‘It’s all over and done with and best forgotten.’
‘But she will be able to corroborate your story.’
‘What’s it matter whether, or not, it’s corroborated? Calvin murdered Breeden and skipped off to France and that’s it.’
‘Unfortunately, now I am not so certain.’
Meegan’s face whitened. ‘Not so certain about what?’
‘That Calvin reached France.’
‘It’s you who told me he had.’
Alvarez pushed a pack of cigarettes across the desk. Meegan, his actions suddenly woolly, took a cigarette: Alvarez struck a match for both of them.
‘Señor, there have been one or two points in this case which have caused me worry and although I finally decided I had found answers, now it seems to me that those answers could be wrong … You are right-handed, are you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Calvin was left-handed.’
‘So?’
‘Let me explain. Señor Breeden hired a car from one of the firms which work at the airport. I went along there and questioned the clerk. By then I knew it was not Señor Breeden who had returned the car and I thought I knew that it was Calvin who had. The clerk told me how clumsy the man was and how when he’d been handing back the keys with his left hand, he’d knocked over a box because he’d brought his hand across himself. Does that suggest anything to you, señor?’
‘Merely that he was left-handed,’ replied Meegan, trying to speak facetiously.
‘A left-handed person doesn’t normally appear clumsy. Why should he, since he is behaving naturally? What happens is that his left-handedness is only noticeable — not necessarily because it appears clumsy — when he’s writing, playing a game, or something like that. Furthermore, left-handed people tend to use their right hand for many things so that to some extent they become ambidextrous. So if a left-handed man were impersonating a right-handed man returning a hired car, unless he had to write there is no reason to suppose he would appear clumsy in his actions … Calvin would have done all he could to appear naturally right-handed. And he would know not to pass the keys across his body with his left hand as then he would be offering them to the clerk’s left hand.
‘But suppose the man was not Calvin, but someone naturally right-handed who was impersonating Calvin impersonating Breeden. Then he would try to be certain that if enquiries were ever made it would become obvious that the man who had returned the keys had been left-handed. So this third person acted left-handedly and immediately appeared, and was, clumsy, because what right-handed man ever bothers to exercise his left hand? Again, acting instinctively, he passed the keys across his body as he had always done. Forgetting that he was now acting as left-handed.’
‘You’re making a mountain out of a mole-cast. Calvin was just plain scared. And scared men become clumsy.’
‘Perhaps I would agree if the scene at the airport was my only query. But there are others.’ Alvarez stubbed out his cigarette. ‘Señor , was it not you at the airport, impersonating Calvin impersonating Señor Breeden?’
‘That’s bloody daft. I was …’
‘Please listen. When I saw the body I was puzzled as to why it was right up there on the rocky ledge and why the gun did not eject, since the ejector seemed to be working. Eventually, I reached the answer to the first problem: Calvin had put the body there to let time and nature destroy the features completely. When I had that answer I assumed, because I am a man who prefers the simple to the complicated, that Calvin had been careless with the gun: but later, much later, I recalled to my mind that Calvin was undoubtedly very clever and although clever men make mistakes, they do not make them often in important matters. When I thought that, I also began to think of a third person on the rock shelf. Was it this third man who, knowing nothing about guns, inadvertently broke it, found the cartridge was ejected, replaced the cartridge and closed the gun, not realizing about the ejector and the cocking mechanism?
‘There was the single print of Calvin’s on the gun which had been wiped clear (though not completely) and then imprinted with Señor Breeden’s prints. Calvin would never have wiped the gun clean. He would want both his own prints and Señor Breeden’s on the gun. Then if comparisons should be made — which he believed and hoped to be unlikely — the dead man’s prints would appear on the gun, or prints found in the house would be duplicated on the gun, suggesting in either case that the dead man was Calvin and that recently some friend of his had been using the gun. Only a cross check between the dead man’s prints and prints in the house would show a meaningful discrepancy. But to leave a single print which must immediately draw attention to itself and raise questions …
‘There was the light-coloured Seat which was seen to drive up the track. Although there was never proof it was connected with the murder, I had to assume it was. And recently I asked myself would Calvin, after all that planning, have driven Señor Breeden’s car up the track, knowing there are always watching eyes in the country? Or was it the third person in Señor Breeden’s car or his own car?
‘There was the flesh under the nail of the dead man. The experts in Palma said that whilst he was being strangled, the victim had scratched his murderer’s wrists. I could find no wrists which were scratched … ’
‘Of course you couldn’t. It was Calvin’s wrists which were scratched.’
‘Indeed. But I have again spoken to the clerk at the airport and he does not think that the wrists of the man who returned the car bore scratches.’
‘Doesn’t think?’
‘Señor, he refuses to be certain, he is only very nearly certain … But what I was going to say was that the only injury I discovered on anyone was the bruising to your face.’
‘And I’ve told you where that came from.’
‘So now you tell me the lady’s name and where she lives and I will speak with her and she will be able to convince me I have been wrong again in many of my thoughts.’
‘I … I’m not going to drag her into this.’
‘I admire your attitude, but I think it is not very advisable. Señor, have you considered closely? I can take you to the airport to meet the clerk and I can ask him, “Do you recognize this man?” Or I can take you to the Hotel Valencia in the Puerto and ask the staff. Or I can take you to meet the crew of the Lufthansa plane which left Palma at ten minutes past four in the afternoon … ’
‘I couldn’t possibly travel to France as Breeden. There’s the passport … ’
‘That interested me. But I discovered it is not so very difficult, especially for an Englishman, in the height of the tourist season, to travel on someone else’s passport. To begin with, I looked at an English passport and I wondered. The written description doesn’t matter, unless it is immediately obvious that the description cannot be the person — the official who examines the passport has perhaps hundreds more to look at and all he wants to know is if the name is on the proscribed list: and even though you, Calvin, and Señor Breeden, could never be mistaken for each other when seen, your descriptions are not too dissimilar. So it is the photograph which should be the trouble. But I learned something. Because the back of the photograph has a shiny surface, after a time it can quite simply be pulled away from the page. Either the English do not bother to use paste which prevents this, or with a shiny back it cannot be prevented. So all the Englishman had to do was to peel off the photo of Señor Breeden and substitute his own — which had to be of similar size. Perhaps the impressed stamp of the Foreign Office seal was not in line, but would a harassed, sweating, irritated immigration or emigration officer, dealing with a foreigner, ever notice the event? Of course not.
‘When the Englishman was in France, he removed his photo and replaced Señor Breeden’s. Everything was now in order. If Señor Breeden’s passport should one day be examined very carefully — and why should it? — it will be noticed that the photo has been removed and then been replaced. But who is to say whether it did not come loose and it was Señor Bre
eden who replaced it?
‘The Englishman replaced the photo in his own passport and returned to Palma. On the plane, he will have been asked to fill in an immigration form or card. Perhaps he didn’t bother, but presented his passport to the immigration official and pretended not to understand his request for the card. Did the tired, harassed, sweating officer worry too much when there was a long queue of people waiting and planes landing all the time to bring more queues? … I will tell you. He did not worry. He shrugged his shoulders and waved the Englishman through. Thus there is no record of his ever having been out of the country, since these days no passport is stamped in Palma unless the traveller asks.’
‘The whole of that’s supposition. I tell you, I haven’t been off the island since … ’
‘Señor, listen very carefully to me. Your señora says she was with you all day and the night of Wednesday — so far, I have not tried to find out if she is quite correct. But far more important, if I take you to meet the clerk at the airport, the staff of the aeroplane, or the staff at the hotel, everything must become official.’
There was a silence.
Meegan ran his tongue along his lips. ‘I don’t understand what you mean by that.’
‘I mean that then I can no longer use my discretion.’
‘But … ’
‘Tell me the truth, now. Sometimes, señor, one has to trust — even in defiance of logic.’
Meegan still hesitated, but then he looked at the heavy, square, lumpy, peasant face and saw only kindness. ‘I … ’ He stopped, swallowed heavily, resumed speaking in a harsh voice. ‘I had to know about Helen and John, one way or the other, once and for all. My bloody imagination was mentally crucifying me. She’d taken the car, so I cycled. That’s why he didn’t hear me arrive. Our car wasn’t there, but another Seat six hundred was. I’d reached the stage where I just immediately thought Helen had left our car somewhere and hired another so that she could move around without being recognized. I barged into the house, found no one downstairs, heard a noise from upstairs, and ran up …
‘John was dressed in a dark suit and a tie. At first, that meant nothing. All I was concerned about was … The bed was empty and made up. I was feeling like someone who meets a miracle but can’t quite bring himself to accept the fact in case it vanishes, when John shouted and came forward suddenly, kicking over a suitcase. The name “Breeden” was on the lid and that’s when I suddenly wondered why John was wearing the suit. He obviously assumed I’d guessed the lot. He said I’d chosen a hell of a time to arrive, but would a million pesetas square things. I gawped at him and he became excited and told me there was no need to take fright: he’d dropped Breeden’s body up on the ledge and made it look like it was his own body and he’d committed suicide. He was going to fly as Breeden to Nice and then let Breeden disappear. In one week’s time I’d get a cheque on a Swiss bank for the equivalent of a million pesetas. I was about to discover that silence really could be golden.
‘I went on gawping at him. I just couldn’t accept the fact that he’d committed a murder. But when he raised the offer to a million and a half, I had to believe. I felt absolutely sick. I’d known John was unscrupulous, but I’d always thought it was a carefree, Robin Hood kind of attitude. Now, he was casually admitting murder …
‘He saw I was really horrified and realized I wasn’t going to take the offer. Suddenly he picked up a very thick piece of bamboo and came at me like an express train: God knows how I managed to avoid most of the first blow — I just got a crack on the cheek. Then he had another swing, tripped over the suitcase, hit his head on an antique dresser, and began to stagger around the place. He’d dropped the stick and I made a grab for it a split second before he recovered enough to do the same. I hit him as hard as I could and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Christ, it was ghastly! I tried to get him to come round, but after a bit I had to accept he was dead.
‘First off, I naturally decided to call the police. But then I panicked when I tried to work out how I’d look — frantically jealous because of my wife, unable to prove I’d acted in self-defence, perhaps even unable to prove I hadn’t had a hand in killing Breeden … ’
Alvarez spoke. ‘Indeed, señor, you have correctly mentioned some of the problems. Always, if the truth is unusual, people try to disbelieve it because they wish for the normal. That is one of the reasons why justice may be overwhelmed by the law: another is that laws must live by laws and so they have limits beyond which all is black, although for one particular man it may be white.’ His tone became uncertain. ‘Perhaps I make myself sound very pompous? I do not wish to be pompous, but just to express what I feel … Señor, the law can take a very long time and then life becomes most unfortunate for someone who is in a hurry because his wife is tortured by fear. I do not answer your question because it is one I have not asked myself. Why not? Because I am becoming an old man. Unlike the youngsters of today, I can remember when a woman’s honour was more honoured than life and a man would kill anyone who cast so much as a shadow on such honour … Calvin deserved to die at the hands of many men. You, señor, were the first man of honour, as we know honour on this island. So do not bother with details, except, as a matter of interest to me, to tell me what happened afterwards.’
Meegan stared at Alvarez for several seconds, his face expressing fear, tortured doubt, and the first stirrings of hope. In a croaky voice, he said: ‘Because my job’s writing books, I’ve a hell of an imagination. It worked at full pressure right then and I saw that if I carried out John’s plan, everything could be OK for me. But first I had to go up to Breeden — if by chance he was still alive and could be helped, I wasn’t doing anything but calling help. I used his Seat to drive up the mountain path which Helen had told me about — ironically because John had taken her for a walk part way up it.
‘When I saw Breeden I knew that logically he couldn’t begin to be alive, but emotionally I still had to make certain. I moved the gun — it opened and ejected — and felt Breeden’s heart, then his pulse. When I was finally satisfied, I replaced the cartridge in the gun, wiped it clear of prints, tried to stick Breeden’s prints on it, then stuffed it back into his arms.
‘I stuck Calvin’s body into a blanket and managed to wedge it into the car, drove back home — praying Helen was still out — and grabbed my passport.
‘I went way up into the mountains, beyond Laraix, and found an overgrown dirt track that obviously wasn’t being used and carried on along it for half a kilometre. Then I pushed the body out into the bush. I reckon there’s not a house within five kilometres.
‘I switched photos in the passports, drove to the airport and handed in the car, caught the plane to Nice. After checking in at the hotel and leaving Breeden’s passport — with his photo back in it — I tried to fly straight back, but in the end had to go to Cannes where I caught a very late plane on charter which had a spare seat. The airline girl sold it to me for so little I suppose it was illegal and she was making herself some pocket-money.
‘When I got home, Helen was in a hell of a state. I made up a story, which she didn’t believe. Since then I’ve been sweating it out and nearly going crazy in the process … What’s going to happen to me now?’
‘Señor, I knew a young woman once who looked at me as your wife has looked at you and the look in a woman’s eyes can be more precious than diamonds. But the past is gone. The future is all that matters.’ Alvarez stood up and held out his hand. ‘Be very kind to her, señor.’
Meegan, as if in a dream, shook hands. He went to speak, saw the look on Alvarez’s face and turned and left.
As the door shut, Alvarez sat down. He felt sad enough to weep. Instead of that, he brought out the bottle of brandy and poured himself a glassful.
*
As Meegan braked to a halt in the turning-circle, Helen came out of the house and ran to the car. She pulled open the driving door. ‘What was it? What did he want?’
He climbed out and put his arm round her
. ‘I told you there was no need to panic. All he wanted was to see if I could help him tie up a few loose ends. And also to tell me that the light in a woman’s eyes can be more precious than diamonds.’
‘What … what an extraordinary thing to say.’
‘He’s a simply extraordinary man.’ He kissed her. Then together they walked towards the house.
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Two-Faced Death (An Inspector Alvarez Mystery Book 1) Page 21
