An Artistic Way to Go (12 page)

‘This is just a routine inquiry,' Alvarez replied.

‘The last “routine inquiry” with which I was concerned ended in a client falling out of a third-floor window as he tried to escape arrest for rape.'

‘You can rest assured that in this case there has been no rape.'

‘A reassurance that does, however, leave any number of other possibilities.'

When he judged that his unasked question was not going to be answered, he said: ‘How exactly can I help you, Inspector?'

‘I need to speak to Señor Ernest White, an American, who is probably staying here.'

The man tapped out instructions on the keyboard of the desk-top computer, read the information that came up on the VDU. ‘We do have a guest by that name.'

‘Can you check if he's in his room?'

He used the internal telephone to call room 432. ‘No reply,' he said, as he replaced the receiver. ‘Would you like me to have him paged?'

‘Yes, please. And would it be possible to have a word with him in here?'

The assistant manager left. Alvarez wondered whether he'd have enjoyed working in the hotel business? Most hotels closed at the end of September and did not reopen until Easter, so that winter was one long holiday, subsidized by unemployment pay; there were tips; there were commissions to be discreetly earned; and even allowing for exaggerated hopes, it seemed there were many young romantics eager for passionate holiday romances … But during the season, it was all work; tips were earned by being deferential towards people to whom it would be a pleasure to be rude; all the worthwhile commissions were cornered by the concierge; and a man who was mature preferred quality to quantity in sex, as in most other things.

The door opened and the assistant manager briefly looked in. ‘Señor White, Inspector.'

White entered, came forward with outstretched hand. ‘The name's Ernest.'

All-American, Alvarez thought, as he shook hands and noticed the scar on the right cheek. But the blue eyes were not smiling, even if the mouth was, and they held a suggestion of watchful calculation. With nothing but these two facts and instinct to back his judgement, he identified White as either a criminal or someone with close connections with the criminal world.

‘The hotel guy said you want to speak to me?'

‘That's right. Thank you for coming, señor. Please sit.'

They both sat. ‘Do you know Señor Cooper, who lives at Ca'n Oliver, in La Huerta de Llueso?'

‘I guess so.'

‘And you visited his house last Sunday, when you saw him, and last Tuesday, when you did not?'

‘That's the way it went.'

‘On Tuesday, Rosa, the maid, told you that he had disappeared?'

‘Which sure surprised me.'

‘I'm hoping you'll be able to help me discover the reason for his disappearance.'

‘I doubt that, but anything I can do.'

‘Have you seen him since you left Ca'n Oliver on Sunday?'

‘Not so much as his shadow.'

‘Have you any idea what may have happened to him?'

‘I guess not.'

‘You are a friend of long standing?'

‘Never met the guy before Sunday.'

‘Then what brought about the meeting?'

‘I've a friend who knows him and when this friend heard I'd be on the island, he said to look up Oliver. So I arranged to visit him.'

‘And how did the meeting go?'

‘Like pork crackling at a Bar Mitzvah.'

‘Why is that?'

‘I'd kind of forgotten that the English don't take to sudden friendships and so what I met was polite reserve.'

‘You're saying you had an argument?'

‘Hell, no! If a guy doesn't want to pour me a second Scotch on the rocks, I'm not going to argue about it.'

‘If you didn't have an argument, why did your visit so distress the señor?'

‘I don't recollect saying it did.'

‘Rosa told me that he appeared to be very upset by it.'

‘I'd say she was mistaking distress for limey social disapproval. I wasn't wearing a coronet.' White was not trying to conceal his amused contempt for an islander who cut so different a picture from the conventional one of the hard, fast-talking detective.

‘You hired a car from Garaje Xima on the thirteenth.'

‘Sure.'

‘For eight days?'

‘That's important?'

‘I don't know.'

‘That makes two of us!'

‘Presumably, you originally thought you would only be staying for eight days?'

‘I guess that's a fair enough assumption.'

‘Yesterday, you decided you would be staying for longer?'

‘Right again.'

‘What changed your mind?'

‘There's more to see on the island than I thought.'

‘Did you fly direct from America to here?'

‘Via Madrid.'

‘For what dates did you book your air ticket?'

For the first time, White hesitated. Then, as if to cover up this brief moment of doubt, he spoke with added casual humour. ‘For eight days. But it's open-ended, so even if it bothered the clerk who didn't seem to know what it was, there's no problem.'

‘And no problem either about staying longer away from America than you'd intended?'

‘That's the way it is.'

‘Then you have a very convenient job.'

‘If I knew what that meant, I could answer.'

‘I must apologize for my English, señor.'

‘From where I sit, there's no call for apologies.'

‘What I was trying to say is, you obviously have a job which allows you unexpectedly to take a longer holiday than intended.'

‘I work for myself, so the boss is flexible.' He smiled.

‘What kind of work do you do, señor?'

‘Sales.'

‘In which area?'

‘The garment trade.'

‘Thank you. I think that is all I need to ask.'

White stood, his movements smooth and quick. ‘Sorry I can't be more helpful.'

‘And I am sorry to have had to disturb you.'

He began to cross to the door.

‘I have a memory like a mosquito net!' Alvarez suddenly said. ‘There is something more I have to ask.'

White turned. ‘Name it.'

‘Did you visit Llueso before last Sunday?'

‘I drove through it.'

‘For any particular reason?'

‘A guy in the hotel said not to miss Parelona. Seemed a good idea to take a look at the place on the way.'

‘Did you stop in the village?'

‘Might have had a coffee at a café… Your “something more” stretches a long way.'

‘Forgive me, but sometimes one question calls for many answers. Since you may have stopped for a coffee, perhaps you decided also to find out where Señor Cooper lived so that you could study his house through binoculars?'

‘Are you on the level? Why should I do that?'

‘That is my next question.'

‘Then the answer comes short. I didn't.'

‘A man was seen studying the señor's house through binoculars.'

‘Great. Only it wasn't yours truly.'

‘The description of this man fits you, even down to the scar on your right cheek.'

‘I guess you've been talking to someone with a great imagination.'

‘What was your reason for visiting Señor Cooper?'

‘I've told you.'

‘What did you say to frighten him?'

White shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of tired impatience.

‘Since you extended the hire of the car for another eight days as from yesterday, I imagine you have done the same with your airplane ticket. So if I ask you not to leave the island for at least the next six days, this will not cause any inconvenience?'

White, balancing himself on the balls of his feet as a man did when he was preparing to attack or defend himself, said, ‘Are you trying to arrest me?' There was no trace of condescending humour in his manner now; only cold, hard calculation.

‘Just because a few more questions may need answering? Of course not, señor. All I'm asking you to do is to be ready to help with the investigation, if you can.'

‘If you're not arresting me, I'll leave when I want,' he said flatly.

‘I'm afraid not.'

‘After I've found a mouthpiece, you'll discover just how goddamn wrong you are.'

‘I fear that lawyers here do not always have the same sense of professional urgency that they have in the television from your country, and should you consult one, it would probably take him many days to bring his mind to bear on your problem. But in order to make certain you are not tempted to prove me wrong and leave before the six days are up, I shall ask you for your passport.'

Just for a moment, White looked as if he would react with physical violence.

*   *   *

Because he had been born and brought up on the Peninsula, and had taken his law degree at Barcelona University, Gallardo had no complex and interlocking web of relatives on the island, all of whose interests had to be considered if there were any danger of their conflicting with those of his clients; he was thus able to offer unbiased legal advice to foreigners, an unusual fact which ensured that he received much of their work.

He shook hands with Alvarez, indicated the seat in front of the desk, sat, and listened with his egg-shaped head tilted to one side. He nodded. ‘I handled the purchase of Señor Cooper's home and advised him that it was essential he made a Spanish will since he now owned property in Spain.'

‘Will you give me the details of that will?'

‘You think…?'

‘At the moment, I think nothing.'

‘It's a wise man who can learn to do that.' He picked up the receiver, pressed down a switch on the base, spoke to his secretary.

In under a minute, a young woman, neatly dressed, entered and put a file down on the desk, left. Gallardo searched through the papers in the file, extracted one and read it. ‘Short and to the point. Everything is left to the wife.'

‘No other bequests?'

‘None.'

‘Have you any idea what size the estate is likely to be?'

He shook his head. ‘I suppose the house is worth around a hundred million pesetas, but beyond that, who's to know? The señor will have kept his liquid assets in another country so that the Spanish tax bandits can't touch them. They must amount to two or three times as much, at the very least.'

Three, four, five hundred million. Murders had been committed for a fraction of that sum.

CHAPTER 14

As Alvarez entered the post, the duty cabo behind the desk looked up from his girlie magazine. ‘You've become very popular.'

Alvarez came to a stop, mopped his face with a handkerchief.

‘She's been in twice, asking for you. I told her not to waste her talents on a brass oldie. She didn't seem to understand.'

‘Who are you talking about?'

‘This foreign piece. She told me her name, but I've forgotten it. If she'd not given me thoughts, maybe I'd have remembered it.'

‘Señora Cooper?'

‘That sounds about right.'

‘Did she leave a message?'

‘Yes. But not in words.'

Alvarez carried on, climbed the stairs, and went along to his office. He settled in the chair behind the desk. No wonder the world was hellbent for trouble when the younger generation could think of nothing except sex. Not for them the demands and therefore the satisfactions of duty done; not for them … As he began to drift off to sleep, an image of Rachael as she climbed out of the pool slid into his mind …

The phone jerked him fully awake. Traffic reported that the most careful search had failed to uncover anything more of significance on or in the BMW.

Sometimes, nothing could be as significant as something; in this instance it was not. Had Cooper committed suicide, it was very unlikely there would be any traces beyond those already found. If he had been murdered, the murderer, wishing to set the scene for suicide, would surely have killed him and then either wrapped his corpse in a body-bag so that no traces could be left in the BMW, or, if he had had an accomplice, have transported it in another vehicle …

The internal phone rang. ‘She's back,' said the duty cabo.

‘Who are you talking about?'

‘It's blokes like you give stupidity a bad name … Señora Cooper is here and wishes to speak to the inspector.'

Alvarez left the room and went down the stairs. The duty cabo was exerting all the charm of which he considered he had an abundance, but with little impact because in his eagerness he was speaking too quickly and using the flowery language of the traditional lover so that Rachael failed to understand much of what he said.

She swung round to face Alvarez. ‘What d'you think you've been doing? When my husband comes back, he'll complain to the British ambassador in Madrid…'

‘Señora, would it not be best if we go upstairs to my office where we can speak more privately?'

She hesitated.

‘If you will go up those stairs.' He gestured with his hand.

She walked forward.

When satisfied she was out of earshot, the cabo muttered: ‘What a waste on an old man like you.'

In the office, Alvarez moved the spare chair so that she could sit directly in front of the desk, then settled behind it. ‘Please tell me, señora, what bothers you?'

‘You know damn well! When you spoke to Neil this morning, you made the most disgusting accusation. Oliver's missing, I'm sick with worry, and all you can do is suggest I'm having an affair. Oh, God, why do I have to suffer such a nightmare? As if I could even think of betraying Oliver. How can you be so cruel?' She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

‘Señora, please understand that I have to learn the truth. I make no moral judgements.'