‘Tell me, do you know the man standing just here?’ Richard said, indicating Andy Lucas as he stood off to one side.
Sylvie looked over at Andy and shook her head.
‘No. Sorry. I don’t.’
‘Oh dear,’ Richard said. ‘Andy?’
Andy didn’t seem to be looking at anyone in particular as he spoke in a monotone.
‘I’m Sylvie’s cousin. From Maldon. And we’re business partners. Of sorts. She steals coffee from here. I sell it.’
‘What?’ Tom said, rising to his feet in anger.
Sylvie’s smile had frozen, and it was clear that she didn’t know what to say.
‘That’s right,’ Richard said for the benefit of the rest of the family. ‘Sylvie has been stealing your coffee, getting Andy to sell it, and then splitting the profits with him.’
‘Is this true?’ Matthew asked, just as appalled as the rest of the family.
‘Of course not,’ she said, but the look of guilt on her face betrayed her. ‘And anyway,’ she said, knowing she’d need to mount a stouter defence, ‘it’s not stealing. I own it.’
‘You don’t,’ Tom said.
‘Of course I do. This is my plantation as much as it’s yours.’
‘It’s the family plantation,’ Tom said, his voice tight.
‘Oh, put a sock in it.’
‘What?’ Tom said.
‘You’re just a snob. Like all the others. A bloody snob. I was never good enough for you. Was I? Because of my background. Because your family always thought I was just a gold digger. Well, you had the last laugh there, didn’t you? There wasn’t any gold. But you still thought that’s why I married your father, so I decided, well, if you thought I was only here for the money, then I might as well try and make some money.’
‘So you admit it?’ Hugh asked in stunned amazement.
‘Wasn’t forty thousand dollars a year enough for you?’ Tom asked.
‘Get over yourself. It was only a few bags here and there.’
‘A few bags when we weren’t making a profit.’
‘And it wasn’t just a few bags,’ Richard said.
‘It was worth quite a few thousand dollars each time.’
‘It was the least I was owed!’ Sylvie spat.
The family looked at her in shock.
‘Oh come on, stop looking like a slapped arse the lot of you. I was duped when I married Hugh. I thought I was marrying someone special. But he’s not. And all along, he’s said he’d have been a famous painter if he’d not had to run this place, but I can tell you now, Hugh, that your paintings are crap. You’ve no idea how much pressure I had to put on Pascal to show them in his gallery last year.’
‘What?’ Hugh said.
‘It was only because of me that you got your bloody exhibition. Because I’m telling you now, Pascal didn’t think your paintings were any good, either. No-one does.’
‘But the paintings sold. I sold plenty of them.’
‘Which just proves how gullible people are. Pascal was laughing at you the whole time. We all were.’
Richard looked at the family, and could see outrage in the faces of Hugh, Matthew and Tom as they realised just how monstrous Sylvie was. But Richard could also see a look of quiet satisfaction in Rosie’s eyes. She wasn’t in any way surprised to see Sylvie reveal herself like this.
Richard could also see that Sylvie was looking with contempt at the rest of her family.
‘So you can all continue being obsessed with your past, obsessed with your history, but you don’t need to worry about me ever. I’m on the next flight out of here. God knows to where, but as long as it’s as far away from you lot as I can get, I’ll be happy.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure you’ll be on the next flight out of here,’ Richard said.
‘What?’ Sylvie said.
‘Because we know that you’ve been breaking the law. There’s the small matter of whether the family wish to press charges.’
‘I’ve not broken any law. I owned the coffee I sold. Good as.’
‘But what if that’s not the only law you’ve broken?’ Richard asked, taking a step towards Sylvie. ‘What if you’re also a murderer? Because, God knows, you’ve already made it clear to us how much you hated Lucy. And when she told you that you wouldn’t get any money from the sale of the plantation, I could well imagine you being driven into a rage that would end in you killing her, the adopted daughter who’d never once thanked you for raising her.’
‘What is this?’
‘It’s called a motive.’
While Richard let this hang in the air, he glanced at the door to the room. Where the hell were Dwayne and Fidel? If his theory was right – and he knew his theory had to be right – they really should have returned by now. He’d just have to plough on until they arrived.
‘But would you have killed Lucy having first killed Freddie? That’s a far more ticklish question. Because, with both Freddie and Lucy dead, it’s Tom who inherits – and he’s the only member of the family who’s never wanted to sell. Which is the worst possible outcome for you. And as much as I can see you killing Lucy, I think your hatred of her isn’t anywhere as large as your love of money. As we can tell from the salary you pay yourself. And the fact that you’ll even indulge in petty theft to boost your cash reserves. No, as long as Tom inherited, I can’t ever see you killing Lucy under any circumstances. You lose everything with Tom in charge.’
‘So you admit I’m innocent?’ Sylvie said, drawing herself up and trying to recapture her status.
‘No. You’re not innocent. But you didn’t commit murder, I’ll agree to that.’
Richard looked at Sylvie and saw a woman who was trying to project haughty defiance, but all he saw was anger. There was such a fury inside her, Richard thought to himself. And an arrogance, too. It was clear to him that Sylvie felt that she deserved more from life. And now that it hadn’t gone to plan, she was going to blame everyone in the world for her misfortune apart from the one person who could do anything about it: herself.
‘Which brings me to you, Matthew,’ Richard said, turning to face the youngest member of the family. ‘And I have to admit to a prejudice here. You see, when I meet a young Etonian, I’m not necessarily predisposed to like him. It shouldn’t have affected how I judged you. I’m sorry to say that it did. At least at first.
‘But let’s look at the facts. Seeing as you were only a baby when you left the UK, I can’t see how you could have had any significant grudge against your biological father. In fact, to all intents and purposes, you never even met him. What’s more, you’re the only member of the family who’s got a track record of treating Freddie with any kind of kindness. You wrote to him once a year on your birthday. And the fact that Freddie’s last letter to you told you that he had cancer makes it all the more improbable that you could be his killer. After all, why would anyone risk a murder conviction when their potential victim would be dead soon anyway?
‘And as for murdering Lucy, that’s even more unlikely. As Tom later admitted to us, she’s the member of the family that Matthew was closest to. His big sister. The person who’d all but raised him when he was growing up. So when we look at the facts rationally, it’s impossible to imagine Matthew committing either murder. Even if he went to a posh private school,’ Richard said with a rueful smile, tacitly admitting to the family that his prejudices against Matthew had briefly got in the way of the facts of the case.
Richard heard footsteps on the cobblestones outside, and Dwayne and Fidel bustled into the room. Dwayne was wearing evidence gloves and holding a cardboard box.
‘You were right, Chief!’ he called out as he joined his boss. ‘We found it at the back of Tom’s wardrobe.’
‘Has it got everything inside?’
‘It has,’ Fidel said, marvelling. ‘Although I still don’t know how you knew it would be there. Or what would be in it.’
Richard was thrilled to have his theory proven correct, and he turned with
a deadly smile to face Tom Beaumont.
‘And now we come to you, Tom. And I think my officers have just found some very incriminating evidence in the wardrobe of your bedroom.’
As Richard said this, Fidel lifted a little metal tin out of the cardboard evidence box and held it up for everyone to see. It was an old metal cash box.
Tom was panicking.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘An old cash box we just found hidden in your bedroom at the back of your wardrobe,’ Dwayne said.
‘You did?’
‘Because you have to admit,’ Richard said, turning to include the whole family as he spoke, ‘Tom’s name has kept cropping up in the case right from the start. Think about it. The gun that was used to kill Freddie might have belonged to Lucy, but she told us that the only other member of her family who knew about the gun’s existence was Tom here. What’s more, it was Tom who found the list of slaves’ names in his office, and it was Tom who then asked Lucy to store that list in her safe three days before Freddie was killed. And we know that the list of slaves’ names is somehow connected to Freddie’s death, because we found it burned in the bin in Tom’s office just after the murder had been carried out. And while all of these little facts are perhaps circumstantial, what isn’t circumstantial in any way is the fact that it was Tom who bought the poison that was then used to kill his sister Lucy.’
‘No,’ Tom said in alarm, ‘that’s just bad luck on my part. It was Lucy who asked me to get the 1080 poison.’
‘Which, rather conveniently for you, she’s no longer here to confirm or deny.’
‘But it’s what happened. She asked me to buy the poison. So she must have killed Freddie and then killed herself.’
‘But how did she kill Freddie, Tom? She was with me and my Detective Sergeant at the precise moment that Freddie was murdered. In fact, she’s the only person on the whole island who couldn’t have been his killer.’
Tom looked panicked. ‘I don’t know. What if Freddie was already dead beforehand?’
‘You mean, did Lucy kill Freddie before she’d even come to the Police station that morning? And then, once we’d gone to the plantation with her, she somehow created the sound of gunshots at 11.10am so we’d think that that was when he was killed?’
‘Yes! What if that’s what happened?’
‘Unfortunately for you, that’s simply impossible. Not seeing how the water from the shower hadn’t even begun to seep under Freddie’s body by the time we got to the scene. He could only have been dead for a matter of moments – and Lucy was in our sight the whole time. She wasn’t the shooter. So, Dwayne, can you tell me what you found in the box in Tom’s bedroom?’
Dwayne lifted the lid on the little metal box and pulled out a box of bullets.
‘9mm bullets for a Glock 19 handgun,’ Dwayne said.
All the blood drained from Tom’s face. It looked as though he was going to faint.
Next, Dwayne took out a make-up brush, a small glass jar full of graphite powder, and a light blue cloth.
‘We’ve also got everything you’d need to reveal the fingerprints on the keypad of a safe. Including a blue cloth that I bet will be made of fibres that will match the blue fibre we found snagged on the hinge on Lucy’s safe.’
Next, Dwayne lifted out a small cardboard box that was painted bright yellow. There was a black skull and crossbones on the front of the box above big red numbers that said ‘1080’.
‘And finally,’ Richard said, ‘we have the box of 1080 poison that was used to kill Lucy. A box of poison that Tom told me he didn’t know the location of, even though it turns out that it was hidden in the back of his wardrobe in an old metal tin.
‘So, seeing as we’ve just found physical evidence hidden in his bedroom that suggests that Tom’s our killer, let’s see if we can’t also work out why he’d want to kill both Freddie and Lucy. But then, that’s hardly a challenge. Because he’s not this laid back cool dude islander that he’d like everyone to think. He’s actually a lot more like his grandfather William than he’d ever let on. He has a ruthless streak. And he knew perfectly well that if he wanted to take control of the plantation and stop it from being sold, then two people first had to die: Freddie and Lucy. And there isn’t a jury in the land who won’t notice that they’re precisely the two people who are now dead.’
‘But none of this is true,’ Tom said in desperation. ‘I didn’t kill anyone.’
‘Even though you were the only member of the family who knew about Lucy’s gun? And the only person here with a motive to want both Freddie and Lucy dead? You don’t even have an alibi for the time of Freddie’s murder, do you?’
‘I was out in the fields.’
‘Which was always rather convenient, I thought. That you were miles away and on your own when Freddie was killed.’
‘But I always check over the fields at about 11 o’clock every day.’
‘And that’s a critical piece of information, so thank you for bringing it up. As you told us at the time, you always go into the fields to check on the coffee plants at about 11 o’clock every morning.’
‘Why’s that important?’ Sylvie asked, her interest suddenly piqued.
‘Before I explain,’ Richard said, ‘I should also add that Tom had a point when he told us that the killer wouldn’t have been so stupid as to sign his name for the poison that was then used to kill his sister as well. Any more than he’d leave such incriminating evidence in an unlocked box at the back of his wardrobe.’
‘Hang on,’ Hugh said. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? Right from the start it was always the real killer’s plan to set Tom up for the two murders. Isn’t that right, Rosie?’
Richard turned and looked at Rosie as she sat on the bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
‘What’s that?’ she said, confused.
‘Tom’s being framed by the murderer, isn’t he?’
Rosie opened her mouth to say something, but no sound was forthcoming. She’d finally caught up with what Richard was saying.
‘Very well,’ Richard said. ‘If you want to play the innocent. Because we’ve always presumed you couldn’t have killed Freddie. Or rather, the fact that you were on a boat to Montserrat that left Saint-Marie ten minutes before Freddie was killed certainly suggested that you were in the clear. But can I ask, seeing as you bought your ferry ticket at 9.30 that morning, why did you not get on the 10am sailing?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Well, we know you were down at the harbour buying your ticket at 9.30am. So I eventually found myself wondering, why didn’t you just get on the next boat to Montserrat? Which was at 10am that morning. Why did you wait an extra hour until the 11am sailing?’
‘Well, I don’t really know.’
‘You don’t?’
‘It was so long ago. Hold on,’ she said, suddenly remembering. ‘I wanted to get a present for my goddaughter, that’s it! I went along the shops of Honoré looking for something. I’m sure that’s why I ended up getting the 11am sailing.’
‘And did you get a present?’
‘For my goddaughter? As it happens, no. There was nothing appropriate.’
‘So you looked for an hour, but found nothing?’
‘Yes. That’s right.’
‘How interesting. But, as Police Officer Fidel Best here realised, what if you used that missing hour to go back to the plantation? Because you could easily have hidden in the shower room and been the person who killed Freddie at 11.10am.’
‘But I was on the boat to Montserrat at 11am that morning.’
‘And yet, the only proof we have of this is the fact that you arrived on Montserrat at 12.30pm with the other passengers from the 11am sailing.’
‘That’s what I’m saying. I was on that boat. I went through customs with the other passengers. That’s all the proof I need. Isn’t it?’
‘Then let me offer up another scenario. And in this version of eve
nts, I think it’s perfectly possible for you to have committed murder at 11.10am in the shower room of the plantation. And then, all you’d need is some kind of transport to get you down to the harbour and onto a fast boat and you could have caught up with the ferry to Montserrat. Meaning you arrived on a different boat at Montserrat, but at the same time as the ferry. And if we’re looking for other means of transport, I can’t help noticing that Andy Lucas was up at the plantation in a three-wheeler van that morning.’
Andy was thrown.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘You were up at the plantation that morning.’
‘But that’s because I was picking up a delivery of coffee.’
‘So you say. But someone killed Freddie – and seeing as it didn’t make sense to me that it was one of the Beaumont family – this is what I found myself thinking: what if your presence at the plantation that morning wasn’t just because you were picking up illegal coffee? What if that was just your cover story? Because all along I’ve been presuming that your vehicle must have left before the murder – because it briefly rained at 11am that morning. And the tyre prints we were able to pick up in the mud had clearly been left before it started raining. But what it took me too long to realise is that the tarmacked road that led down the mountain was only twenty or so yards away. So there was nothing stopping you from driving up to the outbuilding across the dry mud to pick up your coffee, and then returning to the tarmacked road to wait for Rosie there. Either because that was always the plan for where you were going to meet her, or because you could see that it was going to rain, and you didn’t want to leave any prints in the wet mud that would later prove to us that you’d only left the plantation after it had rained. Because that would suggest that you’d maybe had something to do with the murder.’
‘You’ve got no evidence for this,’ Andy said.
‘But that’s not the end of the story,’ Richard said, ploughing on. ‘Because, when my officer boarded your boat, he reported to me that it was far more powerful than he’d expected. And I’m sure that if you’d driven down the mountain after the murder with Rosie in your three-wheeler van, you could easily have got her onto your boat and arrived in Montserrat at 12.30, thus giving her an apparently unbreakable alibi.’
Death Knocks Twice Page 25