Free The Ambiguity of Murder by Roderic Jeffries Page A

there’s a risk of being seen.’
    â€˜Then they was unusual. But if you don’t believe me, ask her if she don’t have a funny-looking birthmark on her bum.’
    â€˜A difficult question to put delicately.’
    â€˜I’m telling you, she’s not keen on delicacy!’
    â€˜Susana, or Inés, told me that when she’s gone to Son Fuyell, she’s been driven there by a man. Can’t be her husband, so who is he?’
    â€˜How would I know? Tell you something, though. If he was lying by the pool with a dozen women starkers, none of ’em would get so much as tickled.’
    â€˜How old would you say he is?’
    â€˜Near enough her age.’
    It was difficult to surmise what part in the triangle he could play.
    Frau went to refill his glass, found the jug empty. ‘Juana,’ he shouted.
    Alvarez settled back in the chair.

CHAPTER 9
    Five photostat copies of residencias were faxed to Alvarez on Monday morning. Two of the women were in their seventies, two in their sixties; the fifth was in her twenties, and if one allowed for the poor quality of the reproduction it was clear she would quicken an anchorite’s heart. Someone in Palma had shown initiative and enclosed very brief biographical notes and from these he learned that Karen Robertson was married to a man of fifty-six. Even for a homely woman, a thirty-year difference in ages was likely to strain marriage loyalties; for a voluptuously attractive one, it could be all but guaranteed to snap them. He was confident he had identified Zavala’s companion by the swimming pool.
    *   *   *
    As Alvarez stepped out of his car in the turning circle in front of Son Fuyell and once again took the time to enjoy the view, a pleasure heightened by the slight breeze that always seemed to blow over high ground, he experienced a rare jealousy. Why should one man be granted so much?… Yet in truth Zavala had been granted an early, watery death. There were those who claimed that life was always fairer than it might at first appear to be.
    Inés, no longer emotional, let him into the house. After telling him Susana had driven down to the village but would almost certainly be back soon, she suggested he might like some coffee. In the kitchen, she asked him if he knew what was going to happen to the house. Would she and Susana be asked to stay on? She hoped they would because she was saving for when she and Francisco married. Everywhere these days cost an absolute fortune. There was a house in the village, not far from her parents, and the owner was asking sixteen million for it. Sixteen million! Years ago, one could have bought the whole village for that! Maybe they’d have to rent somewhere to begin with, but rents were so very high …
    He listened to her prattle, sadly certain that only unhappiness lay ahead of her – either Francisco would marry her or he wouldn’t.
    The coffee machine hissed. She poured out two mugfuls, put milk and sugar on the table, and sat. Why were parents so stupid? Last night, she and Francisco had gone for a drive and returned a little latish and her father had worked himself into a temper and accused her of … Well, of misbehaving. She wasn’t that kind of a girl. She looked quickly at him.
    He assured her that it was obvious she was not that kind of a girl.
    They heard a car door slam. ‘That’ll be Susana.’ She left the kitchen.
    Alvarez drank and his mind wandered in the past. In June – or had it been July? – Juana-María had said she’d wanted to go on a picnic. Her parents, who had never understood her liking for new experiences, had been bewildered by the wish because it was not something they, or any of their friends, had ever done, but in the end they’d agreed – naturally, provided a duenna accompanied them. It had been a day of sunshine, laughter, and happiness; he could still recall his exalted