A Question of Motive (8 page)

‘You can think she sees you not as you are, but as you would like to be; she will not notice your hair is thinning . . .'

‘It is not.'

‘. . . that your skin is creased and your belly swells. You lie and believe yourself to be irresistible.'

‘I believe I am irreplaceable.'

‘Even my dear mother would not have thought a man could be so mistaken.'

‘The young lady was the person I have mentioned before whose uncle has just died.'

‘That is the truth?'

‘The unvarnished truth.'

‘Julia was trying to make fun of me?'

‘It would seem like it.'

‘She is a cow.'

‘Didn't you go for me a moment ago because . . .' Jaime stopped as she glared at him.

‘I might briefly seem irreplaceable to her,' Alvarez continued, ‘because when she is overtaken with bitter sorrow, I help her a little when I take her down to the bay. And to make the situation perfectly clear, the final thing she said to me was “Just friends”.'

‘Warning you off,' Jaime said. ‘Now she must be rich, she reckons you could be thinking of doing some good for yourself.'

‘Can there be another man as insensitive as you?' she asked.

‘Why say that?'

‘Because you cannot understand the reason she spoke as she did was she did not want Enrique to be embarrassed by the thought that she might be beginning to regard him with affection.'

‘How d'you know it's not the other way round?'

‘Aiyee! If women could look into the future, there would be very few marriages.'

D
olores' call finally awoke Alvarez. He looked at his watch and was vaguely surprised to learn he was already half an hour late for his return to work. He would get up immediately, forgo coffee, and hurry to the office.

‘I had to call you several times,' Dolores said as he entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later.

He was surprised she spoke without any hint of criticism. ‘I was so fast asleep, I didn't hear you until the last call. I suppose that's because it was such an emotionally exhausting morning.'

‘I will make your coffee.'

‘I think I'll have to leave that and rush to the office . . .'

‘You will drink coffee and eat a biscuit or two. A man needs a happy stomach before he works.'

‘You sometimes say mine is too happy.'

‘What nonsense is that? A man who does not eat well insults the cook. Sit down while I make coffee and bring some of those chocolate biscuits you like so much.'

He pulled a chair from under the table and sat. He'd no idea why she was in so generous a mood, could only hope it would last.

She placed a plate of chocolate digestives on the table, crossed to a working surface and prepared the coffee machine. ‘I phoned Julia earlier.'

To find out if his companion on the beach had been a blonde in a monokini?

‘I told her she had been very wrong. That annoyed her for a start. She cannot believe she is ever wrong.' She switched on the coffee machine, went over to the refrigerator for a plastic carton of milk, then to one of the cupboards for a dish of sugar and placed everything in front of him. ‘Is there anything more you would like?'

‘No, thanks.'

She absent-mindedly picked up a biscuit and ate. ‘I said it was unfortunate she believed you had been entertaining when you were so kindly helping a niece who had just lost her uncle. I added how sad it was that some people cannot stop jumping to nasty conclusions because their minds live in shadows.' The coffee machine hissed. She turned it off, poured coffee into a mug, carried this over to the table. ‘Was I not right to criticize her?'

‘Absolutely.'

‘She will not phone me again in order to speak poisonous nonsense.'

He added milk to the coffee. Were he a brave man, he would have reminded her of how often she jumped to wrong conclusions, but there were times when a sensible man was a coward.

The phone rang as Alvarez stepped into the office. He needed to sit down and recover his breath, but instinct said the caller was Salas. He lifted the receiver as he stood at the side of the desk. ‘Inspector Alvarez speaking.'

‘What have you to report?' Salas asked.

‘I am making enquiries, señor.'

‘That is not what I asked.'

‘I have spoken to Señorita Farren at length. She is convinced her uncle would never have committed suicide.'

‘Her grounds for that?'

‘I did not press her because she was in so distressed a state. In addition, I was going to have to explain that there was the possibility her uncle had been murdered.'

‘As so often, you judged it would be best to do nothing.'

‘There are benefits from taking an investigation slowly, señor.'

‘A proposition to which you hold firmly. How wealthy was Señor Gill at the time of his death?'

‘I haven't yet been able to find out.'

‘Because of the fact that motive can identify murder and the murderer has escaped you?'

‘I have said as much to you, señor.'

‘No doubt, incoherently. Put simply, if Señor Gill remained rich at the time of his death – despite the heavy losses others have sustained – there is motive for his murder. Who will inherit his estate?'

‘I don't yet know.'

‘The importance of knowing has also escaped you?'

‘I am intending to return to Aquila to speak to Señorita Farren again. I will ask her about the details of her uncle's will, if she knows them.'

‘It will be of little use to ask, if she doesn't. Whom do you expect to be the main beneficiary?'

‘She is the obvious person, but the señor might well have other relatives and friends about whom we know nothing; one or more of them may inherit.'

‘Do you understand the importance of what you have just said?'

‘I . . . With particular reference to what?'

‘Rule out suicide and accident and the niece becomes the prime suspect for his murder.'

‘That's ridiculous!'

Salas spoke sharply. ‘I do not expect an inspector to address me in such terms.'

‘But she is incapable of such a crime. She was extremely fond of him. He was the one person who provided the protection she needed. If you'd seen her distress when I asked her if she thought her uncle might have committed suicide . . . Her tears!'

‘Women use tears as a smokescreen.'

‘I am certain she could have had no part in his death.'

‘You wish to deny motive is the key and money provides the strongest of motives?'

‘That's true, but . . .'

‘You find difficulty in acknowledging truth.'

‘Señor, there is a motive as strong, or even stronger, than money. The jealousy of a betrayed husband.'

‘When you enjoyed informing me about the adultery, you said you would question the wife when her husband was not present so that he should not learn about her promiscuity. He will not have gained revenge for something of which he was ignorant.'

‘There has to be the possibility he did know about it, but his wife did not know that he knew.'

‘You can imagine he would accept such knowledge with equanimity?'

‘Perhaps he gained an advantage from his wife's affair.'

‘A sick possibility which could only occur to a sick mind. And in your eagerness, you overlook the fact the husband, if there can be one so perverse in character, would be unlikely to bring to an end a relationship which benefited him.'

‘Suppose she had persuaded him that what they were receiving was only a fraction of what they could gain if she divorced him and Señor Gill wanted to marry her? She should continue the affair until marriage was offered. But her husband realized the truth – she was certain the offer of marriage would be given and since she would be divorced, she could marry Señor Gill, enjoy all his wealth, and forget her first husband. He was so outraged by her moral scheming and infidelity that he murdered the señor in revenge.'

There was a long silence.

‘Are you there, señor?'

‘I strongly doubt I have ever had to listen to someone to whom depravity comes so naturally.'

‘It has to be best to consider all possibilities.'

‘Not when proposed from a mind such as yours.'

‘I think . . .'

‘I do not wish to listen to any more of your obnoxious thoughts. When this call is ended, you will consider Señor Gill's niece as the prime suspect and question her concerning details of the señor's will and of his finances. Have you identified the poacher?'

‘I may have done.'

‘You have not questioned him to find out if for once you have succeeded in your job?'

‘Señor, it will take a long time to do all you have asked.'

‘When I was an inspector, I never expected to be in bed before midnight.'

The stone-built caseta had one bedroom, one main room which doubled as a kitchen, a primitive bathroom with no running water, and a long drop outside. Decades before, many lived in such confined quarters, now Velaquez, whose features displayed years spent working in sun, wind and rain, was one of a very few. He was in the field using a cut-down can to pour water into one of the irrigation channels drawn through the earth, on either side of which vegetables grew.

‘They look nice,' Alvarez said, indicating a bunch of tomatoes beginning to turn red.

Velaquez emptied the tin into the channel, stood upright. He looked briefly at Alvarez, walked over to a well and manually pumped up water to fill the can. He returned, began to empty the can. ‘You're Dolores Ramis' cousin.'

‘That's right.'

‘Interested in tomatoes?'

‘When they have some taste . . . I've come to have a chat about Barca and the land around it.'

‘Where?'

‘Where you often like to walk.'

‘Who says?'

‘Everyone who knows you.'

‘Ain't no harm in that.'

‘Depends why you're there. Likely you find something special about the place?'

‘It's quiet.'

‘But not always peaceful?'

‘Can't say.'

‘Seems there was a violent row below Barca not so long ago.'

‘Was there?'

‘Señor Gill found someone there he reckoned was netting thrushes.'

‘No one does that now it's illegal.'

‘Doesn't make much difference to some people.'

Velaquez began to move away. ‘Got to keep watering.'

‘When I say. You knew Señor Gill died from a fall?'

‘Yes.'

‘It's possible someone pushed him over. Why should anyone want to do that?'

‘Why ask me?'

‘Thought you'd be able to give an answer.'

‘Never met him.'

‘Not when you strolled through the peaceful woods?'

‘No.'

‘He reckoned someone was after birds, and that infuriated him because he wanted them to have peace.'

‘It ain't nothing to do with me.'

‘Not if he reckoned you were netting thrushes.'

‘Don't know what you're on about.'

‘The row you had with the señor made you very, very angry.'

‘I said, ain't never met him.'

‘You aren't helping yourself by lying. Do you know Juanito Santos?'

‘No.'

‘Does the garden at Aquila. He heard the row and recognized the two voices. Señor Gill's and yours.'

‘He's a liar.'

‘Or it's a wrong vocal identification? I don't think so.'

‘Don't matter what you think. It wasn't me. Never met the señor, and I ain't ever gone after thrushes.'

‘Then where do you get the ones you sell?'

‘Don't sell none.'

‘I've heard from several villagers that they've bought thrushes from you, even though you charge a fortune.'

‘They're lying.'

‘Seems there's a lot of liars around. Look, I don't want to take you in, but go on like this and I'll have to.'

‘Take me where?'

‘To one of the cells at the post.'

‘You can't prove nothing.'

‘Then where do the thrushes you sell come from?'

‘I don't sell any.'

‘Then you will have to come along with me.'

‘For catching thrushes when I ain't?'

‘On suspicion of murdering Señor Gill.'

Velaquez suffered uncomprehending fear. ‘You can't . . . I didn't . . . I've never . . .'

‘If he was murdered, why? There's no one else with any reason to do so. He caught you in the woods and aggressively accused you of illegal trapping. Likely said he was calling the policia local. You've been in trouble before,' Alvarez guessed.

‘Not for anything serious. Never been in jail.'

‘Count yourself lucky. Only, your luck's kind of running out. Trapping thrushes gets all those love-life people very angry. For a bloke like you, living free, being stuck in a cell for months couldn't be worse. So to save yourself a living purgatory, tell me what did happen. You went up to Aquila—'

‘I didn't.'

‘Maybe you originally thought you'd just apologize and ask him to be generous and forget what happened. He was at the end of Barca, tending his orchid. He wouldn't listen to you, said he hoped you'd be jailed for years. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, you pushed him over the edge.'

‘That's crazy. I've never been up there. You've got to believe me.'

‘You lied about selling thrushes, didn't you?'

‘That don't mean I killed him.'

‘You now admit you trapped thrushes there?'

After a while, Velaquez muttered an admission.

‘Then where were you at thirteen hundred hours on the fourth?'

‘How would I know? Don't mean nothing to me what the time is, or the day.'