A Dead Man in Malta (18 page)

‘It’s easier for you,’ said Paolo. ‘You’re not an Arab.’

‘Chantale is an Arab,’ said Sophia. ‘She comes from Morocco.’

‘And what does she say about that?’

‘She says that things are such a mess there that the only practical thing to do now is to compromise.’

‘Yes, but what do the Moroccans say?’

‘She is a Moroccan.’

Paolo was silent.

‘Actually,’ said Sophia, ‘she’s only half a Moroccan. The other half is French.’

‘Ah, well—’

‘She says that seeing things from both sides ought to make it easier. But that she’s damned if it does.’

Paolo laughed uproariously.

‘That lady is the only person who really understands me,’ he said.

He turned to go.

‘But she’s wrong, you know,’ he said. ‘It’s too late for compromise.’

After Paolo had gone, Sophia put down her pen and sat thinking. She sat thinking for quite a while then got up and went out.

As Seymour was walking down the road, the heavens opened. A torrent of rain descended. In seconds the street was awash. In less than a minute the road had become a river flowing downhill to the bend round towards Sliema. It was too much for the bend and for the drains to cope with, and the river become a lake. It had spread now right up to and over the pavements. Seymour, suddenly finding that it was reaching up over his ankles, bolted into the nearest shop, which turned out to be an ice-cream parlour. In which Sophia was sitting.

The parlour was already crowded but Sophia made room for him beside her on a bench. It seemed only fair to the shop to buy an ice cream. He bought one for Sophia, too. Sophia had already bought one but she was able to manage two, taking lick upon lick alternately.

‘I am very pleased, Mr Seymour,’ said Sophia, ‘to see you and Chantale getting on so well. But what does it feel like to you, as an Englishman, to be married to an Arab?’

‘Pretty good, actually,’ said Seymour. ‘Although, I have to tell you, we are not, in fact, married.’

‘Aren’t you?’ said Sophia, with great interest.

‘Yet,’ said Seymour.

‘But you are going to?’

‘If I can talk her into it. At the moment, she is holding out for independence. She is still not completely sure.’

‘I would be like that,’ said Sophia. ‘Not completely sure. And holding out for independence. Is that because she’s an Arab?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Because it might make a difference. She might be proud, you see. And reluctant to surrender her independence to an Englishman.’

‘She
is
proud,’ said Seymour. ‘But I’m not sure that my being an Englishman would make much difference to that.’

‘Well, it might,’ said Sophia. ‘You are a representative of an occupying power. At least, that is how it will seem to her.’

‘Britain certainly occupies a lot of Arab countries,’ said Seymour. ‘But it hasn’t occupied Morocco yet. Which is where Chantale comes from.’

Sophia nodded, and licked her ice cream.

‘She has told me,’ she said. ‘And from what she told me, I don’t think it’s very different there from the way it is here.’

‘I like to think,’ said Seymour, ‘that we relate as individuals.’

‘That would be ideal,’ said Sophia. ‘But is it possible? Is it realistic?’

‘We like to think so.’

‘But you’re still not married,’ Sophia pointed out.

She gave the ice cream in her left hand another lick; held the flavour, considered, and then gave the ice cream in her right hand a lick.

‘Why I’m asking,’ she said, ‘is that I am wondering about Uncle Paolo. You see, his mother married an Arab and it didn’t work out. And it’s left him all messed up. At least, Grandfather thinks so. But my mother thinks it’s nothing to do with that. She says that they were both difficult people anyway.’

Sophia took another double lick.

‘I never knew my Aunt Debra,’ she said, ‘but if she was anything like my mother, that could be true.’

‘I think your mother is charming!’ objected Seymour. ‘And so does Chantale.’

‘Chantale is very generous,’ said Sophia, ‘as well as being proud. I’m a bit like that, too. And, probably,’ she said, mopping up a drip, ‘Grandfather is, too. It nearly broke his heart when Aunt Debra moved away to Tripoli. He didn’t really mind her marrying an Arab. He says he could have lived with Uncle Raoul. It was his daughter moving away that he couldn’t cope with. I have told him,’ said Sophia, ‘that he is lucky my mother didn’t move away, too. And that when I am grown up I shall certainly move away. Grandfather says that the most he will concede is that it would be a mixed blessing. But whenever I say that, my mother flies into a tantrum. They are both,’ said Sophia, ‘rather alike in many ways.’

She considered her ice creams and then gave both a series of quick licks to reassess the flavours.

‘Mother says,’ said Sophia, ‘that what’s wrong with Uncle Paolo is not that he’s half Arab but that he’s never had a proper family. Aunt Debra died so young, you see. And, anyway, she was over here and Paolo’s father stayed over in Tripoli. So it’s all been divided, and he’s been divided, ever since. And Mother says the family ought to try to make up for it, and she certainly tries to make up for it. And even Grandfather does. Or did, when Uncle Paolo was small. But then Uncle Paolo went away and when he came back, he was very difficult to get on with. Grandfather says he’d become a real pain in the ass. And that,’ said Sophia, licking away, ‘I’m afraid is true.’

‘Perhaps, when he gets back to sea—’ said Seymour. ‘Perhaps, actually, he needs to get away from the family.’

‘I said that,’ said Sophia, ‘and Mother flew into another tantrum. The trouble is, every time he gets home again, he’s got worse! He says it’s the British— he’s usually on British boats. Grandfather says, for Christ’s sake, stay away from the British, then! But he can’t. As I say, he’s divided. And that makes it worse.’

Sophia was down to the last tips of the cones.

‘Mother says he ought to settle down and start a family of his own. But Grandfather says he’s not like that. Mother gets cross with him and says, what a dreadful thing to say about a member of your family! And Grandfather, trying to be helpful, I think, says maybe it’s just the Arab way. The men putting their arms around each other and all that. And Mother says: will he stop going on about Paolo being an Arab? He’s only half Arab, and, anyway, all Maltese have got some Arab in them. Including him, Grandfather. I wondered,’ said Sophia, finishing off the cones and looking at the rain pouring down outside, ‘how you and Chantale found it.’

‘Found—?’

‘Mixed marriage.’

‘We don’t think of ourselves—’

‘And what about the children?’ said Sophia. ‘How will they find it? I mean, will they turn out like Uncle Paolo? I mean, that has to be a consideration.’

‘I’m a bit of a mixture myself,’ said Seymour. ‘We all are. Once you get a little down the line.’

‘That also is true,’ said Sophia, going over to stand by the door and look out. ‘I wonder what Felix would think about it?’

‘About—?’

‘Marrying a Maltese.’

‘It’s a bit early to start thinking about that, isn’t it?’

‘One has to look ahead. And, in any case, it’s probably better if I do the looking. Because I don’t think an idea like this has ever entered Felix’s head.’

‘I thought I would find you here!’ said Seymour, taking Dr Malia by the arm.

‘I usually am,’ confessed Dr Malia. ‘I feel at home in the hospital.’

‘I’m sure you do. Now, look, there’s something I wanted to ask you.’

‘Please do!’ said Dr Malia cordially.

‘I don’t know if you remember, but when we met last time, I asked you about the people who had come out of the boiler room that night, the night when there were so many people coming and going, and the sailor was murdered. You recognized them, you said, but at the time you couldn’t remember their names.’

‘I remember,’ said Dr Malia. ‘They popped out of the boiler room like rabbits. Most odd! And, by the way, Mrs Ferreira is holding a
fenkata
. Did you know? I hope you are coming.’

‘I am coming, as it happens. But let’s just go back to the boiler room for a moment. You saw two people and recognized them, but you couldn’t remember their names.’

‘Couldn’t I? Oh, dear! I’m rather like that these days, I’m afraid.’

‘Can you remember them now?’

Dr Malia thought, then shook his head.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, with genuine regret.

‘I thought perhaps you wouldn’t. But never mind. Would you mind stepping along here with me?’

‘We’re going to the boiler room?’ said Dr Malia.

‘We certainly are.’

Along the corridor, from around the corner, they suddenly heard Luigi’s voice.

‘Benito, I don’t like it here!’

‘I don’t like it much, either,’ said Lucca’s voice. ‘But you won’t have to stay long.’

Seymour and Dr Malia turned the corner.

‘Were these the men you saw coming out of the boiler room?’ asked Seymour.

‘One of them was,’ said Dr Malia. ‘Not Benito, of course. I know him. But the other one. Luigi. I know him, too, of course.’

‘He was with a different man that night. Do you remember the name of that man?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ said Mr Malia contritely.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Seymour. ‘I think you will when I show you him.’

‘I hope so!’

‘I don’t like it here!’ said Luigi agitatedly.

‘You won’t have to stay here long,’ said Inspector Lucca, reassuringly.

Two nurses came along the corridor. They fell upon Dr Malia with delighted squeals.

‘
There
you are! We thought we’d lost you!’

‘Someone said they’d seen you over here!’

‘You’re coming, aren’t you?’

‘Certainly. If you want me.’

‘We do, we do!’

‘Where, exactly?’ said Dr Malia hesitantly.

‘Well, it’s not till Friday, actually. But we want to tell you now.’

‘And every day until it happens! To make sure you remember.’

‘Yes, yes. But what is it?’

‘And hang a big reminder notice around your neck!’

‘Actually, that may not be necessary since Melinda says she’s going to pick you up herself and put you under armed guard.’

‘Dear, dear! What have I done?’

‘We don’t want you to miss it.’

‘Miss
what
?’

‘The
fenkata
! Mrs Ferreira’s arranging one. Over by the Victoria Lines. Everyone’s invited— nurses, St John’s, the English visitors. You’re invited, too,’ she said to Seymour.

‘And you,’ said the other nurse to Dr Malia, ‘are especially invited. And Bettina’s bringing her mother, so you’ve
got
to come!’

‘I would certainly like to see Bettina’s mother.’

‘I’ll bet! Are there any other old flames you would like us to invite?’

‘It sounds as if the young flames will be enough,’ said Dr Malia.

‘Now, Luigi,’ said Inspector Lucca, once they’d got him in a quiet room by himself, ‘you’ve got some explaining to do.’

‘Benito, I don’t like it here!’

‘So why did you come here, then?’ asked Seymour. ‘That night when the two of you came out of the boiler room and saw Dr Malia?’

‘He made me!’ said Luigi whimpering. ‘I didn’t want to come. I said it would make my clothes dirty! And it did!’

‘Did you go on into the hospital?’

‘No, no. I would have lost my way.’

‘So you just stayed by the boiler room?’

‘Yes.’

‘So that you could help him get out? That board’s very stiff, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. You have to wedge it. And he wanted me to be there right beside it so that I could hold it open for him.’

‘And you did that, did you, Luigi?’

‘He made me. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to come at all. And I didn’t want to get down that filthy hole, not with my suit on. I knew it would make my suit dirty!’

Chapter Fourteen

Preparations for the
fenkata
were under way. Mrs Ferreira had chosen a spot right beside the Victoria Lines where there was soft grass to sit on and the wall would give protection against the wind, or, if some more rain should come up, against that, too. Tablecloths were already spread and, on the other side of the wall, rabbits, some alive and in cages, others already dead, were assembled. There were going to be a lot of people, with the two St John Ambulances, Maltese and British, the nurses, some staff from the hospital— Umberto and Berto, for instance, and Laura and Mario, working like a slave carrying baskets and boxes over to the picnic spot from the carts on the road. And, of course, the band.

But which band? The Birgu band, Birgu being the place most of the people had come from, or Mrs Ferreira’s home band, Mrs Ferreira being host and convenor? This could have turned awkward but, as Chantale pointed out to Sophia, even here compromise was in the end reached. There was a
joint
band.

And, of course, given the large numbers of people, well over a hundred, indeed, more like two hundred, there had to be a corresponding amount of provisions. The number of rabbits, for instance … Seymour feared a wholesale massacre of rabbits on the island but, apparently, they had already been massacred, years before, and the rabbits were grown for the market. Even so, there were startling numbers of them and Seymour worried now about the cost and whether and how far he should make a contribution. It was totally out of the question that someone as poor as Mrs Ferreira— He confided these worries to Mrs Wynne-Gurr and she admitted that originally she had shared them. The West Surrey St John Ambulance would do its best but even those redoubtable ladies were daunted. Mrs Ferreira, however, was not at all daunted. The Maltese were used to this sort of thing. The nurses chipped in, the hospital chipped in, the Navy, with characteristic nautical legerdemain and disregard for accounting, switched massively from buying a battleship to funding a
fenkata
, half of Malta, it seemed, threw in a bit and suddenly there were funds in plenty.

In any case much of the chipping in took the form of contributions in kind, most of which came, of course, from the generous Maltese ladies, who produced
pastizzi
galore, the aniseed-smelling
mquaret
, crunchy
kannoli
,
guabbajt
, nougat hard or soft, brittle or chewy,
kwarezimal
almond biscuits covered with honey and nuts, and, especially, for an occasion such as this, the
quaghaq tal-ghasel
that Seymour and Felix had already encountered, a ring of heavily treacled pastry.

And then of course, there was the main dish: the rabbits, as big as piglets, plump and fleshy, not at all like the rabbits that Seymour knew.

Chantale did not know rabbits and viewed them doubtfully: but the nurses, who used up a lot of energy during the day and often the night, and were always hungry, knew exactly what to do with rabbits, and did.

The Registrar of the hospital had brought along an Admiral, and Sophia explained to him her project.

‘The Victoria Lines? A complete waste of time? But that’s what I’ve always said!’ cried the Admiral impressed. ‘An army concept! Useless!’ Sophia elaborated her theories of military strategy and the need for a fluid and flexible defence system. ‘Exactly what I’ve always argued!’ said the Admiral, and congratulated Mrs Ferreira on having such a remarkable daughter. ‘Well …’ said Mrs Ferreira uneasily. Felix was deep in conversation with Dr Malia. ‘You see,’ he explained, ‘if you used bunk beds you could double the capacity of the ward.’

‘I’ve never thought of that!’ confessed Dr Malia: and, later, he was heard telling Mrs Wynne-Gurr what a remarkable son she had. ‘Well …’ said Mrs Wynne-Gurr, rather doubtfully.

‘But where is Paolo?’ asked Mrs Ferreira, looking around. ‘May I have a word with you?’ said Seymour, taking her gently aside.

‘I cannot believe it!’ declared Mrs Ferreira. ‘Where is the evidence?’

‘There’s quite a lot of it,’ said Seymour. ‘In each case he was on the spot when the victims died.’

‘On the spot?’ said Mrs Ferreira. ‘But they all happened in the hospital, and Paolo was never there!’

‘Well, he was,’ said Seymour. ‘Take when Kiesewetter was killed, for example. A great crowd of people surged into the hospital after he was taken there. Including the band. Among whom was Paolo. For a short time there was general chaos as they spilled around everywhere looking for Herr Kiesewetter. But Paolo knew exactly where to find him. Because Umberto had told him, had told everyone. There was only the question of getting into the room, and Paolo knew because he had worked in the hospital. He knew where the porters kept the key and in the general confusion it was easy to slip the key off the hook and use it to unlock the door of the nurses’ room, which was where Mr Kiesewetter was sleeping.’

‘But the band was not in the hospital when the others died!’

‘No, and that is where the evidence becomes crucial, particularly in the case of the killing done during the night. It took me some time to figure that out, actually, because there were several possibilities. First, whoever attacked the seaman, Turner, could have come in through the main entrance. Umberto, who was supposed to be on duty, had gone off to see his girlfriend, leaving Mario in charge. Mario is a good, conscientious boy but he is only a boy and might have been deceived. He did leave the entrance unguarded, actually, for a time, but that was when he was called to the ward after Turner had been found. He did think, in fact, that that may have been when the murderer got in, but it wasn’t, because of course, Turner was already dead.

‘In any case, there was a much more likely possibility. There is a cupboard at the end of Turner’s ward used only by Suzie for her assignations. She had, in fact, used it that night to meet another of the sailors, Cooper. She swore that he had left before the attack took place. She knew when the attack took place because, soon after, she heard the doctors and nurses trying to resuscitate Turner. Worried that there might be a search, she left the cupboard and crept out. But in theory there was the possibility that someone else, someone other than Cooper, had been in there with her. Both Suzie and Cooper denied this, but for us it had to be a possibility.

‘But there was another, more likely, possibility. Both Cooper and Suzie had left the hospital by an exit through the boiler room. They used the coal chute. But if they could leave, could not someone have come in that way?

‘The boiler men told me that would be difficult because there is a stiff board over the chute which would be hard to push aside from the outside, and also it would be hard for a big, or even normal-sized, man to get down there.

‘What I think happened was that there were two men, one big or biggish, the other definitely small. The small one came into the hospital earlier in the day, probably by the ordinary entrance, and then concealed himself until the boiler men had gone off duty. Then he entered the boiler room, climbed up the chute, wedged the board open and left. Later in the night he returned with an accomplice, who was, in fact, the killer, and together they were able to enter by the coal chute.

‘At first I thought that this was unlikely because, if you remember, Suzie and Cooper had left the hospital earlier in the night using the coal chute, and surely they would have noticed if the board had been wedged. I think that if they did, they thanked their stars and wriggled on. Anyway, they left it wedged open.

‘That is, in fact, what happened. There
were
two men. We know that because they were seen coming out of the boiler room, by Dr Malia, who has, incidentally, identified them. ‘There is also some supplementary evidence. The smaller man, who went up first and wedged the board, was initially reluctant to do so because it would dirty his clothes— he is very fussy about his clothes. He
did
dirty his clothes and was very aggrieved about it. We know this because he complained about it. He said that Paolo— because, of course, we are talking about Paolo as the other person involved— had promised he would get them cleaned. But he hadn’t done so. Partly because of that he was prepared to explain all this to Inspector Lucca and myself when we asked him about it. All the more so when we told him why we were asking. It came as a complete shock to him. He had no idea why Paolo wanted to get into the hospital. He is, I have to say, not very bright; and totally under Paolo’s thumb.

‘But there is yet another thing: Paolo was seen entering the ward that night. By Mr Vasco. Now, Vasco was unwilling to make a direct identification of Paolo as the person who entered the ward; but he made an indirect identification which, along with the other evidence, enables us to say definitely that Paolo, I am afraid, was the killer. More to the point, the way he made his identification gives us a clue to the reason why Paolo killed these three men.’

‘I cannot believe this!’ said Mrs Ferreira. ‘What sort of men are these witnesses? Malia, half crazy and half asleep all the time: Vasco, embittered to the point of madness. And this third one, worried about dirtying his clothes— who is he?’

‘Luigi.’

‘Luigi! That twerp! He’ll say anything!’

‘He’ll say anything that Paolo tells him to.’

‘Paolo wouldn’t tell him to say this!’

‘For once, confronted with the reality of the situation, Luigi is prepared to go against what Paolo says. Especially since he is being urged to tell the truth by someone for whom he feels as great a regard as he does for Paolo: Suzie.’

‘Suzie! Well, you
have
made a choice of witnesses, I must say!’

‘Maybe. But, in his way, he loves her.’

‘And she?’

‘Loves him. In her way. Perhaps that is putting it too strongly. She is fond of him and tries to care for him.’

‘She treats him like a little dog!’

‘You can love dogs. And dogs, in their way, can love you.’ Mrs Ferreira made an impatient gesture. ‘Malia, Vasco, Luigi, Suzie— are those the people your case depends on?’

‘There is another thing,’ said Seymour. ‘Luigi is an Arab, or part Arab. Like Paolo.’

Mrs Ferreira burst into tears.

‘This is prejudice!’ she said angrily, through her sobs. ‘He has never been allowed to get away from this. All his life. What he is, we have made him. Our family. All of us. And now we are trying to— we are saying that he is responsible for those terrible things. But he is not! He is not!’

‘He has confessed that he is.’

‘You have made him do that! You and Lucca between you!’

‘He is a sick man.’

‘He is
not
sick! We have driven him out. And he behaves peculiarly as a result. Peculiarly, but not … evilly. He is … different, I grant you that. But that is what we have made him. Inside, he is— I
know
he is! He has a cause. The cause is different from yours, but—’

‘I am not objecting to the cause. But in his pursuit of it he has become out of touch with things the rest of us take for granted. There is a line between fighting reasonably for your cause and fighting unreasonably, and it is to do with the effect on other people. Let me give you an example: Melinda.’

‘Melinda?’

‘Mrs Wynne-Gurr took you through her theories about the murders— tried out her ideas on you. She had worked out that one nurse, the same nurse, was present in the case of all three murders. Melinda.’

‘What she suggested was ridiculous.’

‘I agree. Logical, but ridiculous. And it did not exclude other possibilities. That someone else had also been present. And, as we know, Paolo was. But Paolo was also present— do you remember?— when Mrs Wynne-Gurr outlined her theories to you. He heard, and what flashed into his mind was a way of using them himself. He would reinforce the case against Melinda and safeguard himself— because he couldn’t be quite sure that Vasco would not give him away.

‘Very cunningly he did so in a way that not only threw suspicion on Melinda but also drew attention to the possible role that Vasco himself could have played in the process. He sent an anonymous letter pointing out, as Mrs Wynne-Gurr had done— in fact, borrowing what he had heard her tell you— Melinda’s proximity on all three occasions and adding information of his own— that after the attack on Herr Kiesewetter Melinda had taken a message to say that the attack had been successful.

‘The message— and there had been one, although it did not say that— had come from Vasco, thus implicating and, Paolo hoped, discrediting him and anything he might say. But it had another purpose, too. The letter said, falsely, that Melinda had taken it to the British Navy Headquarters at St Angelo, thus implicating them as well.

‘There was a further point to this, which was important. It is to do with the reason why Paolo chose to mount an attack on Kiesewetter in the first place. The attacks on the sailors were easy to understand. They were British and Paolo had a grudge against the British. Not only that, the grudge had been inflamed by recent disagreements over football and over Suzie which involved those particular seamen. But why the attack on the German Kiesewetter?

‘Something Sophia had said earlier struck me. She said that when they were watching the balloons Paolo had made a remark to the effect that the hospital had better brace its ideas up if it was dealing with a German because the Germans made a fuss about inadequacy. Sophia said he had seemed particularly struck by his observation. I think it was then that he decided to follow Kiesewetter into the hospital and kill him— simply because it would make trouble between England and Germany. And it was this point, of course, that he was reinforcing by claiming that Melinda had taken such a message to the British Navy Headquarters. The claim was made in the letter to the German Consul, who was investigating Kiesewetter’s death.

‘It was part, that is, of Paolo’s general opportunistic political scheming, an illustration, I think, of the extent to which he had now crossed the line between what was reasonable and what was evil. And on that last issue, just think of the impact of what he was doing on a perfectly innocent person, Melinda. Not to mention a rather less innocent Vasco. Who, I think, will now be willing to testify that he saw Paolo enter the ward that night.’