In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery (2 page)

‘Marta Espinar,' she responded without looking at him.

Her dark brown eyes showed she had recently been crying; her long, jet-black hair framed an oval face which possessed no great beauty other than that of youth. She spoke so quietly he had to concentrate to understand what she said. ‘Do you know where Policia Umbert is, Marta?'

She nodded.

He waited, but she said no more. The young met death less frequently than had their parents; she seemed confused by it. ‘I want to have a word with him so will you show me where he is?'

She crossed the hall, passing through the broad shaft of sunlight, and at the end of a wide corridor stopped to open a door. He thanked her, entered a sitting room, insufficiently spacious to be the main one. For the staff, he judged.

He spoke to the seated man in uniform. ‘Policia Umbert?'

‘That's me.'

‘Inspector Alvarez.' He went forward and shook hands. A member of the cuerpo was senior and superior to a policia, but it helped co-operation not to make that too obvious.

‘Dr Ferrer still here?'

‘He had to leave because of an emergency.'

‘Did he discuss the señor's death and why he wanted me here?'

‘Not really.'

‘Let's sit and you can tell me as much as you learned.'

They sat, Umbert drew in a deep breath as if about to deliver a speech. ‘The cook found him under the water in the swimming pool. She pulled him out and the doctor was called, but the señor was dead.'

‘And the señora?'

‘Seems she collapsed when she was told.'

‘Did the doctor sedate her?'

‘Don't know, but I wouldn't think so.'

‘Why not?'

‘Rosalía told him that the señora had been drinking heavily. You'll know that booze and sedatives don't like each other. Seems odd she should drink when her husband's just been hauled out of the pool.'

Umbert had not yet had to face the death of a close relative or friend. When Juana-María had died, he had left the hospital, returned to Llueso, and drunk himself insentient. The pain had not been lessened, merely temporarily lessened. ‘Will you find Rosalía and tell her I want to talk to her.'

He watched Umbert hurry out of the room. When young, one rushed through life, squandering the energy one would nostalgically remember when older.

There was a ‘free' Spanish newspaper in English on one of the small individual tables. Alvarez picked it up. Some pages listed advertisements and, as well as houses for sale and renting at foreigners' prices, there were details of adult relaxation. He was surprised by the frankness with which young ladies promoted themselves.

There was a knock on the door and he closed the newspaper, replaced it on the table; better not to be thought to be interested in some subjects.

Rosalía entered. ‘You want to talk to me?'

‘Please sit.' He studied her as she walked over to a chair. Seemingly calm despite what had happened. In shape, nicely moulded; in looks, unremarkable except for her mouth whose lips were generously inclined to voluptuousness. Not a head-turner, but very capable of attracting a man's interest. ‘Thank you for coming along,' he said as she sat. ‘I need to ask you a few questions and hope they will not disturb you. I understand you are the cook?'

‘And a good one!'

Was there a cook who did not believe she was five star? ‘Are you preparing the meal for tonight?' The question had surprised her, deliberately so. Subdued shock could be kept at bay by casual conversation.

‘The señora must eat.'

‘What will you cook for her?'

‘Since he is tragically no longer with us,
Pollo al ajillo
.'

A favourite of his, joints of chicken seasoned with salt, lard, oil, and many teeth of garlic.

‘That can even make a vegan hungry.'

‘And cooked by me, he would eat it.'

‘But from the way you spoke, the señor didn't like it?'

‘Garlic made the breath smell. As if that should limit what one eats.'

‘He can't have been interested in food.'

‘His favourite dish was sausages and mash.'

‘You cooked that?'

‘He paid my wages. If he lacked taste, it was not for me to educate him except when he told me to call him Don Picare, not Señor Picare.'

‘You did so?'

‘Of course not. Spending much money did not turn him into a hidalgo.'

‘He was very rich?'

‘How else would he have lived here and paid me the wage I asked?'

He returned to more germane facts. ‘I understand you were in the kitchen before you tragically found him in the pool. Tell me what caused you to go out to the pool?'

‘The phone rang. Señor Russell wanted to speak to the señor. The señora had gone out, so I guessed the señor was in the pool and went out with the cordless phone. He was all floppy at the bottom of the pool.'

‘You called the police?'

‘I stripped off and got into the water to try to save him.'

‘You are a strong swimmer?'

‘No.'

‘Then it was brave of you.'

‘It was something I had to do.'

‘What happened in the pool?'

‘I dived under and got hold of him, managed to drag him to the steps at the shallow end and lift him up so his head was above water. I shouted for Marta, told her to call the policia, then help me. She wanted to have hysterics, but I made her assist me drag him out of the pool. When the policia arrived, they tried giving CPR, but it was too late.'

‘Was the doctor here quickly?'

‘Quickly enough, but he said it wouldn't have been any good if he'd flown.'

‘Nothing more?'

‘What more is there to say?'

‘The doctor wants to talk to me. When that happens it usually means there's a problem and he's worried about something. D'you know where's the body?'

‘Taken to the morgue.'

‘I gather the señora is in bed. Have you spoken to her since the tragedy?'

‘She came back from her day out shortly after I found the senor, I told her what happened and I've kept an eye on her ever since. She's sleeping.'

‘Thanks, apparently, to drinking well.'

‘What if she did?'

‘For her, that was kind.'

‘Do you have any more questions?'

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘Then would you like some coffee and biscuits before you ask them?'

Her aggressive manner had softened. From experience, he knew that tragedy could create a temporary emotional bond. ‘I certainly would.'

Seated in the kitchen, he watched her pour beans into the coffee machine which had so many controls it probably needed a sharp mind to master its operations. She opened one of the higher wall cupboards and brought out a plastic container, then two plates from a lower cupboard which she put on the table. ‘I think you'll like the shortbread since you've the look of a man who knows what to enjoy in life.'

He had eaten shortbread before. He helped himself to a second oblong piece; that was followed by a third one at her encouragement.

The coffee flowed into two cups. She put a sugar bowl and small, elegant red glass jug with cream in it on the table. ‘What d'you want me to tell you?' she asked as, seated, she added sugar and cream to her coffee.

‘You mentioned Señor Russell. Have you met him?'

‘Frequently.'

‘He often comes here?'

‘Yes.'

‘A good friend?'

‘Of the señor.'

‘But not of the señora?'

‘He seldom came if she was here.'

‘What do you think is her objection to him?'

‘He drinks heavily when he does not have to pay the bill.'

‘That is not unusual.'

‘One cannot honour fine food if one's taste is dulled by alcohol.'

‘He didn't care what he ate?'

‘I cooked
Perdiz a la Montañesa
and he tasted nothing.'

However much Russell had drunk, it seemed inconceivable he had not appreciated quartered partridge fried in oil until golden brown, served with a sauce of onion, paprika, parsley, oil, salt, and lemon juice. ‘If he didn't enjoy that culinary triumph, he must have been seeing treble, not double.'

‘He would not have known had it been dried cod.'

‘For him, a wasted banquet.'

‘And when they began arguing, a noisy one.'

‘What was their problem?'

‘How would I know? You think I left the door open in order to hear?'

‘Of course not.'

‘However …' She paused. ‘Perhaps it was female trouble.'

‘A conflict of interests since the señor is said to have enjoyed many lady friends?'

‘It is not for me to malign him.'

‘It is your duty to tell me.'

‘Do you have a daughter?'

‘I am not married.'

‘Then if you have one, you will have left the poor mother to protect her.'

‘Now you're maligning me. Protect her from what?'

‘Her own stupidity.'

‘We're going round and round in square circles. What are you trying to tell me?'

‘A naive young woman will dream when a rich man smiles at her.'

‘Who is the young woman?'

‘Marta.'

‘And the man was Señor Picare?'

She did not answer.

Alvarez walked into the medical centre in Llueso. There were many people waiting in the square around which were the consulting rooms of several doctors. As he walked towards the one in which Dr Ferrer practised, a woman came out and another got up from one of the chairs and walked forward.

He hurried to check her. ‘Wait a moment. I have to speak to Dr Ferrer.'

‘I am next,' she said belligerently.

‘Cuerpo.'

‘We are now a democracy and even the likes of you takes his turn.'

‘I am not ill and—'

‘You are here to buy fish?'

‘It is a matter of great importance and I will be as brief as possible.' To prevent further objection, he hurried into the interview room.

Dr Ferrer briefly looked up, then back down at his desk. ‘Pascual Serra?'

‘No, I—'

‘Martin Rossello?'

‘I'm here to—'

‘You have not registered. If your visit is not in the nature of an emergency, you will first do so and then take your turn.'

I'm Inspector Alvarez of the Cuerpo.'

Ferrer visually examined him. ‘Have I not relatively recently examined you?'

‘Not exactly. We met—'

‘You have put on weight, having undoubtedly ignored my advice. Get on the scales.'

‘I don't need to be weighed.'

‘Do I inform you what to do in your work?'

‘I'm here in connection with the death of Señor Picare. He drowned in his swimming pool.'

‘Having been called to his house, I am aware of that fact.'

‘Because he drowned …?'

‘You know more than I do until the post mortem?'

‘He might have died from some other cause?'

‘Unlike you, I cannot yet answer.'

‘I imagined—'

‘An unfortunate habit in both your occupation and mine. Why do you want to speak to me?'

‘I'm not certain—'

‘Another undesirable trait.'

‘Is it possible the señor did not die from downing?'

‘There are facts which need to be considered. There was no fine froth about nose and mouth. On the flesh above his right knee was a cut. I examined his nails and they were too well trimmed to have caused such injury while he struggled, as all drowning persons do; there was nothing about his swimming trunks capable of inflicting such a cut.'

‘You think, then, that death was probably not accidental?'

‘A possibility which has to be considered.'

If Picare had not died accidentally, there would have to be an investigation likely to be long and arduous.

‘I imagine you are ill-acquainted with international crime,' Ferrer said.

Local crime was more than enough.

‘You will be unaware that one of the more successful methods of murder in England at the beginning of the last century was initially considered to have been a case of accidental drowning. The murderer, who married several times in order to gain the small capital each woman owned, in turn disposed of each “wife” to gain her money. He provided a small tin bath in which to wash and, when she was lying in it, he put a hand under her head, an arm under her raised knees – the bath was that small – and as quickly as possible pushed down on her head and pulled up on her knees. As is now well known, the sudden impact of water on the back of the pharynx or larynx causes vagal inhibition and sudden death.'

‘You're suggesting someone suddenly grabbed the señor and pulled his head under the water to kill him?'

‘I am not.'

‘But …?'

‘I am naming a possibility. The lack of fine froth is indicative, no more. The slight bruising on an ankle might have been caused by a very minor bump; and as I have said, there was nothing in the pool or on his trunks to have caused the cut.'

‘How is one to know for certain what happened?'

‘The post mortem may provide the answer.'

‘And if it doesn't?'

‘Then it will be for you to decide.'

‘But without a definite medical opinion, that may be very difficult, even impossible.'

‘My patients are being forced to wait, so you can leave.'

Dolores, Alvarez's cousin, looked through the bead curtain which hung between kitchen and sitting/dining room. ‘Supper will soon be ready so there is no need to drink any more.' She withdrew.

Jaime, her husband, waited to make certain she was not standing behind the curtain, watching, and slowly, to avoid the noise of running liquid, refilled his glass.

‘I've had an emotional morning,' Alvarez remarked.