An Enigmatic Disappearance (5 page)

Ca Na Ada was a very large, ranch-style villa, set in a garden filled with colour. As he climbed out of the car, Alvarez heard the tinkling of water and he looked to his right and saw, beyond a palm tree, a stone fountain with a metre-high jet. Since most of the water had to be piped from the port, it was expensive; a fountain eventually lost a considerable proportion of the water that passed through it … He shook his head. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never understand the foreigners' stupidity in failing to realize that a peseta not spent was a peseta in the pocket.

He crossed to the front door and rang the bell. The door was opened by a man in white jacket, black tie, and striped trousers, into whose expression there slipped a measure of contempt as he surveyed Alvarez's somewhat dishevelled appearance. ‘Yes?'

‘Cuerpo General de Policia,' Alvarez snapped.

The man's expression blanked.

‘Is Señor Ruffolo here?'

‘He is at home.'

‘I want to talk to him.'

He was shown into a sitting-room that had a floor area not far short of the whole of the downstairs of his own home. It had been furnished and decorated seemingly with little regard to taste, and because of the vivid colours the first impression was of sheer vulgarity; then, a calmer inspection revealed individual pieces of furniture that were of unmistakable quality which seemed to raise the question, how could someone both lack and possess a sense of beauty? Since the view was nature made, that provoked no such problem. There were three sliding windows and through them could be seen, above the hedge, the bay, headlands, and open sea …

As a door opened, he turned.

Ruffolo crossed to the nearer settee and settled on it, one arm trailing along its back. ‘You want something?' he asked, in fluent if heavily accented Spanish.

Only Italy, Alvarez thought, could produce a tall, slender, curly-headed man, almost as handsome as he so obviously thought himself, whose movements were touched with feminine grace, who could wear a heavy gold medallion on a thick gold chain and a large, gem-studded signet ring without even a trace of doubt. ‘I should like to ask you some questions.'

‘Have I been driving too fast on the autoroute?'

‘I expect so; most people do … Do you know Señora Ogden?'

‘Who?'

‘Señora Sabrina Ogden.'

‘No one ever mentions surnames. Yes, I know Sabrina. Why d'you ask?'

‘Perhaps you've not heard that she's disappeared?'

‘Really.'

‘You are not concerned?'

‘What is more natural than that she should decide to leave her senile husband?'

‘I didn't say she'd disappeared voluntarily.'

‘What alternative is there?'

‘I'm here to find out. What emotional state has she been in recently?'

‘I have no idea.' Ruffolo leaned across to open the heavily chased silver cigarette case on the small occasional table by the side of the settee. He lit a cigarette.

‘Are you a friend of hers?'

‘I have met her, no more.'

‘An Englishman has told me that at the beginning of this year you were very friendly with her.'

‘The English are all so frustrated that they have only to see a man speaking to a woman with a measure of admiration and they conjure up an affair.'

‘When did you last talk to her?'

‘At some party, or other. How can I remember? We go to so many parties.'

‘Do you have a girlfriend?'

‘What sort of a question is that supposed to be? I live here with my beloved Ada.'

‘Are you friendly with another woman?'

‘The question is insulting.'

The second of the inner doors opened and Ada swept into the room. She came to a stop and stared at Alvarez. ‘Carlos told me you're a detective?' She spoke in English, careless he might not understand her.

‘That is so, señora.'

‘Señorita.'

‘My apologies.'

‘You don't look like a detective.'

She didn't look like a rich woman. She was fat in the wrong places; her face was lined and rough; her hair had been dyed a strange shade of orange; her heavy make-up had been inexpertly applied; her dress fitted only where it touched; she wore jewellery that mocked instead of complementing because it was elegant.

‘What do you want here?'

Ruffolo spoke quickly in English that was more Bronx than BBC. ‘He's asking me questions.'

‘About what?' She sat down heavily on one of the chairs and her very full skirt briefly flared out to reveal expanses of flabby flesh.

‘He says Sabrina's vanished.'

She turned to Alvarez. ‘That's fact?'

‘Indeed, señorita. She left her home on Sunday afternoon and has not been seen since.'

‘Why should you think Rino can help find her?'

He was about to answer, but was interrupted. Rino said: ‘Some idiot Englishman has told him I've been friendly with her.' He laughed. ‘As if I could find pleasure in the company of a woman so lacking in taste as to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather.'

‘That's good reason for her to want to wander,' she said sharply.

Rino came gracefully to his feet, crossed to her chair, took one of her hands in both of his and stared intently into her eyes. ‘My angel, do I hear the whisper of a question? Could Rino have been friendly with her, but does not wish to admit this? Such a question is like a dagger to my heart.'

‘Men can't keep their eyes off her.'

‘Because they have English wives who believe that it is a sin to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. But would I stare at another woman when I have my Ada who knows that to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh is to live like a god?'

‘You mustn't say things like that in front of a stranger,' she simpered.

‘Not tell the world I am the luckiest man alive?' He gently disengaged his hands, turned to face Alvarez. ‘In ancient times in my country, a man who spread malicious gossip had his tongue torn out. The Englishman who said this should have his tongue eaten by sewer rats.' He brought an embroidered silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. ‘I am on fire with anger.'

‘Then have a swim and cool down,' she said.

‘I don't think so.'

‘Suit yourself, but I want a word with the inspector so vamoose for a while.'

He hesitated, then crossed to the inner door, his resentment obvious.

She waited until he'd gone to say to Alvarez: ‘All right, let's hear the rest.'

‘The rest of what, señorita?' Alvarez replied.

‘Who's the bastard who said Rino was having it off with Sabrina?'

‘I do not know his identity.'

‘Bullshit!' Her tone became scornful. ‘Shocked you, have I?'

‘Of course not,' he protested weakly.

‘Who was he?'

‘Señorita, surely you understand that in any police inquiry there is information which has to remain confidential?'

‘Yeah? Then at least you can tell me why the bastard said it?'

‘I do not know why.'

‘There's more you don't know than you do.'

The superior chief would agree with that, he thought. She had not managed to hide the fact that behind the pugnacity was a measure of uncertainty. ‘My informant mentioned the rumour; he did not try to suggest there was any truth in it.'

‘And that was enough to have you come here, shouting dirt?'

‘It was my duty to learn whether there could be any truth in the story.'

‘And now you know it's crap.'

‘I wonder why someone would wish to be so cruel?'

‘Because most of the expats haven't anything better to do than slag somebody and it's twice as much fun to slag me.'

‘Why should that be?'

She didn't answer the question, but said: ‘You know who I reckon it was?'

‘Tell me, señorita.'

‘Someone who made a try for her and got turned down flat. There's nothing gets a man more vindictive than a sharp brush-off.'

‘If that were so, why should he name Señor Ruffolo?'

‘Because Rino's Italian; and because whoever it was is small-minded and intensely jealous of anyone who enjoys life.'

‘Can you suggest who this person might be?'

‘Anyone not yet in a zimmer frame.'

‘Suppose you're right and inventing this rumour was an act of vindictiveness – do you think it's possible that she has in truth been having an affair?'

‘What's more likely? Bevis is a pompous prat and it'll be a long time since his performance matched his ambition. There's nothing so off-putting to a woman as a floundering man … D'you want a drink?'

The change of subject was so abrupt that it was a while before Alvarez responded. ‘That would be a pleasure, señorita.'

‘What d'you want?'

‘Might I have a coñac with just ice?'

‘It's liberty hall.'

No doubt until one's wishes ran counter to hers. He watched her pick up from the table by her side what looked like a television remote control. She pressed the single button on it.

She answered his unspoken question. ‘Carlos tried telling me he couldn't hear me call him, so I bought something that lets him know loud and clear when I want him.' She put the control down. ‘Where are you from?'

‘I live in Llueso.'

‘Are you married?'

Before he could answer, the inner door opened and Carlos stepped into the room.

‘The usual for me,' Ada said. ‘And brandy with just ice for the inspector.'

Carlos left.

She jerked her thumb in the direction of the door. ‘His previous job was with a couple who reckoned they were God's gift to high society. He started here by telling me how things should be done. Soon learned he did 'em my way or he started walking.'

That did not surprise him. She ran her life as she wanted it run.

‘You didn't say if you're married?'

‘I'm not.'

‘Why not at your age? One of them, are you?'

He was amused, not annoyed, by her personal questions. ‘Many years ago, I was engaged. But my fiancée was killed in an accident before we could marry.'

‘And you've not met anyone else to take her place?'

‘Sadly, no,' he answered, knowing this to be a lie, but not prepared to admit that usually it had not been he who had drawn back.

‘I once had a young man. He wasn't killed in an accident.'

He was convinced that her cryptic comment hid memories as painful as were his of Juana-María …

Carlos returned, carrying a large silver salver on which was a bottle of champagne in a cooler, a bottle of brandy, a small ice container, a flute, and a glass; he put the champagne and flute down on the table by Ada's chair, the brandy, ice, and glass on the one by Alvarez's. He left.

‘He can't stand giving people the bottle to help themselves.'

‘Which is precisely why you do it?'

She filled her flute, drank.

*   *   *

Alvarez drove with very great care as he crossed the bridge over the torrente to enter the village; such great care that the driver of the Mondeo behind him hooted in angry frustration. ‘Roadhog,' he said loudly.

Once over the bridge, and even though there was little room, the Mondeo drew abreast and the driver shook his fist. Alvarez raised one finger in the unmistakable gesture of contempt and this provoked such fury that the other driver momentarily lost concentration and had to brake violently to avoid a crash with one of the parked cars. Alvarez was still laughing when he drew up in front of home.

He was surprised to find the family seated around the dining-table. Speaking with care, he said: ‘Am I a little late?'

‘Are you a little late?' Dolores spoke histrionically. ‘You can ask that when, because I insist some of us show manners, we have had to wait for your return before we ate; wait so long that in the end we could wait no longer. But by then, the meal, over which I slaved the whole morning, was ruined.'

Typically, Jaime chose the wrong moment to try to soothe his wife's feelings. ‘It wasn't ruined. I thought it was delicious.'

‘To a deaf man, all languages are the same.'

Alvarez said: ‘I was unavoidably detained…'

‘In a bar.'

‘In Parelona. I had to go there…' He had to sit down. He collapsed on to his chair. ‘I had to make inquiries.'

Jaime said: ‘About the woman who's married to a husband twice her age and is having it off with –'

‘Be quiet!' snapped Dolores. ‘Try to remember you have children who are not yet old enough to understand the true character of their father.' She spoke once more to Alvarez. ‘It took you all morning and half the afternoon to question a woman?'

‘There was her boyfriend as well. And I have to admit, we did have a drink, or two.'

‘More like four or five,' said Juan precociously.

For once, Dolores did not rebuke her son's rudeness. ‘No doubt she is a foreigner?'

‘She's English. But if you're thinking…'

‘My thoughts come from bitter experience. But not even that has prepared me for the shame of learning that my cousin lusts after a married woman.'

‘You're mixing everything up. Don't you see…'

‘I only wish I could not. If the good Lord were kind, he would blind me to your behaviour. Truly it is said that only the grave can still a man's stupidity.'

Only a monastery could grant a living man peace.

CHAPTER 8

Alvarez parked his car and crossed to the three steps and the front door, rang the bell. As he waited, he studied the bougainvillaea, curious to note if a praying mantis were still there.

The door was opened and he faced a woman who immediately evoked in his mind the image of a fading flower. ‘Señora Keane?'