The Ambiguity of Murder (5 page)

‘What kind of a man was he to work for?'

‘Same as most,' she answered carefully.

He smiled. ‘Difficult?'

‘I've never met one that wasn't some of the time. But I suppose he wasn't too bad for a foreigner, if one takes everything into account.'

‘He wasn't Spanish?'

‘You didn't know?'

‘I've not had the chance to find out things yet. Where was he from?'

‘South America. Couldn't miss it when he spoke.' Her tone was critical. Like distant relations, South Americans were condemned for faults that could seldom be specified.

‘Which country?'

‘Bolivia.'

‘How long has he lived here?'

‘A year, maybe a little more. He bought the place from the family of a German who had it built and then died suddenly. Not a lucky house.'

‘Certainly doesn't seem to be. Must have cost a few pesetas?'

‘They do say the señor paid four hundred million. But that's impossible. Who has that much money to pay for a house?'

‘If he was that wealthy, I reckon he thought his money really made him someone?'

He had gained her confidence and his last remark persuaded her to describe Zavala in less flattering and more realistic terms. He had been arrogant, bad-tempered, very quick to complain, very slow to praise. There had been times when she'd been tempted to throw in the job, but she was a widow and she had no man to keep her. Her beloved husband had died several years previously …

He listened sympathetically as he ate a second biscuit; then, when she became silent, he picked up a third one. ‘These are really delicious!'

‘The señor liked them, which is why I was always making them. Inés said that maybe one day she'd put some rat poison in the mixture … Sweet Mary!' She put her hand to her mouth.

‘Don't worry, he didn't die from poison.'

‘She was joking. You must understand that.'

‘Of course I do.'

‘I told her to leave that kind of joke to Lorenzo, but … Well, she was upset.'

‘For any particular reason?'

She hesitated. ‘You won't tell her I've said?'

‘My lips will be sealed.'

‘When she started working here, I said to watch out because she's good-looking and the señor was after the women even more than most men are. Maybe he'd leave her alone because she was a servant, but maybe he'd think that gave him the right to take what he wanted. She was in the television room, dusting, and he went in and started telling her how good-looking she was. She's no fool – even if she did swim naked – and knew what he was after, but couldn't think what to do. It's not easy when a man pays the wages. So he seemed to think she was listening and got busy with his hands. Then the phone rang and when he went to answer it, she cleared out. It's after that when she joked about the rat poison. You do understand, don't you?'

‘Of course.'

Susana finished the coffee in her mug. ‘He didn't try again and acted like it had never happened. Inés couldn't understand that. I said it was maybe that that phone call had been one of his women saying she was waiting and since he was going to get what he was after, Inés just became a servant again.'

‘More than likely. I take it there's no Señora Zavala?'

‘If there is one, she's never been near here. And who'd blame her for staying away when he acted like he did?'

‘Has he had a particular girlfriend very recently?'

She picked up a biscuit and nibbled it. ‘There's been one up here several times – a real bitch!'

‘Why d'you say that?'

‘She's married. It's one thing to have fun when you're on your own – not that we did in my time – it's another to spit in your husband's bed.'

‘How do you know she's married?'

‘She didn't wear a wedding ring.'

‘I don't follow that. If she didn't wear one…'

‘What I mean is, she arrived here with nothing on her finger, but I've eyes and can see the two bands of light flesh where she's normally got the engagement and wedding rings.'

‘What's her name?'

‘Karen.'

‘And her surname?'

She shrugged her shoulders.

‘Have you any idea of her nationality?'

‘English. Not that I needed her to tell me that – not with the disgusting way she behaves.'

‘D'you know where she lives?'

‘How would I?'

He helped himself to another biscuit and, knowing that the surest way to a middle-aged woman's heart was not to tell her she was beautiful, but to praise her cooking, said again how delicious it was.

For a brief moment she was pleased, but then was once more worried. ‘It is an accident what happened, isn't it?'

‘There's nothing to say it wasn't.'

‘It's just that with you asking all these questions, I've been wondering.'

‘There are always problems which have to be sorted out when someone dies unexpectedly. And I'm afraid there are a few more things I have to know. Tell me about yesterday evening.'

‘How d'you mean?'

‘When did you last see the señor, did he say if he was expecting anyone to visit, do you know if anyone did come here; anything that'll help me picture how things were.'

‘But I told you, I don't know what went on because I can't see the big house from my place.'

‘And you were in your house all evening?'

‘I don't work when I don't have to.'

He smiled. ‘Who does? What exactly were your working hours?'

She explained, at considerable length because she kept diverting, sometimes to the point where it was difficult to remember the thread of the conversation. Times had not exactly been fixed and if she had to work more than usual, she made certain she had time off to compensate, however much the señor complained. She walked up to the big house to arrive at seven-thirty. If he wanted breakfast, either she or Inés – who was meant to arrive at eight, but seldom did, being of a generation who had no idea what work really meant – prepared that. She spent most of the morning in the kitchen, but if necessary and there was the time, gave Inés a hand with the housework.

The señor had been very fond of fish and shellfish, so she had specialized in cooking fish dishes. He seldom praised, but more than once he'd told her that her Rape en salsa de mariscos was the best he'd ever eaten. In the afternoon, she naturally had a siesta. She made coffee – although occasionally he wanted tea – and served this with biscuits at six in the evenings. He said whether he wanted supper; often, he did not because he was going out. If he was entertaining guests, then she had to cook a hot meal …

‘What happened about the evening meal yesterday?'

‘He couldn't make up his mind, that's what happened.'

‘Tell me about it.'

‘When I served the coffee, he said he was going out and didn't want anything. Then, when I collected the dirty things, he'd changed his mind and was staying in and wanted something cold. Later on, he phoned and said he wasn't certain what he'd be doing and would let me know when he did.'

‘There's an internal phone system and you have a receiver in your house?'

‘How else d'you think?'

‘I have to make doubly certain because I have a superior chief who asks more unnecessary questions than a dog has fleas. Would you know what the time was when he phoned you?'

‘Half past seven. He said he'd ring back at eight and tell me for certain. Didn't matter what happened to my evening, of course…' She stopped abruptly.

He guessed she was castigating herself for her criticism. ‘You know, the way a person acts isn't altered by his dying. You're helping me by saying how things really were.'

‘It's just … I mean, if he could have decided earlier, I'd have known how my evening was going to be. Only … he wasn't the kind of man to think of other people.' She had spoken hurriedly as if trying to race her conscience.

‘Did he ring you later on?'

‘No. Couldn't be bothered.'

‘Then you spent the evening uncertain whether or not you'd have to return to work?'

‘I ain't daft. I waited, then rang back to find out if he'd made his mind up.'

‘And had he?'

‘I wouldn't know. There was no answer. Rang three times, then I thought to hell with it, he could get his own supper.'

‘What was the time when you phoned him?'

‘Eight. When he'd said he'd phone me.'

‘Presumably there's a phone down at the pool house?'

‘'Course there is. Phones everywhere. I'd have given something to be able to get rid of the one in my place so as he couldn't have bothered me all the time.'

‘Did it puzzle you that he didn't answer your call?'

‘No. Just thought he'd decided to go out and couldn't be bothered to tell me.' She hesitated, then added: ‘If I'd gone to find out why he didn't answer…' She became silent, her expression strained.

‘You'd no reason to think you ought to check, had you?'

‘Of course I hadn't. There've been times enough when he didn't do what he said he would.'

‘Then you've absolutely no reason to blame yourself.'

‘It's just I can't help thinking.'

‘Sometimes, it pays not to think.'

‘Easy to say.' She sighed.

The time of death could seldom, if ever, be medically estimated with any firm degree of accuracy, but when a figure was given, it could be accepted unless or until there was reason to doubt it. Dr Sanz had placed the time of death at between seven and nine. Zavala had spoken to Susana at half past seven, had failed to answer the phone at eight even though she had rung three times. There was here reason to believe death had occurred between half-seven and eight … ‘There's one last thing. I need to talk to Inés.'

‘She's not here. She was so upset I told her to go off back home. I mean, I didn't think you might want to speak to her. If I'd known…'

‘Don't worry. Tell me where she lives and I'll see her there.'

‘You … you won't mention what I told you about her in the television room, will you? She's scared her novio will hear about it. He's the jealous type and would likely start wondering if she'd been smiling at the señor.'

‘Could she have been?'

For several seconds, Susana hesitated, then she said: ‘When youngsters see foreigners who are rich beyond understanding, likely they have silly ideas.'

‘And who can blame 'em … So if you'll give me her address?'

‘The house is in Carrer Magallanes, but I can't say the number.'

‘I'll soon find out what that is.' He looked up at the electric clock on the far wall. ‘I'd better start moving.'

‘There's still some biscuits left.'

He reached across the table.

CHAPTER 6

Jaime was seated at the table in the dining/sitting room, a bottle of brandy and a glass in front of him. Alvarez looked at the bead curtain across the kitchen doorway, from behind which came the sounds of cooking. He said in a low voice: ‘How are things now?'

‘A little while back, she was singing,' Jaime replied.

Alvarez sat, reached down and opened the sideboard to bring out a tumbler. He poured himself a generous brandy. ‘Didn't you get some ice?'

‘No.'

It was obvious that Jaime had foregone ice in order to avoid a face-to-face confrontation with his wife. Man or mouse? Alvarez wondered sarcastically.

Dolores began to sing once more.

Singing could indicate many moods and it might be dangerously mistaken to assume that she was expressing contentment. He listened to the words, but although her voice was true, her enunciation was not and it took him time to understand that a young lady in Seville had looked down into the street from her protected eyrie and meeting the gaze of a handsome young man had felt the strings of her heart plucked … Was the handsome young man honourable or heartless? Nothing annoyed Dolores more than men who took advantage of emotionally helpless women … She did not finish the song.

He looked at his glass, then at the bead curtain. A warm brandy was preferable to no brandy, but less welcome than a cold one. Yet to go through to the kitchen for ice might well provoke her annoyance, especially if the song would have ended with betrayal …

The strings of beads parted as she looked into the room. ‘So you're both back!'

Nervously, they nodded.

‘Where are the children?'

‘I haven't seen them,' Jaime muttered.

‘They won't be far away. Lunch will be in a few minutes.' She withdrew.

Her tone had been warm and she had not condemned their drinking. Alvarez stood. ‘If you won't get some ice, I will.' He went through to the kitchen. ‘I thought Madonna must be in here,' he said, as he opened a cupboard and brought out the small ice container.

‘What are you talking about?' she asked.

‘When I heard the singing, I reckoned it had to be her.'

‘Must you say such stupid things?' she asked, clearly flattered.

He opened the refrigerator and brought out a plastic tray of ice, pressed out the cubes. ‘What's for lunch?'

‘Conill amb ceba.'

‘A feast!'

‘Perhaps.'

‘When you do the cooking, nothing less.' He replaced the tray in the refrigerator, picked up the ice bucket, returned to the dining room. As he sat, he said: ‘Lunch is conill amb ceba.' He dropped four cubes of ice into his glass.

Jaime drained his glass. ‘This morning her tongue was like a knife, now she cooks one of my favourite dishes.' He poured himself another drink. ‘I tell you, I'll be dead and buried and still not begin to understand her. How do you ever know where you are with a woman?'