A Maze of Murders (19 page)

‘If you're trying to…'

‘I am trying to prepare lunch since it is my duty to do so, not because I wish to. Every woman understands the meaning of duty, unlike any man.'

‘Last evening I had to…'

‘It is a matter of indifference to me. Life has taught me that a man will sit at any table which serves the food he craves.'

‘I've told you before, it's work.'

‘Even though a foreigner, she professes reluctance?'

‘Goddamnit…'

‘Please do not swear in the house.'

The day had temporarily clouded over.

*   *   *

The phone rang at eleven-fifteen on the following Monday. ‘The superior chief', said the secretary in her plum-filled voice, ‘will speak to you.'

So the strained back was better …

‘Where the devil's your report?' Salas demanded.

‘Which report, señor?' Alvarez answered.

‘The final one in the Lewis case. A case which, due to mishandling, has cost the department so many pesetas that I am having to explain matters in detail to Madrid who seem unable to appreciate that one man's incompetence could solely be responsible.'

‘I haven't been able to send it to you yet.'

‘Why the devil not?'

‘Because it's only in the last day or so that I've been able to complete my inquiries.'

‘Good God, man, weeks ago you admitted you've been chasing shadows.'

‘I don't think it's quite that long since I last spoke to you, señor. What has happened is, I decided it was necessary to check the facts by questioning someone who could independently confirm them.'

‘It takes you all this time to question one person?'

‘It had to be done very subtly.'

‘This is hardly the occasion for attempted humour.'

There was a pause. Salas spoke again. ‘Well? What have you learned from your “subtle” questioning?'

‘That the facts as I had ascertained them are correct.'

‘In other words, the entire investigation has been a waste of time and money.'

‘I wouldn't say that.'

‘Naturally not. However, do not try to gloss over that fact in your report, which will be on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. Is that perfectly clear?'

‘Yes, señor.'

The line went dead.

Alvarez looked at his watch. There was not the time left before lunch to draw up a full report and after his siesta he had arranged to meet Phoebe. The solution, then, was to send a précis, certain that subsequently he would angrily be called upon to enlarge and amend …

*   *   *

He leaned back in the chair and raised his legs to rest his heels on some of the unopened mail on his desk. For every man, the world was a constantly changing entity, but for none more so than for him. A month before, life had had nothing special to offer him; now, its horizons were golden …

The phone rang.

‘Is that you, Enrique?'

He didn't recognize the voice. ‘Speaking.'

‘Emiliano here. How's life with you?'

‘Couldn't be better.' Emiliano who? ‘Where are you speaking from – Palma?'

‘That's a sour joke! You think we get holidays? I'm in Bitges.'

His mind slipped into gear. Emiliano Calvo, who'd helped him trace Lewis's movements.

‘I'm ringing more in hope than belief. We've a case that right now isn't offering us a single lead and I suddenly remembered your visit and wondered whether by some lucky chance your inquiries then could offer us anything now … A few days ago, a couple of Germans on holiday were scuba diving roughly a kilometre out from shore when they found a body, weighted down to the bottom by a block of concrete. Because of the state of the body it's impossible to make a direct identification and all the experts can tell us is that it's female, aged somewhere between thirty-five and fifty-five, and death probably occurred between two and six months ago. We've checked all local and national records of missing persons and no woman of the right age and size is listed, which means the odds are she was a foreigner, but there's been no request from abroad for help in tracing such a female. Is there any chance that she could have some connection with the man you were tracking?'

There was a good chance, but because the possibility ringed his heart with ice, he was not yet prepared to admit this. ‘Right now, I can't think that there is,' he answered, his voice hoarse.

‘It always was one hell of a long shot!' Calvo changed the conversation and discussed Salas at length and in slanderous terms.

When the call was over, Alvarez slumped back in the chair. A man's world could be irretrievably turned upside down by a single telephone call. He struggled to convince himself that he was adding two and two and making five, but the more he tried, the more convinced he became that the total was four.

CHAPTER 23

‘Nothing good ever came from bad,' Dolores said mournfully.

‘That's guaranteed to cheer me right up!' Alvarez muttered. ‘So what are you expecting – that the plane will crash?'

‘How can you be so cruelly stupid?'

‘When you say things like that…'

‘What do you expect me to say when for days you have spent every hour with a woman half your age and now you're taking her to Paris?'

‘I've told you a dozen times, she's not half my age, I'm not taking her anywhere, I'm going on my own to Paris to work, and if I had my way, I wouldn't be going.'

She sniffed loudly.

‘You don't believe me?'

‘I cannot perform miracles.'

He left the house, climbed into his car, fixed the seat belt, and drove off. He reached the edge of the village and continued along the lane which bordered the dry torrente to reach the Palma road. The lights controlling the crossing to the sports centre were set at red and he braked to a halt. Yet again, he mentally checked what he'd done. He'd phoned Calvo in Bitges and asked for a chart of the dead woman's teeth to be sent to England for confirmation of identity; using Salas's name, he'd contacted the Police Judiciaire in Paris and requested their full co-operation, citing urgency as the reason for not going through the usual bureaucratic channels; he'd booked a room in a hotel in Paris, and, because he was desperately trying to fool himself into not accepting what he now was convinced was the truth, he'd told Phoebe he'd not be able to see her that evening, as arranged, because he'd had to travel to Paris in connection with a case which had suddenly cropped up …

The lights changed and he drove forward. Dully, he wondered why he was pursuing the truth when only he was in a position to uncover it; were it to remain unknown, he could avoid so much pain. But even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. The truth was always so much more important than the individual.

*   *   *

In early September, with the holidays over, Paris had regained its rhythm. Love, the excitement of love, the expectation of love, the illusion of love, the delusion of love, had returned to the streets, the cafés, the restaurants, the cinemas and the theatres; citizens seized every opportunity to express themselves, preferably by a show of curt rudeness towards foreigners.

‘I don't understand,' said Commissaire Pensec of the Police Judiciaire.

‘I am sorry, monsieur; I fear my French is not very good,' Alvarez said, knowing he was fluent, but his accent not Parisian.

Pensec, with a wave of the right hand, indicated that he was a tolerant man.

‘On the twenty-sixth of last month, Madame Fenella Dewar was supposedly staying at a hotel in this city. I need to make certain that she indeed did so.'

‘The name of the hotel?'

‘I regret I do not know it.'

‘You really expect us to check the past occupancy lists of every hotel in Paris?'

‘I realize it is a very considerable task, but hopefully it will not prove impossible. I imagine you have long since computerized your records – even we have recently done so.'

This implied acceptance of France's innate superiority in all things was sufficient to secure Pensec's co-operation. ‘We like to help our colleagues from other countries whenever it is possible to do so.'

*   *   *

The telephone call was made at nine-thirty the next morning. ‘Inspector Alvarez, from Mallorca?'

‘That's me, mademoiselle.' His caller sounded sufficiently school-marmish to remind him of the vinegar-faced woman who had tried to teach him elementary algebra, a subject for which he had ever since felt great dislike.

‘I have been instructed to inform you that Madame Dewar stayed for three days at the Hôtel Les Colonnes, Rue Fouleries. This is in the eighth arrondissement. When do you wish to make your inquiries?'

‘Right away, if that's in order?'

‘Officer Curien will meet you there.'

He left his hotel, hailed a taxi, and was driven to a road that was wide and tree-lined and which possessed an ambience of bourgeois dignity. In keeping with the setting, the hotel was marked only by a small awning, a brass plaque, and a doorman in uniform. The doorman, able to judge a potential tip to the last centime, did not bother to open one of the two glass swing doors for him. The foyer was designer smart, with inlaid reception desk, thick pile carpets, leather covered armchairs, period-style tables, velvet draperies, and paintings neutral both in subject and execution.

He crossed to the reception desk, which was staffed by two men in black jackets. One of them directed him to where a younger man was seated. As he approached, Curien came to his feet. ‘Monsieur Alvarez? I'm Pierre.' He had sharp, aggressive features, but his manner was friendly.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you,' Alvarez said formally.

‘Ditto … Before we move, suppose you set the picture for me.' He sat, waited until Alvarez was seated, said: ‘All I got from the boss was that you want to question the staff about an English woman who stayed here last month. What's the angle to the questioning?'

‘I want to make certain that she was who she claimed to be: Madame Fenella Dewar.'

‘No offence meant – after all, your French is a thousand times better than my Spanish – but don't you mean, you want to prove she was not Madame Dewar?'

‘No. It is as I said.'

‘You have me confused.'

‘My superior chief would not be surprised.'

Curien grinned. ‘Sounds like all the superiors I've ever suffered … OK, so the object is to prove she's who she said she was. I imagine you want to talk to any of the staff who might have had contact with Madame Dewar?'

‘That's right.'

‘Which means receptionists, porters, chambermaids, restaurant hands – the restaurant here has a fine reputation. If she's a sensible woman, she'll have dined here more than once. We're talking about the end of last month. Memories ought to stretch that far back, but this is a popular hotel and must have a brisk turnover of guests, so you may need a bit of luck to get anything definite.'

They spoke to the deputy manager, who offered them the use of a small room at the rear of the hotel, obviously an overflow store-room, which overlooked the large number of dustbins awaiting collection in the small courtyard below.

The oldest of the receptionists had received Madame Dewar. Naturally, he had not only asked for her passport and noted the details, he had also discreetly checked that she was the person in the photograph.

The doorman could not recall her.

One of the porters said she'd tipped him generously, but that was all he could remember about her.

The chambermaid who looked after room 41 was no longer young, but to judge by her make-up and manner, that fact had escaped her. ‘She was on her own. Next after the Germans who were always complaining.'

‘Can you describe her?'

‘Why d'you want to know?'

‘Just answer the question,' Curien snapped.

She looked at him with sharp dislike.

‘Did she dress smartly?' Alvarez prompted.

‘She was English.' Her tone evoked ill-fitting twinsets. Pressed to answer more fully, she said that Madame Dewar had worn good quality clothes, but had lacked any sense of chic.

‘What was the colour of her hair?'

‘Blonde,' she answered immediately. ‘And with a face that shape, she needed a totally different style.' She explained why. It seemed she was an expert on hairstyles.

‘What else can you remember about her?'

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘The managers are slave drivers so it's always work, work, and no time to worry about the guests unless they're ill-mannered and complain … If you want to know more, try asking Héloïse – she's always ready to stand around and chat.'

‘Why should she have met Madame Dewar?'

‘I was taken ill around that time; can't say for certain, but maybe she did room 41 while the Englishwoman was still there … The doctor said I was to stay home for five days, but management tried to argue I should be back after three. They'd have us working after we're dead, if they could.'

‘Then it's fortunate for the guests that they can't,' said Curien. ‘Find Mademoiselle Héloïse and ask her to come here.'

After she'd left the room, Curien said sympathetically: ‘Not much luck so far.'

‘I'm learning enough,' Alvarez answered.

‘You surprise me!… And forgive me saying so, but if you are, it doesn't seem to bring you much cheer.'

‘I was hoping I'd learn nothing.'

‘You now confuse me even more! However, one thing I understand, you must become cheerful. When are you returning to Spain?'

‘On the first available flight.'

‘With your agreement, I will discover that that is not until tomorrow morning. Then tonight we will go to Le Nouveau Petit Chou. I hear that the show makes old men young and young men frantic. If I have a word with…' There was a knock on the door. ‘Enter,' he called out.