Death Knocks Twice

by Robert Thorogood

  ‘Netting you a cool $2,800. And her, $4,200.’

  ‘You can work all that out that quickly?’

  ‘It’s just maths. But are you telling me she took sixty per cent to your forty?’

  ‘Sure. Mind, I was actually able to sell a few of the bags for a bit more than she thought I would. So I did okay. But the point is, the whole thing went like a dream.’

  ‘Even though it was illegal?’

  ‘Hey. As far as I was concerned, it was her coffee, so there was nothing illegal going on. I was just her sales rep. That’s all.’

  ‘A sales rep who just had to be kept secret from the rest of the family?’

  ‘Who she told about our business relationship had nothing to do with me.’

  ‘But I take it you always had to meet behind the farm buildings. Where no-one could see you?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Andy said with a crooked smile.

  Richard considered what Andy was saying and realised that his story rang true. After all, Richard remembered how their background checks had thrown up the fact that Sylvie ran multiple credit cards – that they were mostly maxed out – and that, every now and again, there’d be a large cash injection of a few thousand dollars to help pay them off. It hadn’t made much sense at the time, but Richard guessed that he’d just uncovered the explanation. She was selling bags of coffee on the black market and using the cash to pay down her credit card bills.

  But did any of this tie in with the murder? That was the important question.

  Richard mentioned the date that Freddie had been killed and, after a bit of prompting, Andy admitted that that had almost certainly been the day he was last up at the plantation.

  ‘And what time were you there?’ Richard asked.

  ‘I had to get there at nine.’

  ‘In the morning?’

  ‘That’s right. We had to be finished before anyone else went down to the plantation buildings. So I drove up there in my little three-wheeler for 9am. Sylvie had already got the bags of coffee into the outhouse where we always met. I loaded them up. The whole thing took about ten minutes. And then I drove back down the mountain and loaded the coffee onto my boat.’

  ‘And did you see Sylvie that morning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘Except for in exceptional circumstances, we try not to meet. I’m telling you, she had the whole thing organised like a dream. There’s this empty plastic water butt in the outhouse. That’s where she leaves the bags of coffee for me to pick up. It’s also where I leave her share of the cash when I’m done with selling it. Not that it happens that often. This is only the fifth time I’ve done it.’

  ‘Then tell me, when you were up at the plantation this last time, did you see anyone else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, I’m on the lookout for people, so I’d have seen if anyone had been around.’

  ‘You didn’t, for example, see an old man in his late fifties lurking around? A Caucasian male with shaggy white hair and a beard?

  Andy shook his head, and Richard was just wondering how much the testimony of a known criminal could be trusted when Dwayne burst into the office holding an old ledger.

  ‘Okay, Chief, you have got to see this!’ he said, but then he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Andy.

  ‘Oh. It’s you.’

  However, Dwayne’s desire to share his news was greater than his embarrassment at coming face to face with a criminal who’d outrun him wearing flip flops, and he beckoned for Richard to join him at his desk.

  Asking Camille to stay with Andy, Richard went and joined Dwayne.

  ‘Okay,’ Dwayne said, holding up a hard backed notebook. ‘This is the Registered Poisons Log for the pharmacist on the other side of the island. And look,’ Dwayne said, turning the pages of handwritten entries until he found what he was looking for. ‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘A 500 milligram packet of “sodium fluoroacetate, trade name 1080” was sold for cash five weeks ago.’

  ‘But who bought it?’ Richard asked.

  Dwayne pointed at the name, address and signature of the purchaser.

  ‘You’re kidding me?’ Richard said, seeing what was written there.

  According to the ledger, the person who’d bought the 1080 poison was Tom Beaumont.

  ‘I know, Chief,’ Dwayne said. ‘But, unless this name is a forgery, it’s who bought the poison that day. And, if you’re asking me, that kind of suggests to me that it was Tom who killed his sister. But, either way, I reckon he’s got some serious questions to answer.’

  ‘You know what?’ Richard said. ‘For once, Dwayne, I’m in one hundred per cent agreement with you.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Leaving Dwayne to take Andy Lucas’ formal statement, Richard and Camille drove up to the Beaumont Plantation to interview Tom again. But he wasn’t at the main house. They found him in the old shower room where Freddie had been murdered.

  ‘Oh,’ Tom said as the Police entered. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Actually,’ Richard said, ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’m just interested to know what you’re doing at the murder scene of Freddie Beaumont.’

  Tom was put out by the question.

  ‘This is my home,’ he said. ‘I can go where I like. And if you must know, this room used to be used for drying the coffee cherries. After they’d been soaked and before they were husked. Sylvie converted it into a shower room years ago, but it’s never really worked as a shower room. The ventilation is terrible. Which is hardly surprising. It was always designed to retain heat. But if we’re to go back to traditional production methods, I want to see if it’s still fit for purpose.’

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘I reckon so. We’ll have to strip out the shower, of course.’

  ‘So you’re really committed to keeping the plantation running?’

  Tom understood the implied subtext.

  ‘There have been Beaumonts here for hundreds of years. I’m not going to be the one who ends that tradition.’

  ‘Even though you could just sell it right now and pocket five million dollars for yourself.’

  ‘When are you going to get it? This plantation is worth so much more than five million dollars. Its coffee plants come from the same cuttings that were used to establish the Blue Mountain Plantation in Jamaica. That’s how prestigious our coffee is. But you can have the best plants in the world. As we do. And one of the best situated plantations in the world. As we do. And some of the most fertile soil in the world. As we do. But if you don’t have the right machinery, or the right training for the workers, or the right drying sheds or packaging plant, then it doesn’t matter how fine your raw ingredients are. What you’re going to produce will be junk.’

  Richard couldn’t help but notice that Tom had almost entirely dropped his island ‘surfer dude’ pose. There was steel in his voice. And Richard found himself remembering a comment that Nanny Rosie had made about Tom the very first time they’d spoken to her. She’d said that Tom was a very determined young boy who always had to get his own way.

  ‘And that’s what you think is currently produced here? Junk?’

  Tom didn’t say anything. But Richard noticed that he didn’t deny the statement, either.

  ‘When we last interviewed you with the family, you didn’t answer my question when I asked you if you thought Hugh was mismanaging the plantation.’

  Tom still didn’t reply, but Richard had had enough of Beaumont family members not telling him the truth.

  ‘There’s no point denying it. After all, your solicitor told us that that’s what you said in front of her. And we’ve been through the company accounts ourselves. So I can tell you that I think I agree with you. At the very least, seeing as the business is losing money, I don’t see how Hugh and Sylvie have been able to justify the hundreds of thousands of pounds they sp
ent sending Matthew to Eton.’

  Richard saw Tom’s brow furrow. Good, he thought to himself. The last time he’d spoken to Tom about his brother’s school fees, Tom had tried to brush them off as irrelevant.

  ‘In fact,’ Richard continued, ‘it’s just throwing good money after bad, isn’t it? I mean, there’s you – with your free education from Saint-Marie – getting a degree from Miami University, but after all that money was spent on Matthew, he doesn’t even get any decent A-levels.’

  ‘They’re idiots,’ Matthew said quietly.

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘I mean, I kind of forgive Father. You heard him in the sitting room. He’s not really cut out to run this place. But Mother? The way she lords it over the rest of us?’

  ‘While also paying herself forty thousand dollars a year.’

  ‘Precisely. All Mother wants is money. Money and status. That’s why she spends all her time sitting on committees and doing her charity work. She’s not trying to do good, she just wants everyone to see how important she is.’

  ‘When in reality she’s a one-time travel rep from Essex?’

  It was clear from Tom’s half-smile that he agreed with Richard’s summary.

  ‘In which case, it’s all worked out rather well for you,’ Richard said. ‘Because, instead of Hugh and Sylvie continuing to run the business into the ground – or, worse still, Lucy selling it – it’s you who’s just inherited it. The whole shebang.’

  ‘I didn’t want to inherit anything.’

  ‘But nonetheless, you did when your sister died.’

  ‘You really think I’d kill my own sister?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why you don’t tell me?’

  ‘There’s no way I could kill Lucy,’ Tom said in a burst of anger. ‘Ever. She’s my sister. I loved her.’

  ‘Even though she seemed to like Matthew more than you?’

  ‘What?’ Tom was appalled by the suggestion.

  ‘Only, I couldn’t help noticing that whenever the family were gathered, Lucy always sat with Matthew, and you always sat on your own.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Tom said, but Richard could see that he was rattled.

  ‘No, it is true. You always sat on your own in the window seat.’

  When Tom didn’t say anything, Richard decided to throw him an olive branch.

  ‘But maybe it’s a “middle child” thing? The oldest sibling bonds with the youngest, and vice versa. So Lucy and Matthew become inseparable. It’s understandable. And you, the middle child, get left out. Excluded.’

  ‘Okay,’ Tom said. ‘Maybe you’re right. Lucy maybe got on better with Matthew than she did with me. But it’s kind of bound to happen. Lucy got to look after Matthew from the moment he was born. I mean, I was four years old when we left the UK, and Mother was right about one thing. I was pretty uncivilised back then. It wasn’t my fault. But I was wild. Angry. Everything had to go my way. Whereas Matthew was a brand new baby, and Lucy was twelve years old – the perfect age to fall in love with a new-born. She doted on him. Nothing was too good for Matthew.’

  ‘Which must have been hard on you. An older sister who was more interested in your sibling, and an adopted mother who I understand from Rosie was never all that maternal.’

  ‘Ha!’ Tom said. ‘That’s the understatement of the year. I struggle to remember any memories of my mother playing with me when I was small. Or reading a book to me at night. Or doing anything with me. She’s totally absent from my early memories of being on Saint-Marie.’

  ‘So why did she adopt the three of you?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? She guessed that if she did what Grandfather wanted – and kept us on Saint-Marie – he’d leave his whole estate to her and Hugh when he died. Well, he didn’t, did he? Because he still left it to Freddie, the crazy old bastard. And then Lucy got it when he died.’

  ‘And now you have it.’

  Richard realised something.

  ‘And once again I notice that you’ve sidestepped my question.’

  ‘What question?’

  ‘About your father. You’ve said that he’s not really cut out to run the plantation, but you’ve not told me whether you think that he’s actively to blame for mismanaging the place?’

  Tom ran his hands through his hair – just the way Hugh did, Richard noted. And as he did so, Richard was briefly struck by how much Tom looked like Hugh – even though Hugh was only his uncle rather than his father.

  ‘Alright,’ Tom said, once he’d gathered his thoughts. ‘If you want chapter and verse, I’ve been going through our historical accounts. You know, from before 2001 when Grandfather died. And the place was run completely differently then. Surplus money was ploughed back into the business, there was a regular plan for maintaining and replacing machinery, and during boom years money was set aside to cover for when times were tougher. But since William died, there’s been no capital investment, and the farm machinery has got old and inefficient. And father doesn’t even come close to pushing our workers hard enough. They’re allowed to come in late – or not turn up at all – and their productivity is just shot to hell. We’ve got to fire a rocket up their arses. Get everyone upping their efficiency.’

  ‘Or sack them?’ Camille asked.

  ‘If need be. We’re a business, not a charity. And while the place is falling down around our ears, Father just lets Mother keep splashing the cash. So whenever there’s been a surplus, they’ve spent the profits, and when there’s a loss they still pay themselves the same salary – even if they can’t afford it. As far as I can see, their only financial planning is to wait until we run out of money and then sell another family heirloom to fund the shortfall.’

  ‘Like the house in Fulham?’

  ‘Exactly!’ Tom said, suddenly animated. ‘That’s what I keep telling the others. We used to own the freehold to a property in Fulham. And sure, we coined it in when we sold it, but that money’s now been spent. And if we’d just kept it, imagine the rental income we could be getting from it now? Or we could have used the capital we had in the house to get a mortgage to help us out here. But once it’s sold, that’s it. You don’t sell the family silver.’

  ‘I see,’ Richard said, fascinated to see just how passionately Tom believed in his mission to save the plantation. ‘So tell me, what do you plan to do with Hugh and Sylvie now?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, do they stay on once you’ve inherited the plantation?

  ‘You mean, having a job here? No way.’

  ‘Wow,’ Camille said. ‘That’s pretty brutal.’

  ‘It’s the facts.’

  ‘So what will you do with them?’ Richard asked again.

  ‘I don’t know. Can’t say I’ve thought much about it. But I suppose there’ll be some job I can give to Father. Like PR or something. Or brand ambassador. But as long as he has time to do his painting, I know he’ll be happy enough. I mean, you saw him – he wants to step aside. He never wanted to run the plantation in the first place. But Mother? If you really want to know, I think it’s about time she learned that life’s not a free lunch.’

  ‘You’d stop giving her a salary?’

  ‘You have to do work to get a salary.’

  Richard looked at Tom’s resolve and decided that he’d been circling his prey for long enough. It was time to move in for the kill.

  ‘Did you know that your sister died from an overdose?’

  ‘Yes. You said.’

  ‘But it wasn’t just any substance that she overdosed on. It was sodium fluoroacetate.’

  Tom’s eyes widened.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Which I don’t need to tell you is a pesticide that goes by the trade name of 1080.’

  ‘No way. That’s not possible.’

  ‘And, as I’m sure you’ve already worked out, we’ve also found evidence that you bought a packet of 1080 last month. In fact, it’s quite a damning piece of evidence, because it’s your signature, name and add
ress all written out in your handwriting in the poison register of the pharmacy where you bought it.’

  Tom was reeling. Unable to speak.

  ‘Okay,’ Richard said, like a disappointed parent. ‘Then let’s start at the beginning. Do you admit that you bought 1080 pesticide five weeks ago?’

  Not trusting his voice, Tom slowly nodded his head.

  ‘Could you speak out loud, please?’ Richard asked. ‘Did you buy 1080 poison five weeks ago?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tom said desperately. ‘I bought a packet of 1080 a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t my idea.’

  ‘It wasn’t?’

  ‘It wasn’t.’

  ‘Then whose idea was it?’

  Tom crossed the floor and sat down on one of the slatted benches to the side of the shower room. Camille gave Richard a look to stay quiet.

  ‘Who told you to buy the poison?’ she asked.

  ‘It was Lucy,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was Lucy who told me to buy the 1080 poison.’

  Richard and Camille exchanged a glance. This wasn’t what they’d expected to hear.

  ‘When was this?’ Richard asked, going over to join Tom and Camille.

  ‘Last month. Just like you said. She told me she’d seen a mongoose with rabies in the jungle. It used to be a big problem when we were growing up. Rabies in the local rodent population. And she said she couldn’t remember what the poison was that we used to get rid of the problem. I told her it was 1080. So she asked me to get some the next time I was in town. Which is what I did. I got her some.’

  Tom realised something.

  ‘So that’s why she wanted it,’ he said. ‘She used it to end her own life.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’ Camille asked.

  ‘It’s the only thing that makes sense. She asked me to get the poison. I gave it to her. And then she used it on herself.’

  ‘Then can you tell me why you didn’t go to the pharmacy in Honoré?’ Richard asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There are two pharmacies licensed to sell agricultural poisons on Saint-Marie, but you didn’t go to the one in Honoré. Even though it’s your nearest by some distance. Instead, you went to the pharmacy five miles further away. On the other side of the island. Why was that?’