The Ambiguity of Murder (11 page)

Both men were silent. One of the ducks on the pond quacked and was answered by others; cicadas began to shrill; the ghost of a breeze stirred the bell-like flowers of a datura; a flock of pigeons swept overhead in a wide arc.

Rosa returned, concentrating very hard on the tray in her hands. She put this down on the table, lifted off the bottle of Soberano, the ice container, and the two tumblers. ‘There you are!' She beamed with pleasure at her success.

Pons hugged her, his expression one of deep love. When he released her, she skipped back into the house. He poured brandy into one glass, pushed the bottle across.

Alvarez helped himself to brandy and ice, said casually: ‘The building trade's not doing too well according to what you've been saying.'

‘I ain't said nothing.'

‘You revised the estimate downwards. No one willingly cuts his own throat.'

‘The Germans have all but stopped buying,' Pons muttered.

‘And the English?'

‘They guard the pesetas. And not many of 'em think of settling in this part of the island.'

‘What's up with the Germans?'

‘How the hell would I know? Last year they wanted palaces, this year not so much as a barn.'

‘So money's really tight?'

‘Ain't it always?'

‘But there must be some work, even if maybe not so much as there was?'

‘Are you a builder? Stick to what you bloody know.'

‘Won't the banks help?'

‘Ever known 'em to help someone what really needs helping? They only lend to them what's got money and wants more.' Pons finished his drink, poured himself another.

‘Things can't be all black.'

‘You think working for nothing is good?'

‘Seeing you're the best builder around, you've had plenty of work in the past. And the bills for the foreigners will have been generous. So where's all that gone? Maybe you and Pablo have the same story to tell.'

‘What Pablo?'

‘Comes from my village. Pablo Ramis. Started a carpenter's shop with money borrowed from his aunt, married and had to borrow more to pay his half of the wedding feast because his mother couldn't. Then the foreigners arrived and wanted houses and flats and soon he was employing a dozen men and turning away work. Typically, that's when the trouble started; the time when things finally go right is when they start to go wrong.'

‘You're a miserable sod!'

‘He was measuring for window frames in a house being built when the Englishman's wife came to the island on her own to see how things were progressing, and according to him – although he's a bit of a liar – she was so eager she had him rolling on the floor before he could close his measurer. From then on, he was like a man who's been hit on the head by a flying cow. They do say he spent twenty million on her, buying jewellery…'

Pons thumped the table with his thick fist. ‘Are you suggesting I've been spending money on women?'

‘I thought…'

‘If you could think, you wouldn't be in the Cuerpo. I ain't looked at another woman since I married. And what's more, I never will.'

‘Would that there were more husbands like you.'

‘You don't bloody believe me?'

‘Of course I do,' Alvarez answered, sounding insincere.

‘I'll tell you where my money went and why I needed that job so bad I dropped the price even if the bastard could have paid twice as much. Some time back…'

Alvarez listened and thought how typical of the irony of life that a good deed was not only unrewarded, but it laid the foundations for trouble. For the sake of his parents, Santiago Pons had bailed out his brother, which had left him financially exposed; through valuing three of a kind too highly, exposure had become disaster. Now, although he'd managed to keep afloat, each tomorrow could be the day when he sank …

Cristina came out on to the patio. As Pons watched her approach, his love banished the suggestion of taciturn sullenness that his battered, chunky face often held in repose.

‘There's nothing wrong, is there?' she asked.

‘There's nothing right when the likes of him are around,' Pons replied.

She smiled uneasily. ‘You must be old friends to talk like that.'

‘I choose my friends.'

She hesitated, then sat. She faced Alvarez. ‘Why are you here?'

‘Carrying out inquiries following the death of Señor Zavala.'

She said to her husband: ‘You did work for him earlier in the year.'

‘Because I was a bloody fool.'

Lucía rushed on to the patio, tears tumbling down her cheeks.

‘Now what's the matter?' Cristina asked.

‘Rosa hit me.'

She cuddled Lucía. ‘Why did she hit you?'

‘She just did. She's beastly.'

‘Let's go inside and sort out the trouble.' She stood, seemed about to speak to Alvarez, but did not, led Lucía inside.

If she were his wife, Alvarez thought, he would be as faithful as Pons claimed to be. She did not resemble Juana-María physically, but he was certain that they had much in common from a character point of view … He said to Pons: ‘I've a couple more questions.'

‘You've more questions than a priest has answers.'

‘What cars do you own?'

‘What's it to you?' Pons demanded, his previous antagonism returned.

‘You've a reason for not answering?'

‘I don't like government bastards interfering in my life … A Renault and a Citroën van.'

*   *   *

In his office, Alvarez sweated, despite the fan running at full speed. Mallorca was often called the Island of Calm because of its climate. It was a description which also matched the character of the islanders for most of the time. But there were occasions when one of them suffered a sudden rage so violent that he lost all self-control. If Pons had returned to Son Fuyell to appeal once more to be paid the money owed, if Zavala had contemptuously refused, if Pons had seen disaster close even more tightly about himself and the family he loved put to still greater risk, his rage might easily have overwhelmed him. And who could blame him? The law lacked the heart to understand that occasionally legislated wrong was morally right, just as legislated right could be morally wrong. Alvarez sighed.

He looked at the telephone. Salas would be expecting a report. But the superior chief always demanded that every report be comprehensive and until Karen Robertson and Dolly Selby had been questioned, this could not be. Obviously, it was too soon to phone him.

He settled back in the chair and pondered on the vagaries of life so deeply that he awoke only moments before it was time to leave the post and return home.

CHAPTER 13

As Alvarez turned off the road into the drive of Ca'n Jerome, he came bonnet to bonnet with a BMW and had to brake sharply. The woman in the passenger seat gestured angrily at him to back out. He took his time to get out of his Ibiza and walk round to the passenger side of the BMW. Remembering the photograph, he identified the woman inside as Karen Robertson. Not quite as young as he'd thought, but certainly less than half her husband's age; probably blonde by design and not happy chance, though if so, her hairdresser was an expert; beautiful by the standards of the catwalk, which demanded an air of sullen disinterest, no doubt a shapely body, but the sun reflected so fiercely on the half-lowered window that it was impossible to see below the tops of her shoulders …

‘You'll know me the next time you see me!' She turned to the driver. ‘Tell the old fool to get his car out of the way.'

Her companion spoke in good, if stilted, Spanish. ‘Would you be kind enough to move so that we can leave here?'

The driver, judging by his features, quietly pitched voice, and somewhat bizarrely coloured, yet obviously expensive, shirt, could well be the man who had driven her to Son Fuyell …

‘Is he deaf or just plain bloody stupid?' she said.

‘Señora, I am not deaf but as to my level of intelligence, I think it is not for me to comment.'

Lockhart said, sotto voce: ‘When you're rude, why is it that your listener always speaks your language perfectly?'

‘You are Señora Robertson?'

She looked uneasily at Lockhart.

‘Sweetie, he's only asking your name, not your age,' Lockhart said.

‘But who is he?'

‘An interesting point.' He spoke to Alvarez. ‘Without becoming too personal, who are you?'

‘Inspector Alvarez, Cuerpo General de Policia.'

‘A policeman!' Her voice rose. ‘What's he want?'

‘No doubt he'll soon explain.' Lockhart paused, then added: ‘Though on this island, it's safer never to assume anything.'

‘Señora,' Alvarez said, ‘I am making inquiries following the death of Señor Zavala and should like to ask you some questions.'

‘I won't talk about it.'

Lockhart said to Alvarez: ‘She has a very sensitive nature and easily becomes disturbed by tragedy.'

‘Nevertheless, I regret that it will be necessary for me to speak to her. So if you will back your car, I will drive in and then we can go into the house.'

‘I said I won't.' Karen Robertson's voice was shrill. ‘It's all too upsetting.'

‘I will make every effort not to disturb you any more than is absolutely necessary.'

‘I like your style,' Lockhart murmured.

‘I don't know anything,' she said wildly.

‘Sweetie, I think you have to face the fact that policemen are trained not to recognize negatives.' He looked past her at Alvarez. ‘Her overriding concern is for her husband.'

‘Of course. But is that relevant?'

‘He is a possessive man – who would blame him when he has such riches as she to guard? – and this means that he can respond very deeply on an emotional level. It is disturbing to be questioned by a policeman – even if one has never done anything more reprehensible than suck someone else's Smartie – and if Karen becomes upset, he will become very disturbed. The doctor has repeatedly warned him that because of severe ill-health, he must avoid the slightest emotional storm.'

And if he learned his wife had been enjoying an affair with Zavala, he would suffer an emotional hurricane – or give the appearance of doing so? ‘Naturally one does not wish to upset him, but it really is too hot to remain here whilst I talk to the señora.'

‘Then let's seek a solution agreeable to both parties, as Zeus said just before he changed into a swan. Would my flat in Port Llueso provide an agreeably neutral sanctum?'

‘As you wish.'

‘Then if you back on to the road…'

‘It is always potentially dangerous to do that. So perhaps you will back into the drive to let me enter and turn?'

‘Are you a man with a commendable regard for road safety, or one who likes to have the last word?'

‘I will leave you to decide that.'

Lockhart laughed as he engaged reverse gear and backed.

Just under half an hour later, Alvarez entered a flat that seemed to him to have been decorated by an anarchist; there was a chaos of colours which assaulted the senses. Only the view through the large picture window of Llueso Bay, quietly, eternally beautiful, offered a sense of harmony.

He sat on a luxuriously comfortable chair covered in a material which didn't just clash with that of the chair next to it, but fought. ‘Señor, it will be best if I speak to the señora on her own.'

‘I am a very discreet person and good at giving moral support.'

‘You think that that will be necessary?'

‘I was using the word in a general sense and not in a specific one.'

‘For God's sake,' Karen said shrilly, ‘can't you ever stop trying to be smart?'

‘It's become clear that my services are not only not wanted, they are also not appreciated.' Lockhart stood. ‘I shall be in my den and a call will have me running.'

After he'd left, Karen began to fidget with the belt of her dress which, amongst the surrounding clash of colours, looked less smart than it had. She glanced at Alvarez, saw he was regarding her and hurriedly turned away. ‘What do you want to know?' she muttered.

‘I understand you knew Señor Zavala?'

‘Who says I did?'

‘Your husband.'

‘All he meant was, we'd met him at parties.'

‘The friendship was entirely casual?'

‘Of course it was.'

‘You are quite certain of that?'

‘Do I have to tell you ten times before you understand?'

‘You did not visit him at his house and when not with your husband?'

‘That's a ridiculous question.'

‘Why?'

‘You can't understand why?'

‘I fear I am not conversant with the customs of foreigners.'

‘You've got to be bloody ignorant of everything not to realize that if I had seen him at his place, people would have talked.'

‘Because you are a married woman?'

‘Why else?'

‘They would not suppose the relationship to be purely Platonic?'

‘The lot who live here? Their favourite occupation after drinking is tearing people's reputations to shreds.'

‘Then it is surprising you took such a risk.'

‘What are you getting at? Haven't I just said I never visited him on my own?'

‘The two maids at Son Fuyell have identified you as a lady who visited Señor Zavala when on her own.'

‘They're lying. Their kind always do. It's a way of getting their own back.'

‘Why should they want to do that?'

‘Because they're so jealous.'

‘You don't think that when they see the way in which some foreigners behave, jealousy is their last emotion?'

‘I'm not going to be insulted like this.' She got to her feet and hurried over to the door, pulled it open. ‘Theo!' she shouted.