A Meditation on Murder

by Robert Thorogood

  ‘He took his own life?’ Camille asked, horrified.

  Julia nodded. This was her pain. Her sorrow.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Camille said.

  The police looked at Julia a moment, but Richard was still puzzled.

  ‘Are you saying you didn’t know any of this before Dominic hypnotised you?’

  Julia looked at Richard and nodded once, seemingly as upset by the thought as him. ‘But it means I’ve got a motive to want him dead after all. Doesn’t it?’

  ‘And it’s why you killed him?’

  Julia looked appalled at the idea, but she knew what the truth was. ‘Yes. I killed him because—at a subconscious level—I must have known his true identity.’

  Richard wrinkled his nose a bit.

  ‘Then can you tell us where you got the carving knife from?’

  This gave Julia pause. ‘What?’

  ‘Where did you get the carving knife from that you used to kill Aslan? Or David as your subconscious knew him to be.’

  Julia thought for a long moment before answering. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You still don’t know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But if you’re prepared to admit to murder,’ Richard said, failing to hide his irritation, ‘and now to having a motive, why won’t you also tell us where you got the carving knife from?’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s because I don’t know where it came from. Or how I got it into the Meditation Space.’

  Richard shuddered a little before regathering his strength.

  ‘Alright, Julia, then tell me this, and I want you to think very carefully before you give your answer: if I said “drawing pins” to you, what would you say?’

  Julia was entirely baffled. ‘I’m sorry?’

  Richard was undeterred. ‘If I said “drawing pin” to you, what would you say to me?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Richard looked at Julia and tried to work out what was going on. After all, why would she admit to only some elements of the murder, but not others? And there was something else that Richard was beginning to realise.

  ‘Then can I ask—because now I know you had a motive to kill Aslan—can you tell us how you ended up on Saint-Marie?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Because I don’t believe in coincidence, and this takes coincidence to a whole new level.’

  ‘It does?’ Julia asked, confused.

  ‘If you’re saying you didn’t consciously know that Aslan Kennedy caused your father’s suicide twenty-odd years ago, then can you explain how on earth you just happened to be on the other side of the world and inside a paper house with Aslan Kennedy at the precise moment he was killed?’

  This gave everyone pause.

  ‘That hadn’t occurred to me.’

  ‘Julia, how did you choose The Retreat for your holiday?’

  Julia took a moment before answering.

  ‘But that’s the thing,’ she said. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘What?’

  Everyone looked at Julia.

  ‘I didn’t choose The Retreat. I was offered a holiday here for free.’

  ‘You were? How do you mean?’

  ‘I was chosen as a competition prize winner.’

  Richard and Camille exchanged a glance.

  ‘Go on,’ Richard said.

  ‘Well, there’s not much to say. It was just one of those envelopes that arrive through the post. You know, it said “You Have Won a Prize” on the front. I opened it, and it was from this place on Saint-Marie called The Retreat. It said I’d filled in a form online and had been entered into a monthly prize draw, which I’d won. They were offering me an all-expenses-paid holiday as my prize. I didn’t believe it at first. These things are never real, are they? But it looked so authentic, I decided I’d phone the number that was listed and just check. And when I called, I got through to a guy who said his name was Aslan and he confirmed I’d won a free holiday to Saint-Marie.’

  ‘It was Aslan you spoke to?’

  ‘Oh yes. And it was true. The flight tickets arrived, I came out here—this was about six months ago—I had a wonderful holiday, and I just fell in love with the whole place. And Aslan was so kind. So welcoming. When my week’s holiday was up, I asked if I could stay on.’

  ‘Rianka told us you now help out in the office.’

  ‘That’s right. Just a couple of hours a day. And in return, Aslan let me have a guest room for free, I can attend whatever sessions I want—and they’ve even been giving me a weekly salary. Not much, but enough to get by.’

  ‘And at no time did you know you were getting all this from the man who’d caused your dad’s suicide?’ Richard asked, still amazed at what he was hearing.

  Julia bit her lip as she considered what to say, and Richard had a sudden memory of being taken pheasant shooting by his dad when he was ten. His father didn’t shoot that often and Richard had always hated it. The damp woods, that feeling of rain down the back of his raincoat. And he and his dad had come across a rabbit that was cowering, ravaged with myxomatosis. His dad had told Richard to shoot it with his .410 shotgun. Up to this point, Richard had managed to avoid ever actually killing anything in his life by pretending he was just a bad shot. But when his dad, by that stage a Detective Inspector in the West Midlands Police, told him to shoot the rabbit at point-blank range, he knew he had no choice. He had to shoot the rabbit. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. And, in disgust at his son’s lack of backbone, Richard’s dad had trodden on the rabbit’s head with his size twelve police boots himself and stamped the life out of it.

  But that’s the image that now popped into Richard’s mind as he considered Julia. She was looking as forlorn as the poor rabbit from his childhood.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said eventually. ‘I had no idea who Aslan really was. Not until Dominic regressed me just now.’

  Rianka was in The Retreat’s office when Richard and Camille found her.

  ‘Mrs Kennedy,’ Camille said kindly.

  ‘Oh?’ Rianka said as she looked up from her monitor somewhat listlessly.

  ‘Don’t worry. We only have a few questions.’

  It was clear that Rianka had been crying, a balled-up tissue in her hand. While she took a moment to compose herself, Richard gave The Retreat’s office a quick once-over and decided he liked what he saw. Unlike the folk-tattery of the rest of the hotel, here was neatness and order. The shelves were lined with files all neatly labelled, there was a schedule on the whiteboard that had quite obviously been written up with the help of a ruler, an entirely different shelf only contained staplers, a hole punch, reams of paper and other critically important stationery, and—above all else—Rianka was working at a desk that was entirely clear apart from her keyboard and monitor. Richard saw three differently coloured bins lined up next to each other and his heart gave a little leap of joy: there was even a clear recycling policy.

  Right then, Richard thought to himself, that was surely long enough.

  ‘Rianka,’ he said, ‘we’d like to know a bit more about Aslan’s past.’

  Rianka looked puzzled by the question, and then Richard and Camille saw the moment when the penny dropped.

  Rianka’s face fell.

  ‘You know. Don’t you?’

  Richard and Camille waited, knowing that silence was their most eloquent response. After only a few seconds, Rianka got up, went to the door to the room and closed it.

  ‘Look, I’ll help you in whatever way I can, but I don’t want you to think Aslan was a bad man.’

  ‘Even though he went to prison for stealing millions of pounds?’

  This stopped Rianka in her tracks. After a moment, she returned to her desk and sat down.

  She looked at the police.

  ‘Okay. What do you want to know?’

  Richard pulled out his notebook and clicked out his silver pencil.

  ‘For starters, what was your husband’s real name?’

&nb
sp; ‘David Kennedy,’ Rianka said.

  ‘And did he go to prison for running a Ponzi scheme?’

  ‘Yes. He was given a seven year sentence. He was released after three years. That was about eighteen years ago.’

  Rianka was being as matter-of-fact as she could, but Richard could see that this was still painful for her.

  ‘Then tell me, did you know what he was up to at the time?’

  Rianka took a deep breath. She shook her head.

  ‘No. I only met him three months before the whole thing collapsed.’

  ‘How did you meet?’ Camille asked.

  ‘It was a bar. In Mayfair. And he just swept me off my feet. It was all fast cars, champagne, hotel suites—a whirlwind romance—and within a month we were married. In Chelsea Registry Office—and I was wearing a designer dress we’d bought only that morning from the Old Brompton Road. Looking back, I think he already knew the whole thing was about to collapse and he was looking for stability. That’s why he proposed to me. But that was also what he was like in those days. Impetuous. Always making snap decisions. And I know it’ll be hard for you to believe, he was almost an innocent.’

  ‘He was stealing millions of pounds, that’s hardly the behaviour of someone who’s innocent.’

  ‘No—of course—I don’t deny he was a criminal, but have you ever put your hand in the biscuit tin promising you’ll only take one biscuit?’

  ‘No,’ Richard said, only for Camille to kick his chair leg.

  ‘Of course,’ he corrected, recognising what was expected of him. ‘All the time.’

  Rianka looked at Richard, in accord. ‘Because it never stops at one, does it? You take a second biscuit. And then you take another—and another. Don’t you? And before too long you realise you’ve taken so many, you might as well keep going until they’re all gone. That’s what I think Aslan was doing when he stole from all those people—because don’t get me wrong. He was a weak man, I now realise. But there was no malice intended. He took money from all those people because he realised he could. He was like a child with his hand in the biscuit tin.’

  ‘And you really had no idea what he was up to?’ Richard asked.

  ‘None of us did.’

  ‘So when did you find out?’ Camille asked.

  Rianka looked at Camille, ashamed.

  ‘When the police came to our suite at The Savoy and arrested him. That’s how crazy those days were. We didn’t even have a home. We just lived in a suite at The Savoy.’ Rianka frowned as the hot shame of her memories flooded through her. ‘That moment when I answered the door and saw two men standing there in suits. I thought they were from hotel management.’

  Rianka looked at Richard, prepared to face the truth. ‘But that’s when my life came crashing down. When I discovered that everything my husband had told me was a lie. That there was no art business. That he wasn’t this great success. He was a crook who had stolen millions of pounds from hundreds of innocent people. People who’d trusted him. I was so angry, you have no idea. We’d only been married three weeks!

  ‘I felt so cheated. I’d given my heart to a crook. I couldn’t believe it. By the time of his trial, I couldn’t face it. I scraped together the last of my money and left the country, I didn’t care where I went, I just had to get as far away from him as possible. I felt so ashamed. So hurt.

  ‘I went to South America at first—staying in cheap hostels where I knew no one—and where no one knew me. I got a job working in an orphanage. But I was just getting through the days. You know? And all I kept thinking was, the man I’d loved was a crook. A hateful crook. When I discovered he’d been convicted and sent down for seven years, I decided I had to move on again. So I took the money I’d been able to save and went travelling. Just going from place to place. Not making friends, not doing anything, just waiting really. I didn’t know what I was waiting for until I wound up on Saint-Marie and found I liked it here. But that’s no surprise. There’s something about this island that’s special, isn’t there?’

  Camille smiled in agreement.

  ‘And seeing as I liked it here, I got a job working in the office of the Bay Cove Hotel and I found I was good at it. And, little by little, I started to piece my life back together. Partly because my work was giving me back some of my self-esteem, but, if I’m honest, it was Saint-Marie itself. Whether it’s the people—or the quality of the air—or the light—but I felt like it was the island that was healing me as much as it was what I was doing. After a year or so of this, the manager at the Bay Cove asked me if I’d take over the running of the whole hotel, and I realised something about myself. David had so hurt me, I didn’t ever want to put my future in the hands of anyone else ever again. And I’d already seen that there was an old derelict plantation house that was going for a song. So I went to the banks, asked to borrow a frightening amount of money, and I couldn’t believe it when they agreed. I opened The Plantation Hotel only nine months later and I’m proud to say it was pretty much a success from the start. This is what I was meant to do. This is where I’m meant to be.’

  ‘And your husband had nothing to do with it?’ Camille asked.

  ‘No way. He was in prison. And as far as I was concerned, he could stay there for the rest of his life.’

  ‘So how did you and he get back together?’

  ‘I’d been running the hotel for three years when this man arrived one day by foot. He’d walked from the airport. And he had no luggage. I recognised him at once. It was David. In a plain T-shirt, jeans and old trainers. I didn’t know what to say or do, but he said that he was sorry for what he’d done—that he loved me, he’d always loved me—and that he’d changed. I didn’t believe him. How could I? He’d caused me so much pain. But he’d come all this way, he didn’t have any luggage, I couldn’t just send him away, could I? So I let him stay as a guest for a couple of days and tried to ignore him. But the thing was, it was clear that he had changed. He’d obviously been through a lot while in prison. And a couple of days turned into a couple of weeks. And a couple of weeks, into months.

  ‘Because you have to believe me when I say Aslan was an innocent. He was. So when he saw what I was up to here, he started to get involved in the life of the hotel. And he’d clearly been developing the spiritual side of his nature while he was in prison. He was hugely knowledgeable. He started going to these meditation sessions in Honoré. And doing yoga.

  ‘It wasn’t long after that he changed his name to Aslan. I didn’t quite trust him yet, but his sincerity was heartbreaking. He so clearly wanted to be a better person. And … well, the thing I never thought could ever happen again started to happen. I started to fall back in love with him. This simple soul, happy to spend all day in meditation, happy to give himself over to the problems of others. And the thing that really sealed it for me was he was no longer interested in money at all. He didn’t spend it. Didn’t ask for it. He was happy to live a simple life of service helping others. And I know this is strange, but the thing is, we were still married. You know, technically. A year to the day after he’d arrived on the island, I took him back and I have to be honest, it was the best decision I’ve ever made. Because he wasn’t David any more. He was Aslan. The lion-hearted.’ Richard looked long and hard at Rianka.

  ‘That’s what it means?’

  Rianka was confused. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The name, Aslan, it means lion-hearted?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s an African name. And my husband’s been Aslan to me for nearly fifteen years now. We’ve grown old together. Who he was before …? That’s not who he is now. Who he’s not been for a long time.’

  Camille said after a suitable pause, ‘Then can you tell us a bit about the competition Julia won to come out here?’

  Rianka sighed, clearly trying to work out where to begin. ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you all this before, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘It’s alright,’ Camille said. ‘You were in no state to volunteer information.’
/>   Rianka was grateful for Camille’s words. ‘A couple of years ago, Aslan told me he felt he’d had more luck than he deserved. Finding me again, finding his true calling. And he came into this office one day and asked me, did I think he looked anything like the man he’d once been? And I have to say, with his robes, his white hair, his tanned skin—and the way he was now lean like he’d never been before—he didn’t look anything like the man he’d been twenty years before. And then he asked me if I’d let him use some of the profit the business was making to give free holidays to the people he’d wronged in the past.

  ‘He had to ask me for permission, you see, because Aslan had no money of his own. He’d always insisted that I keep sole ownership of The Retreat. He said he had to prove to himself and to me that he was no longer interested in money. I paid him a salary of a thousand dollars a month, but he barely touched it—and at the end of each month, his bank automatically gave whatever money was left over to a local orphanage. Honestly, you have to believe me. That’s how much he’d changed. And now he was trying to find a way of helping those he’d taken advantage of.

  ‘If I’m honest, I thought that inviting the victims of his Ponzi scheme out for free holidays was a terrible idea. But Aslan was nothing if not persistent and he kept working on me—telling me no one would recognise him—and saying he had to do something for those he’d stolen from. He still had a list of their names, and he said he wouldn’t stop until he’d found them all and given something back to each and every one of them. Or their relatives if they’d since died. The way he put it, it was about karma. He’d taken from them and now he had to give something back. In the end, I agreed.’