An Artistic Way to Go

by Roderic Jeffries

  She slipped a rubber band around the lettuce in her hand.

  Calvo went to refill his tumbler, found the jug was empty. ‘More wine.’

  She dropped the lettuce, stood slowly, crossed to the table, picked up the jug and left the kitchen.

  Alvarez helped himself to an olive, bitter, peppery, and only a distant relative of the stuffed, tinned olives that shops sold. ‘What time did the señor get here?’

  ‘Señor? He’s no señor, he’s one of us.’

  Most foreigners would have found that insulting as well as absurd. Alvarez could be certain that Field would understand it to be a tremendous compliment.

  ‘How do I know when he arrived?’ Calvo demanded.

  Marta, who had heard the question when still outside the kitchen, entered and put the jug on the table. ‘He was late and much of the food was gone, but I’d kept him some lechona because that’s his favourite. Said he was late because he’d been thinking as it was his wife’s birthday. Leastwise, it would have been.’

  ‘What do you call late?’

  She looked at her husband; he shrugged his shoulders. ‘There was some salmon left and some of the cake what we’d had made specially.’

  When the three of them had been young, Alvarez thought, a fiesta or a saint’s day would at best have been marked by some sobrasada and a scrawny chicken. Tourism enriched lives as it destroyed living. ‘You’ve no idea even roughly what the time was when he arrived?’

  She moved one basket away, pulled another closer. ‘Wasn’t it just after Elena said she was leaving?’ She used a knife to trim back the stalk of the green pepper that was beginning to be shot with red. ‘Carlos turned up and Carolina said she wouldn’t leave until she’d given “Uncle” some of her special cake. They didn’t go for quite some time. It was after midnight when Guillermo said they had to leave, he was so tired.’

  ‘The men are women these days,’ Calvo said scornfully.

  ‘Did Carlos leave then?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘When there was plenty of drink left?’

  ‘So how much longer did he stay?’

  Marta thought it must have been at least an hour. And when they’d finally gone to bed, her husband had snored so loudly that she’d been unable to sleep properly …

  ‘Always moaning!’ Calvo said angrily. ‘The only thing women know how to do.’ He emptied the jug into their two glasses. ‘More wine.’

  CHAPTER 22

  Alvarez settled in the chair behind the desk and used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. There were times when life was trouble. Just before he’d left home, Dolores had said that she expected him to make Jaime come to his senses and not enter the Moors and Christians. He’d thought of pointing out that it was right to perpetuate a tradition which recorded a famous victory and that no one had been killed for several years and only a few usually suffered broken limbs, but had decided she might not find his words consoling. And what was inescapable fact was that by the evening Jaime would be a legless Moor. She had never understood that a man needed to get really tight every once in a while in order to release the pressures that were occasioned by living with a woman … The road to disaster began at other people’s troubles. Jaime would have to work out his own solution and salvation.

  He turned his mind to other matters. It was Saturday and work stopped at lunch time, provided no urgent matters arose before then. The simplest way of making sure none did was to find a legitimate reason, in itself of no complicated consequence, for being out of the office. The Cooper case could provide one such.

  There were five suspects. Field had no motive and an unshakeable alibi. If White had a motive, it had so far proved impossible to uncover what it was, but in any case, he also had an unshakeable alibi. Serra had motive and whether or not he had an alibi for the revised time of death had yet to be ascertained, but it was virtually impossible to believe he possessed the degree of cunning needed to have forged the time of death. So Rachael, who had everything to gain from her husband’s death, and Burns, who must hope he had everything to gain from her widowhood, were left as the prime suspects. Burns claimed they had an alibi; she had supported this. It had to be false …

  * * *

  Lady Janlin perplexed him. Her title suggested tiaras and banquets of peacocks; reality was sloppy clothes and the faint, lingering smell of plebeian cooking. Only her manner was sufficiently rude to be aristocratic.

  ‘Of course I mind answering damn-fool questions.’ She studied him. ‘You don’t look like a detective to me.’

  ‘Perhaps I should leave and find a magnifying glass and a bloodhound?’

  ‘A local with a sense of honest British humour! What’ll you drink?’

  ‘If I might have a coñac, with just ice?’

  ‘Over there.’ She pointed.

  He walked around a ragged pile of newspapers and magazines on the floor, and a stool lying on its side, to reach a heavily stained cocktail cabinet. Inside was a jumble of bottles and glasses. ‘What may I give you?’

  ‘Brandy and ginger; and don’t drown the brandy.’

  He found two clean glasses amongst the dirty ones, a bottle of Soberano, and two ginger ales. ‘Do you have some ice?’

  ‘In the kitchen.’

  He found his way to the kitchen, which was not in the state of disarray he had expected. He emptied several ice cubes from the refrigerator into a plastic bowl.

  Back in the sitting-room, he handed her a glass. She drank eagerly, then said: ‘Well, what does Señor Nosy Parker want?’

  He sat on the settee. ‘You are friendly with Señora Cooper, I understand?’

  ‘Your understanding is correct,’ she said mockingly.

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Damned if I can remember.’

  ‘I am investigating the murder of Señor Cooper.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I need to know where the señora was on Wednesday night.’

  ‘You think she might have killed Oliver? What if she did? Justifiable homicide.’

  ‘The law must hold otherwise.’

  ‘I’ve known too many lawyers to have any respect for the law.’

  ‘It’s not always that one can afford such a luxury.’

  ‘The world’s not made for small people.’ She drained her glass. ‘I’ll have another; and less ginger.’

  He wondered, as he put his own glass down on the corner of an occasional table, whether her vocabulary included the word ‘please’? He refilled her glass and handed it back. ‘I have to know where the señora was.’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘On her own?’

  ‘With that man she’s seeing. God knows why. Slumming can be amusing, but never for very long. He may be a hunk of testosterone, but that’s the limit of his attractions.’

  ‘Neil Burns was here with the señora on Wednesday night?’

  ‘Do I need to repeat everything I say if you’re ever to understand?’

  ‘When did they arrive?’

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘You cannot give even an estimate of the time?’

  ‘I choose to live on this island in order to forget time.’

  ‘Was it dark?’

  ‘God knows.’

  ‘Then it could have been after eleven?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They were here when I rang my bastard husband and I had to wait until ten thirty to get hold of him because he was doing good works somewhere. When he dies, God will have to move over.’

  ‘When did Señor Burns leave here?’

  ‘When he went.’

  ‘Could it have been before midnight?’

  ‘When there’s free booze around, his bum goes numb.’

  ‘I’m not certain I understand what that means.’

  ‘Then it’s a pity you never learned English.’

  ‘Or that you learned Spanish.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m beginning to like you! Not at a
ll the plump little erk you look.’

  He was sorry that Spanish manners precluded him from pointing out that when it came to size, she had the advantage in many areas. ‘Roughly, when did Señor Burns leave here?’

  ‘One o’clock; two o’clock; three o’clock, knock.’

  ‘Not before midnight?’

  ‘That’s sharp; that’s right!’

  He hesitated. She was amused by him and therefore was regarding him good-naturedly. But if he annoyed her, she would almost certainly become pure bitch. Yet if he didn’t challenge her, he would never be certain. He took a deep breath. ‘Lady Janlin, that cannot be correct. I know that Señor Burns was not in this house all the time between ten thirty and midnight.’

  Her manner did not sharpen; if anything, she became even more offhand. ‘Really?’ she drawled.

  He bluffed with all the conviction he could command. ‘I have spoken to a witness who saw him in his car after eleven and before midnight.’

  ‘My good man, that’s quite impossible. Suggest your witness adds more water next time.’

  ‘Do you understand that in this country it is a serious crime deliberately to mislead a police officer?’

  ‘You’re beginning to remind me of my pompous husband and that’s bad for my digestion.’

  He stood. ‘I offer you one more chance to tell the truth.’

  ‘He’d never offer anybody anything, so the similarity is not all that close.’ She drained her glass and held it out. ‘You know the definition of a gentleman? He pours a lady a drink even when he’s not trying to seduce her.’

  He tried to work out whether it would be safer to refill her glass or flee.

  CHAPTER 23

  The fiesta of Llueso was spaced over several days; on the Saturday night, there was dancing in the old square to a live band whose music was amplified until only those who lived on the outskirts of the village had any hope of sleeping during the night unless the members of the band became totally inebriated.

  The mobile churro stall was doing almost as much trade as the cafés which surrounded the square and it was five minutes before Alvarez was able to buy a small bag of the crisp, deep-fried, ribbed lengths of pastry-like sweet. He eased his way through the milling crowds until he found a space, began to eat. Taste, smell, and music, resurrected the past in a flash of time. He knew a pain that had never vanished, only dulled. The last time he had escorted Juana-María to a fiesta. There had been few tourists then and money had been so tight that the band had consisted of three villagers who only occasionally had managed to play together and in tune; mothers had watched their daughters with eagle eyes; the churro stall had been small and mobile only to the extent that two men could push it; Juana-María and he had bought a bag of churros and she had said that if there were an odd number of pieces in it, she would know that he truly loved her, but if there were an even number … When he’d wanted to eat quickly, she had held the bag tightly shut, laughing with the abandon that came from pure happiness and causing her mother to chide her for brazenness … A little while later, she had died, pinned against a wall by a car driven by a drunken Frenchman …

  Someone spoke to him, but his thoughts were too far away and the noise too great for him either to recognize the voice or understand the words. He turned and to his surprise found himself facing Rachael.

  ‘I saw you…’ she began, but the band scaled fresh heights. She shrugged her shoulders, mouthed words as she pointed to the road past the Club Llueso. She set off and he followed her. Halfway down the road, the buildings masked the noise sufficiently for normal speech to be audible. She came to a stop. ‘I saw you only at the very last moment.’

  He replied, with conventional triteness: ‘It’s very crowded because a lot of tourists come here for the fiesta.’

  ‘Frankly, you obviously hadn’t seen me so I was about to rush off, reckoning it was a meeting neither of us would welcome. But then I thought…’

  ‘You thought what, señora?’

  ‘Rachael! I thought that perhaps the best thing to do was to face you here and now and have it out.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Muriel rang me and said you’d virtually been accusing Neil…’

  ‘Señora, this…’

  ‘Rachael, goddamnit!’

  ‘This is hardly the time or place to discuss such a matter.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit! I must make you understand that neither Neil nor I had anything to do with Oliver’s death.’

  ‘Come to my office on Monday.’

  ‘Come home now and listen. You owe me that for being so horribly suspicious. Please, you’ve got to.’

  The telephone call from Lady Janlin had panicked her, he thought. Panicky tongues could be provoked into speaking freely. But by Monday she would have calmed down and worked out how to meet the fresh challenge.

  * * *

  She settled on the settee. With her legs tucked under herself, her dress riding some way up her thighs, and her hair slightly dishevelled, she looked vulnerable, younger, and very desirable.

  She drank quickly. She said in a low voice: ‘I’ve been lying to you.’ She looked up and directly at him. ‘About Neil and me. But you’d guessed the truth. When you found me in his flat, I could see in your face that you didn’t believe what we told you.’

  ‘You’re admitting that your affair with him did not come to an end a long time ago?’

  ‘Yes.’ She studied him as if seeking to discover something. ‘You know, don’t you, that sometimes between two people there’s an electrical current that blasts them into another world and they forget all loyalties, duties, and self-respect?’

  He did not answer.

  ‘Come on, admit you’re not the stolid, unemotional man you try to make out.’

  ‘When did Señor Cooper discover you were having an affair?’

  ‘Since it would never have occurred to him that I’d ever be more than distantly polite to someone in Neil’s lowly position, and I made certain I was the soul of discretion, he remained in complete and happy ignorance of the fact.’

  ‘You are still lying.’

  ‘I swear I’m not.’

  ‘He learned the truth and threatened to divorce you. Since he was living on this island and all his money was offshore from England, there was no way you could get any court to force him to pay you maintenance. And you knew that since you’d made him a laughing stock by cuckolding him, he’d never willingly give you so much as a peseta.’

  ‘What are you implying now?’

  ‘That you had the strongest possible motive for his murder.’

  ‘He didn’t know!’ she shouted. ‘You think I’d murder him for his money? Oh, God, how can you be so cruel? Why are you horribly twisting everything I say? Why won’t you…?’

  The cordless phone on the table by her side rang, bringing an abrupt end to her words. She stared at it, but made no effort to pick it up. Her expression slowly calmed.

  Alvarez silently cursed the caller. Fear had undermined her self-control, as he had intended; but this interruption had given her the time to realize that at all costs she must regain it. The ringing ceased. He said: ‘Where were you at eleven o’clock Wednesday evening?’

  ‘Muriel’s told you I was with her.’

  ‘She also said Señor Burns was in her house until the early hours of Thursday morning. I know that he was not.’

  ‘You know nothing!’ She drained her glass. ‘I asked you here to show you why you had to stop suspecting Neil and me. But all you –’

  The phone interrupted her again. This time, she picked it up. ‘Yes, Charles?… I couldn’t get to it in time … There’s no need to apologize … That is an idea. It would certainly help me to sort out that side of things … The Poperens? Of course you can have them. You know I’ve never liked them and, after all, you did paint them … At around eleven, then. Good night.’ She replaced the phone on the table, stood. ‘It’s time for a refill.’

  He handed h
er his glass. As she walked over to the cocktail cabinet, she said: ‘Understand this. I’m no starry-eyed romantic. Even when the electricity flashed, I recognized that what started so suddenly would end equally suddenly.’ She turned, walked towards him, a glass in each hand. ‘So there was never the slightest possibility of a long-term relationship and without that, Neil would never risk his neck by murdering Oliver.’

  She came to a stop immediately in front of him.

  ‘Money usually outlives romance.’

  ‘Neil doesn’t have the prescience to understand that. He is an uncomplicated character and for him there’s only the present.’

  ‘Unlike you?’

  ‘I’m far more complex. Which means that if I had plotted and planned, I’d also have considered every possibility there was for failure and that would have made me far too scared actually to put any of the plots and plans into execution.’ She handed him his glass, leaning forward far more than was necessary.

  Her dress had a deep décolletage and inevitably his attention was drawn. She was not wearing a brassiere and the upper curves of her shapely breasts were visible. He hastily jerked his gaze away before she caught him peeping. Yet as she straightened up, her quiet smile said that his subterfuge had been a complete waste of time and effort because with infallible female instinct she had divined where his gaze had been focused a moment before; her smile also said – to his surprised excitement – that she was neither annoyed nor contemptuous.

  She returned to the settee; as she settled, her skirt rode higher up her thighs than before and again she made no attempt to tug it down. ‘Do you understand now that we couldn’t have had anything to do with Oliver’s death?’ When he did not answer, she said: ‘Christ! Have I got to bare every last inch of my soul to convince you?’

  He waited.

  She plucked at the hem of her dress. ‘Promise you won’t become all holier-than-thou if I admit something?’

  ‘I try never to do that.’

  ‘On the Wednesday, all Neil and I did together was have a meal and then go straight to Muriel’s – I told him before we drove to the restaurant that it was all finished between us. So he knew there wasn’t any future and couldn’t have any reason to kill Oliver.’