Читать книгу A Meditation On Murder - Robert Thorogood, Роберт Торогуд - Страница 11

‘Right then,’ Richard said when he and Camille had rejoined Dwayne back in the police station. ‘We have a killer to catch. Let’s get this up on the board.’

Richard dragged the ancient whiteboard on its juddering legs across to the centre of the room and took a moment to marvel—not for the first time—at how rudimentary the Honoré Police Station was.

There were four wooden desks for each of the station’s police officers—each with a computer on—and that was about it. Everything else that was piled around, and there was a lot of everything else, was generally broken or defunct somehow. The office noticeboard carried rotas for officers who’d long since left the station; the Wanted poster on the wall was for a man who’d apparently long since died; and there were ancient metal filing cabinets propped up around the walls like drunks at a party, their files spilling out of their drawers. And under all the mess of paperwork that littered everywhere, there were whole sedimentary layers of ancient office equipment that hadn’t been discontinued so much as abandoned in place.

Richard had come to the island of Saint-Marie just over a year ago when he’d been sent out to solve the murder of the incumbent Detective Inspector, a man called Charlie Hulme. Richard had hated the tropics from the moment he’d stepped off the plane, but he’d consoled himself at the time with the knowledge that he’d be able to go home just as soon as he’d solved the case.

But Richard hadn’t been counting on the political manoeuvrings of the island’s Commissioner of Police, Selwyn Hamilton, and by the time that Charlie Hulme’s killer had been caught, Richard was astounded to learn that he’d been invited to stay on as the island’s Detective Inspector.

Richard had been horrified, not least because it finally confirmed a suspicion he’d held for many years that his Superintendent back in Croydon had been trying to get rid of him. But now that Richard had had this fact confirmed, he decided that he was too proud to ask for his old job back. As far as Richard was concerned, no one should ever be made to beg to go back to Croydon. So, instead, he accepted the job on Saint-Marie as a stop-gap and spent every subsequent spare moment he had applying for jobs that would allow him to go back to a different station in the UK.

But a strange thing happened as the months passed, not that Richard was anything more than dimly aware of it. Because, separated from a Metropolitan Police hierarchy that he’d never quite fitted into—and now surrounded by a talented team who seemed to forgive him his idiosyncrasies while championing his strengths—Richard had finally started to find the sort of success that had proved so elusive in the UK.

He still hated the tropics of course: the climate, the spicy food, the shack he had to live in—the sand that got everywhere—and the fact that even though Saint-Marie was larger even than the Isle of Wight, it wasn’t possible to get a decent pint of beer anywhere. But while Richard told himself that he was still hell-bent on getting posted back to the UK, he hadn’t noticed—although his team had—that he hadn’t actually applied for any jobs back in the UK for the last few months.

This didn’t mean that he was happy, of course. Someone like Richard could never be happy—but his levels of unhappiness had perhaps bottomed out.

On this occasion, though, Richard was having a typically frustrating time trying to find even a single whiteboard marker with enough ink in it to work. Once he’d finally found one that would just about do, he turned to face his team.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Five guests at a fancy health-spa-cum-hotel get up at dawn and go for a morning swim. Saskia Filbee, Ann Sellars, Paul Sellars, Ben Jenkins and Julia Higgins.’ Richard wrote the names on the board, leaving plenty of space between the names so they could later annotate the board with evidence as they collected it.

Richard carried on making notes on the board as he recounted how the witnesses all went swimming that morning, and how one of their number—Paul Sellars—handed out fresh cotton robes to them all, Julia Higgins included, before they all went with Aslan to the Mediation Space, and how all of the witnesses agreed that Julia couldn’t have hidden a knife about her person before the room was locked down.

He then went on to explain that once inside, it was Aslan who locked the door from the inside. All five guests and Aslan then drank from the same pot of tea and all turned their cups over. They then all put on their wireless headphones and eye masks and lay down on their prayer mats.

And then there was a ten to fifteen minute window in which Aslan was brutally slain, somehow without any of the witnesses hearing or seeing anything until Julia started screaming, which was when everyone inside the Meditation Space woke up and saw Julia standing over the body holding a carving knife in her left hand.

‘Even though the wounds in the victim’s neck and back look like they were delivered by a right-handed person,’ Camille said.

‘Precisely.’

‘And you should know,’ Camille said, ‘when I watched Julia write out her witness statement, she used her left hand to do the whole thing.’

‘So what do we think? Is she really our killer?’

‘She’s confessed to the murder,’ Dwayne pointed out.

‘I know, but I don’t want us to rule anything in or out for the moment. Not until we know more about what we’re dealing with. And you should know, all the witnesses said they felt groggy when they woke up. Camille, did we manage to get samples of the tea they were drinking off to the labs in Guadeloupe?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And samples of the witnesses’ blood and urine?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Richard looked at the board and realised something.

‘Because there’s something you should all know,’ Richard said. ‘Paul Sellars’s registration card for the hotel had his profession down as a pharmacist. If the tea was doctored in any way, he’s the person on this list who’d have had the easiest access to any kind of mind-altering drug.’

Richard recorded this fact by Paul’s name on the whiteboard.

‘And two more things,’ Richard said. ‘Firstly, why was Aslan killed inside a house made of paper and wood? It’s such a strange place to commit murder. Don’t you think? And secondly—and just as important—why did we find a drawing pin loose at the scene?’

As Richard finished writing his notes up, it was fortunate that he couldn’t see the sceptical looks that passed between Dwayne and Camille behind his back.

‘Very good,’ Richard finally said, looking at the board. ‘Yes. That’s a start. Have you got the witness statements?’ he asked Camille.

‘Of course, sir,’ she said.

As Camille hunted for the statements among the slick of other casework on her desk, Richard marvelled once again at how he managed to work so effectively with a partner who was so very disorganised. Her desk alone was enough to send him into conniptions with its mess of paperwork, files, bits of old orange peel and desiccated tubs of make-up that she’d leave the lids off and then lose interest in entirely. Richard’s desk, on the other hand, was of course neat and tidy; his in tray empty, his out tray just as empty. There was no pending tray. As far as Richard was concerned, pending trays were for wimps.

‘Got them!’

Camille triumphantly held up a manila folder containing the witness statements.

‘Yes. Well done, Camille.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Camille asked, picking up on her boss’s tone.

‘Only that it shouldn’t be such an achievement to find the witness statements to a murder case.’

‘I knew where they were.’

‘Self-evidently you didn’t.’

Camille pointedly opened the buff folder by way of a reply, and, as she gave her verbal report, Richard wrote up his version of what Camille was saying on the whiteboard.

‘Okay … as for witnesses, first we’ve got Rianka Kennedy of course. And it’s basically what she’d already told us: she sat down on the verandah to do some sewing at about 7.30am, and no one other than Aslan and the five known witnesses went into the Meditation Space before 8am. She then saw no one else enter or leave the building, and the only person who was even remotely nearby was Dominic De Vere, the handyman. But Rianka said that although Dominic had a history of arguments with the deceased, he was definitely outside the Meditation Space when the screaming started.’

Dwayne said, ‘And if he was outside, he can’t be our killer.’

‘Quite so,’ Richard agreed. ‘Then what about our actual suspects? The people who were inside the locked room with the victim. What did you make of them all, Camille?’

Camille fanned out the witness statements so she could see them all. ‘So first we’ve got Saskia Filbee,’ she said. ‘I thought she was the classic innocent bystander. Shocked, but willing to help.’

‘I’d agree. That’s what I thought of her, too.’

‘And then we’ve got the husband and wife, Paul and Ann Sellars. And they’re an odd couple, aren’t they?’

‘Go on,’ Richard said.

‘Because she’s kind of crazy. I had an aunt like that. You know, larger than life. Talked too much. But it was because she never married and she had to keep noisy or she’d notice there wasn’t much going on in her life.’

‘You think Ann’s unhappy?’ Dwayne asked.

‘I don’t know. But she definitely talked too much. You know?’

‘Maybe she’s feeling guilty?’ Dwayne offered.

‘Maybe,’ Camille conceded, though she wasn’t too sure.

‘Then what about Paul?’ Richard asked.

‘He’s so sure of himself. And in control. Isn’t he?’ Camille said, and Richard couldn’t help but smile as this tallied with his impression of Paul as well. ‘And patronising. I got the distinct impression he didn’t take me seriously because I was a woman.’

‘Then what of Ben Jenkins?’

‘I don’t know,’ Camille said. ‘He was happy to give his statement, but there was something about him I couldn’t quite pin down.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He was helpful enough, but I felt he was being careful. Like he’d had a brush with the law in the past.’

‘That’s exactly it!’ Richard said, delighted. He’d been unable to place Ben’s manner himself, but Camille was right. When Richard talked to Ben it was as though Ben knew he had to be guarded around policemen.

Richard turned to Dwayne.

‘Dwayne? According to his registration document, Ben Jenkins lives in Portugal. When you do your background checks, see if he’s ever had a run-in with the authorities, would you? Not necessarily criminal. He’s a property developer there, it could be financial. Or legal. Or maybe he was investigated by the tax office. Or by the government’s Planning Department. But Camille’s right, the man was too canny for someone giving evidence for the first time.’

Dwayne looked puzzled.

‘Problem?’ Richard asked.

‘Sure. I’ll do all that, but I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Chief, but we’ve got the killer in our cells. She’s already confessed to the murder.’

‘I know, Dwayne, but it doesn’t mean we should believe her.’

Dwayne looked at his boss. ‘You don’t think we should believe criminals when they confess to their crimes?’

Before Richard could answer, there was the thump of footsteps on the verandah and everyone turned to see Fidel enter the station, his hands holding a manila file full of statements.

He was hot and he was very, very bothered.

‘Ah, Fidel. How were the other hotel guests?’

Fidel dumped the notes onto his desk before responding.

‘Confused. Panicked. Shocked. And all I got from them was a whole heap of nothing.’

‘Well, let’s see about that.’

‘I’m telling you, sir, I spoke to thirty-seven different guests and they’re all saying the same thing. Aslan was kind, quiet—a “man of peace” a few of them said.’ Fidel spread out his notes on his desk and read out a few choice quotations. ‘‘‘He was the person I aspire to be.” “He’s the reason I come to this Retreat year after year.” “He had a soul of pure gold.” I’m telling you, sir, they all think he was some kind of a saint.’

‘Then how come he ended up getting knifed to death?’

‘Not one of them has the first idea. But a couple of people did say something interesting.’

‘Oh?’

‘They said the only person at The Retreat who didn’t seem to like Aslan was Dominic, the handyman. Dominic would apparently make comments. He thought Aslan didn’t live in the real world.’

‘Which would be interesting,’ Richard said, ‘except for the fact that he wasn’t in the Meditation Space when the murder was carried out, so I don’t think we can consider him a suspect. Did you get anything that suggested that anyone inside the locked room with the victim at the time of the murder had a grievance with him at all?’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I got nothing like that.’

‘Then what about the argument? Did any of the guests hear a man shouting at Aslan in his office at 6pm the night before?’

‘And nor could I find anyone who heard any kind of argument at 6pm yesterday—either in Aslan’s office or anywhere else.’

‘And is that likely?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘That the only person in the whole hotel who heard a man shouting “You’re not going to get away with it” to Aslan was Saskia Filbee?’

Fidel thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know. It was pretty hot yesterday, most people would have been outside at that sort of time, I reckon.’

Richard considered this a moment before continuing. ‘Then what did the hotel guests have to say about Julia Higgins?’

Fidel started checking through his notes again as he said, ‘And that’s just as much of a dead end, sir. I couldn’t find anyone who had a bad word to say about her. She helps out in the office and she’s always polite. Cheerful, that’s a word a few people used. As for her relationship with Aslan, everyone said she hero-worshipped him. I couldn’t find a single person who believed for a second that she could be our killer.’

Not for the first time, Richard felt as though he were looking at the case the wrong way round. After all, why would a woman no one had a bad word to say about, kill someone who, by all accounts, she adored? And why would she do it inside a house made of paper? And in broad daylight? In front of four other potential witnesses? And, having killed a man everyone said she hero-worshipped, why would she then confess to the murder—but then fail to provide the police with any of her means, motive or opportunity?

Well, Richard mused to himself, there was one way to find out. Julia was currently in their police cells. He could ask her.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Dwayne and Fidel, I want you to finish processing the evidence. And Fidel, I want you dusting the murder weapon for fingerprints, of course, but first I want you to lift whatever prints you can find on the drawing pin I asked you to bag at the scene.’

Fidel looked at his boss. ‘You want me to lift whatever prints I can find on the drawing pin I found on the floor of the Meditation Space?’

‘That’s right,’ Richard said, a little irked. Hadn’t he made himself clear? ‘Whatever prints you can lift from the drawing pin.’

‘And you want me to do that before I start processing the actual weapon that was used to kill the victim?’

‘Yes. I said. As for you and me, Camille, I want to have another chat with our killer. And this time I want her to tell us why she killed Aslan Kennedy and how she smuggled a knife into the murder room without anyone seeing.’

Richard led through the bead curtain into the cells at the back of the station. This was his least favourite place on the whole island—which, whenever Richard thought about it, was really saying something. There were just two steelbarred rooms, an iron bed in each, a high strip of window above them both, and ancient paint that was peeling from the wall, exposing the crumbling bricks underneath.

Richard and Camille found Julia with her eyes closed and sitting in a lotus position on the floor of the first cell. Richard could see that she was now far more sensibly dressed—although he found himself musing that he’d personally not choose to go to prison wearing cut-off jeans and a tight T-shirt in bright lime green promoting hashish, but he supposed it was each to his own.

Julia opened her eyes as the police approached.

‘What have I done?’ she asked, so grief-stricken that neither Richard nor Camille said anything for a moment.

‘You know,’ Julia said, ‘I’ve been trying to put myself into a trance and go back in time.’

‘You have?’ Richard asked, already pre-emptively weary. This was what he found so tiresome about the New Age movement: they seemed to use the most cumbersome methods to reveal things that were actually already known. Like trying to go into a trance when a normal person would just use their memory. Or inventing ley lines to explain the mystery of Glastonbury Tor, when really it was just a hill in a surprising place. As for Stonehenge, Richard had always felt that the guy who’d commissioned it had probably only wanted a nice side table, but had made the mistake of asking a bunch of druids with too much time on their hands to do it.

Correctly interpreting her boss’s dismissive look, Camille tried to move the conversation on. She asked Julia, ‘And have you been able to access your memories?’

Julia looked at the police. ‘Not consciously.’

‘Not consciously?’ Richard asked, exasperated.

‘But I could access them subconsciously, I’m sure of it. If I could just get Dominic’s help.’

Richard’s antennae twitched. For a man who wasn’t a suspect, Dominic’s name was appearing a little too often in the investigation for his liking.

‘You mean The Retreat’s handyman?’

‘That’s right. He’s a wonder.’

‘Well, we can both agree about that, he’s certainly a wonder. But this case is peculiar enough as it is without bringing in a handyman to extract a confession.’

Julia smiled slowly. ‘But he’s not a handyman. He’s a Seer.’

‘A Seer?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Please could you tell me what a Seer is.’

‘He can see things.’

Richard took a deep breath and waited for the surge of irritation to wash away.

It didn’t, so Camille stepped in. ‘And what sorts of things can he see?’ she asked.

‘The future of course. But he can also see the past.’

‘And how does he do that?’

‘Well, in this case, he’d put me into a trance state. You see, he used to be The Retreat’s hypnotherapist.’

‘Used to be?’ Camille asked.

‘That’s right. He stopped doing that just after I arrived.’

Richard and Camille shared a glance.

‘Is that why Dominic and Aslan have been arguing?’

Julia was puzzled. ‘You know about that?’

‘Why don’t you tell us?’ Richard said, probing.

Julia smiled sadly. ‘It’s hard to talk about without making it sound worse than it is, but they weren’t ever going to get on. You see, Dominic’s a Capricorn and Aslan’s a Libran,’ Julia said as if that explained everything. ‘And I think Aslan felt that Dominic was taking advantage of the guests in his hypnotherapy sessions. Not that he was. Dominic’s hypnotised me often enough. So I know how gentle and supportive he is. He doesn’t take advantage of anyone. But Aslan told Dominic he didn’t want him offering any more hypnotherapy sessions. Dominic was furious, but there wasn’t much he could do. The hotel belongs to Aslan and Rianka. But here’s the thing, Aslan said Dominic could stay on as the hotel’s handyman. That’s the sort of guy Aslan was. He still offered Dominic a job even though they’d argued so badly.’

‘And Dominic took it?’ Richard said, surprised.

‘It allowed him to stay on the island,’ Julia said.

‘I see,’ Richard said, even though he couldn’t.

‘But the thing is, you have to believe me, Dominic is amazing at getting people to remember memories they’ve buried because they find them too upsetting. And if you let him hypnotise me, I bet I’ll be able to tell you how I got the knife into the Meditation Space. And why I … did what I did,’ Julia finished with a gulp.

‘Unfortunately,’ Richard said, ‘that would be totally unethical. So why don’t we just leave you here for a bit longer, and when you remember anything that might help us, you just call out. We’re only next door.’

Sensing that Camille was disappointed with this ruling, Richard returned to the main office, calling out to Fidel as he entered through the bead curtains.

‘So have you dusted the drawing pin?’

Fidel looked up from his desk in surprise.

‘Yes, sir, I have.’

‘And what did you find?’

‘Well, sir, I was only able to dust the flat bit you press down on with your thumb.’

‘Of course. But is there a fingerprint there?’

‘No, sir. There’s no print on it, it’s entirely clear.’

‘Now that is interesting,’ Richard said, excitedly.

‘Yes, sir,’ Fidel said, baffled by his boss’s sudden enthusiasm.

‘But doesn’t that just mean it’s never been used?’ Dwayne asked.

‘And that’s where you’d be wrong,’ Richard said as he started writing on the board.

‘I would?’ Dwayne asked, puzzled.

‘Yes, because I think that drawing pin was part of the killer’s plans—and they then wiped it clean of prints once it was used.’

Richard wrote up this latest development on the whiteboard, and then he took a step back to look at his handiwork.

The Murder Five guests go for a swim Paul hands out robes Aslan prepares the tea 5 guests + Aslan go into Meditation Space Aslan locks it down from inside Drink tea—all cups turned over 10-15 minute window for murder, (8.00-8.10/8.15) Right handed killer?	Investigation / Leads How did the knife get into the room? Was the tea drugged? WHY KILL IN PAPER HOUSE? WHY A DRAWING PIN? Who wiped it of prints? Who was in Aslan’s office @6pm the night before shouting ‘You’re not going to get away with it’?
Outside the Meditation Space
Rianka Kennedy Wife Has no idea who’d want Aslan dead	Dominic De Vere Ex-hypnotherapist. Now handyman Sacked by Aslan Argued with Aslan
Inside the Meditation Space
Aslan Kennedy Victim Everyone says he’s nice	Julia Higgins Worked at The Retreat last 6 months Confessed to murder But NO MEANS: where did she get the knife from? NO OPPORTUNITY: how did she get the knife to the room? NO MOTIVE: why kill Aslan? PLUS: left-handed, but the killer was right-handed?
Ann Sellars Housewife Married to Paul	Paul Sellars Handed out the white robes Pharmacist
Saskia Filbee Single, 45 yrs old Here on her own. Says she arrived night before Heard argument in office night before—at about 6pm—a man, but couldn’t identify him	Ben Jenkins Property Developer. Portugal. Brush with authorities before?

‘Okay, Dwayne,’ Richard eventually said. ‘I want background checks on our suspects. One of the five people locked inside the Meditation Space with Aslan Kennedy killed him. Who was it? And why?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘As for you, Fidel, I want you trying to lift whatever fingerprints you can from the murder weapon. And if you can’t get any admissible prints from the handle, at least see if you can tell if it was wielded left-handed or right-handed.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Which leaves you and me, sir,’ Camille said, ‘and I think we should go back to The Retreat.’

‘You do?’ Richard asked, already suspicious of his subordinate’s motives. ‘And why exactly is that?’

‘Well, sir,’ Camille said, her eyes shining with innocence, ‘you said it yourself. There’s something about the Meditation Space that meant Aslan had to be killed in there and nowhere else. I think we need to inspect it again.’

Richard took a step towards Camille and drew himself up to his full height.

‘And this has got nothing to do with finding Dominic so we can ask him to put Julia into a hypnotic trance, has it?’

Camille was shocked by the suggestion. ‘Of course not, sir. You’ve already said that would be unethical. But there’s also the matter of the murder weapon to consider. Because if Julia didn’t have the carving knife about her person when she went into the room, it must have already been hidden in the Meditation Space beforehand. I think we need to work out how Julia got the carving knife into the murder room.’

Richard looked at Camille a very long moment.

‘And you promise that this has got nothing to do with asking Dominic to put Julia into a trance?’

‘Of course not, sir,’ Camille said, shocked by the suggestion.

‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Then I think you’re right. We should go back to The Retreat.’

Satisfied that he’d clipped Camille’s wings for once, Richard went off to get his briefcase. But what he didn’t see was the sly grin and slow wink that Camille gave Dwayne and Fidel the moment her boss’s back was turned.

Getting Dominic to put Julia into a trance was precisely why Camille wanted to go to The Retreat.