Murdered by Nature by Roderic Jeffries Page A

said.
    â€˜Just a funny. I mean, I wouldn’t know how to begin.’
    â€˜As you have been told, I wish to have a word with you.’
    â€˜But about what?’
    â€˜That will become clear.’
    â€˜Then I suppose we’d better go into what they call the lounge.’
    â€˜In order to have privacy, it will be best to go up to your room.’
    â€˜You’re . . .’ He stopped.
    A lift, initially hesitant and then vibrating, took them to the fourth floor. Room 414, a single, faced the much larger hotel and would enjoy sunshine for only a small part of the day. The bed had not yet been made, and a pair of pyjamas with a tricoloured pattern trailed across the pillows. A half-empty bottle of Gordon’s and a dirty glass were on the small chest-of-drawers. On the bedside table was a paperback, the multicoloured cover of which featured two men sunbathing on a sandy beach.
    â€˜Is there some kind of trouble?’ Browyer weakly asked.
    Alvarez sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m investigating the death of Colin Kerr.’
    â€˜Isn’t . . . isn’t that the name of the man who drowned?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    The door opened, and a maid entered, came to a sudden stop. She looked at them, left, shut the door behind herself. Alvarez briefly considered hurrying out and explaining the true situation to her.
    â€˜You can’t think . . . I never met the man.’ Browyer’s blustering had given way to uneasiness. ‘I swear it was nothing to do with me. It can’t be, I didn’t know him.’
    â€˜You are a nephew of the late Señor Ashton?’
    â€˜Yes, but—’
    â€˜Are you here because you had hoped to borrow more money from him?’
    â€˜Why do you think that?’
    â€˜Cows don’t shed their horns. Do you expect to benefit under your uncle’s will?’
    â€˜He disinherited me. Just because . . . He was living like it was seventy years ago.’
    â€˜What exactly do you mean by that?’
    â€˜He thought . . . thought it was a sin. I tried to explain. But she wouldn’t let him understand. She hates me.’
    â€˜You are referring to Señora Ashton?’
    â€˜Of course I am.’
    â€˜You believe she dislikes you because of your sexuality?’
    â€˜Because I know how it went.’
    â€˜What went?’
    He poured himself a drink of neat gin. ‘She made eyes at him in the hospital so he had her as a day nurse at home. There, she hotted him up until he married her. If the old fool had had any sense, he’d have got what he wanted for a few quid.’
    â€˜I have met the señora. For her, initially the relationship rested solely on sympathy.’
    â€˜Believe that and you know sod-all about women. He’d lost his wife, but Laura stroked his brow and had him wriggling like a fifteen year old.’
    â€˜Those who knew them before the señor died have repeatedly said they had a great affection for each other.’
    â€˜I’m his nephew, but he leaves me nothing, and she gets everything.’
    â€˜The will is not yet public. How do you know you have been disinherited?’
    â€˜What’s that matter?’
    â€˜You have a reason for not answering?’
    â€˜A bloke told me.’
    â€˜Who was he?’
    â€˜A clerk in a lawyer’s office.’
    â€˜Señor Ramírez’s office in Palma?
    â€˜I can’t remember.’
    â€˜Where did you meet the clerk?’
    After a long pause, Browyer answered: ‘At the office.’
    â€˜Whose name you have forgotten. Why did he tell you?’
    â€˜We . . . saw each other a couple of times and . . .’ He drank eagerly.
    â€˜Did you often ask your uncle for money?’
    â€˜I’d got nothing, and he was bloody rich. The house here, properties in other countries, luxury car, yacht, and God knows what else.’
    â€˜You resented his wealth?’
    â€˜It wouldn’t have hurt him to