Murder Begets Murder by Roderic Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page A

land is owned by three brothers, one of whom lives in Argentina and refuses to sell, the house was put up by a builder who never bothered to buy the land, he mortgaged the house to a bank, then went bankrupt, and the bank is going to foreclose.’
    ‘So what happens to the Englishman?’
    ‘He has almost certainly lost two and a half million because there were blue skies at Easter. It can be a cruel world, Enrique.’
    ‘Getting back to the señorita — have you any idea how she intended to get from Ca’n Ibore to the airport?’
    Vives pursed his lips. ‘I certainly can’t be certain, but I do seem to remember she said she was ordering a taxi.’
    ‘I’ll have to see if I can find the driver.’ Alvarez pulled himself out of the chair and stood. ‘There’s one last thing. I want a word with a Señora Browning. You wouldn’t know where she lives, would you?’
    ‘Ca Na Penoña,’ Vives answered immediately. ‘The house is in the entrance to the Festona Valley . . . Now if you’re talking about rich foreigners, you’re talking about her. Marry her and you’d not have to worry about where your next meal was coming from.’
    ‘I’d rather go hungry.’
    Vives laughed. ‘A man of principles: expensive principles!’
    Alvarez left and returned to the square, where he spoke to the drivers of the three taxis which were parked there.
    The last driver said: ‘Yes, I remember her. She came and booked me to take her to the airport.’
    ‘Have you heard that she’s just been found dead in the house?’
    ‘Mother of God!’ exclaimed the driver, and crossed himself.
    ‘I want a word with you and this car’s like an oven.
    Come on over to the club.’
    ‘But what if a fare turns up?’
    ‘Tell him to wait. There’s plenty of time.’
    They went into the bar of the Club Llueso and Alvarez ·ordered two coffees and two brandies.
    Once they were seated, the driver said: ‘What in God’s name happened to the señorita?’
    ‘I don’t know much more than you do . . . Now, let’s hear what happened with you.’
    ‘It was like this. I was in the square and she comes and says she wants to go to the airport on Wednesday morning.
    I tell her, two thousand pesetas, she starts to beef, and we settle for eighteen hundred.
    ‘I drive up to the house on Wednesday. ‘Strewth, what a track! Like a tank obstacle course. I turn the car, open the boot, go to the front door and knock. Nothing. I knock again. Still nothing. I shout, “Señorita, we must go now or you’ll miss your plane.” I knock on the shutters, I do everything and it’s always nothing.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
    The barman brought them the coffee and brandies.
    Alvarez poured half the brandy into his coffee, then added two spoonfuls of sugar. As he stirred, he said: ‘And then?’
    ‘What could I do but go away?’
    ‘Naturally.’
    The driver looked quickly at Alvarez, then said: ‘There’s one thing more. The señorita paid when she booked the taxi — said she didn’t want to have many pesetas on her when she left. I tried to persuade her not to pay until the journey was made, but she insisted. Since she never went to the airport . . . What do I do with the money?’
    ‘Forget it. A dead foreigner can’t worry about eighteen hundred pesetas.’
    ‘In that case, drink up, it’s on me. And we’ll have the other half as well.’
     

 
CHAPTER IX
    Dr Rodriguez Roldán was a short man in his middle thirties, compactly built, with a round, rather chubby face topped by wiry black hair. His eyes were a very light blue, a strange colour for an islander. He dressed with great care, in well-cut suits, hand-made shirts, and expensive shoes. He should have looked distinguished. But for some reason, perhaps because he worked so hard at being smart, he looked slick rather than distinguished: the local kid made good and without the taste to conceal that fact.
    He looked at Alvarez and said: ‘From your description, she died from some kind of food