Words Can Kill (Ghostwriter Mystery 5)

by C. A. Larmer

That set her off even harder but Roxy’s thoughts were heading in a different direction. She began to shake her head. “You know, if you think about it, it doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Yes, madam, murder, it is senseless,” Rossi began but she shook her head again.

  “No, no, I mean, he couldn’t have been wearing his Converse sneakers when he went walking because—”

  “Because they’re useless for hiking!” Caroline chimed in now, sniffing again into her tissue. “Plus they’re not cheap. Why ruin a perfectly good—”

  “No, no, it’s not that. One of them was still in his hotel room. So he couldn’t have been wearing them when he disappeared. Don’t you see? It makes no sense. Maybe he lost one the day before, or something, but he must have returned to his room to place the other one back in his bag.”

  “Unless someone else placed it there,” said Carmela, her eyebrows arched skyward and Roxy blinked a few times.

  “But why? Why would someone do that?”

  “To make it look like he returned, to deflect the blame for Candy’s death onto him.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Caroline, warming to this idea. “They probably planted the pink visor at the same time!”

  As they continued talking this over in circles, Roxy’s head felt more and more muddled. It just wasn’t clicking into place for her. She had plenty of experience solving mysteries and they usually, eventually, made sense. This one was all over the place again.

  One minute they were suspecting Donald, the next they were pointing the finger at Maria, then both of them. Just last night, Jake was suddenly the main culprit. And now? God knows who was under the spotlight now. She was losing track.

  Commander Rossi had no such doubts. He cleared his throat and said, “I wanted to inform you that we have issued an arrest warrant for Donald Marlow. My men are in the process of picking him up now.”

  Both women stared at him. Caroline’s eye lit up, her tears draining away. “I knew he was dodgy! I knew it!”

  Despite herself, Roxy couldn’t help feeling surprised. “On what evidence?” she said.

  Carmela and Rossi shared another of those glances before Rossi said, “We can not tell you that, I am sorry.”

  “Motive then?”

  A small cough and Rossi said, “There is a very substantial inheritance.”

  “I knew it!” Caroline said again and Roxy wanted to smack her.

  Yes, yes, she thought, we’ve already been there, thought that. “What about Max?”

  “I am sorry to say but we believe Mr Farrell got in the way,” Carmela said. “We know he accompanied Mrs Marlow on her walk at Mt Pilatus, we have confirmed this with the staff there. So it makes sense that he also accompanied her the day she died.” She glanced down at the Converse sneaker as if that was all the proof they needed. “We believe that Mr Marlow followed them and pushed them both over the edge. We believe he only intended to kill his wife, but that Mr Farrell was just in the wrong place at—”

  “The wrong time, yeah, yeah,” Roxy interjected. “I’m sorry to sound cynical, but are you really saying that Donald Marlow managed to overpower both Candy and Max, all on his own? I know you haven’t met Max, but he’s really tall, broad shouldered, strong. There’s no way that wimpy little man could overpower him. No way.”

  Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

  “Ahh, but anyone can be pushed when their back is turned,” Carmela said and Caroline made a kind of strangled sound. “Plus, he may have had an accomplice.”

  “Maria!” Caroline exclaimed, and now it was Carmela’s turn to look surprised.

  Roxy said, “We already suspect she and Donald were sleeping together, but it still doesn’t add up. Unless she’s lying, Maria told us she was at the markets that Friday morning. She might have an alibi. Have you checked that?”

  Carmela glanced at Rossi and he sighed wearily then gave a small nod. She said, “We have looked into it, yes, and at the moment we have no proof of this. The markets are in Monterosso, you see.”

  “Monterosso? One of the other five towns?”

  “The farthest town from here, in fact. The parking attendant remembers her leaving Riomaggiore at 9:05 a.m. that morning, but she did not return until just after midday. No one recalls seeing her in Monterosso, she has no alibi.”

  “So she could have parked somewhere along the road and walked down to meet Candy on the Blue Trail?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Donald? Also no alibi?”

  “He was last seen at Ted’s Trattoria, having breakfast, around 10:30 a.m. He did not appear again until around 3:00 p.m. He can not properly account for his time.”

  “He can’t tell you where he was between 10:30 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. that Friday?”

  Carmella hesitated, glanced quickly at Rossi and did not answer.

  “Can you at least tell me when Candy was killed, do you know?” Roxy asked.

  “The coroner can not tell us precisely, you understand?” said Rossi. “The deceased’s body was too decomposed by the time we found her, and while there were numerous fractures and some serious contusions around the head area, we do know she died from drowning. That is a fact. Judging from witness statements, we believe Mrs Marlow fell from the edge of the trail sometime between 11:00 a.m. when she set off on the walk, and about 1:00 p.m. that Friday.”

  Roxy went to say something but knew she had to tread carefully. She couldn’t believe the detectives were being so forthcoming and she didn’t want to scare them off. “Okay, so both Donald and Maria have plenty of motive and no clear alibi. But surely you need more than that? I mean, do you have any actual evidence that they were at the cliff at that time, that Candy was even pushed over the edge?” She paused. “I’m not saying that Donald and Maria weren’t having an affair, but is there any evidence to actually pin this on them? I’m playing Devil’s Advocate here, but maybe Candy found out about the affair and threw herself over, out of despair.”

  “Really?” said Caroline, her eyebrows high. She hadn’t thought of that.

  “We do not believe so,” said Rossi. “There is evidence that Donald Marlow had made threats against his wife.”

  “What kind of threats?” Roxy said.

  “At this stage I cannot tell you more than that.”

  “And Max?” she asked, frowning down at the shoe. “Any other evidence that he was anywhere near the trail at that time? Did anyone actually see him, do you know?”

  “Mr Farrell was last seen that morning, also at Ted’s Trattoria, also around 10:30 a.m.” Carmela said. “Then he just vanished. No one remembers where he went or in which direction. He was never seen again.”

  Caroline, who had been watching this exchange with a fascinated expression, dropped her head into her hands and began sobbing again, and Roxy felt like joining her but tried to remain strong, swallowing her own tears back down. She had just one more question and everything rested on it.

  “What about Jake Conway?” The two detectives looked at her, blank expressions in their eyes. “Max’s flatmate. How does he fit into all of this?”

  Carmela shrugged her shoulders slightly. “We have been speaking to the Berlin police but we are not sure he has anything to do with this.”

  “They are getting back to us with more information tonight,” added Rossi, “but I am sorry, Miss Parker, his death, at this stage, appears to be unconnected.”

  Roxy nodded. She knew they’d say that.

  Rossi was sighing now and pushing himself away from the table and up to his feet. He looked drained, even a little defeated, and Roxy wondered whether he’d ever had a case so baffling or if he just needed his sleep.

  “We will continue the search for your brother, Miss Farrell,” he was saying to Caroline, reaching down to give her shoulder a few quick taps. “We will find him, you not to worry.” Then he looked at Roxy and said, “You are okay?”

  Not really, she thought but just nodded again.

  By the time the two women had left the stati
on and begun walking back to their room, Roxy’s head was spinning again. She realised she should be jubilant. The police were making an arrest, the bad guy was going to be locked up. So why did it all feel so wrong? And why were there so many questions still unanswered?

  Like: How did a scrawny guy like Donald Marlow overpower two sporty people on a cliff face? Even with the help of his shrimp-sized lover?

  How did Max’s sneaker end up in the water while the other one remained in his hotel room? And if it had been there for almost a week, why was it not in worse shape?

  But, most importantly, how the hell did Jake fit into all of this?

  Roxy thought about that some more. To her Jake was the key to everything, the piece of the puzzle that was refusing to fit. The German police seemed to think he killed Max. The Italians didn’t seem too interested in him at all. And yet she felt that he was at the centre of it all. He just had to be.

  Roxy chewed her lower lip, tried to juggle her brain into gear. Think, Roxy, think!

  She must have groaned aloud then because Caroline was looking at her with a worried crinkle in her brow. “You okay?”

  They were now standing out the front of Monty’s hat shop and while his door was slightly ajar, the shopkeeper was nowhere to be seen.

  Roxy shook her head, no. “But I will be, Caroline. First I need to take a good, long walk.”

  “Really? After stomping up and down these streets for days. You have the energy for that?”

  “I need to see this Blue Trail for myself. I need to see where Candy fell, where Max might have ...” She let that dangle. “I need to go there.”

  She was referring to the cliff path, of course, and Caroline’s look of worry turned to one of horror. “You’re not really going up there? Tell me you’re not!”

  “I have to, Caro. I need to see for myself. And I need to clear my head. Everything is so mixed up.”

  While beauty treatments might be the perfect elixir for Caroline, it was vigorous walks that did the trick for Roxy. They never failed to clear out the cobwebs and reboot the brain, but not if Caroline could help it.

  “It’s too dangerous, Roxy, you can’t go!”

  “Everything okay-eh?” Monty had come out of his shop and had a stack of wide-brimmed straw hats in his hands.

  Caroline stepped towards him and grabbed his arm. “No, Monty. Roxy’s being a bloody idiot. Tell her that cliff walk is too dangerous! Tell her she can’t go.”

  He looked with sympathy at Caroline then turned to Roxy and said, “You want, I come with you, no?”

  “Thanks, Monty,” she replied. “You’re very sweet but this is something I have to do alone.”

  “But ... but ...” stammered Caroline.

  Roxy pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’ll be okay. I promise. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Chapter 27

  The first leg of the nine-kilometre Sentiero Azzurro, or Blue Trail, between all five towns of the Cinque Terre was relatively easy, just a twenty-five-minute walk that linked Riomaggiore to the south, with its closest neighbour, the village of Manarola, to the northwest. Or at least that’s what the sign said.

  Roxy had made her way through the underpass and up past Ted’s Trattoria where Sofia was standing out the front, apron in place, chatting with Hugo. Both locals turned to wave at Roxy and she waved back but kept right on walking, past the small alleyway that led to the back of Ted’s and up the steep, stone steps to the start of the trail. As she read the sign, a small lump had lodged in Roxy’s throat. According to the inscription, this part of the coastline was known as the Via dell'Amore, or The Way of Love.

  The lump in Roxy’s throat hardened and tears began welling in her eyes. Had Max and Candy decided to rendezvous on the Way of Love? Was this where it all went terribly wrong?

  Dabbing at a tear that had spilled down her cheek, Roxy gave herself a quick pep talk then securely fastened her handbag across her body, pushed her Gucci sunglasses into a better position on her nose, and set off.

  The path was not as wide as she’d hoped, but it was relatively flat and paved in most places with slate tiles. While there were none of the usual warning signs she had come to expect from cliff walks around her home country—clearly litigation lawyers had not caught up with the council here—there was a metal fence along most of the cliff side and sheer rock face along the other. The fence was a little rickety in parts and just waist high, offering very little protection should someone want to throw you over, she thought darkly as she walked.

  Along the way she noticed hundreds and hundreds of “love locks”, small padlocks that had been secured to the fence by lovers past. She stopped and read some of the inscriptions—JB 4 RS, S+V—and felt herself choke up again. She wondered if Max and Candy had placed one somewhere, then shook her head. He was a natural romantic, but even that seemed a little twee for Max Farrell.

  She sighed. Oh Max. Where are you?

  Stepping closer to the railing now, she held on and leaned out, looking down at the rippled blue sea below. There were splashes of frothy white where it crashed into the coastline, and while she couldn’t picture Max down there—or perhaps she wouldn’t let herself—she kept having flashes of Candy’s muscular body being smashed against those rocks. She shuddered and stepped back.

  Then she pushed her sunglasses into place and kept walking. As she did so, Roxy’s brain returned to the American flatmate Jake.

  What was he doing in Riomaggiore?

  Why was he killed?

  How was his murder connected to Max?

  Perhaps Jake had witnessed Donald and/or Maria killing Candy and Max and that’s why he was murdered. Perhaps one of them drove Jake back to Berlin where they bludgeoned him with his own guitar.

  She shook her head. No, no, that didn’t work. Unless they owned a Learjet there was no way either of them could do it. The drive between Riomaggiore and Berlin was at least twelve hours long and she knew for a fact that Jake had been killed some time very late on Friday night. Yet according to Riomaggiore police, Maria had only been out of town between 9:00 a.m. and midday that Friday. Donald had been missing longer—between 10:30 a.m. and 3:00 p.m.—yet still not long enough to drive to Berlin, kill Jake and return again.

  She stopped in her tracks. Perhaps there was a third party? That would help explain it. But who?

  She groaned again and kept walking, this time trying hard not to think, just letting her mind rest. God knows it needed a reprieve. Eventually, after another ten minutes or so, Roxy stopped again and leaned out against the railing, watching as a fisherman ploughed his vessel through the waters far below. Then she flinched when she realised that was no fishing boat. It had a blue stripe along one side and what looked like large spotlights attached to the roof.

  It had to be the coast guard.

  For several minutes she watched it bobbing in and out of the white caps as it made its way around the bay, hugging the shore the whole way. She knew what it was looking for and she felt deep sadness again.

  Come on, Roxy, she told herself. Keep going.

  Another hundred metres along, just after she’d taken a steep turn, the path came to an abrupt halt. A section had been cordoned off by blue police tape, some of which was flapping freely in the breeze where it had freed itself from its wiring, and there was a small sign on one side, with the words “Danger! No Pass!”

  There was no way through.

  Roxy stood then for many minutes just staring at the spot where Candy must have fallen. Why else would the police rope this bit off? She tried to find evidence of a landslip, loose rocks or broken branches where she must have grabbed for her life, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. It looked just like the rocky terrain she had passed, peaceful and untouched. The fence was still in place and there was a smattering of plant life clinging to the rock below, including some agaves and cacti. Roxy glanced around. It hadn’t occurred to her before, but that explained why no one else had passed her on the walk. It was out of bou
nds now. Candy’s death, in effect, had put a stop to the Way of Love. At least for now.

  A loud screaming sound caught Roxy off guard and she swung around, heart thumping in her chest as she clung tighter to the metal fence which was vibrating a little. She couldn’t see the source of the noise but there was also a slight shaking of the earth below her feet and she wondered what was going on. Was it an earthquake?

  “It’s just the train,” came a deep, unexpected voice, and Roxy looked back to find a figure standing in the middle of the pathway on the Riomaggiore side.

  She could not make out who it was. He had his back to the sun and was just a silhouette in the harsh morning light. Her heart now pounding like a jackhammer, she tried to take some calming breaths as she stepped away from the fence and wedged herself deeper into the rock face on the other side.

  “There’s a tunnel, you see, dug through the rock,” the man was saying, his voice slightly familiar. “Must have been quite a feat of engineering to get those tunnels in place.”

  “What ... what do you want?” Roxy managed to say, her throat dry, her heart so loud she wondered how he could hear her voice over it.

  The man stepped forward and that’s when she saw his face clearly for the first time. She felt her mouth drain dry as he gave her a small, flickering smile.

  “I’ve come to find you,” Donald Marlow said.

  Then he took another step towards her.

  Chapter 28

  Caroline was right. Donald Marlow was not an attractive man, but now, wanted for two murders with a life sentence hanging over his head, he looked almost grotesque. Without his Fedora and enormous sunglasses, his splotchy skin was glowing red and his pale, semi-balding head made him look like a hairy egg as wisps of hair fluttered about in the breeze.

  “You scared the crap out of me!” Roxy hissed, patting her hammering heart.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” He stepped back and leaned against the fence, just a metre away. “It’s beautiful here, don’t you think?”