Free In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery by Roderic Jeffries Page B

who provide sorrow?’
    â€˜I have suffered in the past as Marta now does, so will do everything to avoid bringing her more pain, but I have to speak to her for a few minutes …’
    He stopped as Marta walked into the entrada. Her eyes were moist, her cheeks damp, her expression sad and bitter.
    â€˜Return to your room, love,’ her mother said.
    â€˜What does he want?’
    â€˜To talk to you. I have told him, he cannot.’
    â€˜Marta,’ he said, ‘I’m very sorry to have to be here—’
    She interrupted him. ‘It was my fault.’ Her voice was high.
    â€˜He did not kill himself, so it cannot have been your fault.’
    â€˜You say that to make me think … that …’
    â€˜I promise you, in the name of the saint of my birthday, that I speak the truth.’ He hoped he would not be asked to name the saint. ‘The señor was killed by someone.’
    Tears dribbled down her cheeks as she ran out of the room.
    â€˜Her sorrow will lessen since you have told her that?’ Eva asked with angry sarcasm.
    â€˜Is it not kinder to speak the truth than to let her continue to believe she was in any way responsible for his death?’
    â€˜I … I don’t know.’ She sat on the solitary chair. ‘Why did she go and work there?’ she wailed.
    â€˜Life can become more bitter than an unripe Seville orange. I will leave, but circumstances are beyond me and I will have to return tomorrow to speak to Marta.’
    â€˜You will not be welcome.’
    Eva was much less antagonistic the following day. She offered him a glass of wine. They sat in the main room and after a while, to her mother’s uneasiness, Marta joined them.
    â€˜I know it must distress you,’ he said to her, ‘but I must ask you to tell me what happened that day. Take as long as you like. If you find it becomes too difficult, we will have a break.’
    Eva corrected him. ‘I will say when to stop.’
    She’d tell a bishop he was talking nonsense, he thought admiringly. ‘Marta, Señor Russell was at the house, wasn’t he?’
    She nodded.
    â€˜Do you remember what they ate?’
    She hesitated only briefly. ‘
Guàtleres amb pa
.’
    â€˜Did you have some later with Rosalía?’
    She nodded again.
    â€˜Were they delicious?’
    â€˜She cooked them.’
    A guarantee. Quail could somewhat lack in taste, but given a touch of salt and lemon juice before being browned in hot olive oil, cooked in a mélange of lemon juice, sweet paprika, marjoram, and parsley, wrapped in bacon, they became a gourmet’s choice. ‘When did you leave and return here?’
    She brushed her eyes with a crooked forefinger. ‘Like always, after me and Rosalía had cleaned up. The señora wanted everything spotless and back where it should be before we finished work.’
    â€˜Then you didn’t see Señor Russell again?’
    â€˜Him and the señor came into the kitchen to say how much they’d enjoyed the meal. She can only say what’s wrong.’
    â€˜Señor Russell left before you’d finished the work, so that would be the last you saw of him?’
    â€˜Just heard him driving off.’
    â€˜That’s all you can ask,’ Eva said sharply. ‘Clear off and leave us alone.’
    â€˜I only have one more question and promise it won’t upset Marta any more.’
    â€˜Your promise isn’t worth a single centimo.’
    â€˜Marta, how do you know the señor said goodbye to Señor Russell before he drove away?’
    â€˜I heard him.’
    He thanked her for finding the courage to talk to him, Eva for her patience, left.

NINE
    â€˜I t is kind of you to take the trouble to get in touch with me,’ Salas said sarcastically.
    â€˜Señor,’ Alvarez began, ‘I have—’
    â€˜I hope you are not about to say you have tried to phone me several