Читать книгу A Meditation On Murder - Robert Thorogood, Роберт Торогуд - Страница 10

While Fidel processed the scene, Camille oversaw the paramedics taking the blood samples from the four remaining witnesses, and Richard watched all the activity from the shade of a nearby palm tree. This, in fact, meant standing nowhere near the palm tree in question that was actually shading him, but Richard had long ago learnt that a palm tree’s vertical trunk was too narrow to offer any shade from the blistering tropical sunshine. Instead, his technique was to follow the shade of the thin trunk along the ground until he found the much larger clump of shade that was thrown by the bush of fronds at the top of the tree.

Which is why, at this precise moment, if anyone had been looking, they’d have seen Richard standing in the middle of an entirely sun-bleached lawn apparently in his own personal shaft of darkness. But he wanted to take a moment to watch the four remaining witnesses interact with Camille. After all, they’d just been locked inside a room where a vicious murder had been carried out. How were they bearing up?

To this end, Richard had already got the witnesses’ check-in details from The Retreat’s receptionist.

He could see that Camille was currently talking to a woman he now knew was called Saskia Filbee. The photocopy of her passport had her down as forty-two years old. And according to the hotel’s registration card she lived in Walthamstow and worked as a temporary secretary in London. Like the other witnesses, she’d now changed back into her normal clothes and Richard could see that she’d chosen to put on a sensible A-line dress in dark blue. And he could also see from the way that Saskia listened to Camille with her head cocked slightly to one side that this was someone who was happy being told what to do.

He saw Saskia nod her head and go over to one of the paramedics. Yes, Richard thought to himself, Saskia was a sensible secretary. And she would of course volunteer to give her blood sample to the paramedics first.

Richard shuffled the registration forms in his hand and came up with Paul Sellars and Ann Sellars next. According to their passports, Ann was forty-five years old and had been born in Birmingham. Her registration said she was a housewife and, now that she’d changed into her normal clothes, Richard could see that while she was somewhat plump, she seemed to fizz with the energy of a middle-aged woman who, rather than despair at how she’d ‘let herself go’, had instead decided to embrace this fact.

Gold flashed at the thick necklace around Ann’s neck, her wrists were similarly festooned with glitz, and she seemed to be wearing electric-blue trousers and gold slippers straight out of an Arabian nightmare, a violently fuchsia blouse, and the whole ensemble was finished off with a silk shawl that she wore draped over her shoulders and which seemed to have been constructed from every colour in the world that didn’t actually occur in nature. On it, neon swirls of blue fought with psychedelic greens; and both lost out to attacks of fluorescent yellow.

Richard could see from the way that Ann was now talking to Camille—with almost windmill gesticulations as she pointed from the house to the Meditation Space and back again at the paramedics—that Ann clearly had a personality as colourful and slapdash as her clothes.

He watched as a man wearing tan chinos, brown deck shoes and a white short-sleeved shirt joined Ann. Richard could see from the papers in his hand that this was Paul Sellars, Ann’s fifty-two-year-old husband. He was a pharmacist at an independent chemist’s in Nottingham, where he and Ann lived. And as Paul calmed Ann down, Richard could see that everything Ann was, her husband wasn’t.

For starters, he was rake thin. And almost entirely bald. But it was more than that. It was his manner that was so different. Richard could see that Paul was smooth, conciliatory. In charge. Just a few words into whatever he was saying, Ann quietened down and looked at her husband as though waiting for instruction. And instruction was clearly what he was giving her because, as he pointed off to the paramedics, Ann seemed finally to understand what was expected of her and she went over to give her samples meekly.

Richard saw Camille thank Paul for his timely intervention and Richard then saw him smile briefly and nod once. Paul was clearly a quietly capable person.

Which left only one witness, Ben Jenkins, who Richard had briefly spoken to when he’d first arrived at the murder scene. He could see from Ben’s photocopied passport that he was fifty, had been born in Leeds, but he now listed his home address as Vilamoura, Portugal.

As Richard looked up, it took him a moment to find Ben, but then he saw him standing off to one side in the shade of the ambulance. He wasn’t that tall, and now that he’d been allowed to get back into his normal clothes, Richard could see that Ben wore what looked like white leather shoes, stone-washed blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt in vertical pink and blue stripes that was tucked tightly into a thin belt that cinched him tight at the waist.

Richard thought he recognised the type. Ben had done extremely well in life and was now trying to use expensive clothes and accessories to draw attention away from his increasing girth and decreasing attraction. Looking down at the forms again, Richard saw that Ben had listed his occupation on the hotel form as ‘Property Developer’.

Richard found it interesting how Ben was off to one side. Alone. In fact, as Richard watched him, he found himself noting that Ben seemed to be watching Camille and the others, just as Richard was watching Ben.

Richard made a mental note to keep an eye on Ben Jenkins.

Once the witnesses had finished with the paramedics, Camille moved them to the shade of the verandah and Richard joined them all—but not before he’d sent Camille off to check up on the victim’s wife, Rianka.

‘Thank you for all agreeing to talk to me,’ Richard said to the four witnesses. ‘I know this must have been a very trying time for you all.’

‘That poor man!’ Ann said, throwing her hand to her heaving chest. ‘What do you think he’d done to that girl to make her do that to him? Is she deranged? That’s all I can think. Mentally deficient somehow!’

‘For god’s sake,’ Paul drawled in a patrician manner, ‘be quiet, woman.’

‘Of course, Paul. Sorry.’

Ann pulled her mouth into a contrite mou as if to demonstrate how she wouldn’t be saying another word—not another peep!—and Richard took a moment to look at Paul. There was so little to him, really. His face was almost skeletally thin, his skin was sallow, what hair he did have was grey and wispy and combed over his bald pate, and yet he seemed to have complete mastery of his otherwise far more punchy wife.

But there was something else Richard could sense between husband and wife, and that was a look of subservience in Ann’s eyes. Why should such a larger-than-life woman like Ann be intimidated by a skeletal squit like Paul? But then, Richard reminded himself, all relationships between men and women were essentially a mystery to him.

He put these thoughts to one side. It was time to get on.

‘I’d first like to thank you all for your help so far. But before we take your formal statements, can I just try and establish the order of events? What happened this morning?’

‘Be happy to,’ Paul purred, comfortable to take centre stage. ‘It was a terrible business, wasn’t it? Just terrible. But I’ve been thinking it over, and I think I’ve got it.’

Paul looked to the other witnesses for their assent. Saskia was looking too quiet and withdrawn to mind who told their story—but Richard could see that Ben was twinkling, clearly amused at how Paul thought he was master of the situation.

‘If you would?’ Richard said.

So Paul told Richard how they’d all had to get up at sunrise, which was why it was called the Sunrise Healing. But before they got to the Meditation Space, they’d been expected to stretch on the beach and swim in the sea as a way of preparing their bodies for the treatment, which was hardly a chore, because, as Paul put it, when someone tells you to go for a swim in a sea that’s warm as a bath and teeming with tropical fish, you don’t really need a second invitation.

Richard quietly shuddered at the thought. Didn’t Paul know that thousands of people around the world drowned from swimming in the sea every year?

Paul went on to say that Aslan then came out of the house with a tray of tea things, and called them over. That’s when they put on their white robes.

This detail got Richard’s attention. ‘How do you mean, your robes?’

‘The robes we were wearing when you first met us. We’d been swimming before, so all we had on was our swim things.’

‘I see,’ Richard said. ‘And where did you get your robes from?’

Paul explained that there were little huts all over The Retreat that contained tightly wrapped rolls of fresh cotton robes, and they got their robes that morning from the hut on the beach.

‘Then tell me, did anyone see Julia put her robe on?’ Richard asked.

Ben chortled. ‘Are you trying to work out how she got the murder weapon into the room?’

Richard met Ben’s eyes properly for the first time, and felt a spike of recognition. Closer up, Richard could see that Ben had a chubby face, dark hair—and, with his plum-my northern accent, he gave off the impression of being a jolly farmer. Even if this jolly farmer clearly bought all of his clothes from Harrods. But for all of Ben’s apparent bonhomie, Richard knew you could measure a man by his eyes. How watchful they were. And Ben’s eyes were very watchful.

‘That’s right,’ Richard said. ‘So did any of you see her carrying a knife at all this morning?’

‘There’s no way she had a knife on her,’ Ben said, ‘because I’m telling you, when that girl got out of the sea this morning, all she was wearing was a bikini—and it was barely three pieces of string. There’s no way she had a fifty pence piece hidden about her person, let alone a bloody great carving knife.’

‘He’s right, you know,’ Paul added. ‘You see, it was me who handed out the robes to everyone this morning. You know, after our swim. And there certainly wasn’t anything like a knife wrapped inside the robe I gave to Julia. And seeing as she put it on then and there—and then stayed with us while we all walked to the Meditation Space together—I don’t see where she could have got a knife from.’

‘Then maybe she’d already hidden a knife in the Meditation Space before you arrived?’ Richard asked.

‘I don’t think that’s possible,’ Paul said.

‘Are you sure?’ Richard asked.

‘You’ve been in that room. It’s just an empty box made of paper and wood. And I can guarantee, the only things it contained when we arrived were six prayer mats, six pairs of headphones and some eye masks.’

Richard was puzzled. ‘So you’re all saying that there was no way Julia could have been carrying the knife about her person before she got into the Meditation Space—and there was also nowhere inside the room for her to have hidden the knife before you all arrived?’

The witnesses all agreed that this was indeed exactly what they were saying.

‘In which case,’ Richard asked, ‘just how do you think Julia got the murder weapon into the Meditation Space?’

The witnesses had no idea, and Richard could see their confusion. After all, if Julia came out of the sea in her swimming costume and put on her cotton robe in front of everyone else, it was hard to see how she could have hidden a knife as large as the murder weapon on her person. And Richard had seen the Meditation Space for himself. It was indeed an empty box. Any carving knife hidden inside it beforehand would almost certainly have been noticed by someone. Wouldn’t it?

Richard made a note in his notebook and moved the conversation on. What happened after they’d all got into the Meditation Space?

Paul explained that once they were all inside, Aslan placed the tray of tea in the centre of the floor before inviting everyone to take up a position on their prayer mats in a circle around the tea. Then, once everyone was sitting comfortably, Aslan went and locked the door. Apparently, he had been interrupted a few months before during one of his healing sessions and had asked The Retreat’s handyman to fix a Yale lock to the door.

Richard noted this detail and once again considered how odd it was. After all, he’d investigated many murders before, but he’d never heard of a murder where the killer allowed himself to be locked inside a room with possible witnesses before carrying out the murder. It didn’t make any sense.

Paul explained how, once he’d locked the door, Aslan rejoined the group, sat on his mat and poured everyone a cup of tea. Aslan then told them they all had to drink their cup of tea at the same time.

‘At the same time?’ Richard jumped in.

‘That’s right,’ Paul said, before explaining that it was apparently an old Japanese ritual that dated back to the days of the shoguns. Everyone had to drink their tea at the same time and then turn their cups over to show that they’d finished.

‘Very well,’ Richard said. ‘So you all drank your tea and turned your cups over. What happened next?’

‘Well, then we all put on our eye masks and wireless headphones,’ Paul said. ‘Aslan told us that we then had to lie down, close our eyes, open our minds, and listen to the whale music. This was how we were going to heal ourselves.’

‘Whale music was going to heal you?’

‘It was about losing ourselves in the immensity of the deep. And I was as sceptical as you to start off with. But it’s an odd one, because when you’re lying there—and you can feel all that sunlight on your skin—and you’ve got your eyes closed, and you’re listening to distant whale song, you do start to drift off.’

‘It’s so true!’ Ann said. ‘You go all dreamy.’

‘Dreamy?’ Richard asked a little too keenly, and he saw understanding slip into Ben’s eyes.

‘You think we were all drugged, don’t you?’ Ben said. ‘That’s why you wanted us to give samples to the paramedics.’

The witnesses looked at Richard and he realised he had an explanation to give. ‘It’s a possibility I’m not ruling out. After all, it’s somewhat unusual that a murderer would have the confidence to strike in a confined space in front of so many witnesses. One explanation might be that you were all drugged and the killer wasn’t.’

‘I definitely felt woozy when I woke up,’ Ann said. ‘And so did Paul. He had difficulty waking up in fact. I had to shake him by the shoulders.’

Paul looked at his wife with quiet disdain. Clearly, while he was happy to talk on the behalf of others, he wasn’t so happy when his wife talked on his.

‘So did I,’ Ben said.

‘And me, too,’ Saskia said, speaking for the first time. ‘I couldn’t wake up to start off with, and my head was throbbing. Although I soon forgot about all that when I saw what had happened while I’d been wearing my eye mask.’

‘Of course,’ Richard said, making a note. ‘And what exactly did you see when you took it off?’

Saskia looked at Richard a moment, clearly reliving her horrifying experience and unable to put what she’d seen into words.

‘That woman,’ Paul said. ‘Julia. Whoever she is. Standing over the body. That’s what we all saw. Screaming her head off and holding a carving knife in her hand. It was covered in blood.’

‘And is that the same for all of you?’

The witnesses all agreed that the first they’d known that anything was wrong was when they’d heard a woman’s scream. Then, at different times, they’d all taken their headphones and eye masks off and seen Julia Higgins standing over Aslan’s body, screaming and holding a bloody carving knife.

‘I see,’ Richard said, making a note of this fact. ‘But did any of you see Julia stab the victim?’

The witnesses hadn’t.

‘So you all agree,’ Richard wanted to clarify. ‘The first you saw of Julia, she was standing over the dead body holding a knife, but none of you saw her stab the victim at any time?’ Richard asked.

‘That’s right,’ Paul said for them all.

‘I see,’ Richard said. ‘Then can I ask, are you all sure you were the only people in the room before you put on your eye masks and headphones?’

‘Of course,’ Ben said a touch dismissively. ‘There’s nowhere to hide in that box. I’m telling you, it was just the five of us in there when Aslan locked the door and we all sat down.’

‘Suggesting that it could only have been one of you five who killed him.’

This got all of the witnesses’ attention.

Paul was the first to recover.

‘Yeah, but that’s okay. That other woman. Julia—or whatever her name is. She’s already confessed to the murder. Hasn’t she?’

Richard decided this was a question that did not need answering.

‘Then can you tell me,’ he continued, ‘how long were you all lying down and listening to the sounds of the deep before you started coming round?’

‘Ten minutes,’ Ben said. ‘Fifteen at the most.’

‘Really? That’s quite a precise figure.’

‘I checked my watch when we went into the room. It was a quarter to eight. I reckon we all drank tea for about ten minutes, so that means we lay down and put the headphones on some time before eight. And when we started coming round, I looked at my watch and it wasn’t much past 8.10am.’

‘So you were all wearing eye masks and listening to music on headphones the whole time you were lying down?’

The witnesses all agreed, and Richard took a moment to look at them all again.

Saskia had only spoken once, but Richard could see that she was meeting his gaze evenly, her hands folded neatly on her lap, her back straight. She looked worried—upset, even—but these were quite natural reactions; she didn’t look like she was hiding anything.

As for Ann, she’d followed what she could of the conversation like someone watching a tennis match for the first time—and without any idea of what the rules were. If she was guilty of anything, Richard mused to himself, it wasn’t going to be of having a razor-sharp intellect.

And then there was Paul. Richard still couldn’t quite work out how someone so drab—so ‘middle management’—could have such an apparent hold over his wife. After all, the way Richard saw it, Paul was just one toothbrush moustache away from being the spit of Roger Hargreaves’s Mr Fussy.

Which left only Ben, and Richard continued to be quietly puzzled by him. Why was his manner so off-hand?

This made Richard remember what he had to ask next.

‘Can I ask,’ he said, ‘who here is left-handed?’

The witnesses looked at Richard, surprised, but they were all happy to tell him that they were all right-handed.

Richard took a moment to consider the significance of this fact. After all, it already looked as though the wounds in the victim’s neck and back had to have been inflicted by someone who’d been wielding the knife right-handed. So how come the only person who’d confessed to the murder was the only person in the room who was left-handed?

‘Then one last question, if you don’t mind. Can any of you imagine why Julia—or anyone else for that matter—would have wanted to harm Aslan Kennedy?’

The witnesses said that they had no idea. After all, as they put it, none of them had ever been to Saint-Marie before, they barely knew Aslan.

‘And I only arrived on the island last night,’ Saskia said. ‘The first time I even met Aslan was this morning.’

‘Really?’ Richard said.

‘That’s right,’ she said, but Richard noticed that Saskia had something else on her mind. Something was troubling her.

‘And?’ he asked.

Saskia looked at Richard, unsure, and Richard decided that the dutiful secretary needed to be told what to do.

‘If you have any information that may have a bearing on the case, you’re obliged to mention it.’

‘No, of course,’ she said, suitably chastened. ‘And it may be nothing, but yesterday, after I arrived, I got a bit lost in the hotel and I found myself outside Aslan’s office. Although the door was closed, I could hear voices inside. Raised voices.’

‘What time was this?’

‘About 6pm I think,’ Saskia said.

‘And you’re sure it was Aslan’s office?’

‘Oh yes. But the thing is, the voice I heard belonged to a man, but I don’t think it was Aslan. Anyway, I heard this man say “You’re not going to get away with it!”‘

‘You did?’

‘That’s right. And he was angry. But I heard it quite distinctly. “You’re not going to get away with it!” he said. And a few moments later, the door opened and I saw Aslan flee. He looked seriously distressed.’

‘You didn’t see who he left behind in the office?’

‘No. The whole thing was so strange, I didn’t hang about to find out who the man was who’d been shouting at Aslan.’

Richard considered what Saskia had said before turning to look at Ben and Paul.

‘I don’t suppose either of you were in Aslan’s office yesterday shouting at him at 6pm, were you?’

Paul looked affronted.

‘Certainly not.’

‘So can you tell me? Where were you at 6pm yesterday?’

Paul had to think for a moment before he answered. ‘I was down at the beach. Wasn’t I, darling?’

Ann looked at her husband, uncomprehending. ‘You were?’

‘Of course I was!’ Paul said, exasperated. ‘I was with you.’

It took Ann a moment to register this fact. ‘Oh, of course!’ she eventually said. ‘That’s right. We were both down on the beach, weren’t we?’

Richard found himself briefly wondering why it took Ann so long to remember that she and Paul had been on the beach together. Had she really forgotten?

Richard turned to Ben and waited for his answer.

‘Alright,’ Ben said, ‘I was in my room. On my own.’

‘So you’re saying that no one can alibi you for about 6pm yesterday evening?’

Ben looked at Richard with the first hint of irritation.

‘That’s right. I went to my room at about five for a bit of a lie down. I’d had too much sun. I then didn’t leave my room until seven when I came down for dinner. But I don’t need an alibi, I didn’t kill Aslan Kennedy.’

‘I see,’ Richard said, making a note of this fact.

Richard decided he’d got enough from the witnesses for the moment. At the very least, he needed to corroborate what they’d so far said with Aslan’s wife, so he thanked the witnesses for their time, told them that an officer would be asking them to write out their formal statements later on, and then he went off to find Camille.

She was upstairs comforting the grieving widow in her bedroom.

Richard felt himself relax as soon as he entered Rianka and Aslan’s bedroom. The shuttered windows let in only the thinnest stripes of sunlight, the dark floorboards were polished and cool, and a ceiling fan ticked lazily overhead. There was even an aspidistra in a pot in the corner of the room, Richard noted with a sigh of quiet approval.

Camille and Rianka looked up as he entered.

‘Mrs Kennedy?’ Richard asked.

‘Please … it’s Rianka.’

Richard took a moment to consider Rianka. She was slender, her hands were elegant and long-fingered, her grey hair was fixed behind her head with two chopsticks, and while her clothes were colourful and ethnic, she herself appeared quiet and demure. Prim, even. Even so, it was easy to see the beautiful young woman who had turned into this beautiful sixty-something-year-old woman.

A woman who was now experiencing the shock of sudden grief, her cheeks tear-stained, her eyes wet with pain.

‘I’m sorry to intrude, but I do have a few questions.’

‘No … of course.’

‘I’ll be as brief as I can.’

Rianka nodded.

‘Starting maybe with last night. You see, we’ve got a witness who says that she heard a man arguing with your husband in his office yesterday at about 6pm. Do you happen to know anything about that?’

‘An argument?’

‘Apparently so. At about 6pm.’

Rianka had a good think, sorting through her confused thoughts. ‘I’m sorry. I was in the kitchens then, I don’t know anything about that.’

‘Then perhaps your husband mentioned an argument to you later on?’

‘No. Aslan didn’t argue with people. He wasn’t like that. And he definitely didn’t mention any kind of argument to me yesterday.’

Now that was interesting, Richard thought to himself. Saskia said she overheard Aslan having an argument. So why hadn’t he mentioned this fact to his wife later on?

‘Then can I ask,’ Richard continued, ‘whether or not there was a man in your husband’s study shouting at him yesterday, did anyone have any grievances against him?’

‘No, of course not. Aslan was wonderful. Everyone loved him …’

Rianka trailed off and Richard could see that something was on her mind.

‘Although?’ he prompted.

‘Well, it’s maybe nothing, but he and Dominic haven’t been getting on for a while.’

‘And who’s Dominic?’

‘The handyman. It was Dominic who brought you to the Meditation Space.’

‘Oh, him?’ Richard said, surprised.

‘Although Dominic was outside the Meditation Space when it was opened up, so I don’t see how he could be involved.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Richard said. ‘We’ll look into it. But if we come on to the events of this morning. Can I just start by asking, when did your husband get up?’

‘At sunrise. That’s when he gets up.’

‘I see. And you?’

‘I lay in bed for half an hour or so longer and then I got up as well. I had some breakfast, and then I remembered there was some sewing I could be getting on with. So I went out onto the verandah to do it.’ Rianka gathered her courage as she forced herself to remember. ‘I saw Aslan and the others go into the Meditation Space. They closed the door. And that was the last time I saw him …’

‘And do you know what time this was?’

‘I have no idea. Not really. Maybe half past seven? Or just after?’

‘Then can I ask, did you stay on the verandah the whole time your husband and the other guests were inside the Meditation Space?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you perhaps see anyone enter or leave the Meditation Space during that time?’

‘No. I didn’t.’

‘Are you sure?’

Rianka seemed to piece together her memories as she spoke. ‘I could see the whole lawn. The Meditation Space is in the middle of it. The only people I saw go inside it the whole time I was on the verandah were Aslan and the five guests. And once the door was shut, it didn’t open again. Not until later on, after I heard a woman scream. And that’s when I ran …’ Rianka trailed off as the pain of her memories overwhelmed her.

‘Thank you,’ Camille said. ‘We won’t be asking anything else.’

‘Just one more question, though, if that’s alright,’ Richard said.

Camille flashed a look at Richard that might have killed a lesser man, but Richard was impervious. He had a killer to catch. And Camille should have known by now that he wouldn’t be wasting Rianka’s time unless it was important.

‘Do you have any idea how a drawing pin ended up on the floor of the Meditation Space?’

‘I’m sorry?’ Richard was surprised to see that Rianka had apparently said this without moving her mouth. And then he realised it had been his partner who’d spoken.

Ignoring the look of fire in Camille’s eyes, Richard turned back to Rianka.

‘You see, we found a drawing pin on the floor of the Meditation Space, and it could be important. After all, why would there be something as dangerous as a drawing pin left on a floor where people are walking around barefoot?’

‘I don’t understand. Are you asking me how a drawing pin got into the Meditation Space?’

‘Yes I am.’

‘Then I’m sorry. I don’t know.’

‘Very well then, thank you very much for your time.’ Richard turned to his partner. ‘Camille, if Rianka’s up to it, I’d like you to take her formal statement—and then I’d like you to take the statements of the other witnesses who were in the Meditation Space.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Camille said.

Richard could tell that Camille was irritated that he’d asked the grieving widow about a drawing pin, but he refused to apologise for what he felt was a valid line of inquiry, and that was that.

Outside again in the glaring sunlight, Richard tried to make sense of what he’d learnt so far, but it was hard to get a handle on everything. After all, they’d already arrested the self-confessed killer. Surely that made it an open and shut case?

But Richard wasn’t so sure. There was a long and ignoble history of weak-minded people admitting to murders they hadn’t committed. And there was no getting away from it, Julia hadn’t behaved like any kind of murderer he’d ever met before. After all, who’d confess to a murder and then be unable to explain to the police why they did it, how they did it or where the murder weapon came from? It also didn’t help her case that the wounds to the right side of the victim’s neck and back strongly suggested that the killer had been right-handed, and Julia said she was left-handed.

And then there was the mystery of the drawing pin. Richard didn’t care that Camille thought it was irrelevant. He’d learnt long ago that the most important object at a crime scene was sometimes something entirely humdrum that wouldn’t be of interest except for the fact that it was in the wrong place. And a drawing pin that was loose on the floor in a room where people went around barefoot was definitely a humdrum object in the wrong place.

He also couldn’t shake the feeling that the location of the murder itself was important. Aslan was killed inside a locked room that was only made of paper—and in front of a load of potential witnesses—but why was he killed there?

Richard looked through a heat haze at the Meditation Space as it sat shimmering in the middle of the lawn.

What had happened in there while it was locked down?

Richard considered that maybe Julia was their killer. Maybe she wasn’t. But if she wasn’t, then that meant that one of Saskia Filbee, Paul Sellars, Ann Sellars or Ben Jenkins had in fact done it.

But why on earth would any of them want to get a carving knife and viciously slay the owner of a hotel none of them had ever visited before?