Two-Faced Death (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 1)

by Roderic Jeffries

‘Now you’re really asking … Hang on and I’ll try and find out.’ The clerk went back to the filing cabinet and pulled open the bottom drawer. After a while, he stood upright and returned. ‘It was fawn, six months old, registration number, PM one-eight-two-five H.’

  ‘I believe the car was held for longer than was originally booked. Did Breeden pay you in full?’

  The clerk looked curiously at Alvarez. ‘You seem to know quite a bit about this hire?’

  ‘A bit but, as yet, not enough.’

  ‘The hire charge was paid in full. Twelve thousand five hundred pesetas.’

  ‘God’s teeth! No wonder it’s a popular business. Who dealt with him when he brought the car back and paid the bill?’

  ‘The entries are in my writing, so I must have done.’

  ‘But you can’t actually remember?’

  ‘No, I can’t. We’ve been very busy … ’

  ‘The curse of mankind! … Let’s see if I can start jogging your memory. This bloke was English and he dressed as if it were midwinter in the Arctic when the rest of us couldn’t chuck off enough: suit, tie, woollen combs, for all I know. Like as not he was sweating buckets, but was still too damned stupid to take his coat and tie off.’

  The clerk leaned against the counter and thought. He brushed the palm of his right hand over his smooth black hair. ‘There was a bloke like you’ve just said — made me twice as hot just to look at him. I can remember thinking that if anyone had ever made life difficult for himself … His shirt was so tight he couldn’t leave the collar alone.’

  ‘You’re performing miracles. Now describe him.’

  ‘What did he look like? No, it’s no good, Inspector. I can remember the clothes, because they were so bloody stupid, but the face was just another face.’

  ‘You can’t say whether it was round, oval, square, long?’

  ‘It’s only those stupid clothes I can remember.’

  ‘Will he have signed anything?’

  ‘Not when he returned the car, provided it was undamaged. All the signing is done when a bloke picks up a car.’

  ‘Did he talk to you much?’

  ‘Hardly spoke, as near as I can remember. Half of our customers talk too much, the other half don’t talk enough. Know what our boss says about the silent ones? Chat away gaily, bring verbal cheer to the customer’s life … How can you cheer up a bloke who just grunts because he’s got a nagging wife and ulcers?’

  ‘Offer him a pinch of arsenic and a glass of milk. Can you dredge up any overall impression of this bloke, even if you can’t get specific?’

  The clerk again smoothed his black hair. ‘I’d say he was pretty nervous. Now don’t start asking me why I say that because I don’t know. I just remember I thought that at the time.’

  ‘Ten to one, you’re dead right.’

  ‘And he was clumsy. You know, one of those blokes who’s all elbows and knees. He knocked over that load of price lists, there, near your elbow, and when he went to put the box back, damned if he didn’t drop it on the floor.’ ‘Sounds as clumsy as you can get. Was the box here, on the left?’

  ‘That’s it. It’s always there — boss’s orders. “If everything has its place, its place is known to everyone.” Makes one want to puke!’

  ‘How did he come to knock it over in the first place?’

  ‘He was trying to give me the keys of the car.’

  ‘With which hand?’

  The clerk rocked back on his heels. ‘You’re right, you know! He was left-handed! That’s how when he reached across he knocked the box over … Is that important?’

  ‘Fairly important.’

  ‘What’s it all about?’

  ‘A bit of a mix-up,’ replied Alvarez vaguely. ‘Well, thanks for all the help.’

  He left and returned the length of the building and went into the cafeteria, built on the open plan so that the only division between it and the rest of the space was a long wrought-iron grille of elaborate design, and ordered a beer. The beer cost him so much he could not enjoy it.

  He returned to Iberia’s office upstairs.

  ‘You’re in luck,’ said the clerk, as if he resented the fact. ‘I’ve traced out Breeden. He flew Lufthansa to Nice — the plane goes on to Frankfurt.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Left here at four-ten.’

  ‘Is it certain he was on the plane?’

  ‘Sure. There was a full complement.’

  ‘There was quite definitely a specific check on numbers?’

  ‘That’s what the airline says.’

  Alvarez thanked him and left.

  *

  Alvarez had lunch at Llueso, eating the fixed meal at Ca’n Molin which cost him a hundred and fifty pesetas and was remarkably good. Afterwards, he had a brandy and a coffee at the Club Llueso. From there, he returned to his office. He sat behind his desk, belched, reached across for the telephone and dialled HQ in Palma. He asked to speak to communications.

  ‘Get on to England, will you, and ask them for details concerning the present whereabouts of Thomas Breeden, an employee of the Bank of England, who was on this island until the twenty-first of July when he flew to Nice with Lufthansa at sixteen-ten hours.’

  ‘Are you giving any reason for the request?’

  ‘Not at this stage.’

  ‘OK. Let’s have the usual requisition form right away, will you?’

  Alvarez rang off. He made a note that sooner or later he must send HQ a requisition form for the Telex message, then leaned back and thought that it was a long time since he’d had so busy a morning. He felt tired. He closed his eyes.

  *

  Palma rang just before eight o’clock that evening. ‘We’ve heard from England, Inspector. And it seems you’ve really stirred something up. I’ll read their Telexed message over to you. “Thomas Breeden checked in Hotel du Mail, Rue de Thermes, Nice, eighteen hundred hours, twenty-first July. Around twenty hundred hours, left hotel after asking whereabouts Rue Taillot and saying important appointment. Not seen again. Suitcase and briefcase, filled confidential documents, passport, travellers’ cheques, left hotel room. Extensive enquiries. French police failed to trace his movements in Rue Taillot. Please advise if can assist enquiries.” So that’s that! Your bloke’s taken off into the blue. You know what the French always say, don’t you? Cherchez la femme. Ten to one it’s a woman. Though come to think about it, if it was a woman, he’d surely not have left his money behind or he’d not even make first base with her.’

  ‘It wasn’t a woman.’

  ‘What else gets a man real excited?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘Yeah? Then why leave what money he’s got in the hotel? … Real Madrid’s on the telly tomorrow, so you’d have to pay me a real bundle to go missing right now. D’you want to get back on to London?’

  ‘Will you ask them for a full set of his fingerprints, if they can find them.’

  ‘What’s in the wind? D’you reckon to know where he’s hiding out?’

  ‘I’d say he’s in the morgue.’

  ‘In Nice? Surely even the French police would be bright enough … ’

  ‘Not there. Here, in Llueso.’

  ‘He must have travelled far and fast, then?’

  ‘Only after he was dead.’

  CHAPTER XVIII

  Superior Chief Salas was tall by Spanish standards and he was noticeably thin. He had a finely drawn, coldly handsome face. His eyes were a light grey, rather than blue, and his thin lips always became uneasy whenever he tried to smile.

  He rested his elbows on his executive-size desk, joined the tips of his well manicured fingers together, and stared at Alvarez through the triangle formed by fingers and thumbs. There was a puzzled look on his face.

  ‘The fingerprints came through from England late yesterday evening, señor,’ said Alvarez. ‘I’ve compared them with the prints of the dead man and they identify him as Breeden. So it was Calvin, impersonating Breeden, who flew to Nice. He booked in
at the hotel, left Breeden’s possessions in the hotel room, and vanished. That way, he made certain Breeden’s disappearance appeared to take place in France and so in consequence all attempts to trace him would be concentrated there. Then no one would wonder about any deception back here in Mallorca.’

  Salas gracefully lowered his hands. ‘Inspector.’ He paused. He began to study the air immediately above Alvarez’s head. ‘Inspector,’ he said, for the second time, ‘it has been my misfortune over the years to suffer in various cases, and on the part of my subordinates, slackness, carelessness, even total incompetence: but to the best of my knowledge this is the first time I have ever had to suffer slackness, carelessness and total incompetence inextricably mixed together in just one case.’

  There was a silence. After a while Alvarez thought he ought to say something. ‘The circumstances … ’

  ‘The circumstances defy reasonable explanation. Even the body was not discovered for weeks.’

  ‘Señor, I had the house, the land around the house, and the fields around the land, searched. At the time, in view of the circumstances, it did not seem reasonable to order a still more extensive search.’

  ‘The fact that the body was in none of those places should have been considered significant.’

  ‘I’m afraid it merely reinforced my initial suspicion that it was a faked suicide and Calvin had slipped off because he found himself in a financial trap. I still don’t think anyone could have been expected, lacking evidence, to call for the search to be extended right up to the rock shelf.’

  ‘I have always expected — apparently mistakenly — a certain degree of imaginative intelligence on the part of my investigating officers.’

  ‘But, señor … ’

  ‘The kind of imaginative intelligence which would have immediately grasped the fact that the body had been placed where it had in order to increase the chance that time would work such havoc on the dead man’s features that he would be unrecognizable.’

  ‘But with a suicide note and half the head blown off … ’

  ‘Did you not even once question yourself why the body was on the rock shelf?’

  ‘Yes, señor. But initially I decided Calvin had chosen the place in order to fill his soul with peace and beauty for the last few moments of his life.’

  ‘His soul!’ murmured Superior Chief Salas with exquisite incredulity. ‘And were you far too busy contemplating his soul to wonder what the true meaning obviously was of a gun which had been wiped clean of prints?’

  ‘Later, as I’ve explained … ’

  ‘Much later, I fear. Very, very much later.’ Superior Chief Salas raised his hands again and joined his fingertips together. ‘Have you, by any chance, gone on to consider the problem of where Calvin is now?’

  ‘His description has been transmitted to all countries, via Interpol, asking for information. But the only photo of him I’ve been able to turn up is the one on his residencia and it’s very poor. If he’s careful, especially since he’s almost certainly tucked away a fortune somewhere, I can’t see much hope of uncovering him — ten to one, he’s even had another identity lined up in somewhere like Switzerland in case of something like this … ’

  ‘Inspector, I have always asked that my officers be optimistically enthusiastic, since this inevitably colours the spirit with which they conduct their investigations. I must confess, I am surprised to discover that your attitude is wholly one of pessimism. But perhaps this may explain how in this case almost all your time has been spent investigating the murder of a man who, it is finally discovered, was the murderer.’

  There was another silence.

  Superior Chief Salas lowered his hands and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You have not, I believe, very long to serve in the force before reaching retiring age?’

  ‘No, señor.’

  ‘In the circumstances, this may be considered a fortunate coincidence.’ He nodded briefly, to show that the interview was over.

  Alvarez stood up. Although he had tried to look respectfully smart for the meeting, he was more than ever aware that his linen suit was rumpled, his bull neck was straining at his collar, and his tie was stained. In the eyes of the immaculate Superior Chief Salas, he must appear a wreck. He walked towards the door and his throat was so dry that he gloomily doubted if half a dozen brandies would be enough to moisten it.

  *

  Alvarez drove down to the Port on the Wednesday morning. A breeze, stronger than for several days, plus a certain amount of cloud, was keeping the temperature down. There were several yachts in the middle of the bay, while close inshore half a dozen Optimists were in the hands of boys who were being taught the rudiments of sailing. People were water-skiing and from time to time a speedboat started up with a harsh roar, drawing a skier upright and leaving behind a creaming wake. The beaches were packed with people sunbathing, many of whom would later have cause to regret the fact.

  He parked his car and crossed the road towards the stairs leading up to Brenda Calvin’s flat. A Mallorquin couple he knew were sitting outside the downstairs flat and he spoke briefly to them before going up. He crossed the balcony and knocked on the opened door.

  ‘Come in,’ Brenda shouted.

  He stepped inside and as he did so she came into the sitting-room. She was wearing a pair of revealing pants and slip-slops.

  ‘Good God!’ she said, ‘I thought you were Marge. She said she might be calling about now. What a laugh! I suppose I’d better go and put something on and be decent.’

  He watched her return and suffered a fierce longing. To caress those breasts, even more magnificent than he had ever imagined them, to feel those cherry-tipped orbs nestling in the palms of his hands …

  ‘There we are,’ she said as she came back, wearing a shirt outside a pair of jeans. ‘Do I look a bit more respectable now?’ She laughed broadly. ‘If you’d been ten seconds earlier, you’d’ve caught me starkers.’

  If only he had not wasted his time talking to those people downstairs.

  ‘Steve keeps telling me I shouldn’t walk around skinny, but what the hell. I don’t care — do you?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘As I’m always saying, one body’s built exactly like another, so why all the fuss? … Who d’you want to see this time? Me or Steve?’

  ‘I came to have a word with you, señora.’

  ‘Then sit down and make yourself at home. And I’m going to pretend it’s twelve o’clock, so we can start drinking. John always said that moving the clock forward was the first sign of a devoted alcoholic, but all the time I know I’m putting it forward I can’t see there’s any danger. It’s when I don’t know I’ll start worrying. Like Walter. He got really pickled and drove straight into the sea. He said his first thought was that it was raining really hard.’ She went over to the sideboard, poured out two drinks, and took the glasses into the kitchen for ice. When she came back, she handed him one glass and went over to the settee and sat down. ‘Here’s mud in your eye.’

  ‘Señora, I have to tell you about your husband.’

  ‘Going to talk dirty, eh?’

  ‘I have discovered that he is not dead after all.’

  ‘But … You told me … ’ She stared at him. ‘Are you stewed right up to the gills?’

  ‘No, señora.’

  ‘Then for Christ’s sake — you came here … ’

  ‘He was the murderer.’

  ‘Look, I know I’m stupid and can’t really understand anything but my horoscope if it’s good, but I don’t reckon even Einstein could understand you now.’

  He explained, as simply as he could, what had happened.

  She fiddled with her glass. ‘The cunning old bastard! Well, he is, isn’t he? You’ve really got to take your hat off to him … Oh, dear! I suppose that’s being rather beastly to the poor man he killed. Do you think he was a nice man?’

  ‘He was probably a very good man, but possibly not very nice to know. I am sure you would not have
liked him very much, señora.’

  ‘I’m glad. If someone you don’t like gets killed, you can say how sorry you are without trouble. Otherwise you have to mean it and then things get so emotional. He always said I wasn’t very good on the emotions — I was more physical. D’you think he was right?’

  ‘I haven’t really considered the matter, señora.’

  ‘I can get emotional, of course. I think I’m going to get emotional now because I’ve just had a thought. Where is the bastard?’

  ‘We’ve no idea. We are, of course, trying to find out, but …’ Alvarez shrugged his shoulders in a way of which Superior Chief Salas would have strongly disapproved.

  ‘Then what about me?’

  ‘You, señora?’

  ‘When he was dead, I inherited everything on the island which was his. Now you say he’s alive again. So doesn’t that mean he’s disinherited me?’

  ‘In a way, I suppose it does.’

  ‘Then he’s left me in the deep end. The rotten swine. He’s always said he’s a rotten swine, but until now I’ve stuck up for him. I’m not going to do that again, I can tell you! I hope he ends up in trouble.’

  ‘I am afraid your husband will end up in very serious trouble, if ever we find him.’

  ‘Look — I don’t want him in that serious trouble — that’s overdoing it. Spain’s still got that terrible garotte and I couldn’t bear to think of his neck being squeezed and squeezed: he’s got rather delicate skin.’

  ‘I feel it is unlikely we shall ever catch him … Señora, a thought occurs to me. You are still his wife.’

  ‘I suppose I must be. It’s a bit thick, that. I’ve only just got used to being his widow.’

  ‘Then you can live in his house and if after a while he does not appear, you can go to court and ask for an allowance to be made out of whatever funds are his that are in this country.’

  She drank. ‘But that’ll still leave bills to be paid because I’ll bet he hasn’t left any sort of a fortune here. Who’s going to make up the difference?’

  ‘Perhaps your friend, Señor Adamson, will be able to help you? If you cannot provide everything, he must surely provide something? Perhaps he could take a job?’