The Ambiguity of Murder (24 page)

Alvarez ceased to listen as a frightening possibility occurred to him. Dolores's mood had changed dramatically between early evening and the middle of the night; she had left Jaime to get his own supper when normally she would never consider such a dereliction of her duties; she never stayed out late in the evenings because she needed to be at home to be certain Juan and Isabel were safe; she was not particularly friendly with Antonia; she had decided to cook a special meal before he had arrived, yet how could she have known there was cause to celebrate when he had not told her what had happened? When the two Bolivians had been found, they had hysterically claimed to have been attacked by many women …

If he had a word with Antonia, he might be able to learn what was the truth, but there were some truths that a sensible man made certain he never did know …

‘So what do you think?' Jaime asked.

‘That I need a drink.'

‘It's still early. I mean, she sees us drinking now and maybe it'll push her back into a mood.'

‘I doubt that very much.' Alvarez leaned across to open the door of the sideboard.

CHAPTER 27

Salas rang in the middle of Thursday morning. ‘I have received a report from La Paz, issued under the authority of the Commandant-General of Police. Attempts to find and apprehend Algaro have failed, but it is certain that he returned to the country around the beginning of July. A minor member of the drugs combine has confirmed Algaro was engaged in drug trafficking; he also says there is a strong rumour Algaro has been eliminated because he was seen as a potential danger – there has been no sign of him around his old haunts.

‘The passports of the two men arrested in Cala Beston were issued in the names of Nicolle and Chavez, but their true identities have been established as Rivera and Estrada, known criminals. Rivera has a reputation as a successful hit man. Both are wanted for questioning in Bolivia, so a request for their extradition is being prepared.

‘We can, in the light of these facts, plot the course of events. While at the embassy in London, Zavala was organizing trafficking; his relationship with Algaro was not of the nature you so regrettably saw fit to surmise, but one based on the drug trade…'

‘Algaro was on his way back from the airport with a consignment of drugs brought in by a human mule when he hit the girl and didn't dare stop in case the car was searched; then Zavala had to grant him diplomatic immunity in order to make certain he wasn't questioned by the police…'

‘Kindly don't interrupt. Zavala had made a fortune from his nefarious trade by the time he was forced to resign from the diplomatic service and came to live on this island … It's unfortunate that it clearly never occurred to you that it might be germane to question where his wealth had come from.'

‘So many foreigners are rich…'

‘Algaro, resentful that Zavala had made so much more money than he, came here to try to blackmail Zavala who, no doubt, met the attempt by pointing out that Algaro must expose his own criminal actions if he went ahead. Realizing that he dare not blackmail the other, he murdered him in an act of useless revenge.

‘Had you bothered to differentiate between those facts which were important and those which were not, you would have quickly established that Zavala's death was murder, not accident, and who was the murderer.'

‘Señor, I don't think that that's really justified…'

‘I have not asked for your opinion. To suppose a man will murder merely because his bills have not been paid suggests a mind which concentrates on trivialities.'

‘But the Mallorquin character…'

‘Is one that calls into question the theory that the human race is evolving. The history of this investigation is one of incompetence and wasted time.'

‘But motive was important and the initial suspects did have motives for killing Señor Zavala…'

‘Of no account, since none of them murdered him.'

‘But I had to make many inquiries before that could be certain; inquiries which may appear irrelevant now, but did not then.'

‘A question of judgement. Yours failed.' Salas rang off.

Alvarez sighed. A man could only do his best and if that was not good enough …

*   *   *

The sky remained cloudless and in the last week in August, when normally the first rain fell, the temperature reached forty; those doctors fortunate enough to have tourists amongst their patients began to plan two skiing holidays in the coming winter instead of the usual one.

Alvarez, very alive to the deadly perils of heat exhaustion, left the post and began to walk very slowly along the shaded side of the road.

‘Hey, Machiavelli.'

He recognized the voice and stopped, turned, and waited for Lockhart to come up to where he stood.

‘I went into your cop-shop to be told you'd just left. My God, it's a furnace today!… There's something I want to ask you.'

‘Yes, señor?'

‘Not here. In a bar, over a quenching drink or two. Have you any objections to the idea?'

‘None that comes readily to mind.'

When halfway along the road, they met a crowd of tourists, newly disgorged from a bus, who carelessly pushed past them, at one point all but forcing Lockhart off the pavement on to the road. When the last of them had passed, he said: ‘Belgians or Glaswegians; I didn't see any of them spitting so probably they were Belgians.' He resumed walking. ‘When I suffer such an ill-dressed, ill-mannered, vacuous rabble, I see the destruction wrought by the age of the common man. I suppose you see potential burglars, swindlers and rapists?'

‘People who have discovered the chance to enjoy life more than their parents could.'

‘The reply of an unthinking idealist.'

‘Señor, idealism, thoughtless or thoughtful, is surely preferable to misanthropy?'

‘Preferable to whom?… Do you dislike me so very much?'

‘Why do you ask that?'

‘Because you refuse to use my Christian name. Or is this merely indicative of your complete ignorance of the finer points of the customs of a civilized society?'

‘Probably. But whose society?'

‘An absurd question. English society, naturally. Forged when the country was ruled by privilege and therefore supremely civilized. I will explain things to you. Ask someone to call you by your Christian name and he responds by continuing to call you by your surname (or the anonymous “senor”) and you know that he regards you as completely déclassé. Dwell on the subtlety of this. Not a harsh word spoken, not a sneering comment, yet superiority and inferiority definitively established. I have asked you to call me Theodore. You continue to address me as “señor”. I can only think the worst of myself.'

‘I doubt you have ever thought badly of yourself, let alone the worst.'

‘How right you are! I merely make allowances for your ignorance … Small wonder that wherever I go, I sing the praises of a Mallorquin inspector who cannot quite camouflage his practical intelligence.'

They reached a bar in one of the side roads, only occasionally invaded by tourists. A ceiling fan provided an impression of coolness. They sat by the window and in due course a waiter came to their table.

‘Have you ever drunk a John Collins?' Lockhart asked.

‘No, I haven't.'

‘I've tried to teach them here how to make one, but they seem to find it very difficult to understand that the appeal needs to be to the eyes as well as the tongue. Will you try one?'

‘I think I would prefer a coñac.'

‘A man for whom custom cannot stale.' Lockhart gave the order to the waiter, watched him leave. ‘A pleasant man, but lacking emotional response. Most men do. All women respond, of course, but for the wrong reasons … Now, you can answer my question. Does the rumour possess truth or is it the usual expression of spiteful hope?'

‘What rumour are you referring to?'

‘That Guido was murdered by one of his compatriots.'

‘It seems certain that that was so.'

‘A pity. I was hoping it would prove to be one of the more bourgeois of the expatriates. So pleasing to see virtue tumbled. Why was he killed?'

‘The motive has yet to be confirmed.'

‘You expect me to believe that a man of your capabilities hasn't already confirmed everything? Was it an argument over drugs?'

‘Why do you suggest that?'

The waiter returned and put glasses, already frosting, down on the table, spiked the bill, left.

Lockhart studied his glass. ‘The cherry has been dropped without any regard to its relationship with the slice of orange. Why do people lack all sense of style?'

‘If you had to spend your day serving drinks to people, would you retain any sense of style?'

‘I sincerely hope so.'

Alvarez drank. He put the glass back on the table. ‘Why do you think drugs may have been involved?'

‘Guido pursued pleasure relentlessly.'

‘How do you know he took drugs?'

‘Would you ask a bishop where he found the inspiration for his sermon on the sins of Jezebel?'

‘Why didn't you tell me he took them?'

‘An even more naive question for an intelligent man to ask. One never sneaks on one's friends unless there's profit to be had from doing so. Which, in a way, I suppose, is why…'

‘Yes?'

‘You must not laugh; a confession has to be taken seriously. Having been born in a country which prides itself on justice and educated to believe that only truth should sit upon the lips, I suffer that most plebeian of burdens, a conscience. And for weeks that has been demanding I tell you something I learned by chance, even though to do so might harm a friend. Fortunately, I have learned to contain my conscience, if not to stifle it, so until your confirmation a moment ago that Guido was murdered by a compatriot, I have managed to keep my lips clenched. Now, since the information cannot be of any consequence, I can release my lips and enjoy the subtle pleasure of a conscience assuaged … I have a very dear friend, a Mallorquin, who lives near Cardona. He is married to someone who views our friendship with that narrow dislike which comes easily to a woman who is intelligent, but lacks a broad understanding. She works for one of the larger shoe manufacturers in Inca and frequently travels to France to sell the firm's products – she speaks French faultlessly, much to the annoyance of Parisians. Because she resents my presence, I visit my friend only when she is abroad. I was with him on the day that Guido was killed and I chanced to see something that my conscience said should be told to you, yet my heart said had to be kept secret.'

‘And your heart won because had you spoken to me, I should have made inquiries and your friend's wife would almost certainly have learned that you were in her home during her absence.'

‘A mean, spiteful suggestion; out of my very genuine respect for you, I'll put it down to a sudden and unavoidable attack of bile. The motive for my silence was completely honourable. Knowing that, as broad-minded as you undoubtedly are, your training has led you always to suspect the worst – too much bile – I couldn't doubt what you'd think if I'd told you I'd seen a particular car near Cardona.'

‘The Baileys' green shooting brake?'

Lockhart's smooth, self-consciously amused manner suddenly changed. ‘You knew it was there?'

‘I learned about it some time ago.'

‘How very clever of you!'

It was obvious to Alvarez that he had spoilt what was to have been a dramatic scene – noble Lockhart, proving his devotion to the bonds of Platonic friendship by finally confessing the information he had withheld because he could have brought suspicion down on an innocent friend.

‘I dislike clever people.'

‘I'm sorry about that.'

‘No, you're not. You're laughing at me because I've suffered for nothing.'

Alvarez drained his glass. ‘I must go.' He stood.

Lockhart looked up and now his tone was plaintive. ‘I only did it out of kindness. I'm not the selfish prick you think me. She's kind and broad-minded enough not to judge, unlike most of the others.'

‘Who are you talking about?'

Alvarez's obvious surprise provided some balm for Lockhart's damaged ego. ‘You're not omniscient after all? Is disappointment or relief in order?'

‘Why did you say “she”?'

‘How else does one in polite society refer to women if one is sufficiently fond of dogs not to want to insult them?'

‘Señora Bailey was driving the car?'

‘I'm very surprised it's taken a man of your mental prowess so long to work that out.'

‘How could you identify her in the dark?'

‘Dark? My friend had to leave to go to the airport to fetch his wife long before then.'

Alvarez sat down.

CHAPTER 28

As Alvarez drove up the dirt track to Ca'n Liodre, he recalled the words of one of the instructors at the State Training School. ‘During an investigation, note well even the slightest deviation from character and seek its cause.' Had he followed that precept; had he at the time taken greater note of and remembered, instead of dismissing as unimportant and forgetting, the half-hearted suggestion in the DC's report from England that a possible reason for Bailey's having driven on after the fatal car accident and then later returning could have been because he'd had a passenger in his car whose anonymity had had at all costs to be protected and had he accepted that in view of Bailey's character it was more likely it had been the passenger he had been trying to defend rather than himself; had he appreciated the significance of Fenella's admission that only a relatively short time had elapsed between the death of her husband and her second marriage; had he recalled her fierce defence of Bailey when the question of the fatal accident had been introduced; then he would have reached the truth much sooner.