‘I didn’t know you were the police, did I?’ Dominic continued. ‘I just didn’t want to be seen before I made my citizen’s arrest.’ Dominic indicated the long rip that Richard had cut into the paper. ‘And now I’m going to have to repair this wall, aren’t I?’
‘Oh?’ Richard said.
‘You know, where you’ve ripped it,’ Dominic said, indicating the long slit in the wall.
‘Yes, can I ask about that?’ Richard said. ‘Because we’ve been wondering: what happens if one of these walls gets damaged?’
‘You mean like when someone cuts through it with a knife?’ Dominic said in a feeble attempt at sarcasm.
‘Or they get damaged in a hurricane.’
‘Well, we’ve got spare rolls of paper in the basement under the hotel. But we’ve not had to replace any of the paper walls for nearly a year. Since the end of the last hurricane season, in fact. But I’ll have to mend this wall now.’
‘I don’t think you will,’ Camille said.
‘Oh?’
‘Because this is a crime scene. You can’t go near it.’
‘That’s very much been the thrust of what we’ve been saying,’ Richard added.
‘Oh,’ Dominic said. ‘Right. I see.’
‘But there’s another reason we don’t want you fixing walls here,’ Camille continued. ‘And that’s because we’d like you to accompany us to the police station so you can put Julia into a hypnotic trance.’
Dominic was amazed by the suggestion.
But not as amazed as Richard was. Looking at his partner, he had to resist the urge to stamp his foot like a middle-aged Rumpelstiltskin in a suit. Camille had promised him she wouldn’t do this!
For her part, Camille was avoiding her boss’s stare as she waited for Dominic’s response.
‘And you’re okay with that?’ Dominic asked, surprised.
‘Sure,’ Camille said. ‘Julia’s asked for you specifically. She says she’ll be able to remember the murder if you hypnotise her.’
Richard was desperate to stop the madness, but he knew he couldn’t countermand Camille’s offer. Not now that she’d made it. This was because, of the very many self-imposed rules and regulations by which Richard led his life, the commandment that you never disagreed with your partner in front of a witness was one of the most unbreakable.
So it was through gritted teeth that Richard allowed Camille to lead Dominic over to the police jeep. Once Dominic was in the back seat, Richard caught up with Camille before she got into the driver’s side.
‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ he hissed.
‘I promise you, sir,’ Camille lied, ‘I had no intention of getting him into the station when we set out here, but seeing as how Dominic was clearly eavesdropping on us—and is the only person who anyone says ever disagreed with Aslan—I suddenly realised we should maybe bring him in, see how he is with Julia. After all, it’s interesting that she asked for him, don’t you think?’
Richard knew that what Camille was suggesting was totally unprofessional, and yet she was right about one thing. Here was Dominic again, turning up like a bad penny. And although nothing Julia said under hypnosis would ever be admissible in court, they could maybe use whatever she said as a jumping off point for their investigation.
Once back at the station, Richard was interested to see that while Dominic was pleased to see Julia, she was a touch awkward with him—which was odd considering that it was her who’d asked for Dominic’s help. But then, Richard considered, from Julia’s point of view she was about to go into a trance to try to remember the precise moment she’d committed a murder; it was perhaps unsurprising she was on edge.
As for Dominic, as far as Richard was concerned, he was his usual preening peacock self, even going so far as to warn the police that he might inadvertently put one of them into a trance, such were his powers. By this point, Julia was lying on the old mattress in her cell, Dominic sitting in a chair to her side, talking gently to her—and Richard, Camille and Dwayne were all crammed in behind. Fidel had also wanted to attend the hypnosis session, but Richard had insisted he stop trying to lift prints from the murder weapon so he could lift whatever prints he could from the two extra drawing pins Richard and Camille had just found at the murder scene. As a matter of urgency.
‘You can feel a heavy, relaxed feeling coming over you,’ Dominic murmured to Julia as she lay on the bed, her eyes closed. ‘And as I continue to talk, that heavy relaxed feeling will only get stronger and stronger. And the deeper you go, the deeper you are able to go. And the deeper you go, the deeper you want to go, and the more enjoyable the experience becomes. Now you are resting comfortably in a deep, peaceful state of sleep.’
Dominic looked up at Richard.
Clearly it was done. Julia was ready.
‘We want to know what happened in the Meditation Space,’ Richard whispered as quietly as he could.
‘Shh!’ Camille said.
Richard was a little hurt. He’d never been able to whisper quietly, and he was sensitive to this unacknowledged failing.
But Dominic didn’t seem too bothered by Richard’s inability to whisper as he turned back to Julia.
‘Okay, I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer because you feel so safe, so secure … starting with, what is your name?’
‘Julia Higgins,’ Julia said.
‘And where have you been staying?’
‘At The Retreat … happy.’
Julia spoke in a quiet sing-song voice, almost like a child’s. And Richard once again found himself thinking that if this was an act, it was a very convincing one.
‘You’re happy there?’ Dominic continued.
‘Happy.’
‘That’s great. Well done. And what do you like doing at The Retreat?’
‘Working. Meditating. Swimming.’
‘You went swimming today?’
‘Yes. Swimming.’
‘And then what did you do?’
In her hypnotic trance, Julia frowned as she considered.
‘It was the Sunrise Healing.’
‘What happened?’
‘We talked. We drank tea.’
‘And then?’
‘We lay down. And then …’ Julia trailed off.
‘What can you see?’
‘I can see light. It’s bright. All around me …’
‘Well done. You’re lying down. It’s bright all around. But are there others in the room?’
Eventually: ‘Yes. I see people.’
‘Are they standing up?’
‘No. They’re all lying down. Like me.’
‘How many people?’ Richard barked like a seal trying to get the attention of a passing oil tanker.
‘Yeah,’ Dominic said altogether more smoothly. ‘Who else was there?’
Julia seemed to smile as she considered, and then she said, ‘Five people. Paul and Ann. Saskia. I like her. And that man Ben.’
‘She doesn’t like him,’ Richard whispered.
‘Shh!’ Camille once again said and Richard briefly recoiled. That time surely he’d been quiet?
‘And what about Aslan?’ Dominic asked. ‘He’s the fifth person, isn’t he?’
‘No. Aslan’s not the fifth person.’
Dominic and the police exchanged a quick glance. What was this?
‘Surely Aslan’s there?’
‘No. There’s a man there. Sitting cross-legged. White beard. White hair. But his name’s not Alsan.’
‘Then who is he?’
‘His name’s David.’
‘What?’ This time it was Dwayne who interjected.
‘And there’s blood everywhere. He’s dead.’ Julia was beginning to panic in her trance. ‘Help me, I’ve killed David—’
‘Julia, don’t worry—’
‘There’s blood on the knife! He’s dead! David’s dead!’
Julia’s increasing panic was too much for Dominic.
‘You’re w
aking up, Julia—you’re coming out of your sleep—you’re safe and you’re waking up on my count. One, you’re feeling calm.’ Dominic counted up to five—saying soothing words as he went—until he finally snapped his fingers and Julia woke with a panicked intake of breath.
Dominic grabbed hold of her shoulders. ‘You’re safe.’
Julia looked at Dominic—and at her surroundings—and began to relax, her head sinking back into the pillow as she regathered her composure.
‘What did I say?’
‘You did great,’ Dominic said, trying to be positive.
‘But did I do it? Did I kill him?’
Dominic said, ‘I’m sorry, Julia …’
Julia squeezed her eyes shut in pain, her worst fears confirmed.
‘But there was something else,’ Richard said. ‘You said the person you killed was called David.’
Julia opened her eyes, puzzled.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You said you could see only five people in the room. Paul, Ann, Saskia, Ben—but the fifth person was called David. Which I can’t help feeling is a bit odd seeing as his name’s Aslan.’
‘I did?’
‘Very clearly. You said his name was David.’
Julia was flummoxed.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. His name’s Aslan. Of course it is.’
A few minutes later, Richard had despatched Dominic with barely a ‘thank you’—which he’d been pleased to see had hurt Dominic’s feelings—and he and his team were trying to work out whether they’d just got a new lead or not.
‘Okay,’ Richard said. ‘So why did Julia just call Aslan “David”?’
‘Let me see if I can find anything online,’ Camille said as she went to her computer and fired it up.
‘Man, I don’t know,’ Dwayne said. ‘She’s pretty, that girl, but she’s crazy.’
Richard turned to Fidel.
‘How are you getting on with the drawing pins?’
‘Well, sir,’ Fidel said, ‘the two drawing pins you gave me are just like the first one.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘There’s no thumb or fingerprint on the head of either.’
‘Really?’
‘There’s no print at all. It’s either been wiped clean, never been used—which we know can’t be true with the one you found in the pillar—or the person who used all three drawing pins was wearing gloves.’
‘Which suggests I was right. They were used by the killer to pin the knife to the pillar—or how else could they have wound up at the murder scene without any fingerprints on them?’
Delighted, Richard beetled over to the board and wiped out what he’d previously written about the drawing pins, updating the information.
‘Oh, and Dwayne, have you been able to establish when the witnesses in the Meditation Space arrived on Saint-Marie?’
Dwayne picked up his notebook. ‘Sure have. And it’s just like they told us. According to the airport, Julia got here nearly six months ago; Ann and Paul Sellars arrived a week ago; Ben Jenkins four days ago; and Saskia Filbee only got in on the 4pm flight the day before Aslan was killed.’
‘Thank you,’ Richard said as he added this information to the board. Then, as he was finishing this task, Camille looked up from her monitor.
‘Oh okay,’ she said, ‘I think you all need to see this.’
‘What is it?’ Richard said as he, Dwayne and Fidel went over to see what Camille was up to.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So I thought I’d start by typing “David Kennedy” into a search engine. But it’s no good, there are too many hits. So, seeing as Julia knows him, I typed in “Julia Higgins” and “David Kennedy”, but still got nothing that seemed interesting. But then it occurred to me: “Rianka” isn’t a usual name at all, so how about I type in “Rianka Kennedy” and “David” and that’s when I found it.’
‘Found what?’
‘That Julia was right. The name of the man who was murdered wasn’t Aslan. His real name was David.’
This got everyone’s attention.
‘And better than that, according to the newspaper articles I’m reading here, there must be hundreds of people in the world who wanted to kill him.’
‘You’re kidding me?’ Dwayne jumped in. ‘Hundreds?’
‘Because Aslan—or David Kennedy as he really was—was an ex-criminal.’
‘No way.’
‘Sure was. And a conman at that. He ran a Ponzi scheme.’
‘And what’s one of those?’ Fidel asked.
‘According to this,’ Camille said, pointing to the newspaper article she was reading on the screen, ‘it had something to do with leasing artworks to businesses. I’m just trying to work it out. But it was twenty years ago … he was accused of stealing over two million pounds from a whole bunch of people … and he was convicted and sentenced to serve seven years in prison. Hang on.’
Camille scrolled down the article until her mouse hovered over a picture of a plump man in his late thirties with a shock of black hair, dressed in a smart business suit. He was beaming as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
They all looked at the photo of the man.
‘Doesn’t look anything like him,’ Dwayne said.
The team looked at the photo some more, and it was true. At first glance, the man in the picture bore no resemblance to Aslan.
‘But this photo was taken twenty-one years ago,’ Camille continued. ‘Before his hair went white.’
‘And he grew a long white beard,’ Richard added. ‘I mean, to all intents and purposes, he has no face now—it’s just white hair, a nose, a pair of eyes and a tanned forehead.’
‘And he’s lost a hell of a lot of weight since then,’ Dwayne added.
‘But yes, look at the eyes,’ Richard said. ‘You know what, it is him! He’s got the same eyes.’
As they all considered the changes that twenty years could wreak on a body, the picture began to make more sense. It really was a plump and besuited Aslan Kennedy attending his court hearing. Only, his name—according to the article—wasn’t Aslan. It was David.
Just as Julia had said it was.
They all looked up as they heard a woman’s voice coming from the cells.
Julia was calling for them.
Chapter Five
The police went through to the back rooms and found Julia holding onto the thick iron bars, deeply agitated.
‘I think I’ve worked it out!’ she said.
‘Worked what out, Julia?’ Richard asked.
‘Why I thought Aslan was called David.’ The police shared a look. ‘Only he doesn’t look anything like him, that’s why I didn’t notice. And anyway, I was only a baby when it happened.’
‘When what happened?’ Camille said.
Julia took a moment before she answered.
‘Well, the thing is, if Aslan is who I think he is, then you should know, he’s a criminal. And years ago …’ Julia briefly lost her way before summoning up the necessary courage to continue. ‘Okay, so years ago, my dad had some spare cash and he invested in an art scheme. He was an estate agent—he didn’t have much to spare, but he put it all into this get rich scheme. Run by a man called David Kennedy—I can’t believe I didn’t notice the surname. But I don’t suppose the name Kennedy is that uncommon …’
Julia trailed off.
‘Keep talking,’ Richard said, unable to keep a sceptical tone out of his voice. This was all proving rather convenient for Julia, wasn’t it?
‘Apparently, this David Kennedy needed capital to buy works of art. That’s the way Mum tells the story. And once he’d bought a load of oil paintings, he’d then lease them to businesses. After all, businesses need paintings on their walls. And they’re apparently prepared to pay top prices for the best artists. So Dad gave David cash to fund his business, David bought some paintings—and together they watched the rental money on the paintings start to roll in. Again, this is Mum telling the st
ory.’
‘But it was a con, wasn’t it? A Ponzi scheme,’ Richard said.
‘That’s right,’ Julia said, impressed with Richard. ‘It turned out that David wasn’t buying any paintings at all, he was just taking the money he was given.’
‘Hang on,’ Dwayne said. ‘How does that work?’
Richard turned to Dwayne. ‘Well, it’s kind of obvious. Say you give me a hundred thousand pounds in cash because I say I can buy an oil painting with it—and then we can both make money from leasing it out so that businesses can hang it on their walls.’
‘Okay,’ Dwayne said.
‘But I don’t buy any painting with the money you give me, I just take, say, eighty per cent of the money for myself.’
‘You take eighty grand?’ Dwayne asked.
‘That’s right. And I spend that how I like. On fast living. Fast cars. But remember, there’s still twenty grand of your original investment I’ve not touched—because I’ve not bought a painting with it—and here’s the clever bit: I wait six months, and then I give you ten grand of it back and say you’ve just made a ten per cent profit on your hundred thousand pounds investment. And six months later, I then give you the remaining ten grand and say you’ve just made another ten per cent.’
‘Wow.’ Dwayne was clearly impressed. ‘Now that’s my kind of con.’
But Fidel had already seen the flaw in the system. ‘But, sir, what happens now you’ve spent your eighty grand and given the other twenty back to the investor? Haven’t you run out of money, and you’ve still not bought a work of art?’
‘Quite so,’ Richard said, ‘and that’s why Ponzi schemes are also called pyramid schemes. Because the whole thing relies on ever more layers of people investing so that money can keep flowing up the pyramid and the conman can continue to pay out apparent returns while creaming the majority of the cash off for himself. But the point about Ponzi schemes is that there always comes a point when the crook at the top of the pyramid simply runs out of people he can touch up for cash, the money stops flowing, and the collapse is always stunning.’
Camille was looking at Julia with sympathy in her eyes. She’d seemed to live every moment of Richard’s description.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘Dad gave David everything he had. Not at first. But by the end of the year he’d remortgaged the house and taken out loans so he could invest even more. He’d also told all of his friends how much money he was making from David. The following year, when David was arrested and the scheme collapsed, Dad discovered he’d lost everything. Our house. His job. His friends. He’d been an estate agent and now he was a laughing stock who’d just been declared bankrupt and had his house repossessed. Then, just before Christmas, Dad went into the woods, in his car. He ran an exhaust pipe up …’
A Meditation on Murder Page 8