Murder Begets Murder (21 page)

Accidental death gradually assumed the sinister mantle of murder and when it did so Compton’s one really serious mistake came home to roost. Roldán, who had connived in falsifying a death because this harmed no one, discovered to his horror that he had been an accessory, no matter if unknowingly and indirectly, in what now appeared to have been a murder. He was a doctor, not a murderer. He had threatened Compton with exposure and because of that had had to be killed. Gomez knew only that Roldán had given him half a million pesetas to perform a false burial and so he had been allowed to go on living.

Denise Roldán had known that her husband had had contact with a rich Englishman called Compton and that something about this relationship had suddenly worried her husband most terribly. So when she learned that her dead husband had had in his possession about a million pesetas which couldn’t be accounted for, that he had probably been murdered, that his murder was directly connected with the money . . .

Her emotions had always been intense and she had loved Rodriguez Roldán to a degree not known, perhaps fortunately, to many. And so, because hate was the opposite face to love, she had hated his murderer with savage intensity. She could have denounced Compton, but then punishment would have been in the hands of the law and the law didn’t always extract the last ounce of retribution. She wanted revenge to be complete. So she hid her desperate sorrow and returned to the world, like any other widow who wasn’t really very sorry that her husband had died, and she had made certain that she met Compton. She was uniquely beautiful, he had never been able to resist a beautiful woman. So when she suggested they leave the island together . . .

Somewhere, Denise was fooling Compton into believing she loved him passionately as she bided her time before she extracted her revenge for the murder of her husband . . . Alvarez shivered. Such a woman would recognize no limits.

After a while, he reached over for the telephone directory and searched through it to find out how to make an international call. Then, making certain he had ready the telephone number of the Bearstone County Constabulary HQ, he dialled the international exchange, got the carry­ on tone, and dialled the English number.

A woman answered and he asked for Detective-Inspector Fletcher, adding that this was an international call so could she be as quick as possible.

As he waited, he pictured the detective-inspector, immaculately presented, the embodiment of smart efficiency. On his face would be the self-confident, vaguely patronizing and superior expression which could so annoy an ignorant foreigner who hadn’t had the advantage of having been born an Englishman . . .

‘Fletcher speaking.’

‘Good morning, señor. This is Enrique Alvarez.’

‘Hullo, there. How are you? And how’s the weather with you?’

‘Very hot and sunny for the time of year.’

‘Really? It’s raining here.’ Somehow he managed to suggest that rain was to be preferred, if it fell in England.

‘Señor, do you remember that when I was in England we discussed the case of Señora Heron? She was the wife of . . .’

‘Died from mytilotoxin poisoning after eating a large quantity of mussels. Spanish mussels.’

How in the name of hell did the man remember everything? ‘Señor, I have to tell you now that I think perhaps her death was not accidental. The poison aconite . . .’ There was a short, sarcastic laugh. ‘I’ll give you full marks for perseverance, old man, but I really do think you’ll have to return to the facts. You seem to be forgetting that there was a post-mortem, conducted by Professor Keen. Naturally, I can’t say what goes on in other countries although one gains a rough idea at times, but here we can place complete reliance on the findings of a pathologist. There’s no question but that Mrs Heron died from mytilotoxin poisoning.’

‘Indeed, and it was never my intention to question the findings of one of your eminent pathologists. It was of Señor Heron’s illness I was going to speak. You will understand that it is only with diffidence I ask this, but did you ever request that tests be made to discover exactly from what form of poisoning the señor had suffered?’

‘Why?’

‘It occurred to me that perhaps if he had deliberately secured a supply of mussels from a place such as South Darkpoint, where they are known to become poisonous during the breeding season, and had he fed these to his wife in order to kill her, he would have been reluctant to eat the mussels himself as he would not have known how many might prove fatal to him. So might he not have made certain what was a non-fatal dose of aconite and taken that, since the symptoms of the two illnesses are so similar? . . . But knowing how superbly you managed the case, I thought that almost certainly you could assure me the test had been made so that this possibility should be immediately forgotten.’

There was a long silence. Alvarez leaned forward to refill his glass. The gecko suddenly scampered into sight round the corner of the window and he winked at it.

THE
END