche, unable to take any more. ‘I’ll just go and sit quietly in the study. Is there any coffee?’

  ‘I’ll have some brought immediately.’

  ‘I would like to see Jacinto first.’

  Paco inclined his head and went slowly away.

  A persistent fly buzzed against the window-pane and there was a smell of pine furniture polish. The room was more of an art gallery than a study, with pictures – impressionist, expressionist, surreal and abstract – taking up most of the space on three walls, whilst densely packed shelves of books filled the other. The volumes were mainly to do with law and the constitution, but there was quite a large section on history and sociology. Larche studied them for a while and then returned to the desk to sip the scalding hot coffee that Paco had just silently brought in.

  Gradually, the sheltering numbness withdrew and Larche saw Alison Rowe as he had first seen her at Sant Pere de Rodes and then last night. He now felt responsible for her death. He should have kept her beside him – not let her go wandering off. Then he sighed, sickened by his own childishness. How could he possibly have protected her? Yet again he thought of how she had been, how she had looked, what she had worn last night, what they had done together, and the pain stirred in his chest as if a hand was roughly squeezing his heart.

  Part Two

  Chapter 7

  Jacinto Tomas opened the door without knocking and surveyed Marius Larche with a kind of weary tolerance. He had changed and was wearing dark blue jeans and an open-necked white shirt. Deeply tanned with long brown hair, he was slighter and shorter than his two brothers and probably about five years younger. He had a crucifix at his neck, a number of expensive-looking rings on his fingers and an even greater number of bracelets on his thin, wiry wrists, but rather than giving any impression of foppishness, he had an aura of toughness and efficiency, expertise and resourcefulness. He would know how to sail a boat, thought Larche, skin-dive, wind-surf, water-ski. He would play tennis well, golf expertly. What was beyond this first impression, he wondered. He didn’t think Jacinto was just a playboy, he was more like a wealthy machine. But there was something else – a hesitancy that didn’t quite fit the macho image.

  ‘Monsieur Larche.’ The voice wasn’t right either. He had expected more authority but it was in the minor key – almost disgruntled. Perhaps it’s just a combination of shock and grief, thought Larche. They shook hands and sat down at a highly polished round table that had nothing on it but an antique lamp. The surface reflected their faces rather disconcertingly.

  ‘You must accept my condolences,’ murmured Larche. ‘A double tragedy.’

  ‘I’m very sorry about your colleague,’ Jacinto responded automatically.

  ‘As you can see, a full-scale search is being carried out.’

  ‘Yes, but I fear the killer will have disappeared. He must have planned an escape route.’

  ‘Did you see anybody?’ Larche spoke sharply, irritated by the calm implication of police incompetence.

  ‘No.’ Jacinto paused. ‘Are you co-ordinating the hunt?’

  ‘That’s Calvino’s job.’

  ‘So what is your job?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I’ve been drafted in by Interpol to assist on the case – and you may also be aware that Eduardo wanted me here. Unfortunately I came too late to help him, although I’m sure I couldn’t have prevented what happened.’

  ‘I’m sure you couldn’t,’ Jacinto agreed rather too quickly. ‘Well – I’ve told everything I know to Calvino, but I’m quite prepared to start again.’

  Larche nodded, detecting the hint of smooth patronage but deciding to ignore it; he didn’t want to turn this into a hostile encounter.

  ‘Did Calvino brief you?’ He sounded even more patronizing now.

  ‘He didn’t have enough time, in the circumstances, so we shall have to start again. I gather you and your wife run a diving school in Estartit?’ A conventional interrogation wouldn’t work with these people, he thought. They’re too used to wielding power.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that successful?’

  ‘It’s a living. I’m a marine archaeologist by profession.’

  ‘Yes?’ he said encouragingly – but Jacinto remained silent. ‘Do you have any … views on these killings?’

  ‘Father Miguel knew the identity of Eduardo’s killer – I’m sure of that,’ he said with unexpected certainty, but Larche also thought he detected a hint of unease.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He was an old family retainer who dabbled in secrets – a priest with dirty hands, soiled by the power games he played. I’ve told all this to Calvino anyway.’

  ‘Is there anything you haven’t told Señor Calvino?’ asked Larche, using a sharper tone. ‘Is there anything you held back? Because if there is, you’ll find yourself in a very serious position.’

  Jacinto’s face was suddenly dark with anger, as if a servant had been unexpectedly impertinent, and for a long while there was silence. Larche felt a certain triumph; instinctively he knew he’d been right to go in for the attack. He’d shatter this arrogant façade if he could but all he had to go on was the gut feeling that Jacinto was, in some way, agitated. Was that because he was the last surviving brother? Did he fear for his own life? Or was there something else?

  ‘There is something,’ Jacinto admitted, with at least a display of reluctance.

  ‘Why did you withhold information?’ snapped Larche, trying to unsettle him.

  ‘Because Blasco was alive.’ His voice was quietly reflective.

  ‘What bearing does that have on it?’

  There was another silence, much shorter this time. ‘I’ll tell you,’ he said gently.

  ‘Let me ask you a question first,’ cut in Larche, still trying to throw him off balance.

  ‘Yes?’ Jacinto replied impatiently, as if someone had raised a hand in a large audience.

  ‘Did you love Eduardo?’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘And Blasco?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He smiled, as if pleased with his own demonstration of decisive honesty.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he was a conniving bastard – and I’m glad he’s dead.’

  ‘Will you explain?’ Larche felt a sense of unreality – first Morrison’s revelations, and now this. He also sensed that the interview was slipping out of control.

  ‘Eduardo has been weak and he paid for it,’ he said at length.

  ‘What did he do?’ asked Larche encouragingly.

  ‘He was very self-indulgent,’ replied Jacinto austerely.

  ‘Was he a homosexual?’

  ‘Yes. Blasco found out and told Bishop Carlos.’

  ‘And you consider that conniving?’ Larche felt not just shock but considerable alarm. How in God’s name had Eduardo
concealed all this so successfully? Was it possible?

  ‘Well, that was bad enough.’ Jacinto looked away.

  ‘There’s more?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me?’ There was a long silence, then Larche tried another tack. ‘Did Anita know about Eduardo’s homosexuality?’

  ‘It was kept from her.’ Jacinto appeared to be very confident now.

  ‘I said – did she know?’ Larche insisted.

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t. Anita is a very strange lady. None of us really knows her – not even after all these years. She has this capacity to compartmentalize and she never bothers with anything she doesn’t want to know about.’ There was a pause and then Jacinto said unexpectedly, ‘I don’t have any money. The diving school just about breaks even, so Maria and I – we’re leeches on Molino and all that it stands for.’ He laughed as if making a pleasant little joke, but there was bitterness behind the laugh.

  ‘It’s as bad as that?’

  ‘Yes. Last year I made a major archaeological find – just outside Ampurias. About a mile out to sea there’s a galley – a Roman galley which has been preserved in a cavern on the reef.’

  ‘Treasure trove?’

  ‘She could have been.’ The bitterness increased slightly.

  ‘What went wrong?’

  ‘Blasco,’ replied Jacinto. ‘He’s been a pain in the arse all my life.’

  ‘How was he involved?’ asked Larche mildly.

  ‘Eduardo and I formed a family trust; the ship would yield up a significant reward and Maria and I would be very comfortably off for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘It all sounds very reasonable.’ Larche was guarded.

  ‘It wasn’t – it was a fiddle. And Blasco found out and reported on Eduardo again, this time to the Catalonian Archaeological Department. Now the state has taken her over and we won’t get a peseta.’

  ‘I see.’ Larche paused. ‘So you think Blasco really had it in for Eduardo.’

  ‘He’d do anything to score off him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he was in love with Anita – years before he became a monk.’

  The bombshell was perfectly timed and Larche was shocked. There were so many things about the Tomas family that he just hadn’t known. ‘And what were her feelings?’ he prompted, anxious not to interrupt Jacinto’s flow.

  ‘They were engaged – until Eduardo came along. Blasco has hated him ever since.’

  ‘You told Calvino none of this?’

  ‘Blasco was alive,’ replied Jacinto impatiently. ‘I didn’t want to voice my suspicions – however much I disliked him.’

  Is he telling the truth, wondered Larche. Or is he manipulating me? He decided to become more aggressive again. ‘Well, come on, what are you suggesting about Blasco?’

  ‘I had no evidence of any kind about Blasco’s possible involvement with Eduardo’s death – and I still haven’t. I would have been a complete fool to have said anything to Calvino.’

  ‘But you are saying it to me now,’ Larche reminded him.

  Jacinto looked down at the highly polished table. ‘It wasn’t just Eduardo he hated.’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘He hated me.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I told him what a bastard he was – repeatedly. Particularly when we were kids.’

  ‘Are you afraid?’ asked Larche.

  ‘Of the assassin? Sure. I value my life, Monsieur Larche, despite the fact that it’s become such a bloody mess.’

  ‘When did that bloody mess begin?’ asked Larche hesitantly.

  ‘It began when I was a kid. Want to hear about it?’ He grinned at Larche challengingly.

  ‘If it’s relevant.’

  ‘Oh it is, monsieur. It’s extremely relevant. You’re probably aware that the Tomas family’s position in Spanish politics goes back a very long way. My father was Franco’s private secretary, my grandfather a diplomat and on my mother’s side the men were also diplomats and the women society hostesses. Both sides of the family were devout Catholics, bastions of Rome, much loved for their respectability, their moral clarity.’ He spoke with heavy irony. ‘And, above all, their moral leadership, now more essential than ever in a country still emerging from the shadow of Franco – from a peasant society.’ His voice had taken on a slightly hectoring tone. ‘Hence our relationship with Bishop Carlos and Father Miguel. The Catholic faith was very central to us as a family. Blasco even became a monk.’

  Larche almost told him that he knew Lorenzo had been there too, but at the last moment bit the comment back. Instead he asked curiously, ‘Is Anita devout?’

  ‘Yes. Very.’ Jacinto suddenly radiated tension. ‘She too comes from a very distinguished Spanish family, but this time connected with the arts – mainly with music. Her father was a conductor, her mother a pianist, her sister a singer and, of course, Anita’s career as a cellist must be very well known to you.’

  ‘I’ve never heard her on the platform,’ admitted Larche, trying to relax Jacinto a little, ‘but I’ve listened to her recordings. I was also privileged to overhear her practising last night. She is an exquisite musician.’

  ‘Yes, she is, but she has had problems.’

  ‘In her childhood. Yes – I heard.’

  ‘How well did you know Eduardo? I’ve seen you at some of our house-parties.’ He was only slightly curious.

  ‘I knew him at the Sorbonne, but not so much recently. And I never knew the family well. They were just shadowy figures here – and in Madrid.’

  ‘I can imagine that. Eduardo rarely let anyone into the circle.’

  ‘There was no reason to,’ said Larche.

  Jacinto shrugged. ‘Somewhat predictably, we were three lonely little boys.’

  ‘Lonely little rich boys,’ corrected Larche.

  ‘The rich part didn’t help. We didn’t go to school – only university. Eduardo to the Sorbonne, as you know, Blasco to Cadaques – the community – and I went to Valencia. But from the age of five to sixteen, we had tutors.’

  ‘Yes, I remember Eduardo telling me. But he also said that you had friends to stay.’ He noticed with interest that Jacinto’s tension seemed to have vanished. He definitely finds long monologues therapeutic, Larche thought wryly, wondering how relevant all these recollections actually were.

  ‘Other children of the rich and famous, as the Americans would say. So stimulation largely depended on the tutors.’ He paused. ‘They were a mixed bag and naturally we gave them hell. Some stood it and others didn’t, but none of them stayed long. Eduardo was charming and devious, Blasco was articulate and erudite and I – I was the little boy. Cheeky – never missing a trick.’

  ‘Insufferable,’ said Larche.

  ‘You really mean that, don’t you?’ Jacinto smiled for the first time.

  ‘Carry on.’ Larche hardened up slightly, not wanting Jacinto to feel that he was being too helpful and emollient.

  ‘Well, tutor-baiting was all the fun we had in life, or put it like this – it gave us a raison d’être, and companionship.’

  ‘Did you get on together – you three little rich boys?’

  ‘Do three ever get on? It was boring, baiting each other. In the end we fought each other to a standstill.’

  ‘So – then it was time to “get the tutor”?’

  ‘Very much so. Until Gabriel arrived. He was American but Spanish-speaking. He was also very tough. For once, too tough for us. Gabriel made our lives as much hell as we had made the other tutors’. As we two tried ineffectively to make his.’

  ‘We two?’

  ‘Me and Blasco.’

  ‘And Eduardo?’

  ‘He got on with him well.’

  ‘Was he gay?’ said Larche bluntly.

  ‘No, I’m quite sure he wasn’t, but he definitely got a kick out of violence. He had a local girl and used to knock her around. Her parents suspected him but she was too terrified to tell them. Eduardo
knew, though.’

  ‘How?’ asked Larche carefully, not wanting to interrupt but anxious to show Jacinto how interested he was.

  ‘He photographed Gabriel doing it.’

  ‘But why? Why should he creep around photographing the man? He was a bit young to be interested in sadism.’ Once again Larche wondered if he was being set up. Was there some kind of conspiracy here to sidetrack him? ‘And why are you telling me all this?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Because you should understand what Eduardo was really like, what had formed him. Even then he was highly manipulative, determined to be one up, but at least he didn’t have Blasco’s long-term vindictiveness.’ Jacinto paused; there was a note of relish in his voice as he continued and Larche sensed that he was almost beginning to enjoy himself. ‘For as long as I can remember Eduardo was a survivor. Gabriel made us work like hell – we hated him for it, but Eduardo never suffered to the extent that Blasco and I did. Of course we all got very good results and our parents were delighted, but we still hated him.’

  ‘Did Eduardo manipulate his way out of his school work?’

  ‘He didn’t have to. He was clever and always found the lessons easy. One thing I’ll never forget though – we all had the chance to go for a week’s skiing in Andorra. Well, it was better than being stuck on the island even if we did have to go with Gabriel. But Eduardo picked us off one by one, set us up so that we couldn’t go.’ Jacinto paused, his eyes intent on the past. ‘He fixed Blasco so that it looked as if he’d been bullying Gabriel’s dog – a little dachshund that I think he loved more than anything else in the world. And he fixed me by making it look as if I’d torn up an important essay of Blasco’s. It was all very clever indeed –’ He laughed. ‘I can find it funny now but not then. Not then. Naturally we didn’t go skiing.’