Murder On Mustique

by Glenconner Anne

  Lady Veronica lingers at Nile’s side while Lily comforts the stricken man. The aristocrat looks out of place, her pale dress making her look ghostly, as the fire throws out vivid flames.

  ‘Tommy Rothmore was talking about Amanda just now,’ she says. ‘We both tried to help him, but he ran away.’

  Nile follows her away from the burning building, deeper into the gardens. His eyes widen when he sees a dozen petrol cans strewn across the ground. He listens carefully while Lady Vee explains that the young man was drunk and rambling, laughing his head off at the fire. Tommy may have hidden the cans of petrol in the garden, then waited until the last staff member left, before starting the blaze. Nile knows from experience that a building can ignite in minutes, after seeing a training video from the London Fire Service. Furniture and curtains burn in seconds, paint singeing from walls, giving the occupants only the briefest chance to escape. A wooden-framed villa like the Fortinis’ could be reduced to a charred shell in less than twenty minutes.

  ‘The boy’s in trouble mentally,’ says Lady Vee. ‘He told us to look for Amanda right here, in the grounds. Tommy gave me this piece of coral then ran off.’

  ‘It’s like one I found in her room.’

  ‘There was another at our villa too, the morning after I arrived.’

  ‘I need to see that, Lady Vee.’

  The coral is as light as sponge when Nile holds it in his hand. It’s different from the cutting on Amanda Fortini’s bed. This piece is smaller, hacked from the reef with a sharp blade, its surface so dry he can’t imagine it vibrant with colour, swaying in the sea’s undercurrents. But why has Tommy Rothmore carved each one with crossed arrows? It looks like a voodoo symbol, reminding him of Mama Toulaine’s warning. If Tommy is to blame for his ex’s absence, he’s using coral as his calling card, for reasons only he can explain. Nile keeps hold of Rothmore’s parting gift when he instructs Lady Vee to return to her villa, for safety’s sake, promising to keep her and Lily updated. The detective sees regret on her face when she says good night. Tommy Rothmore is in serious trouble; the young man almost confessed as much to Lady Vee. Searching the site will be a mammoth task. Amanda Fortini could lie anywhere below the fallen rubble, or in a shallow grave, among the undergrowth. He’ll need more officers and heavy-lifting gear to help him complete the hunt, but that may not arrive for days.

  Nile returns to Rothmore’s hilltop villa, hoping to find him in his summerhouse, but the place is empty. The island may only be a few miles long, but there are many places to hide, or someone could be offering him shelter. The detective heads for Lovell at a slow pace, stopping to peer into the grounds of empty villas. It’s only when he reaches the doctor’s house that he sees anything of interest. A row of diesel cans is stacked by the garden wall, the same type as the ones scattered across the Fortinis’ garden. He’s about to approach the house when Dr Pakefield strides down the path. The man only comes to a halt when he spots Nile, waiting in the shadows, and comes to a sudden halt.

  ‘You gave a me a fright, Detective Nile. Are you here to see me?’

  ‘Sorry to call by so late. I saw your lights on and wanted to ask if anyone else needed treatment after the fire, apart from Wesley Gilbert.’

  ‘The only serious casualty is the house itself.’

  ‘That’s good to know. Are you going for a walk?’

  ‘I like a final stroll before bed. It helps my sleep.’

  ‘Do you know why there are so many diesel cans by the entrance?’

  The doctor gives him a blank stare. ‘They belong to Dr Bunbury; maybe they’re for his boat.’

  ‘Have you used it yet?’

  ‘That would be an odd thing to do on my own. My children would love it, but they’re not here.’

  ‘Do you know where it’s kept?’

  ‘In the boathouse on the beach below the villa. Do you mind if I take my walk now? Tomorrow’s an early start.’

  Nile allows him to march away. It’s well after midnight but the doctor appears glad to escape; his thin form is moving so fast, he looks like he’s warming up for a sprint. Instinct makes Nile visit the beach to check on Dr Bunbury’s speedboat. There’s no light in the wooden boathouse, but something interests him when moonlight floods inside. The boat is older than the others he’s seen, but its fibreglass shell is still pristine, because everyone knows it’s Dr Bunbury’s pride and joy. It’s only when he touches the prow that his fingertips trace a deep scratch in the varnish. He’s got no way to prove that Dr Pakefield took the speedboat to Britannia Bay, on the morning when Amanda Fortini was last seen, but it’s definitely been used recently. The owner would have removed any trace of damage, rather than leaving it on display.

  16

  Monday, 16th September 2002

  I CAN SMELL smoke before I open my curtains at 8a.m. The sun is already high overhead, but when I look down at the Fortinis’ villa it’s a scene of devastation, the external walls blackened with soot. Only the central chimney stack is undamaged; it’s still standing tall, like a soldier on a battlefield surrounded by dead comrades. Tommy Rothmore’s behaviour continues to bother me, his manic laughter ringing in my ears.

  Lily is on the terrace when I go outside, staring at the ruins.

  ‘I can’t believe it, Vee. First Amanda disappears, then her house goes up in smoke. Who hates her enough to do that?’

  ‘Tommy was very disturbed last night. I thought he seemed ashamed of something, before he ran away.’

  The fear in Lily’s eyes proves that she believes Tommy is the likely culprit, but she’s too upset to discuss it. Lily is so independent these days, I sometimes forget the trauma she experienced as a child. The Fortinis’ villa is one of the few places where she felt safe after her mother’s death. Now it’s been destroyed, and her closest friend is still missing. It’s possible Tommy was trying to confess his deeds last night, but I shift the conversation to a safer topic.

  ‘Wesley paid a high price for his bravery. Inhaling all that smoke did him no good at all.’

  ‘He’s invincible, Vee. Nothing can bring him down.’

  ‘Is that how you see him?’

  She smiles in reply. ‘He was terribly stern when I was small, but always with a twinkle in his eye. I hope he’s feeling better.’

  ‘Me too. I’ll check on him after breakfast. He turned up for work, even though I told him to rest.’

  ‘See what I mean? The man’s immortal.’ Her jollity takes a sudden nosedive. ‘I wish I could think of a way to help Amanda and Tommy. It’s making me feel useless.’

  ‘Solomon’s promised to keep us informed. He’ll soon tell us what he needs,’ I say. ‘Stop pacing, darling, please. You’ll wear out those espadrilles.’

  When the maid delivers our food, Wesley has arranged it with his usual eye to detail, despite last night’s drama. There’s sliced banana and grated coconut, brioche, homemade jams and a platter of the island’s excellent goat’s cheese. But Lily only seems interested in the cafetière of coffee. It’s only now that I remember the coral I found in the corridor upstairs, so I retrieve it from the plant pot.

  ‘This was outside your room on Sunday morning, Lily. Did you put it there?’

  ‘Why would I bring chunks of coral to the house?’

  ‘I assumed you wanted to show me the reef’s in a poor state.’

  ‘You already know, Vee, you and Jasper are my charity’s biggest donors. Someone’s cut a pattern into it. Do you think it’s a spider’s web?’

  ‘You could be right,’ I say, touching it again. ‘But I’m more worried about who left it there. It arrived the night I saw Jose.’

  ‘Let’s speak to Detective Nile. Did I tell you Keith Belmont’s considering giving me a big donation? His lawyer’s sent me a fifteen-page contract to read, all about Keith’s potential role.’

  ‘Consider carefully before you accept, darling, he’s a slippery customer. But tell me how your grafts are doing.’

  ‘Eighty per cent have taken,’ sh
e says. ‘But the storm could spoil everything, if it heads our way. Any implants that aren’t properly embedded will be torn away.’

  ‘I’d almost forgotten the hurricane. The water looks so peaceful.’

  ‘The forecast says it’s coming closer. There’s always calm before a storm, isn’t there?’

  I’m relieved to hear that she will be carrying out maintenance on her boat today, not going out to sea. She’ll come home later to work on her grant application for the Oceanographic Society. Lily looks relaxed for the first time when she explains that another year’s funding could allow her to recruit more divers, to help bring the reef back to life. Her tension only becomes visible again when her attention shifts back to last night.

  ‘I think Tommy blames me for his relationship breaking down, for some reason. Sacha’s been acting weird too. We were all getting along fine at the start of summer, but now the group’s fallen apart.’

  ‘Keep your distance if you see him, won’t you? Call Solomon Nile immediately.’

  ‘I can’t believe Tommy would hurt anyone, but I’ll do as you say. It’s clear he’s not in his right mind.’

  ‘Have you got Solomon’s number?’

  She pours herself more coffee. ‘He gave it to me the first time we met.’

  ‘Handsome, isn’t he? I imagine if he took his spectacles off he’d be a dreamboat.’

  Lily’s gaze hardens. ‘I haven’t been looking; I just want Amanda found.’

  ‘Why not stay here today, with me? Work on the boat tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll go crazy if I sit still, and the engine needs an overhaul. The Revival has to be seaworthy, so I can do the next phase of grafting before the coral spawns.’

  Lily drops a kiss on my cheek, then vanishes indoors. She clung to me as a little girl, but she can be implacable. I admire her tenacity, even though I’d prefer to keep her safe at my side.

  I gather our breakfast plates, then take them down to the basement, where Wesley is in the kitchen, polishing wine glasses. He looks horrified by the sight of me carrying a tray full of crockery.

  ‘What are you doing, Lady Vee? That’s the maid’s job,’ he says, seizing it from my hands.

  I perch on a stool by his table. ‘Sorry for barking at you last night. You gave me quite a scare.’

  The butler carries on buffing the glass he’s holding to a high shine. ‘It was nothing to worry about. Everything’s in order here.’

  ‘We’d all have been terribly upset if you got hurt.’

  ‘I was never in real danger.’ His voice is a fraction softer than before.

  ‘You passed out cold from smoke inhalation.’

  ‘The doctor says I’m fit and well. I saw far worse in the army.’

  ‘Very few people would run into a burning building to save someone. I think you’re a hero. Please take a few days off and recover properly.’

  ‘Who would look after you?’ He puts down the glass, then turns to face me. ‘I had no choice last night. My sister’s got three kids, still at school. She’s always last to leave the Fortinis’ place.’

  I blink at him in amazement; that’s the longest speech my butler’s ever given. I wish that he would lower his guard more often, but the man’s sense of privacy protects him like a forcefield. He reveals virtually nothing about his life, even though he understands every detail of mine.

  ‘I’m lucky to have you running Eden House, Wesley. I don’t thank you often enough.’

  He manages a smile. ‘Once a year is plenty.’

  ‘You’re irreplaceable.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Lady Vee. I’m only doing my job,’ he says, his spine stiffening again.

  ‘Can I ask something about Amanda Fortini?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I got the sense she upset you. Is there a reason for that?’

  He remains silent, gathering his thoughts. ‘I don’t expect to be treated like an equal by all your visitors; you and Lord Blake are different to the rest, but she never meets my eye. If I bring her a drink, it’s like I’m invisible. After all these years, I bet she doesn’t even know my name.’

  I can feel his anger heating the air. ‘That’s an appalling way to behave. I’m sorry, Wesley, I had no idea.’

  ‘Miss Lily and your children are always respectful; you’ve taught them to be civilised. Now, if you don’t mind, these glasses need finishing, and so does the silver.’

  The phone is ringing when I reach the hallway. When I hear a woman’s panicked voice interspersed with bouts of tears, I know it’s Giovanna Fortini. She doesn’t seem to care about her holiday villa being razed to the ground. Losing bricks and mortar is nothing compared to her daughter going missing. I can only remind her that police are searching everywhere for Amanda. I don’t tell her that the local force consists of one solitary detective. She’s more concerned about being unable to reach the island to hunt for Amanda, while airports and ferry services remain closed, but that won’t change while Storm Cristobal edges closer, dancing to a tune no one else can hear.

  17

  DS NILE HAS put out an announcement on the local radio station, which broadcasts across the Windward Islands. It will repeat every hour, advising Mustique’s inhabitants of Amanda Fortini’s disappearance, and the need to report sightings of her and Tommy Rothmore, but it’s 10a.m. and no one has responded. When he looks through the open door of his office, there’s no sign of the Layton brothers. Maybe they’re doing some work for a change, but as they never explain their movements it will remain a mystery.

  He leaves the station to look for Tommy Rothmore again, but his phone rings, just as he’s locking the station’s door. It’s someone calling from Keith Belmont’s villa, reporting a break-in last night, when someone was seen escaping from the complex. The news makes Nile grit his teeth. He has to stop himself barking that petty crime isn’t his priority: a woman’s missing, and a potential murderer is on the loose; but he bites his tongue. If he refuses to look into the crime, Belmont might complain to his seniors on St Vincent.

  It takes Nile ten minutes to drive his dune buggy to Belmont’s villa, which lies hidden behind a ten-foot-high perimeter fence. Nile studies the name plaque on the wall as he announces his arrival to the intercom; the house is called Blue Heaven, after Belmont’s band. Nile isn’t a fan of hard rock, but Blue Heaven enjoyed huge success thirty years ago and their fans remained loyal until they disbanded last year. Belmont’s private life has earned him almost as much attention as his music; his last marriage to a girl of sixteen made headline news. Nile read somewhere that Blue Heaven’s final world tour grossed over five hundred million dollars, even though the band spent all their spare time arguing. On any other day a visit to Belmont’s villa would appeal to his curious nature, but the timing’s wrong. Nile is bristling with frustration while he waits for the metal door to click open, admitting him to the rock star’s empire.

  He expected a huge mansion, covered in bling, with an Olympic-sized pool, but Belmont’s home is a miracle of clean lines and polished steel. The garden surrounding it is minimal too; the ground is covered in white gravel with a few sculptures and cacti dotted across its blank expanse.

  No staff member appears when he walks down the path, but the front door stands ajar. The only sign that Blue Heaven’s world-famous frontman lives inside is a Fender Stratocaster guitar hanging from the wall. Nile steps closer to admire it; the instrument looks time-worn, covered in dents and scrapes, plus a few stickers announcing cities the band took by storm.

  ‘You must be a musician, from the way you’re checking out my favourite guitar. I bought it from a pawn shop in Nashville, forty years ago.’

  When Nile swings round, a thin middle-aged man is observing him. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt, faded Levis and Birkenstocks, grey hair worn in a ponytail. There’s nothing to announce Keith Belmont’s fame, apart from his world-famous features, which look like they’ve been chipped from the side of a mountain. He seems determined to keep his distance, not bo
thering to step any closer.

  ‘What instrument do you play?’ Belmont asks.

  ‘Drums, but not for a long time.’

  ‘You never lose the knack. Thanks for coming by. I wanted to report the damage, before cleaning up. Can I get you anything? Juice, or iced tea?’

  ‘Water would be great, thanks.’

  Nile is surprised to find himself being waited on in Belmont’s kitchen. There’s a slight tremor in the man’s hand when he slides the glass across the surface towards him. Why would someone who has played in front of a hundred thousand fans be nervous, unless he’s got something to hide? Up close Nile can see that Belmont has left his face as nature intended, battle-scarred like his guitar, with lines grooved deep into his skin. If the man has been shocked or disturbed by the break-in, there’s no visible sign.

  ‘Do you live here year-round, Mr Belmont?’

  ‘No formality, please. Keith is fine.’ He drops onto a kitchen stool and gestures for Nile to do the same. ‘I’ve been here six months, with a couple of visits back to the UK. My head was a mess after a brutal divorce, but you’re too young to know about that.’

  ‘I’m old enough to know break-ups are hard.’

  Belmont rubs the back of his neck like he’s massaging tension away. ‘I keep telling myself matrimony’s a bad idea, but it’s happened three times.’

  ‘Four might be your lucky number.’

  ‘There’s no way it’s happening again.’

  Nile finishes his glass of water and places it on the counter. The exchange feels bizarre: the guy has played Madison Square Garden and the Albert Hall, yet he’s sharing personal details. Nile can’t yet tell whether Belmont’s openness is real, or just another piece of showmanship.