Murdered by Nature by Roderic Jeffries Page A

bring?’
    â€˜Herbs, spices, stuff like that and some kind of prepared food. Gave me and the wife some of that. She tried it and chucked it.’
    â€˜Nothing else?’
    â€˜Copper caskets. Collected ’em.’
    â€˜Antiques?’
    â€˜Might have been. Messed around in what he said was classical decoration. Some of them came from hundreds of years back.’
    â€˜What sort of size?’
    â€˜Thirty, fifty centimetres long.’
    â€˜Were they heavy?’
    â€˜Copper ain’t made of feathers.’
    â€˜The weight might have been what was in them?’
    García shrugged his shoulders.
    â€˜You never saw what was inside?’
    â€˜Don’t poke me nose where it’s not wanted. Why are you going on about them?’
    â€˜I’m interested in old things.’
    â€˜Kind of family feeling?’
    â€˜I want to know—’
    â€˜I’ve finished with answering.’
    â€˜You want another feather in your cap from hindering the law? Builder, gardener, mechanic, criminal?’
    â€˜You’re a daft sod.’
    â€˜D’you get strangers wandering around the estate?’
    â€˜On the two days when they’re open to the public it’s like Palma. Leave enough mess and damage for twice as many. But the señor takes a couple of euros from all of them and gives it to charity.’
    â€˜What about people at other times?’
    â€˜Because the garden’s mentioned in guidebooks, there’s some who think the place is public.’
    â€˜Have you—’
    â€˜I was mentioned in one of them,’ García proudly interrupted.
    â€˜Favourably?’
    â€˜Said I was a real expert gardener.’
    â€˜Fame indeed! You’ve heard about the body fished out of the bay?’
    â€˜I can read.’
    â€˜He had the name Roca Nesca written down in his notebook. So you could have seen him wandering around. Five, six centimetres taller than you, slim, wavy brown hair, kind of rat-faced good-looking, white skin because he hadn’t seen the sun for a time, a very noticeable scar on his neck. Maybe he was in the garden, hoping to ask your advice.’
    â€˜Ain’t seen anyone like that.’
    â€˜Who works in the house?’
    â€˜What’s it to you?’
    â€˜I’ll have to ask them questions similar to those I’ve asked you, and it’s polite to know their names.’
    â€˜Same as you knew mine?’
    â€˜Is there a big staff?’
    â€˜The señor didn’t like too many people around. He’d often come out here and sit in the shade, not doing anything but enjoying what was around him. Said the greatest luxury was peace and quiet.’
    â€˜Tell me the names of the staff.’
    â€˜Manuel, Beatriz, Inés, and a couple who come on alternative days to help clean.’
    â€˜Manuel who?’
    â€˜Benavides. Comes from Valladolid. Calls himself the butler.’ García hawked and spat an unspoken comment on social delusions.
    â€˜And Beatriz?’
    â€˜Does the cooking.’
    â€˜Is she good at it?’
    â€˜The señor liked his grub so he wouldn’t have had her if she weren’t. Not that I’ve ever said to the wife how good she is. Nothing starts a cat-row faster than telling a wife she ain’t the sharpest cook.’
    â€˜How right you are! I ought to move.’
    â€˜Don’t reckon to stop you.’
    Alvarez walked slowly. A pattern was beginning to emerge. He went around the house to the back door and, since this was ‘Mallorquin territory’, did not bother to knock, but opened it and entered a small square, off which were three inner doors. He called out. Benavides entered, was momentarily surprised to see him.
    Alvarez introduced himself. ‘I’ve come to have a word with you. It’s been a tiring day, so is there somewhere we can sit?’
    â€˜If you will kindly follow me, inspector, we will go into the staff