knew he’d changed his name.’
‘Did this surprise you?’
‘Nothing he did surprised me.’
‘Why did he change his name?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘You didn’t ask him?’
‘No.’
‘You weren’t at all curious?’
‘I’ve learned to mind my own business and leave other people to mind theirs.’
‘He never gave even a hint of what the reason was?’
‘No.’
Alvarez was certain that Taylor was lying, but equally certain that for the moment nothing would persuade him to tell the truth. ‘Thank you for all your help, señor. And I am very sorry if it has been painful for you, but I promise you that I had to ask the questions.’
Taylor made no reply, nor did he look up when Alvarez stood. But Helen followed Alvarez out into the yard and his car. ‘He didn’t mean to be rude,’ she said earnestly, worried that he had taken offence at the aggressive way in which Taylor had spoken. ‘It’s just that he’s had such a difficult life and he normally hates talking about it. Today’s the first time I’ve heard some of the things he’s just told you.’
‘I understand.’
She studied him. ‘Yes, you really do. Thank you.’
As he opened the car door and climbed in behind the wheel, he thought how strange it was that she should think it necessary to thank him for understanding that no man could ever separate himself from his past.
Alvarez spoke to Superior Chief Salas over the telephone. ‘His real name was Steven Arthur Taylor. He’d been married twice and was clearly a bit of a rogue, but by default rather than intention.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, that . . . What I’m trying to say is that I’m certain he didn’t have vicious motives, he just didn’t find the same dividing line between right and wrong that you and I do.’
‘The practical difference escapes me. Send the information to London.’
‘I’ve already done so.’
‘You have?’ Salas sounded surprised. ‘Then the matter can be closed and you can return all your energies to your normal work.’ He cut the connection.
Alvarez settled back in his chair and stared resentfully at all the accumulated paperwork on his desk.
As so often happened, the line from England was clearer than from Palma. Every word the Spanish-speaking chief inspector said came through undistorted. ‘About your message concerning Steven Thompson. You say that his real name was Steven Arthur Taylor and he was married to Muriel Taylor and used to live in Middle Cross, near Dover. You’ll be interested to learn that, in fact, he died in a car crash in Kent roughly three years ago.’
CHAPTER 11
‘I suppose,’ said Superior Chief Salas, ‘it is now your contention that Taylor died twice?’
‘No, señor,’ replied Alvarez.
‘Not? But surely the idea appeals to your sense of the dramatic? And since when have you ever allowed your imagination to be constrained by impossibilities?’ His anger finally surfaced. ‘Goddamnit, why should I, of all people, be forced to suffer an inspector who is presented with a simple, straightforward car crash and within no more than ten days turns the incident into a second resurrection?’
‘Señor, I don’t see how I can be blamed for the fact that the Steven Taylor who died on this island appears also to have been the Steven Taylor who died in England.’
‘Did you say “appears” to have died in England?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘Then you really do appreciate that it is impossible for the same man to have died twice?’
‘Of course . . .’
‘Experience suggests, Inspector, that in any case in which you are concerned the use of the words “of course” is irresponsible . . . In view of the fact that you accept that one or other of the reports of death must be inaccurate, what do you suggest doing?’
‘We need to exhume the body of the man buried in Fogufol and Michael Taylor must be asked to identify it. If he does identify the deceased as his father, we will know
‘Did this surprise you?’
‘Nothing he did surprised me.’
‘Why did he change his name?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘You didn’t ask him?’
‘No.’
‘You weren’t at all curious?’
‘I’ve learned to mind my own business and leave other people to mind theirs.’
‘He never gave even a hint of what the reason was?’
‘No.’
Alvarez was certain that Taylor was lying, but equally certain that for the moment nothing would persuade him to tell the truth. ‘Thank you for all your help, señor. And I am very sorry if it has been painful for you, but I promise you that I had to ask the questions.’
Taylor made no reply, nor did he look up when Alvarez stood. But Helen followed Alvarez out into the yard and his car. ‘He didn’t mean to be rude,’ she said earnestly, worried that he had taken offence at the aggressive way in which Taylor had spoken. ‘It’s just that he’s had such a difficult life and he normally hates talking about it. Today’s the first time I’ve heard some of the things he’s just told you.’
‘I understand.’
She studied him. ‘Yes, you really do. Thank you.’
As he opened the car door and climbed in behind the wheel, he thought how strange it was that she should think it necessary to thank him for understanding that no man could ever separate himself from his past.
Alvarez spoke to Superior Chief Salas over the telephone. ‘His real name was Steven Arthur Taylor. He’d been married twice and was clearly a bit of a rogue, but by default rather than intention.’
‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, that . . . What I’m trying to say is that I’m certain he didn’t have vicious motives, he just didn’t find the same dividing line between right and wrong that you and I do.’
‘The practical difference escapes me. Send the information to London.’
‘I’ve already done so.’
‘You have?’ Salas sounded surprised. ‘Then the matter can be closed and you can return all your energies to your normal work.’ He cut the connection.
Alvarez settled back in his chair and stared resentfully at all the accumulated paperwork on his desk.
As so often happened, the line from England was clearer than from Palma. Every word the Spanish-speaking chief inspector said came through undistorted. ‘About your message concerning Steven Thompson. You say that his real name was Steven Arthur Taylor and he was married to Muriel Taylor and used to live in Middle Cross, near Dover. You’ll be interested to learn that, in fact, he died in a car crash in Kent roughly three years ago.’
CHAPTER 11
‘I suppose,’ said Superior Chief Salas, ‘it is now your contention that Taylor died twice?’
‘No, señor,’ replied Alvarez.
‘Not? But surely the idea appeals to your sense of the dramatic? And since when have you ever allowed your imagination to be constrained by impossibilities?’ His anger finally surfaced. ‘Goddamnit, why should I, of all people, be forced to suffer an inspector who is presented with a simple, straightforward car crash and within no more than ten days turns the incident into a second resurrection?’
‘Señor, I don’t see how I can be blamed for the fact that the Steven Taylor who died on this island appears also to have been the Steven Taylor who died in England.’
‘Did you say “appears” to have died in England?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘Then you really do appreciate that it is impossible for the same man to have died twice?’
‘Of course . . .’
‘Experience suggests, Inspector, that in any case in which you are concerned the use of the words “of course” is irresponsible . . . In view of the fact that you accept that one or other of the reports of death must be inaccurate, what do you suggest doing?’
‘We need to exhume the body of the man buried in Fogufol and Michael Taylor must be asked to identify it. If he does identify the deceased as his father, we will know
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