A Maze of Murders by Roderic Jeffries Read Free Book Online

down the stone steps and into the foyer. He spoke to the desk clerk and explained that he wanted to examine Señor Lewis’s room. The desk clerk called the assistant manager who, since the manager was not present and responsibility could not therefore be shifted, finally and reluctantly agreed to the request.
    Room 24 had a wide balcony and Alvarez stepped on to this, stared out at the bay, and wondered if the many tourists ever appreciated to the full the beauty that lay before them. He sighed. Judging by the average tourist, it seemed unlikely.
    He returned to the room. On the bedside table was a paperback with a lurid cover; the single drawer was empty. The dressing-table had nothing on it that was not hotel provided; the drawers were empty. He crossed to the built-in cupboard and slid back the right-hand door. On the floor was a battered canvas hold-all in which was dirty clothing, a pornographic video tape bought locally, and a carton of Lucky Strike which still contained four packs. By the side of the hold-all was a pair of brown shoes, in the left-hand one of which was a thick wad of banknotes. Mostly of ten thousand peseta denomination, they added up to seven hundred and sixteen thousand pesetas. He folded them up and replaced them. Hanging up were two pairs of jeans and a denim jacket. In the breast pocket of the jacket was a passport, a wallet which contained seven thousand pesetas, a five-pound note, and a packet of condoms; in other pockets were a crumpled up receipt from Gomila y Hijos, another, even more crumpled, from a restaurant in Bitges, and a used train ticket from Bitges to Barcelona.
    He stood at the foot of the nearer bed and mentally reviewed the facts. Lewis had over seven hundred thousand pesetas in cash, yet only days previously he had been virtually penniless; the money and the passport surely negated the possibility – a very slight one – that his disappearance had been intended; prior to arriving on the island he had been on the Peninsula, yet had not told Sheard this (if Sheard were to be believed) …
    He’d come to the hotel hoping to find answers; he seemed only to have raised more questions. He left and drove to the harbour, parked on the eastern arm and walked to where the Aventura was moored, dwarfed by the gin palace in the next berth. The gangplank was narrow and lacked any hand ropes, but most would have crossed it without a second thought. Altophobia provoked a hundred and one thoughts and caused him to have to summon up every ounce of willpower before he could make the crossing, miserably conscious of the ridiculous figure he cut.
    The saloon door was shut, but not locked. He went inside and was gratified to see that nothing had been cleared up. On the port side, immediately for’d of the settee, was a table on which were three glasses, one of them on its side, an empty bottle of Bell’s whisky and another over three-quarters full; on the deck by the starboard settee was a glass on its side, a T-shirt, jeans, pants, and a pair of sandals.
    He picked up the two bottles and four glasses, put them in a plastic carrier bag retrieved from under the table. Once more, very frightened, he walked the plank.
    He drove into the port and along to a dingy bar in one of the backstreets owned by a man who, despite the fact he was illiterate, had a keen business brain and charged tourists in search of local colour twice as much as his regular customers.
    â€˜You look like you’ve just lost the winning lottery ticket,’ the owner said, as he put a glass of brandy in front of Alvarez.
    â€˜That’s just how I feel.’
    â€˜Woman trouble?’
    â€˜I’ve more important things to worry about.’
    â€˜If you think there’s anything more important, you’re getting really old.’
    *   *   *
    The bank’s new branch in the village was laid out on the open plan, with the manager’s desk in full view of