Murdered by Nature (2 page)

T
hey had honeymooned in Grand Bahama, returned to London, flown to Mallorca. Son Dragó was a graceful house, sited on the peninsula of Roca Nesca, its sides up to six metres above the water. Charles would have renamed the estate Roca Nube Diez had he not disliked tampering with tradition.

He had shown her Mallorca, the areas of dramatic grandeur and of quiet beauty. They had walked in the mountainous interior, a foreign land to tourists; explored hidden valleys; spoken to those who lived in isolated homes and had been offered hospitality, however slight, as was the custom; had become ‘lost' in pine forests which offered that rare pleasure, utter peace.

Charles had said they'd go in search of Mosques grosses, wild orchids said to grow on Puig Flexa d'Or.

‘Arrow of gold is an odd name for a mountain.'

He'd poured out Krug for her, for himself, settled in a chair. ‘It's an interesting story how it came to be named. Back in the eighteenth century, it was owned by Don Igcaray, one of the wealthiest landlords on the island and a nasty individual.

‘Tolo worked for him as a shepherd. He was semi-literate – his family had not been able to afford to send him to school – and had managed the flock for many years. One day, he found the prize ram was missing. He searched until dark and it was the next morning before he admitted the loss. Don Igcaray responded in the manner to be expected of such a man. He accused Tolo of negligence, of cheating him by selling the ram, of passing it on to a neighbour for servicing at many pesetas a ewe, of butchering it to eat. If the ram was not found quickly, Tolo would be charged with theft, found guilty, imprisoned. No meaningless threat because, in those days, wealthy landlords administered their own justice.

‘His mind knowing only fear – imprisonment would mean poverty for his wife and children – Tolo had risen before dawn and begun his new search as daylight appeared. By nightfall, he had failed to find the ram. Too weary to return to his small, primitively furnished
caseta
, he had found a hollow, curled up in this and, despite the cold and his fears – evil spirits were abroad at night; how could he possibly avoid the consequences of Igcaray's malevolent anger? – slept until he was awakened by a golden arrow of light, the head of which pointed to a neighbour's land. At dawn, he went down the mountain and across to the neighbour's land and in a dense bramble thicket, found the ram, held fast after blundering its way into the thicket for a reason only a sheep could explain. The mountain became known as Flexa d'Or.'

‘People believed the story?'

‘Why not, when it offered the hope of celestial assistance?'

They drove around the bay to Puig Flexa d'Or. They searched without success for the tightly bunched, blue, white, and red orchids until they were too hot and tired to continue. ‘We didn't deserve a golden arrow,' he remarked as they returned to the car.

Half an hour later, they arrived at Son Dragó. A large house with five bedrooms and en-suite bathrooms, library, large and small sitting-rooms, breakfast, dining, computer and TV rooms, very well-equipped kitchen, store room, scullery, and full staff rooms. It had been built in traditional style, yet imbued with more grace than was customary. The architect had been Italian.

The butler, Benavides, opened the car doors for them. ‘Did you have success, señor?'

‘We lacked celestial assistance.' Charles spoke fluent, incorrect Spanish; Laura understood what was said, still found difficulty in speaking.

As they entered the hall, Benavides said: ‘Señor, a man came here while you were away.'

She noticed he had said ‘a man' instead of ‘a señor', but did not immediately infer the reason for this.

‘Who was he?'

‘Kerr.'

‘Kerr,' Charles repeated. ‘No centimos dropping for the moment. Does the name mean anything to you, sweet?'

‘No.' She answered too quickly, too sharply, but his dismissal of the unknown visitor persuaded her that he had not wondered if the name
might
hold significance for her.

Charles had complained of chest pains and at Laura's insistence had consulted a specialist in Palma who diagnosed a heart problem. Back home, he asked Benavides to bring up a bottle of Bollinger from the cellar.

‘No,' she said. ‘You heard what was advised.'

‘To take life more quietly. He did not suggest I retired to a monastery.'

‘But . . .'

‘Is one glass of champagne going to blast me into eternity?'

Laura had gradually become able to dismiss from her mind for most of the time the possibilities which could follow Charles' heart complaint, but had asked him not to go out on his own in
Eos
when there was much wind because the effort then needed to handle her could become severe. Her words had been accepted, but had little effect, yet since he seemed untroubled by physical demands, she had not worried unduly. One evening as it was turning dark and there was considerable wind, he had said he was going to sail with García, their gardener and handyman, aboard. She and Beatriz had tried to dissuade him without success. On his return it had been clear he was very ill. She had called the specialist. He had arrived shortly before her husband had died.

T
he phone rang. Alvarez ignored the call. The ringing finally ceased, justifying his belief that if something was annoying, ignore it and the annoyance would cease. He looked at his watch. By his own timekeeping, not Salas', he could enjoy a mid-morning
merienda
.

He left the post, crossed the old square in which many idle tourists drank more than they should, entered Club Llueso. Roca, the bartender, walked up to where Alvarez leaned against the bar.

‘What's happened this time?' Roca asked.

‘Why d'you ask?'

‘You almost look cheerful.'

‘Life is being generous.'

‘To you? Must be a mistake.'

‘I'll have a coñac, a café cortado, and no comments.'

Roca activated the espresso machine, poured out a generous brandy, carried glass, cup and saucer to where Alvarez leaned. ‘You won something on the lottery?'

‘My superior is on holiday and so I have only myself to think about.'

‘Surprised you don't look more gloomy than usual.' Roca went along the bar to serve another customer.

Alvarez drank some coffee, poured brandy into the cup. He finished the coffee, signalled to Roca. ‘Another coffee and this time a man-sized coñac.'

‘Doubt there's a glass in the place that'll hold that much.'

Alvarez walked away from the bar and sat on a newly vacated window seat, stared at the people on the raised portion of the square, seated in the shade of large sun-umbrellas; the changing swirl of pedestrians; a redhead in a tight fitting blouse and very short skirt.

Roca brought brandy and coffee to the table. ‘Who are you lusting after today?'

‘My emotion is pleasure, gained from watching people enjoy themselves.'

‘I'll try to believe that.'

Twenty minutes later, Alvarez returned to the post, and as he entered his room, the phone rang.

‘Inspector Alvarez?'

He identified the voice immediately. ‘Yes, señorita.'

‘Then you
are
working today!'

Ángela Torres had worked as Salas' secretary for so many years that she reflected his manners and assumed his authority.

‘Why should you doubt that?' he asked.

‘I have phoned several times without you replying.'

‘There was an incident which needed my attention. A man in the supermarket – that is, the first one to be built in the Port, which was many years ago—'

‘You will make your report to Comisario Borne.'

‘Who?'

‘You have trouble with your hearing?'

‘I don't understand why I should speak to the Comisario.'

‘You have not yet found time to read the notice sent to all inspectors last week?'

He looked at the medley of papers on the desk and accepted that probably amongst them was the unopened envelope. ‘Señorita, I fear I have not yet received it. The post between Palma and here is often inefficient.'

‘The superior chief has had reason recently to remark that perhaps it no longer exists. Comisario Borne will be acting in command until the return of Superior Chief Salas.'

Borne had the reputation of being aggressive and enjoying a high-up relative in the Cuerpo in Madrid. His mother was reputed to have been Swiss. ‘He'll teach this yokel how to yodel?'

‘It is interesting you consider that amusing.' She replaced the receiver.

He should have withheld the facetious comment. She would relate it to Salas on his return. Salas lacked a broad humour.

He wondered how, only a short while before, he could have viewed the world as treating him generously. Optimism was the road to disaster.

Dolores looked through the bead curtain which separated the kitchen from the living/dining room. ‘Lunch is not quite ready since you have returned early.'

‘I've had an exhausting morning and needed a break,' Alvarez replied.

‘Only a man who believes a house looks after itself could think that exhaustion should be compensated,' his cousin said.

He leaned over and opened the door of the Mallorquin sideboard, brought out a bottle of Fundador and two glasses, set one glass in front of where Jaime, Dolores' husband, would sit. He went through to the kitchen.

‘You want something?' she asked.

‘Some ice.'

‘And, no doubt, would like me to get it for you?'

He chose tact in preference to truth. ‘Not when you're so busy.'

‘I am always very busy, even if there is ever a day on which I have only the beds to make, the bedrooms to tidy, the house to dust, clean, polish, the shopping to be done, and the need to cook a tasty meal, while knowing it will be eaten with little appreciation.'

‘With great appreciation.'

‘Expressed with silence.'

He brought a tray of ice cubes out of the refrigerator and, as he emptied these into an ice bucket, reflected on the fact that women were, like the future, uneven and unknowable. She loved her family, was upset at the first suggestion any of them might be unwell, would defend them from the devil, yet often delivered unnecessary and illogical criticism.

He picked up the ice bucket and prepared to leave.

‘You expect me to refill the ice tray and place it in the refrigerator?'

Having refilled and replaced it, he returned to the dining room, dropped four ice cubes into his glass and poured a generous brandy over them.

Jaime returned home, hurried through from the
entrada
. ‘I've had one hell of a morning!'

There was a call from the kitchen. ‘Another man who has been grossly overworked?'

Jaime looked at the bead curtain, then spoke to Alvarez in a low voice, necessary since, as he maintained, Dolores could hear a pin fall through the air. ‘Is she uptight over something?'

‘Only the usual: slaving in the house.'

‘Women will find something to moan about in heaven.'

Speaking as quietly as he had, Jaime had spoken too loudly. Dolores put her head through the bead curtain. ‘That something will not be the absence of men. One of you can lay the table.' She withdrew.

Sounds from the
entrada
indicated the return of Isabel and Juan from school. They entered the dining room in a rush, carried on through to the kitchen.

‘There's a school visit at the end of the month,' Isabel said excitedly.

‘That should be fun,' Dolores answered. ‘Will you come here and stir this for a while? Juan, your shorts are dirty. What have you been doing?'

‘They bet me I couldn't—' He stopped abruptly.

‘What?'

‘I can't remember.'

‘An inherited family failing on the paternal side. Isabel, stir more quickly, and Juan, you can prepare six teeth of garlic.'

Isabel said, in a rush of words: ‘Rosa's been where we're going and says it's wonderful. There's everything, and the scenic railway is so frightening, she wet her pants.'

‘It is quite unnecessary to tell us that.'

‘Carolina won't be able to go because of her mother,' Juan said, ‘and she's spitting bloody tacks.'

‘You will not use such language!'

‘I've often heard Daddy say it.'

‘Your father suffers from a careless tongue and when in the company of his children can find neither the desire nor the ability to curb it.'

In the dining room, Jaime refilled his glass. ‘If there's an earthquake, I'll get blamed for that.'

Alvarez was dreaming he was wandering through the Mallorquin rice fields – something he had never done, in fact – when the phone awoke him. He stared at it with dislike before hauling himself upright.

‘Inspector Alvarez?'

‘Yes, señorita.'

‘Superior Chief Salas wishes to speak to you.'

‘I think you must be wrong.'

‘Would you allow me to know who your caller is.'

‘But I understood—'

‘He will not wish to be kept waiting.'

The briefest of pauses.

‘Alvarez?'

‘Yes, comisario.'

‘You are mistakenly yet again attempting to be humorous?'

The speaker, as he should have realized,
was
Salas. ‘I'd no intention of that, señor. I thought you were Comisario Borne.'

‘My secretary did not inform you who would speak to you?'

‘I thought she must be wrong.'

‘You had reason to accept so unlikely an event?'

‘You are on holiday.'

‘Unlike some, when I am in my office, I do not consider myself to be on holiday. A conference on criminality has been called by the Govern Balear. Since I am to appear before the committee, it was necessary for me to return in order to prepare the facts and figures which will be needed.'