A Meditation on Murder

by Robert Thorogood

  Served 3 yrs for Wounding With Intent and was Aslan / David’s cellmate in 1997 for 1 year

  Lied that he didn’t know him …?

  WHERE IS HE?

  Every time Richard looked at the whiteboard, he felt an almost overwhelming sense of frustration. Six people go into a paper house. When the door is next opened, one of them is lying on the floor dead—so who of the other five people killed him? Richard felt as though he had a load of jigsaw pieces, but he couldn’t even begin to put them together because they all came from different jigsaw puzzles.

  And all the time he kept thinking to himself, just where was Ben Jenkins?

  The man had a history of violence, he hadn’t told the police he’d shared a cell with Aslan for a year, and now he’d done a runner. But then, if he was guilty of murder, why hadn’t the police been able to find any communications between Ben and Aslan in the last few months? The killer had to have got Aslan to invite the Ponzi victims out at the same time—nothing else made sense—and yet none of Ben’s phone records from Portugal, or Aslan’s phone records or emails, showed there’d been any contact between the two men at all.

  Unlike Paul Sellars, who had also—it turned out—been lying to them. Because, not only had he been in contact with Aslan with regular phone calls over the last two months, Paul had even admitted that he’d always known that Aslan was in fact David Kennedy. And Paul had been stealing GHB—in the form of Xyrax—from his place of work. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? But then, Paul was also right when he said he didn’t have a motive to kill Aslan. It wasn’t his career that had been ruined by the Ponzi scheme, it was his wife’s; and it was her money that had been lost when Aslan was arrested, not Paul’s.

  If Paul was the killer, he’d have to have another motive. One that the police didn’t yet know about. But what could it be?

  But then, Richard found himself thinking, it was only when he was interviewing Paul that he’d discovered that Ann was maybe a hell of a lot more psychologically damaged than she’d ever let on before. And there was no getting away from it, the only right-handed fingerprints they’d been able to raise from the murder weapon’s handle belonged to Ann. But why would she leave her prints on the knife if she really were the killer?

  As for Saskia, she’d also lied to the police. And if losing half a million pounds was enough of a motive to want Aslan dead—and it was—wasting the rest of your fortune on trying to get the money back just gold-plated that motive. And out of all the available motives, Richard felt that Saskia’s was still the most powerful. Losing a fortune like that—and after it had taken her dad so long to earn it—could drive anyone to murder. And yet, Richard had got no sense of present anger from Saskia when they’d last interviewed her. Yes, she was bitter—and ashamed—but Richard felt that Saskia had mostly put the past behind her. Unless she’d been tricking the police of course. But even if she’d come out to the island with the express intention of killing Aslan, just how could she have done it, seeing as she only arrived the night before he was killed?

  It seemed to boil down to: Julia confessed to the murder, but couldn’t have done it; Paul could have done it, but didn’t have a motive; Ann had a motive—in which case, why were her prints on the murder weapon; and no one’s motive was bigger than Saskia’s, but she’d only arrived on the island the night before the murder. Saskia was the only one of the five who couldn’t possibly be their murderer.

  And none of this mattered, Richard knew, because it wasn’t any of these suspects who’d just done a runner; that privilege belonged to Ben Jenkins, who—they now knew—had been Aslan’s cellmate back in the day. So why had he run away? What was he so frightened of?

  As Richard continued to worry and fuss at the board, he began to feel overwhelmed by the questions he still didn’t have the answers to. How come Aslan had invited all of the Ponzi victims out to The Retreat at the same time? Who was it who’d been shouting at Aslan in his office the night before he was killed? And what did it mean when this man was heard saying ‘you won’t get away with it’?

  What’s more, where did the GHB in the teapot come from? Was it from Paul’s pills? Or was it a homebrew from Dominic’s lab? Or—perhaps—did it come from some other source altogether?

  And where was the notebook with everyone’s names written out for the Sunrise Healing session? Who’d removed it from the board after Aslan had been killed? And why?

  Also, while Richard had made no secret of how baffled he was that Aslan had been slain inside a paper house, he hadn’t really been able to articulate just how much this fact had continued to irritate him. Because not only did it seem to overturn all the usual rules of murder—that premeditated killings happen in private away from possible witnesses—but it also, to Richard at least, seemed to be a personal challenge to him.

  Aslan had died in a room that had been locked down from the inside, and the only five possible suspects were all locked inside the same room with him. And to make things easier, one of them was even left-handed, so that left only four possible suspects. As far as Richard could tell, one of Ben, Saskia, Paul or Ann was the killer—was laughing at the police—but which one of them was it?

  As Richard continued to study the whiteboard, he hadn’t noticed Camille sidle up to him.

  ‘So tell me, how did you get on last night?’

  Richard panicked, graphic images of his encounter with Julia flashing into his mind. Eventually, he managed to let out a ‘What?’ like a duck quacking.

  Camille was puzzled. ‘You know. Last night. How did it go?’

  Richard felt himself blushing full scarlet. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Going through the chemicals we found in Dominic’s house,’ Camille said, looking at Richard’s red face and neck. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Richard pulled his hankie and mopped his forehead as he went over to his desk. ‘Sorry. It’s this stupid weather. Just a hot flush.’

  ‘Then take your jacket off!’

  Richard wondered if Camille was about to spill the beans to Fidel about his recent fainting fit, but, looking into Camille’s eyes, he saw only compassion there. Even kindness. This only proved to Richard’s mind that Camille was about to set him up for a bit of public teasing, so he quickly moved the conversation on by pretending to sort through his notes.

  ‘Well, in answer to your question, Camille, there’s no doubt that Dominic has all the ingredients to make any amount of GHB—and the knowledge, frankly, because I’m sure he was lying when he said he hadn’t heard of it—but what I can’t fathom is how he’d have administered it. Because you’re right, he’s able to have made the drug—and he’s even possibly got a motive seeing as Aslan recently sacked him. After all, Dominic’s stayed on as The Retreat’s handyman, which is odd. Don’t you think? So maybe he only stayed on so he could plan the murder of the man who sacked him? But even if that was so, our killer has to have been inside the murder room with Aslan—which we know Dominic wasn’t—so he can’t be our killer.’

  Richard was about to announce that they should switch their attention back to Ben Jenkins when he noticed Fidel deep in thought.

  ‘What’s that, Fidel?’ Richard asked. ‘Have you got something?’

  Fidel looked a little surprised at being called out. He took a moment before answering.

  ‘Well, sir, it’s something of a long shot, I’d rather not say.’

  ‘Don’t worry, speak up. As long as the killer’s still on the loose, there’s no such thing as a stupid idea.’

  ‘Okay, sir, well, the thing is—I was wondering—you know, what if Dominic hypnotised Julia to commit the murder?’

  Richard looked at Fidel. ‘No, I take that back. There is such a thing as a stupid idea.’

  ‘No—I know, sir,’ Fidel said, paddling fast, ‘but the thing is, I think there’s a way he could have done it.’

  Richard looked at just how eager Fidel was and sighed.

  ‘Very well,’ Richard s
aid. ‘But only because it will take considerably less time listening to your idea than it otherwise would trying to stop you from telling me it.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Fidel said. ‘So here’s what I was thinking. Well, we already know how Julia drank the drugged tea along with everyone else.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And we know that Dominic’s a hypnotherapist who’s been dating Julia.’

  ‘Also true.’

  ‘So how about a few days before the murder, Dominic puts Julia into a trance—like we saw him do with her when she was in the cells—and then he implants some kind of trigger-word? You know, and tells her that when she hears the trigger-word, she has to get a knife from behind a pillar in the corner of the room and kill Aslan Kennedy. Then, on the day of the murder, Dominic creeps up to the Meditation Space—unseen from the main hotel, say—and says the trigger-word through the paper walls … and Julia hears it and kills Aslan—although, now I’m saying it out loud, I can hear how stupid this sounds.’

  ‘Yes it is,’ Richard agreed, ‘but let’s not let that hold us back, shall we? Instead, let’s imagine you’re right: Dominic waits until everyone’s lying down, he creeps up to the Meditation Space unseen, and then he says the magic trigger-word, at which point … what are we saying? Julia heard it even though she was wearing headphones at the time? Or, I know! Maybe Dominic broadcast this trigger word on the spare WiFi channel we know he freed up a couple of days before the murder? And he somehow made sure that only Julia’s headphones were tuned to the WiFi channel that was playing the recording of him saying the trigger-word over and over. Maybe that’s how it was done?’

  Fidel didn’t dare say anything.

  ‘But let’s say Julia somehow hears this trigger-word. Are we then saying she gets up—now hypnotised—and goes to the corner of the room where she picks up a carving knife with her wrong hand—her right hand. But never mind, she’s got the knife, she’s improbably holding it in her weaker hand, but now—through the power of hypnosis alone—she then strikes down into Aslan’s neck twice, and into his shoulder and back three more times?’

  Richard let this unlikely scenario hang in the air a moment.

  ‘So thank you, Fidel, for your theory, but—just for the record—no one was hypnotised into killing Aslan Kennedy. And nor could Dominic be our killer, either. He may be involved—somehow—I don’t deny it. Maybe because he inadvertently supplied the GHB—or maybe he’s in cahoots with the killer—but the only person who could possibly have wielded that knife has to have been one of the people who was locked inside the room with Aslan! Okay?

  ‘And on that subject,’ Richard continued, ‘it’s Ben Jenkins who’s now disappeared. Ben Jenkins who shared a prison cell with Aslan all those years ago. Can we at least agree that he’s currently our prime suspect? In which case, we’ve got to find him before he gets off the island.’

  And by that afternoon, that’s exactly what they did.

  Dwayne found Ben Jenkins.

  Chapter Twelve

  It turned out that Ben had checked into one of the less reputable hostels down on Rue Cassini Beach—a place that didn’t require a passport to get a room—and all had gone well for him until he’d tried to get a taxi to the Portuguese Consulate from a man who owed Dwayne a favour. The taxi driver had taken Ben’s money, phoned Dwayne to find out where he was, and then driven Ben straight to Dwayne.

  Ben had been none too happy to discover he’d just been stitched up by a taxi driver, and there’d been a moment when he’d maybe thought about making a run for it, but Dwayne and the taxi driver had dealt with people like Ben their whole lives, and—at the last moment—Ben had realised that the game was up. He wasn’t going anywhere, so he allowed Dwayne to gather up his luggage and bring him into the station to ‘help the police with their inquiries’.

  After all, as Dwayne pointed out to him, the alternative was that he’d arrest him on the charge of murdering Aslan Kennedy.

  Now, Dwayne dumped Ben’s canvas bag onto the floor of the police station before yanking Ben over to Richard’s desk where Fidel had already lined up a chair for the witness.

  ‘Here he is, Chief,’ Dwayne said as Richard looked up from his work.

  ‘Thank you, Dwayne,’ Richard said. ‘Great work.’

  Dwayne beamed from ear to ear, but Richard was already taking in Ben and noticing how his hail-fellow-well-met bonhomie had vanished entirely.

  ‘Fidel, lock the doors,’ Richard said. ‘I don’t want Mr Jenkins bolting a second time.’

  Ben looked at Richard, glowering, and Richard stared back at him with exactly the sort of superiority that he knew would needle him further. Now for the olive branch.

  ‘And Camille, come and join us, if you would.’

  ‘Of course.’ Camille brought over a little chair and set it up to the side of Richard’s desk.

  Richard surveyed his domain. Fidel had closed and locked the main doors and returned to his desk, Dwayne had already started rummaging through Ben’s luggage looking for evidence—and Camille was sitting demurely on a chair to the side of his desk. Good. Richard took out the silver retractor pencil from his inside jacket pocket, clicked it once to get the lead out and put it gently down on his desk, ready to take notes.

  First of all, Richard asked about Ben’s background and his time in Brixton Prison. Ben didn’t really want to talk about it, but Richard wasn’t really that interested in being polite.

  ‘Look,’ Ben eventually admitted, ‘that was back then, okay? Back when I had a terrible temper. I was angry a lot of the time. But going to prison for what I’d done? That was the wake-up call for me, and I realised I had to change. I had to find another way. And that’s when I got lucky. That first year I was in Brixton, I was made to share cells with a guy who’d been a conman.’

  ‘David Kennedy,’ Richard said.

  ‘Yeah, and I’d expected him to be a bit of a geezer, but he wasn’t anything like that. He’d already been inside a few years, and he was pretty quiet. But, when he looked at you, it was like he knew what you were thinking. And he spent all his spare time reading self-help books from the prison library. And religious books, too. In the year I was locked up with him, I saw him read the Bible, the Qu’ran, and the Mahabharata. All from cover to cover.’

  ‘You sound like you liked him,’ Camille said.

  ‘Like him? He’s the reason why I’m here today. It was him who taught me I had to accept responsibility for what I’d done. And he showed me how he was trying to retrain his brain. To reject his need for money. He said he had to find a different set of values.’ Ben shifted his weight in his seat, a little uncomfortably, but he made himself carry on. ‘If you must know, I found David one of the most inspiring guys I’d ever met. And I count that year I spent locked up with him in a cell as one of the most important in my life.’

  Richard flashed a quick glance over Ben’s shoulder and caught Dwayne and Fidel’s eyes. Dwayne shrugged, summing up the feelings of all of them. This wasn’t quite what they’d expected Ben to say about his time in prison with David Kennedy.

  Ben continued his story.

  ‘By the end of the year, we both knew David would make parole and we had to say our goodbyes. That wasn’t a good day. He’d become so important to me, and I knew I’d be saying goodbye to him forever. You see, David and I had decided we had to cut all ties with our past lives if we were ever going to make a fresh start. So I knew that once he’d gone, he wouldn’t try to contact me, and once I got out—a few years later—I never tried to contact him. But then, I wanted to make damned sure it would be hard for me to keep up with my old life. That’s why I moved abroad.

  ‘I’d been a plumber before I got sent down and I kind of went to Portugal on a whim. It was a hot climate, it was popular with Brits buying up holiday properties on the coast, and I had this idea that if everyone needs a plumber—and they do—then a load of Brits in a foreign country would probably want a British plumber. I wasn’t wrong. It
was like a gold rush back then. Portugal couldn’t build villas fast enough, and it was boom times for me. Within a couple of years, I’d got enough cash set aside to buy a rental property for myself. Within a few years, I had a few more.

  ‘Since then, I’ve done pretty well for myself, as I’m sure you’ve been able to find out for yourself. But you have to believe me. The reason I got my life together—the reason I’ve done so well since—is all thanks to that year I spent sharing a cell with David Kennedy. That man changed my life.’

  Ben had come to the end of his story and Richard considered him a moment before continuing. He was a little put out by how in control Ben seemed. He was quite obviously vexed at being interviewed, but Richard felt he couldn’t discern any of the fear he’d seen in Ben’s eyes when they’d been in The Retreat’s kitchen. Why wasn’t he worried any more? Was it the fact that he was now able to tell the police the truth? Or was there some other reason why Ben was no longer worried about being a suspect?

  ‘Thank you for that,’ Camille said, easily slipping into her assigned role. ‘Then can you tell us how you ended up coming to Saint-Marie, please?’

  ‘And perhaps you can tell us,’ Richard said, placing his palms down on his desktop, ‘why you’ve just spent the last twenty-four hours on the run?’

  Ben looked back from Camille to Richard, and sighed, but—again—Richard didn’t pick up any of Ben’s previous indecision.

  ‘Look, you’ve got me wrong. I wasn’t on the run, but I was evading you.’

  ‘And why was that?’ Camille asked, as though Ben was a good friend who’d maybe made a choice in life that she didn’t yet understand.

  Ben gave his answer to Richard. ‘Because I tried to stay strong after Aslan was killed. I tried to believe you wouldn’t come after me. But then there was that moment in the kitchen when I was eating an apple and I knew you’d guessed I was worried. Worried as hell. And then, the day after, you searched my room. It was like you were closing in. And then I was upstairs and I saw you both downstairs, and I heard you say you reckoned I was your prime suspect.’