Fidel joined the others at the board. ‘But Sophie did tell us something important, sir, didn’t she? She said that when Polly was killed, she looked back at the house and saw someone looking out of an upstairs window.’
‘That’s right,’ Richard agreed. ‘Even though both Max and Phil say that they were the person she saw.’
‘So one of Max or Phil is lying?’ Dwayne asked.
‘It’s possible,’ Richard said. ‘Or perhaps they were both looking out, but Sophie wasn’t looking back at the house that carefully. Either way, seeing as Sophie said she definitely saw Max in the house before she’d even gone into the garden—and Claire saw Max in the house immediately afterwards—it’s hard to see how Max could have got past Sophie and Claire to be on the steps before Polly got there. Or got back to the house afterwards without being seen as well.’
‘So maybe it was Max who Sophie saw at the upstairs window,’ Dwayne said. ‘Which would mean that Phil doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder. He could have been on the cliff steps before Polly got there.’
‘Yes,’ Richard agreed. ‘And I definitely think it’s a touch suspicious that Phil says he saw an argument between Claire and Polly from his bedroom window and then calmly went back to work for half an hour or so before he—rather conveniently—emerged from his bedroom only long after the murder had taken place. Although he’s not the only one without a watertight alibi for the time of the murder, because Juliette and Alain don’t have one, either.’
‘Then what if Juliette’s our killer?’ Camille said.
‘Okay. What makes you say that?’
‘Well, it’s just, she says she was out running—which she may have been, of course—but it occurs to me, don’t runners sometimes wear high visibility running tops?’
‘Why’s that important?’ Fidel asked.
‘High visibility yellow running tops,’ she clarified. ‘Because, remember, Claire couldn’t categorically say whether the person she saw go down the cliff steps beforehand was a man or a woman. Could she? So what if it wasn’t a raincoat at all but was actually a high-vis running top that Juliette was wearing?’
‘But it was Juliette who told us she’d also seen a man in yellow in the garden a few days before,’ Richard said.
‘Maybe she was trying to throw us off the scent,’ Camille countered. ‘After all, if she tells us about there being someone else in the garden a few days before, we’re not going to be looking too closely at her, are we?’
Richard could see the logic of what Camille was suggesting, but he also remembered the old smugglers’ path that led through the jungle to the cliff where Polly was thrown to her death. It was still possible that there was someone else out there—not directly from the house—who was their killer.
‘That’s true,’ Richard said. ‘But even if Phil, Juliette and Alain don’t have decent alibis, we also can’t rule out the killer being someone else entirely who went up to the house via the old smugglers’ path from Honoré. So, Dwayne, I’d like you to walk the old smugglers’ path from Polly’s house back to Honoré, making sure you inspect the path as much as possible. See if you can find any cigarette butts, old Coke cans—anything that might have been left by our killer on his or her journey up to Polly’s house.’ Dwayne’s eyes widened.
‘You want me checking the path all the way from Polly’s house back to Honoré?’
‘That’s right. I just said.’
‘Oh okay,’ Dwayne suggested in his most hopeful voice, ‘although how about I just check the first fifty yards of path? Something like that?’
‘No, I’d like as close as possible to a fingertip search of the whole path from Polly’s house down to Honoré, please.’ Dwayne thought for a moment, and then he clicked his fingers together as he had an idea.
‘I know! I mean, Chief, it’s a great idea—we need to search that path, that goes without saying—but what if I miss a crucial clue? After all, my eyes aren’t what they once were. So what I’m thinking is, what if we maybe get a younger pair of eyes for the job?’
Dwayne looked at Fidel as he said this.
‘Very well,’ Richard said. ‘Fidel, can you search the path? Dwayne, I’ll give you the job I was going to give to Fidel.’ Dwayne beamed, happy to have dodged the bullet.
‘So, Dwayne,’ Richard said, ‘Juliette says she went on a ten-kilometre training run on Sunday morning. Can you get the route from her, run it yourself, and stop at every house you pass to see if you can find a witness who will alibi her for the time of death.’
‘What?’
‘It wasn’t that hard to understand, was it?’
‘You want me to run a 10k?’ Dwayne said, dismayed. ‘With my knees?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Fidel said, jumping in, ever the peacemaker. ‘I’ll do the 10k. You can do the cliff path, Dwayne.’
Dwayne exhaled in relief.
‘Thanks, partner,’ he said, and offered up a fist bump for Fidel.
‘Good, glad that’s all sorted,’ Richard said. ‘But from this moment on, I want us to all keep thinking. If we’re ever going to discover who killed Polly Carter, we first need to uncover the how and the why of it. Just how did the killer push Polly to her death and then vanish into thin air afterwards? And why did Polly have to die in the first place? Who benefits from her murder?’
‘I think I might have an idea,’ a woman’s voice said from the doorway.
Everyone turned and saw a nice-looking Englishwoman in her late sixties standing at the entrance to the police station wearing a floral summer frock and a cream cardigan.
‘Can we help you?’ Fidel asked, a touch confused.
‘It’s just that I think I might know who benefits from Polly Carter’s death.’
Fidel, Dwayne and Camille looked at Richard, expecting him to get rid of this strange Englishwoman, but, instead, they saw that their boss was standing in silent mortification.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ the woman said to her son.
‘Are you …?’ Camille managed to get out as Richard mumbled, ‘Everyone, this is my mother. Jennifer Poole.’ There was a moment while his team looked at mother and son as they stood side by side. So different, of course. And yet, so similar. Camille was the first to recover.
‘How wonderful to meet you, Jennifer! I’m Camille, and welcome to Saint-Marie!’
Camille went up to Jennifer and kissed her on each cheek—which initially made Jennifer recoil like a startled bird—but she was just about able to hide her confusion as Camille then introduced her to Dwayne and Fidel. And within moments, Richard’s team were telling Jennifer all the must-see tourist sights she had to visit while she was on Saint-Marie. Unfortunately, as Jennifer kept having to point out, everything the team were suggesting either involved a considerable increase in her chance of catching dengue fever, or getting seasick—which she was a martyr to—or eating spicy food, and she really didn’t like spicy food, she was afraid—but she was ever so grateful for their every suggestion. So, after a few minutes, they all agreed that perhaps Jennifer should just spend the morning wandering around the shops and harbour of Honoré.
And during the whole conversation, Richard stood a little way off in his dark suit, sweating. The truth was, seeing his mother talking to his team, Richard found that he was frozen to the spot. Every now and again, he’d begin to lift his arms up from his side as though he was about to join in with the conversation, but he found he had nothing to say, so his arms would drift back to his side again.
‘Good morning, Mother,’ Richard eventually managed to blurt, which hadn’t been what he’d meant to say at all, but the words had seemed to rise unbidden to his mouth, as though his entire existence as an Englishman was no more than Pavlovian conditioning, which—perhaps—it was.
Jennifer looked at her son, puzzled by his awkwardness.
‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘The whole island’s abuzz with Polly Carter’s death, but are you really saying it was murder?’
‘It was,’ Dwayne said, as though he could personally take credit for this deduction.
‘And is it really true that the film director Phil Adams was staying with her when she died?’
‘He was,’ Dwayne said, once again as though he were personally responsible for this breakthrough in the case.
Richard despaired. It was no wonder people had found out about the case when his own team were so happy to talk about it.
‘Then, if you’re asking who benefits from Polly Carter’s death,’ Jennifer said, ‘I suggest you focus your investigation on Phil Adams.’
This got Richard’s attention.
‘Really?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Jennifer said. ‘Because I’m pretty sure Phil Adams benefits from Polly Carter’s death.’
‘But how does he benefit?’ Camille asked.
‘Well! I was at the hairdresser’s a few years ago, and I remember reading in a magazine that Phil Adams and Polly Carter had gone to Las Vegas. For a holiday. But anyway, I remember this article saying that Phil and Polly had gone out partying in Vegas, and ended the evening in the Chapel of Love getting married. So, what I’m thinking is, now she’s dead, Phil Adams would inherit all her money. Wouldn’t he? Seeing as he’s her husband.’
‘You know all that?’ Richard asked, amazed.
‘But if you’re saying she was murdered, then you should start with the husband. After all, in relationships, it’s always the man who’s to blame.’
Jennifer said this brightly enough, but everyone—even Richard—noticed that it was a somewhat cryptic statement to make. Before his mother could say any more, though, Richard made sure that he stepped into the breach.
‘Very good, Mother. Thank you. But I suppose the question is, is Phil Adams really married to Polly Carter?’
‘Apparently, he is,’ Fidel said, having spent the last few moments back at his desk checking his computer. ‘Because I’m getting loads of hits for Phil Adams and Polly Carter getting married seven years ago in Las Vegas.’
Jennifer clapped her hands together in delight, but, as Camille looked at her boss, she could see that, for some reason, Richard was the only person in the room who didn’t seem impressed with his mother’s contribution. In fact, Camille could see that Richard was now in a glowering funk, and she decided that she’d make sure she used the car journey to interview Phil Adams to discover all she could about Richard’s relationship with his mother.
Chapter 5
By the time Camille arrived at Polly’s mansion, she was ready to kill. She’d tried asking Richard obliquely, she’d tried being direct—she’d even tried cajoling him, bullying him, and, most demeaning of all for her, being polite—but he’d point blank refused to talk about his mother. All he was prepared to say on the subject was, ‘I’d rather not talk about it, thank you.’
When they left the police jeep, Camille slammed her door shut in a fury, but Richard just ignored that as easily as he’d ignored her questions.
They found Phil in the sitting room with his laptop open and pages of drawings spread out in a mess around him. But he was staring out of the window.
‘Good morning, Mr Adams,’ Richard said.
Phil looked at the police. He then indicated the paper in front of him.
‘Sorry. I thought I could maybe distract myself by doing some work.’
Camille picked up one of the drawings. It was of a rectangle with a cartoon of two people walking along a path, and there was a big swishing arrow pointing upwards with the word ‘Tilt!’ written through it.
‘What’s this?’
‘The storyboard for my new film,’ Phil said. ‘Or what will be my new film.’
‘The storyboard?’
Phil sighed, although it was clear that he was happy to be focusing on something other than the death of his friend.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘when we shoot a movie, we plan all the shots in advance by drawing them out on hundreds of pieces of paper. So that’s what I was trying to do here.’
‘And what’s the film about?’ Camille asked.
‘It’s about a group of retired crooks who decide to get together to rob a bank.’
‘Ha!’ Richard said in an involuntary spasm.
Camille and Phil looked at him, and Richard realised he had some explaining to do.
‘Well, it’s just … I mean, hasn’t that been done before?’
‘This is a new take on the genre,’ Phil said.
Richard could see a brittleness in Phil’s eyes as he said this, and Richard realised he knew the confident-but-insecure look well. After all, Phil came from a successful family and hadn’t maybe achieved as much in his career as he might have done. Richard could identify with that.
‘Anyway,’ Phil said, ‘that’s what I’m doing here, so how about you tell me what you’re doing here?’
Richard gave a parched smile. ‘We just want to know why you didn’t mention to us before that you’re Polly Carter’s husband.’
It took a moment for Phil to register the question.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Why didn’t you tell us that you’re the deceased’s husband?’
‘Why should I have done?’
‘Because, depending on her will, it’s possible that you now inherit all her money.’
‘Oh dear. You don’t know, do you?’
‘Do you admit that you’re Polly’s husband?’ Richard pressed.
‘Sure,’ Phil said. ‘We went to Vegas a few years back. Got wasted over a weekend, the weekend turned into a week, and at the end of it all we got married in the Chapel of Love. And if you’re really interested, I’m happy to admit to it. It was about the best week of my life. Just booze, drugs and sex with the most famous model in the world for a whole week. It’s every man’s dream come true.’
This wouldn’t in fact have been Richard’s dream come true, but he nonetheless found himself sticking his finger into his shirt collar to let some of the heat out.
‘But after that,’ Phil said ‘we kind of went our separate ways. It wasn’t serious.’
Richard cleared his throat. He really had to step in now. ‘You got married but it wasn’t serious?’
‘Sure. But we still managed to meet up every now and again after that. If we were looking for a good time. Although, we always said if one of us wanted to get married for proper—you know, to someone we actually wanted to spend the rest of our lives with—we’d get divorced.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Richard said. The idea that someone could get married so thoughtlessly—and then divorced just as thoughtlessly—offended every sense of propriety he had. In truth, Richard’s ideas of romance, fidelity and love were most closely aligned to a form of chivalry that had become outdated even before the turn of the fourteenth century, but he couldn’t help himself. He felt that there was a nobility to love—and to the union of a man and woman—and the fact that no one else took these ideals as seriously as he did was just one of the many burdens he had to shoulder in his life.
Phil smiled sadly again. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but it was fun being married, you know? It was such a boring thing to do. So conventional.’
‘And were you in a sexual relationship with the deceased when she died?’ Richard asked, before coughing.
‘Well, as it happens,’ Phil answered, ‘we weren’t. And it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part. We met up earlier this year, but it turns out she didn’t seem interested in rekindling that side of our relationship.’
‘Was that when you were in rehab with her?’ Camille asked, and Phil looked at Camille, impressed.
‘You know we were in rehab together?’
‘Actually,’ Richard said, ‘we only knew you were in rehab in Los Angeles at the same time as Polly. We didn’t know you were both in the same place until just now, so thanks for telling us that.’
Phil considered Richard before replying.
‘I really don’t mind telling you anything, I’ve got nothin
g to hide. And anyway, in Hollywood, if you don’t have at least one spell in rehab, you aren’t really taken seriously as an artist.’
‘So what were you in rehab for?’
‘Anxiety,’ Phil said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to admit.
‘You can go to rehab for being anxious?’ Richard asked. ‘Sure can. Sure did.’
‘You don’t seem very anxious now.’
‘That’s because the therapy worked,’ Phil said, and Richard was briefly irritated to see Phil’s quip raise a smile from Camille. ‘But back at the turn of the year, I was a bit of a mess. My last film hadn’t done so well, I was getting these horrendous panic attacks, and I knew I needed a complete detox of my psyche before I could even begin to start writing my next movie.’
‘I see,’ Richard said. ‘So you weren’t in rehab for drugs like Polly?’
‘No way,’ Phil said. ‘And I never did hard drugs like Polly anyway. If I’m honest, her heroin use was one of the least attractive aspects of her.’
‘Then can you tell me how you got on with Polly when you were in rehab with her?’
‘We always got on well. It’s why she invited me out here. She told me I could have a room to write my next movie in, and that’s what I’ve been doing here ever since. Writing my movie. I’ve been here about six weeks.’
‘And now she’s dead, you inherit her money?’ Richard asked.
‘You really don’t know, do you?’
‘Know what?’
‘She didn’t have any money.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The thing about Polly—why we all loved her—was because she was crazy. Impetuous. And one hundred per cent trusting. In her own way. But because of that she was a terrible judge of character and one of the easiest people in the world to manipulate. She was like a child when it came to money, so she’d give it away to any and every sob story that came along. But more than anything, she was extravagant. I mean, look at this place. I know it’s tatty, but that’s because Polly bought it without having the money to keep it up.’
‘But she was a world-famous model.’
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