A Maze of Murders (4 page)

A man said: ‘Luis Jodar here.'

‘I need to know what happens when someone drowns at sea.'

‘He dies.'

Every man a comic! ‘But does the body float or sink; if it sinks, does it later return to the surface?'

‘I'll give you the answers, but you must remember, they're generalizations. There's always some awkward bastard who'll make nonsense of the standard figures.'

Bureaucrats were forever covering themselves.

‘When a person falls into the water he swims, if he can, until he's too exhausted to continue; if he can't, he starts to panic immediately. Panicking means he ingests water into the air passages which increases the panic and the water begins to collect in his lungs to mix with the air and the mucus to form a choking froth. The weight of water gradually causes first neutral buoyancy, then negative, and at some point the victim makes one last convulsive threshing movement and then dies. Because of the negative buoyancy, the body remains below the surface. After a time, gasses begin to form and these increase buoyancy until it becomes positive and the body surfaces. This normally takes between five and eight days, but in really warm weather the time can be halved. You'll want to know about the signs of putrefaction…'

‘No, thanks,' Alvarez said hurriedly.

‘They can be very interesting. And by the way, that old story that as one drowns, one sees the whole of one's past life – don't panic, you may die in bed.'

As he thanked the other, Alvarez reflected that a macabre job promoted a macabre sense of humour.

He left the police station and drove to the eastern arm of the harbour where he parked. He stepped out into the harsh sunshine and considered the yachts and motor cruisers immediately in front of him, those at more distant berths which were marked by masts or superstructures, and those which he couldn't see at all from where he stood, and wondered how many billions of pesetas were moored about him; billions of pesetas whose only purpose was to massage men's egos. If only all that money were used on the land to produce better crops … A fool cried to the moon for help. Burgeoning prosperity had turned men's priorities inside out; luxuries had become more prized than essentials.

The harbour-master's office was in a building which dated back to the time when the harbour had been very small and used only by fishermen – there was storage and drying space available for the few who still fished commercially. Alvarez entered the office and Torres, past retiring age but not yet retired, looked up. ‘Enrique!' He stood, came round his desk and shook hands. ‘It's a long time; too long.' No taller than Alvarez, he was considerably more overweight. ‘Grab that chair and sit and tell me how the family is.'

Twenty minutes later, Alvarez brought the conversation round to work. ‘Not heard any more about the Englishman who's missing from a boat, I suppose?'

‘I'd have been in touch if the body had turned up. It's early days. Remember Manuel Coix?'

‘Can't say I do.'

‘Awkward, bad-tempered bastard, but a real fisherman. When I was a kid there was a bad time when the other boats came in with hardly enough fish even to feed the families of the crews, but he'd tie up with the gunwale all but awash because of his catch. There were some who claimed he'd sold his soul and the devil drove the fish into his nets and on to his hooks, but my dad laughed at that – why would the devil pay so much for his soul when it wasn't worth a single céntimo? No, Manuel was a seaman as well as a fisherman; he'd look up at the sky and study the clouds, feel the wind against his cheeks, note the way the water was moving, and he'd know where the fish were. Never shared the news, of course; if he ever gave as much as a crust of dried bread to a starving child, no one heard about it.' He half turned to look through the window. ‘There's not a single seaman amongst the owners of the boats out there. Take away the radios, position-finders, radars, and navigation computers, and there's not one could steer a straight course from here to Menorca or splice a good dog's cock.'

‘But even though Manuel was such a good seaman, he drowned?'

‘Died in his bed, cursing his woman for a puta and his son for a spineless waster. What are you on about?'

‘From the way you were talking, I thought he must have drowned.'

‘It was the youngster he took with him. There was talk he must be Manuel's by-blow otherwise he'd never have been taken into the boat, seeing he was so square-fisted he'd tangle a line as he picked it up. Anyway, this kid insisted on wearing thigh-length sea boots, so when he fell over the side – which, being so clumsy, was inevitable – he went straight down. There wasn't sight of him for a month until what remained of him was found by one of the boats … So it'll likely be a time before the Englishman turns up.'

‘Palma says a body will float after five to eight days in normal water, half that time if it's really warm.'

‘It'll be the sea what decides, not Palma.'

‘Assuming he fell over the side and drowned…'

‘What d'you mean, assuming?'

‘It's still not certain what happened. Would you expect the body to be taken out to sea?'

‘Sometimes there's a current, sometimes there ain't; sometimes it'll sweep things round and round the bay, sometimes it'll take 'em straight out to sea.'

‘Would you know what the current's been doing since Thursday night?'

‘Not so as I could pinpoint where it could've taken the body.'

‘What's the name of the boat?'

‘
Aventura.
Half the boats are called that. Give 'em an adventure at sea and they'd need to change their pants.'

‘Who owns it?'

‘Are you that ignorant? A boat's a she.'

‘I've always wondered why.'

‘Because you never know what the bitch is going to do next.'

‘So who owns her?'

‘Gomila y Hijos. The company's head office is in Barcelona so when it comes to the pesetas, they're as sharp as a skinning knife. They charter boats – they've two more here and several around the south coast.'

‘Has the company got a local office?'

‘Along the front, past the new restaurant that's opened.'

‘What's their food like?'

‘Good enough for the tourist who thinks a few bits of scrag chicken, a couple of rings of squid, and a small prawn make a paella.'

Alvarez spoke reflectively. ‘Remember when Guillermo owned the Pescador and did the cooking? Even Dolores couldn't better his paella … That was on his good days, of course. When he and Inés had been rowing, you seldom knew what you'd be eating.'

‘Or if you did, you didn't eat it.'

‘One peseta; or was it one peseta fifty?'

‘Two with a carafe of wine.'

‘I often wondered where he found that wine – never tasted anything like it before or since.'

‘They said he went round all the bodegas, buying up the lees.'

‘I'll believe that.'

‘Still, for fifty céntimos you couldn't expect Marqués de Riscal.'

For a while they continued to reminisce, remembering the past in rosy colours and forgetting the harsh conditions, the uncertainties, the fears that had prevailed. Then Alvarez said goodbye and left. He returned to his car and drove along the front, past the new restaurant – already a number of tables were occupied; few tourists were selective – and stopped in a no-parking area. He walked back to the offices of Gomila y Hijos.

A young woman sat in front of a VDU and painted her nails. She looked up briefly, returned her attention to her nails.

‘I wonder if you can help me,' Alvarez said.

‘Doubt it.'

‘I need to know who chartered the
Aventura.
'

‘What's it to you?'

‘Cuerpo General de Policia.'

‘You don't look like you're anything to do with them.'

‘It is the good Lord who decides our looks, not our jobs,' he said pompously. Nostalgia for the past increased. Twenty-five years ago, she would have treated him with considerable respect.

She studied the nail she had just painted. ‘What is it, then?'

‘Have you not heard that an Englishman who sailed on the
Aventura
on Thursday night is missing?'

‘Oh, that,' she said dismissively.

Her indifference angered him. ‘I want to know the name of the person who chartered the boat,' he said roughly.

She replaced the brush in the bottle, screwed down the cap, breathed on her nails to make certain the varnish had dried, finally turned to the computer. She tapped out instructions, studied the screen. ‘He did.'

‘Señor Lewis? Are you certain?'

‘It's on screen, isn't it?'

‘How long did he charter her for?'

‘A fortnight.'

‘What did it cost him?'

‘A hundred and fifty thousand.'

He whistled.

‘It's only a small cruiser. A decent sized one would've cost him double that,' she said disdainfully, contemptuous of his ignorance of life in the rich lane.

CHAPTER 6

Alvarez was able to park immediately in front of No. 14. He crossed the pavement, stepped through the bead curtain, called out.

Christina came through to the front room. ‘You again! How am I supposed to do a proper day's work when you keep interrupting me?'

‘This will be the last time. Has Señor Sheard returned yet?'

‘Came back half an hour ago.'

‘Then I'll have a word with him.'

‘You'll not be long. It's his meal soon and I'll not have that getting cold.'

He looked at his watch and was surprised to see that it was one o'clock. ‘I'll be quick. Where will I find him?'

‘This way.'

She led him through a sitting-room that was far from luxuriously furnished, but was immaculately clean and tidy, to a doorway that gave access to a small open patio. ‘He's on the other side.'

In the patio, which was no more than four metres by three, there grew an orange and two tangerine trees, whose fruit was small and green, and on the south-facing dividing wall, an ancient vine whose many bunches of grapes were just beginning to darken. On the far side was an open space in which was a wash area with a sink hewn out of rock and a single room.

The door of the room was swung back and clipped to the wall. ‘Señor Sheard,' he called out, before stepping through the bead curtain. Sheard, wearing only shorts, lay on the bed, reading, a noisy fan directed at his chest. ‘My name is Inspector Alvarez.'

Sheard dropped the paperback and propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Have you heard something?'

‘I'm afraid not.'

‘Then he … he must be dead?'

‘We still cannot be certain, which is why I need to ask you a few questions.'

‘Are you the bloke who's been talking to Kirsty and Cara?'

‘I am.'

‘I can't tell you anything more than them.'

‘I'm sure you'll be able to help, even if only to confirm what they have said … May I sit?' He removed a pile of magazines from the seat of a chair, sat. ‘I need to learn more about Señor Lewis. Does he live on the island?'

‘It's his first visit here.'

‘He came from England?'

‘I can't rightly say.'

‘He is not a great friend of yours?'

‘I only met him a fortnight ago.'

‘Tell me about that meeting.'

‘There's nothing to tell.'

‘All the same, describe it.'

‘Well, I was just having a drink in one of the bars and talking to a bloke I know. When he left, Neil came up, having heard me speaking English. Wanted to know if I could help him. He'd arrived on the night ferry and needed a bed. He'd asked around the hotels and aparthotels, but the only one with a free room was asking more than he could afford; he thought I might know somewhere he could kip down. I took him along to the hostal, but that was full and the one up in the village is being reformed so that wasn't any good. We went into another bar and had a few drinks and I got to thinking he seemed a nice enough bloke so I said that if the old woman who owns this place didn't object, he could doss down with me. She charged, of course. They'd screw the last penny out of their own sick grandmothers…' He stopped abruptly, realizing his words had become offensive.

Alvarez ignored the comment, certain Sheard was of too limited an intelligence to appreciate that if one had known a time when poverty was no more than a few céntimos away, one grabbed every possible peseta to make as certain as possible that such a time did not return. ‘What caused the row between you?'

‘Row? What row?'

‘Señor Lewis left here and moved into the Hotel Vista Bella.'

‘That wasn't because of any row. It was just that things were so cramped here and…'

‘Yes?'

‘It gave a better impression.'

‘To whom?'

‘The birds.' He looked quickly at Alvarez and saw he had not been understood. ‘It helps to make friends with the women if it looks like you're flash.'

Scheming liar, Alvarez thought, conveniently forgetting the days of his youth when he'd changed into a newly ironed shirt and carefully pressed trousers before joining the paseo in the village square. ‘If this is Señor Lewis's first trip to the island, does he have friends who live or who are staying here whom he visited?'

‘He doesn't know anyone.'

He noted the vehemence with which Sheard had answered the question. People who lacked self-confidence often tried to mask a lie by sudden forcefulness. ‘I expect you can tell me which local bank he's been using?'

‘Not used one.'

‘Are you sure? If he hasn't drawn a large sum of money through a bank and has no friends who have provided him with funds, how is it that when he first arrived he could not afford to stay at a good hotel, yet after a few days he not only moved into one, but also paid a large sum of money to charter a motor cruiser?'