His ability, of very dubious merit, of being able to stand aside from himself and study his life with mocking criticism let him laugh (at the same time as he damn near cried) over the way in which he always set out to write a work that would illuminate some of the basic truths of human nature, but ended up by asking ‘Who’s for tennis?’ If he had had the private income that Helen had, so that he was not writing for money, could he have written something worthwhile? He still liked to believe so. Perhaps because he knew there was no chance of his ever having a private income since his only wealthy relative had died eight years before and left her fortune to charity, despite all the loving attention of her nephews and nieces.
He lit a cigarette. Maybe he should wear a clown’s hat when he worked? Yet wasn’t there just a little merit in having an ambition, even if life had proved over and over again that such ambition was a banana skin?
He heard a car come to a squeaking halt and identified it as their Seat. A minute later, Helen came into the room, a plastic carrier-bag in her hand. ‘I’ve a terrible confession to make and will you forgive me?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘Are you asking for absolution in advance?’
‘I want you to promise faithfully not to be annoyed, not to be nasty to me, and not to go into one of your moods when you hear what I’ve done.’
‘You’re getting me really worried. Have you knocked a Guardia down with the car? Do we need to flee the island immediately?’
‘I’ve bought two hundred grammes of smoked salmon from the supermarket for supper because I decided we’d got to celebrate.’
‘Celebrate what?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea, which means we’ve got to work extra hard at celebrating. And to help, I bought a bottle of champagne. And just so life doesn’t fall flat afterwards, a couple of steaks.’
‘Sheer hedonistic profligacy!’
‘And why not?’ She kissed him lightly. ‘It does one good to pander to one’s excesses now and then … I’ll go and put the champagne in the fridge to cool.’
The world, he thought, loved an irony. When they’d nothing serious to worry about, they’d made certain they didn’t enjoy life by rowing: now, at a time of sharp, dangerous tension, they were finding fun and a great deal to enjoy.
They both heard a car draw up outside. ‘I wonder who’s calling in working hours?’ she said. ‘I thought we’d got everyone trained not to do that.’
‘It’s no longer working hours. My boss has just given me the rest of the day off.’
She kissed him again. ‘I’m beginning to like your boss … I’ll go and see who it is and chase them off because I feel like having my husband to myself.’
After she’d gone, he pulled the sheet of paper out of the typewriter and placed it on top of the others from the same chapter. There were a hundred and twenty-five pages to go now. Had he enough plot left? … To hell with it: today was for celebrating, leave the morrow for worrying.
He waited, hoping Helen was getting rid of the visitor or visitors, but when she didn’t return he went along the passage, past the kitchen in which Antonia was now enthusiastically, if somewhat inexpertly, washing up and into the sitting-room. He was shocked to see that Helen was looking frightened, although there was nothing apparently frightening about the squat, heavily built, stolid-looking man who immediately made him think of Millet.
Helen said quickly: ‘Jim, this is Inspector Alvarez from the local CID. He’s come because of John. He says John didn’t commit suicide, he was murdered.’
‘He what?’
‘He was throttled, señor,’ said Alvarez. ‘But only at the post mortem did we discover this thing.’
‘But we heard the gun was in his hands and he’d left a letter?’
‘Attempts to make his death look like a suicide. By luck, however, the truth has been discovered.’
‘Luck for whom?’
‘An interesting question, señor. Certainly not for the murderer.’
‘And have you discovered who that is?’
‘Not yet, and I fear it is going to take a little time. There will have to be many enquiries.’
‘Have a drink?’ suggested Helen suddenly, almost breathlessly.
‘Please don’t derange yourself … ’
She tried to speak lightly. ‘I’m dying for a drink. Say yes and then Jim can’t refuse me one.’
‘In that case, señora, I would very much like a brandy. But only a small one.’
‘Good. And please sit down … Jim, I’ll have a sweet vermouth.’
She needed to relax, thought Meegan as he crossed to the bottle chest. For the moment, she was working too hard at being the perfect hostess. He poured out drinks and added ice, passed the glasses round. He sat down in the armchair opposite Alvarez and raised his glass: ‘Your health.’
‘And yours, señor. To admit the truth, this is not my first today, but it is surely going to be the most welcome.’
Curiosity, Meegan decided, was in order. ‘You said you’d come here because of John and that he’d been murdered?’
‘You will now understand that I have to find out who murdered him.’
‘Of course. But what I don’t get is why you’ve come here?’
‘If I may put it this way. First, I must discover who obviously did not commit the murder, then maybe I will be able to say who did.’
‘All right. Now you can eliminate two people: neither of us killed him.’ Meegan spoke challengingly.
‘There is no question of a lady having done it, señor, although I believe a lady may well be able to assist me. That is why I should like to ask the señora a question.’
‘If she knows nothing … ’
‘Don’t be silly, Jim,’ cut in Helen. ‘Of course I’ll help all I can.’
‘Thank you, señora. Please excuse my curiosity in matters which are private, but is it true that you were friendly with Señor Calvin?’
Meegan spoke with sharp anger. ‘Who the hell says that?’
‘I have heard … ’
‘From whom?’
‘Señor, I hear many things and often it is better not to say who told me.’
‘I knew John,’ said Helen. She was sitting very upright in her chair.
‘Was he a friend?’
‘Not in the way you’re suggesting.’
‘I hope I am suggesting nothing. Please tell me, have you ever visited his house on your own?’
She gripped her glass so tightly that her knuckles whitened. ‘No.’
‘If someone says you had lunch with him not very long before he died, that person is either mistaken or lying?’ There was a silence, broken when Antonia came out of the kitchen, wished them all good afternoon, and left, seemingly unaware of the tension in the sitting-room.
Alvarez spoke quietly. ‘Please, señora, understand that I do not wish to know anything unnecessary, but for now I cannot say what is necessary and what is not. If you will tell me the truth, I will be able to sort things out and afterwards forget all that is unnecessary. But if I am not told and I have to find out these things, perhaps other people learn them as well and do not forget so quickly.’
She ran her tongue along her lips and looked at her husband. ‘I … All right, I did have lunch with him. But it was only the once and there was nothing else to it.’
‘She didn’t have an affair with him,’ said Meegan harshly. ‘It was just a lunch.’
‘With his … ’ Alvarez hesitated, as if wondering how best to put the question. ‘With his reputation, señor, perhaps you were not very pleased by the meeting?’
‘Why the hell should I have worried since I trusted her completely? And what’s this got to do with his death?’
‘I have to understand the background to his murder and if there are people who might have liked him dead, I have to talk to them to discover how much they would have liked this.’
‘Since I trusted my wife, I’d no reason for wishing him anything.’
‘Believe me, señor, that makes me happy. Now, I have only to ask one or two questions more, take your fingerprints, and everything is over.’
‘My … my fingerprints? Why?’
‘I need them.’
‘Like hell. I’m not giving them as if I were some bloody crook.’
‘Señor, I can understand your attitude, I believe. The English do not suffer things like identity cards and the police may not worry them unless they get permission. But here, in Spain, we arrange matters in a slightly different style and therefore you will be very wise to give me your prints when I ask for them. And please do not forget that if you have a Residencia you will already have given them voluntarily.’
‘You still haven’t explained why you want them?’
‘I have a print I wish to identify. When I discover that it is not yours, I can look elsewhere.’
‘Where’s it from?’
‘It was on the gun which was supposed to have killed the señor.’
‘My print couldn’t possibly be on that.’
‘Then you will surely be pleased to prove how right you are? I have the equipment in the car and later we will take them.’
He seemed so pleasant and benign that it came as a shock to discover a trace of smooth steel underneath.
‘Señor, will you now tell me where you were on the twenty-first of July?’
‘How would I know that now?’ replied Meegan, at the same time as Helen said, ‘He was with me.’
Alvarez appeared not to have noticed their different answers. ‘The twenty-first was a Wednesday — exactly three weeks ago, as a matter of fact. I know it is very difficult to remember what happened three weeks ago, but perhaps you will be able to do so?’
‘We spent the whole day together,’ said Helen.
‘You are very certain, señora. Perhaps you have a reason for that?’
‘As a matter of fact, I have. We’d had a pretty bitter row, but made it up Tuesday night and we spent all Wednesday together, finding out how stupid we’d been.’
‘Thank you, that is very clear.’ Alvarez spoke to Meegan again. ‘Señor, I am a simple man, who unfortunately often asks questions very bluntly because I can think of no other way of putting them, even though I perhaps upset people with my bluntness. So having excused myself, please now tell me if about three weeks ago you were suffering from any slight physical injury?’
‘None at all.’
‘You had no scratches on your hands? No bruising on your face?’
‘I’ve just said not.’
‘He’s had nothing like that,’ said Helen. ‘D’you understand, nothing at all.’
‘Señora, I think you understand why I ask. But do you also understand that you must answer exactly? Because if I learn that your husband did have some slight injury, I will begin to wonder why both he and you deny it and you will realize what answer I will give myself.’
‘He has not had any kind of an injury.’
Alvarez nodded, but it was not a gesture suggesting he accepted her answer, merely one acknowledging the fact that she would not alter it. He spoke once more to Meegan. ‘Señor, I am told you write books. Of what kind are they?’
‘Very ordinary, according to most people and one critic.’
‘Do they deal with crime and criminals?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘So you understand a little of the subject. And, perhaps, you have books which tell you how a policeman does his job?’
‘Yes.’
‘It is good to hear that you get your facts correct.’ He scratched his forehead. ‘I am trying to discover some facts about Señor Calvin’s gun, which looks to me to be a very nice one. I believe there are very big shoots in England, with lots of pheasants …’
‘I don’t know anything about guns or shooting.’
‘Not even how to load … ’
‘Nothing. And I didn’t use the gun to try to fake the suicide.’
‘Then now I have asked all my questions and I can leave the house — Señora, I apologize sincerely for disturbing you as I have. Señor, if you will come out with me to the car I will quickly take your fingerprints.’ He stood up and left his glass, with just the polite amount of brandy remaining, on the nearest small table.
‘Jim isn’t …’ began Helen in a high-pitched voice, then stopped. She stared helplessly at Alvarez.
‘Believe me, I will do all I can to cause as little trouble as is possible.’
Outside, the heat gripped the two men and they were both sweating by the time they reached Alvarez’s Seat, parked in the shade. From all around came the shrill cries of cicadas, and a very large grasshopper, disturbed by them, whirred through the air.
‘It is as hot as I can ever remember it,’ said Alvarez. ‘Work is not much fun in such heat.’ He smiled, his heavy face relaxing. ‘But perhaps if I tell the whole truth, work is never fun, hot or cold … I will get the things out of the car, but first there is a question I wished to ask but which I forgot. What kind of car do you have?’
‘A Seat six hundred.’
‘The same as mine. I hope it is in better condition?’
‘Worse.’
‘That is difficult to believe.’
‘What’s it matter what state it’s in?’
‘Surely it must be quite immaterial,’ replied Alvarez blandly, ‘but when I was training I was taught that no detective could ever discover too many facts, no matter how irrelevant they seemed. I’ve never been able to forget that advice, although I forget many things, and now I fill my head with useless facts. What colour is this car?’
‘I’ve a right to know why … ’
‘Señor, in this country foreigners often do not have as many rights as they have at home, but we try always to be courteous and not to make unnecessary trouble. Now, if you will tell me the colour?’
‘White.’
‘Thank you.’ Alvarez turned, opened the passenger door of his Seat and brought out a very battered plastic case which he put on the roof. From this he took an ink pad, two carbon forms, and some cleansing tissues: the air was so still that the tissues lay motionless. ‘Perhaps you remember how one takes your prints? I hold your finger and roll it from side to side on the ink pad and then transfer it to the form and roll it again … Please be relaxed, because then we do not smudge anything.’
As Meegan’s prints were taken, he wondered if the detective noticed how much his hands were sweating and whether he would realize that this was not solely because of the heat.
‘That is fine, señor. Not a single smudge. Now if you will use the tissues you will find you can clean off all the mess.’ He handed the tissues across.
Meegan cleaned his fingers. Alvarez repacked the case and put it back on the passenger seat.
‘Thank you again, señor, for all your help.’ He shook hands. He climbed into the car and started the engine, reversed in a wide arc to the edge of the turning circle, and then drove up the slip road.
Meegan watched the car out of sight, heard it come to a squeaky halt at the T-junction, pull out, and carry on round and down to the road out of the urbanizacion. For the most part, the detective had seemed courteous but totally uninspired, yet more than once his manner had hinted at a different character underneath. Were the hints misleading? Was he sharp and intelligent or merely sharp and prepared when necessary to prove he’d the power to push people around? Had he accepted all the answers he’d been given, or had he mentally filed some of them away for further examination?
He returned into the house, to find that Helen hadn’t moved. Her expression was strained, frightened. ‘Thank God that’s got rid of him … Jim, you must tell me.’
‘I reckon I’ve answered enough questions.’
‘How did you get that bruise on your face?’
‘Exactly as I said. I walked into a branch in the dark.’
She seemed to shiver.
‘Forget it, darling. He had to try to make some sort of a showing. I’ll bet you anything y
ou like that most of the time he’d no more idea of why he was asking the questions than we had … Come on, buck up. Remember we were getting ready to celebrate with smoked salmon, champagne, and steaks?’
Her expression didn’t alter.
CHAPTER XIV
Alvarez entered the square and looked towards the church to check the time. He saw the ice-cream stall. No more ice-creams — the shepherd was right and he was putting on far too much weight. Weight was bad for the blood pressure. But was ice-cream, in fact, fattening?
He bought only a small cornet and congratulated himself on resisting temptation. He ate it, then crossed the square which was attractively speckled by winking shadows as the light from the overhead lamps played through the slowly moving leaves of the plane trees.
The first person he met in the bar of the Club Llueso was Antonio Vives. ‘There you are!’ shouted Vives. ‘God, it’s hot! If they opened the furnace doors of hell it couldn’t get any hotter.’
‘If that’s how you comfort yourself, forget it. When you get down there you’ll remember this as the Ice Age.’ He slumped down in the chair opposite Vives.
‘Two cognacs,’ Vives shouted at the barman. ‘Large ones.’
‘Not for me,’ said Alvarez. ‘I’ll stick with coffee.’
‘At this time of night? What are you trying to do to yourself?’
‘Slim.’
‘Why?’
‘Fat’s bad for the health.’
‘So’s everything that’s worthwhile. What’s eating you? You sound like you need a woman.’
‘Ever known him when he didn’t?’ demanded Rosallio, joining in the conversation. ‘His big trouble is, the women don’t need him.’ He sat down at the table.
Two-Faced Death (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 1) Page 14
