Free The Ambiguity of Murder by Roderic Jeffries Page B

certainty that the world had nothing more wonderful to offer. He should have realized that to believe one had reached a peak was to accept that the only way forward was down. It hadn’t been long afterwards that Juana-María had died, pinned against a wall by a car driven by a drunken Frenchman …
    Inés returned, accompanied by Susana who poured out for herself what coffee remained. He produced the photocopy of Karen’s residencia and passed it across. ‘Do you recognize her?’ he asked Susana.
    She held it well away from her face, then opened her handbag and brought out a case from which she took a pair of spectacles. She put them on and examined the photograph a second time. ‘That’s her. She’s married, isn’t she?’
    â€˜She is.’
    â€˜But not to the man who drove her here?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜So who’s he?’
    â€˜I don’t yet know, but I expect I’ll find out.’
    Susana finished her coffee. ‘You reckon the señor definitely didn’t drown accidentally, don’t you?’
    â€˜I don’t yet know whether he did or not.’
    She turned to Inés. ‘If that’s the case, you’d better tell him about the glass.’
    â€˜He won’t want to hear about that,’ she said scathingly. ‘Her friend drives one of those lovely BMWs. Francisco says it’ll do two hundred and fifty kilometres an hour. Just imagine!’
    â€˜It’s ridiculous to go so fast.’
    Inés giggled. ‘Lorenzo says you drive so slowly that you don’t even do sixty downhill.’
    â€˜I think of other people.’
    Alvarez intervened in what appeared to be a long-running argument. ‘What is there to tell me about a glass?’
    â€˜It’s nothing,’ Inés answered. ‘You wouldn’t be interested.’
    â€˜Until I hear what this is about, I won’t know if that’s right.’
    â€˜It’s just that one went missing.’
    â€˜A glass?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜From where and when?’
    â€˜I went down Friday to tidy up around the pool ’cause Susana said to do it – I couldn’t think why since the señor wasn’t there to fuss any more…’
    â€˜Show some respect,’ Susana snapped.
    Alvarez said peacefully: ‘And what happened when you tidied things up?’
    â€˜Like always, I checked the glass cupboard and there was two glasses missing. You’d said you’d taken one to look at it, or something, but there wasn’t no sign of the other. That’s all. Like as not, the señor had dropped it and broke it before he died.’
    â€˜Then he’d have told us to clear up the mess,’ Susana said. ‘And even if for once he’d done something for himself, where was all the broken glass?’
    â€˜How sure are you that there’s one unaccounted for?’ he asked.
    â€˜Positive,’ Inés answered.
    â€˜When was the last time you knew all the glasses were there?’
    â€˜I don’t know. The last time I looked, I suppose.’
    â€˜When would that have been?’
    â€˜The day he died. I had to clean and tidy the poolhouse every morning, even if he didn’t have visitors. Never met anyone so fussy.’
    â€˜And every morning, you checked the contents of the glass cupboard?’
    â€˜If something wasn’t in its right place, he’d start shouting. He’d a terrible temper and he could become real nasty.’
    â€˜You shouldn’t speak like that of someone who’s died,’ Susana said.
    â€˜I speak as I find.’
    Alvarez wondered how much of Inés’s sharp criticism had its roots in the incident in the library.
    Inés said: ‘It don’t signify, does it? Just a missing glass.’
    â€˜I’m not so certain.’ He saw Susana’s quick smile of satisfaction at his answer … Inés could be mistaken and one