‘Let’s hope they’ll take her.’
‘I knew you’d think of something.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
It didn’t surprise me when I learned that the answer came back swiftly from both cruise ships, a firm negative. Lucinda Ember had cruised on both ships and been a perfect nuisance. They wouldn’t take her. Not even as a favour to Captain Nicolas.
I started to wonder again. Passengers had been known to take the company to the cleaners over quite trivial matters. One woman tried to convince the legal department that the ship’s engines interfered with her hearing aid. For some it became a sort of game, to see how much compensation they could screw out of Conway.
Miss Ember had already been offered a free cruise which was generous. What else could she want?
Dr Mallory was thinking along the same lines. ‘I’ve prescribed her a couple of sedatives. She refused accommodation in one of my side rooms in the medical centre and refused the company of a nurse overnight. But she has come up in a very nasty rash. She says she’s allergic to reptiles. That’s a new one on me.’
‘Look it up on Google. Reptile rash.’
‘I certainly will. Are you going ashore at Elba?’
‘I hope so. It’s one of my favourite islands. Not so picturesque as Santa Margherita but all dusty and sun-baked. Napoleon was lucky.’
‘Lucky? He died there.’
‘You have to die somewhere. But he didn’t die here. He was exiled on Elba. He died on St Helena, in the South Atlantic, in 1821.’
‘What a little Miss Know-All. I bet you got it from one of your quizzes.’
‘Passengers expect me to know the answers to everything. I’m a walking encyclopedia. Try me.’
‘Tell me, Miss Jones, does the ship generate its own electricity?’
‘No, we run on very large batteries.’
‘So how far above sea level are we?’
‘It varies on whether we are in dock or at sea.’
*
I wasn’t the only one eager to see the rugged island of Elba. There was a crowd of passengers up early and leaning over the rails, camcorders at the ready.
I hadn’t heard the ringing for the standby engines at six forty-five a.m. but I did hear the anchor let go at seven twenty-one. Later I watched them lowering the tenders into the water ready for the continuous service into the small harbour of Portoferraio. It was going to be a very hot day. The forecast was thirty-two degrees Celsius, the highest temperature of this cruise.
The young officer in charge of one tender was new. He needed L-plates. He had three attempts at bringing the small vessel alongside the landing quay. The good-natured passengers gave him a cheer when he finally made it. He was red-faced and it wasn’t simply the sun.
Heat rose off the cobblestones in quivering waves. Passengers hurried to the shade of cafés and shops. Portoferraio was the capital and main port of the island so it was a busy place and the second most fortified town in the Mediterranean. Malta is the first.
It hurt my eyes to look up to the star-shaped fort which dominated the town. I knew there were magnificent views from the fortress if you could manage to climb up a hundred and fifteen uneven steps. This was where I was going. It would be even worse coming down.
I heard panting and puffing behind me as I slowly climbed a steep and narrow cobbled side street, keeping to the shady side. You had to watch out for cars and taxis, as they seemed to do what they liked. I saw a car coming down a path and leaped out of its way.
‘Nice one, Casey,’ gasped a male voice, after a similar leap. ‘No road rules on this island. Or they never get caught. Am I going the right way? Are you going to see the house of the great man?’
It was Richard Norton, taking some time off from being ship’s security officer. I didn’t think I’d seen him out of uniform before. He was sewn into that khaki outfit. But today he was in an open-necked navy T-shirt with fawn shorts and a wide panama hat. His legs were alabaster. He was going to get them burnt.
‘Yes, it’s this way. You don’t often get ashore, do you?’
‘Not this trip. But Detective Chief Inspector Bruce Everton is in charge of the murder investigation. I am no longer needed to preserve the security of the Countess.’ He sounded completely fed up and cheesed off. Had he been suspended? Was I going to have to listen to a long line of grievances? Going to be a normal day, then.
‘I’m sure the crew and the captain think otherwise. I know that the passengers are always reassured when they see you strolling about. Like a bobby on the beat.’
Not quite the most tactful thing to say, but the best I could do as the sun beat down and the oxygen got more rarefied. Sweat was trickling down my nose and falling off. I flapped the hem of my shirt to get some air round my waist. It was almost impossible to walk upright.
‘Of course, I’m still in charge of shipboard security, but I’ve been taken off the murder cases. The professor and the fishwife.’
‘Fishwife? That’s not a nice thing to call Dora Belcher.’
‘Well, she was slanging him like a fishwife, 1 understand.’
‘Were you there?’ I knew he wasn’t.
‘Er — no.’
‘Then it’s pure gossip and surmise, isn’t it? And it shouldn’t be repeated without proof.’ Again, not the right thing to say to poor old Richard. ‘But who says the professor was murdered? It hasn’t been confirmed. Cheer up, buster. We’re nearly at the top and the view is worth the effort.’
We were approaching the Palazzina dei Mul-ini, the main residence where Napoleon had lived. It was a long, well-proportioned, pink-washed building with rows of tall windows.
He’d had gardens for walking and palm trees for shade as well as a magnificent view over the bay. And the view in those days didn’t include tankers in the port and new concrete buildings.
There wasn’t time to join a tour of the faded pink palace although I would have liked to have seen inside. It’s reputed to be a storehouse of treasures. It still has lots of beautiful furniture and paintings, silver and china, though many things have disappeared over the years. Don’t ask me where they went. Some souvenir hunters have itchy fingers.
We leaned over a wall and took in the view before continuing the climb up to the Star Fort. Richard was getting his breath back now, looking less distressed. We took the last hundred yards easy, no point in pushing him. I wouldn’t know how to deal with a heart attack. I had my first aid certificate but it wasn’t something I practised regularly.
‘Isn’t this marvellous,’ I said. ‘Breathtaking. You can see the whole of the town, the bay, those mountains over there and even inland.’
‘It’s certainly worth the climb,’ he said, offering me a mint. ‘Thanks for letting me come with you. I needed some good company to cheer me up.’ He took out some binoculars and started scanning the town.
‘And I’m always very good company,’ I said, sucking on the mint, enjoying the extra-sharp tang. ‘See anything interesting?’
‘I think I’ve seen Miss Ember going into a boutique carrying a parcel. Yes, it’s definitely her. Not exactly a parcel, more like one of those plastic zip-up clothes bags.’
‘It can’t be the snake then. Show me, show me, please,’ I said. Richard’s got funny eyesight so I had to twiddle the focus dial till it was right for me. ‘Where, where? Tell me. I can’t find her.’
‘A bit more to the right, down there, further down. No, not that way. The other way.’ It was hopeless, trying to follow someone else’s directions with binoculars. We lost her in the crowds.
My interest in the Star Fort evaporated in the heat. I wanted to follow Miss Ember and find out what she was doing. Perhaps that’s what I had wanted to do all the time, but I’d not acknowledged it.
‘Richard, if you’d like to stay up here a bit longer, that’s fine. But I want to know what Miss Ember is up to.’
‘Shopping,’ he said. ‘She went into a shop. That’s what women do.’
How he
ever got this job was a wonder to me. But to be fair, he didn’t have to play detective and detect things. His job was security.
‘I’m going down into the town to see if I can find her. What was she wearing?’
‘A dress and a hat.’
I swallowed my impatience. ‘Brilliant observation,’ I said. ‘I’ll soon be able to spot her.’
The shorter route down to the main square was steep and scary. The huge slabs of cobbles were oily with heat. Motorbikes tore past me, sliding and skidding. This was the oldest part of Portoferraio, a street called Via del Amore. Not much amore about it today. Everyone was too hot for a dalliance.
The Sea Gate was ahead and the commercial centre of the town. The Countess tenders were waiting at the quayside to take passengers back to the coolness of the ship and a long iced Pimm’s before lunch. It was a reassuring sight. Miss Ember was not in the queue, boarding the tenders. I checked with the crew that she was not already aboard. Her cruise card had not been scanned in.
A lot of passengers waved to me and said hello. ‘Isn’t it hot?’ they chorused.
‘Yes, really hot. It’s lovely. Have you got enough water? There are some water coolers by the tenders. Help yourselves.’
I hurried back through the Medici Gate, making a quick scan of the shops and boutiques and cafés. Several familiar faces were eating huge slices of watermelon, spitting out the pips. A street market lured me and in thirty seconds I had bought six pairs of silky pants, lacy and embroidered, in black, pink and blue. I couldn’t resist them. Nor the price. I could throw away my old white ones that were now washing sad and grey. I’ve often wondered why white things go grey.
I left the street market before I bought up the entire stall, and continued my tour of the expensive shops. Miss Ember would only shop expensive. No street market for her.
There were some lovely clothes, elegant furniture and household goods. You could start from scratch in Elba and furnish a home with style. But no need for duvets or curtains. Not in this climate.
I stopped in my tracks. In front of me was a white-painted corner boutique full of delightful accessories, belts, bags, hats and jewellery. The window had been dressed with Fifth Avenue flair. Everything was tempting. Especially the gown in the centre of the display.
It was a beautiful Chanel dress, the black and gold camellia dress. The one that had been in the wardrobe with the rat, in the ship’s shop window with a pool of blood, and taken to a dry-cleaners in St Tropez from where it had disappeared. It was now in a boutique on the island of Elba.
That dress had certainly travelled.
Nineteen
Elba
I went into the boutique, checking first that I had enough time. This was going to be one fast interview. I prayed that the assistant would be able to speak English. There was no time for the dictionary.
She was very Italian. Olive-skinned with masses of black hair swept up into a chignon. She was wearing skinny clothes that probably cost a fortune. Her eyelashes were inches long, black as spiders’ legs.
‘Yes, madam?’ she said, not looking at me, already bored.
‘That dress in the window.’
‘It is not for sale.’
Good start. ‘OK, I don’t want to buy it,’ I came back fast.
She flickered a token look at me. I was of one per cent interest. She said nothing but turned what existed of her professional attention to an arrangement of jewellery.
‘Where did you get the dress from?’ I asked. ‘I’d like to know.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh yes, you do. That dress came into your possession in the last half hour. And I have proof of that.’
It was a wild guess but fairly accurate. Miss Ember was seen carrying a clothes bag thirty minutes ago, now its contents were here in the shop window. The young woman looked a fraction disconcerted. She turned her attention to some fans.
‘It was a private arrangement,’ she sniffed.
I was surprised that she knew such a long word. ‘So, tell me about it,’ I said, eyeing my watch. It was worse than getting blood out of a stone.
‘Please to kindly leave,’ she said. ‘I am busy.’
She certainly didn’t know what busy meant. Swift action was required. I decided on shock tactics. I produced my laminated crew card which had a small photo on it, flashed it but didn’t give her time to read the printing.
‘This is a criminal investigation,’ I said in a voice of authority. ‘I am making enquiries into an international fraud which includes the acquisition of one black and gold Chanel couture dress. The description fits the dress in your window exactly. Now please tell me how you acquired it.’
The young woman crumpled. The sophistication diminished, flickered like a candle going out. For a moment I felt sorry for her. She had been hoping she wouldn’t be found out, but alas Monster Truth had descended on her in the form of Ms Casey Jones, intrepid PI, but not yet registered.
‘Tell me exactly what happened.’
At last she looked straight at me. She had the most beautiful liquid brown eyes. She must send the young men of Elba wild with lust for one look. And the older ones.
‘This little old English lady came into shop,’ she began. ‘She very upset. She needed money for sending home to sick son. She said she would sell me very special dress for money. I see label. Chanel. Everyone knows Chanel label. It is very beautiful dress. I would look magnificent in such a dress. We have Gala Festival soon.’
I saw it all. She had paid Miss Ember for the dress out of the shop till, put it in the shop window, but planned to wear it herself at the Gala Festival whenever that was. Neat thinking and forward planning.
‘How much did you pay her? This little old English lady?’
It was a lot of euros. I didn’t have enough. No way. Miss Ember had walked off with a bundle. I was going to have to leave the dress, but then I caught sight of the handsomest head on the island of Elba. And not on the island for that long. Like me, he was a fleeting visitor. He was wandering along the street, on his way back to the tenders.
‘Sam, please,’ I said, rushing out of the boutique before he disappeared into the crowds. ‘Can you lend me a lot of euros?’
‘Of course, Casey, my dear,’ Sam said laconically. ‘How many do you want?’ He took a wallet from his linen jacket and peeled off some hundred euro notes. He didn’t ask what I wanted the money for. He didn’t ask when he would get it back. He just gave it to me as if it was a couple of pounds. ‘Will five do?’
‘Yes, thank you. Perfect. It’s a bit complicated but I will explain.’
‘I shall expect a full explanation. In the Galaxy Bar, tonight at nine?’
I nodded. ‘I promise.’
‘And I know you always keep your promises. One of your most endearing traits,’ he said, strolling on, by himself, amused by his own company. He tipped his hat, very Jane Austen.
I went back into the boutique where the young assistant had regained some composure.
‘You can’t have it back,’ she argued. ‘It belong shop now.’
‘Oh no it doesn’t and oh yes, I can,’ I said. ‘Or you will be charged with receiving stolen goods and may even go to prison. Now take the money and find something else to wear at the Gala Festival. I’m sure you will look stunning. You would look stunning in a sack.’
It was not an easy transaction but I got the dress back and she put it in one of their classy gold and black boutique bags. I also got a photocopy of the receipt which Miss Ember had signed and I got a receipt for the euros which I paid for the dress. I was hoping that Conway would eventually repay me and then I could repay Sam. It was a chain of repayment. It might take years. It probably would. We would both be old and grey. Miss Ember had made a profit. Conway Blue Line would lose out.
Still, the thought of knowing Sam when I was old and grey was comforting. He would look distinguished but I would look, well, old.
I put the dress in a safe place in my cabin, in the
wardrobe behind the life jacket, in classy boutique bag. I told my steward, Ahmed, not to let anyone into my cabin.
‘No matter what they say. No one, Ahmed.’
‘Yes, Miss Jones. No one.’
‘Only you, the doctor, the security officer or the captain. No one else.’
‘No one else.’ He looked bemused.
‘It’s very important.’
Lee was glad to have a few hours ashore. I was back on-board in time for a salad lunch in the Terrace Café. I threw in a few prawns for protein. Later I went to Richard Norton’s office. He was sitting despondently behind his desk, shuffling papers, sipping water. His knees were red.
‘Cheer up,’ I said for the second time that day. ‘I have recovered the Chanel dress that Miss Ember sold to a boutique this morning. It’s the same dress that went missing after dry-cleaning at St Tropez. Same dress that was draped in the Bond Street shop window on board the Countess dripping blood. Same dress that was in the rat infested wardrobe. It has a history.’
‘So, what am I supposed to do with it?’ he asked, bewildered. He was lathering his knees with after-sun lotion. A bit late.
‘Keep it as evidence,’ I said, sadly realizing that Richard Norton was not au fait with this kind of swindling. ‘Miss Ember is obviously up to some trickery and you should find out. You are employed by Conway Blue Line and it’s your responsibility to investigate the matter.’
‘Shall I put the dress in a secure place?’ he said, surfacing through a fog of indecision and painful knees.
‘Excellent idea, but I have put it in a safe place. And the fewer people who know the safe place, the better. It may be needed as evidence.’
I left him to wallow in despair and smarting knees.
Between checking rehearsals for tonight’s show, I tried to locate Dr Mallory but he was nowhere to be found. More casualties on those steep steps? He was an expert on sprains.
Miss Ember was also nowhere to be seen. I had almost forgotten about our missing non-entertainer, Miss Judie Garllund. But I did meet Detective Chief Inspector Bruce Everton. He was strolling the decks, looking ashore enviously.
Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2) Page 16