‘Chief, you’re saying words, but they’re not making any sense.’
‘I don’t see what’s so hard for you to understand, Dwayne. I need you to arrange a date with my mother at 7pm tonight at Catherine’s bar. But don’t worry, you won’t have to go through with it.’
This threw Dwayne. ‘Then why do I have to arrange it?’ Richard suddenly realised he’d shared far more with his team than he’d wanted to, so he started picking up all the case notes for the murder and putting them into his leather briefcase.
‘Come on, Chief, what’s going on?’
‘Tell you what, Dwayne, I’ll ring you later to confirm final plans,’ Richard said, as he closed the lock on his briefcase with a click. ‘But in the meantime, I think you’re all right. We’re down to one of Juliette Moreau or Max Brandon being our killer, so I’m going to work on the case at home.’
And, making sure he made no further eye contact with his team, Richard scurried out of the police station, leaving his team behind, entirely nonplussed.
What on earth was their boss up to?
That evening, Richard entered Catherine’s bar just before 7pm, not realising that in all of his plans, he’d made one mistake. When he spoke to Dwayne about the timings he wanted him to follow that evening, he’d done so in front of Camille and Fidel. And Richard only realised this was a mistake when he scanned the bar for a quiet corner table and saw Camille and Fidel already waiting for him.
Camille gave a little wave.
Richard went over to them both and hissed, ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Getting ringside seats for whatever it is you’ve got going on with Dwayne.’
‘I don’t have anything planned with Dwayne,’ Richard lied.
‘But, sir,’ Fidel said, ‘Dwayne told us you and he have been on the phone all afternoon, and if we wanted to see some fireworks, we should get here by 7pm.’
Richard’s shoulders slumped, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised if Dwayne had betrayed his confidence. This was Dwayne they were talking about.
‘But don’t worry, sir,’ Fidel said, ‘we got you a beer.’
Fidel indicated an ice-cold bottle of beer that was already sitting on the table, and Richard put his briefcase down on the floor, slunk into the spare seat Fidel and Camille had saved for him and took a deep draught from the bottle. Before he’d even finished his first sip, Catherine had sidled over and joined the party with a delighted look already in her eyes.
‘Not you as well?’ Richard said, before Catherine had even spoken.
‘I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned with Dwayne,’ Catherine said excitedly.
Richard knew he had to stop all the excitement at once, so he opened his briefcase and pulled out the piles of case notes he had on Polly Carter’s murder.
‘Actually, I’m just here to work through the case.’
‘Oh,’ Catherine said, disappointed. ‘Then I’d better go to the bar. I’ll watch what happens from there.’
‘You do that, Catherine.’
As Catherine returned to the bar, Richard picked up the first witness statement.
‘Now, Camille, I’ve spent the afternoon focusing on our two remaining suspects. Juliette Moreau and Max Brandon.’
As Richard said this, he caught a movement by the main entrance to the bar, and he stopped talking as he, Fidel, Camille and Catherine all saw Dwayne walk into the bar with a young woman on his arm. Dwayne was wearing a garish Hawaiian shirt, old shorts, and a pair of ancient flip-flops that were now a lot more ‘flop’ than they were ‘flip’. In comparison, his date for the night had her shiny blonde hair up in a ponytail, was wearing a strappy white vest top that showed off her golden tan, tight denim shorts that showed off her legs—and, although she wasn’t wearing shoes, she was wearing a silver ankle bracelet.
Dwayne didn’t give Camille, Richard or Fidel a second glance as he led his date to the bar and ordered some drinks from Catherine.
Back in the corner of the bar, Camille was about to ask Richard what on earth was going on when she became aware that someone else had come in from the street outside and was now standing by their table.
It was Richard’s mother.
‘Hello, Jennifer,’ Camille said, surprised.
As Jennifer pulled over a chair and sat with her son and friends at their table, Richard could see that his mother was wearing a sensible green skirt, flat shoes, a cream cardigan, and her hair was tied up tight in a bun behind her head. She looked like a school ma’am.
‘Oh hello, Mother,’ Richard said, indicating the case notes on the table. ‘We’re just working on the case. What are you doing here?’
‘Trying to make sure I don’t make a terrible mistake, I think.’
‘Oh?’ Richard said, this time in genuine surprise.
‘Because I’ve been thinking about what you said to me the other day. You remember, how you said that although it was grey at home—and rainy—it’s where we’re from that makes us who we are?’
‘That’s right,’ Richard said.
‘Well, it made me realise how perceptive you were being, using “grey” and “rainy” as metaphors for life back at home.’
Richard didn’t quite know what to say. After all, he’d never meant either word to be a metaphor, he’d really just been describing the British climate as being literally both grey and rainy. Luckily for him, though, his mother didn’t seem to notice his frown as she carried on talking.
‘And although it was bright and sunny here, the Caribbean isn’t who I am. And by the evening, I’d realised I definitely didn’t want to go dancing in some sweaty nightclub. I don’t know where I got that idea from. I didn’t even like nightclubs the first time around. All that beer getting sticky on the floor. And the music so loud you can’t hear yourself think—let alone talk. And it being so dark that you can’t tell if the glass you’re drinking from is even clean. And don’t even get me started on the state of the loos!
‘So, rather than go dancing, I stayed here with your mother, Camille. You really are lucky to have her. She’s a wonderfully positive force, isn’t she? But the thing is, the more I talked to Catherine, the more I began to realise just how much of a fool I’d made of myself since I got here. Not that I’m apologising—Catherine made that clear to me. I should never apologise—and she’s right. I’m glad I made a fool of myself. I’ve loved falling under the spell of the island—but that’s all that’s happened, isn’t it? Since I got to the island I’ve been under a wonderful, magical spell, but it’s not reality. Or rather, it’s reality for you, Camille’—Jennifer said this with only kindness in her voice—’but it isn’t for me. I mean, it is very hot. And I’ve not been able to go into my bathroom for two days because I think there’s a lizard in there.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Richard said.
But Jennifer still hadn’t finished. ‘What’s more, I asked at the hotel, and you were right, Richard. There really aren’t any seasons on the island to speak of. It just goes from hot in the winter to even hotter in the summer. And I can’t imagine what life is if you’re not looking forward to the next planting season.’
As Jennifer was speaking, a second young blonde woman entered the bar wearing a red dress and black heels, saw Dwayne at the bar with his date and put her hands on her hips.
‘Dwayne Myers!’ she bellowed in an Australian accent.
As Dwayne and his date looked back at the door, this second woman strode across the bar to where Dwayne was standing and slapped him hard in the face. She then turned and said something short and sharp to the date Dwayne had brought to the bar, at which point this first woman turned to Dwayne and slapped him even harder on the other cheek. And then, without another word, each woman turned on their heels and left the bar by separate exits.
Richard checked his watch. It was 7:05. Dwayne had got his timings to perfection.
Dwayne, for his part, just stood there. He then shook his face a bit, picked an ice cube out of
his glass of rum and put it to a cut on his split lip.
Having seen all of this, Jennifer sighed.
‘Of course,’ Jennifer said, finally understanding—correctly, as it turned out—that Dwayne wasn’t exactly the most morally upstanding person on the island to develop a holiday crush on. And there wasn’t much more Jennifer needed to say after that.
Dwayne finally noticed his friends in the corner of the bar, and he came over and joined them.
‘Hey, Jennifer, glad you could make it,’ he said as smoothly as he could while still holding the ice cube to his lip.
‘And it’s good to see you too, Dwayne,’ Jennifer said. ‘But tell me, who were those two women?’
‘Women?’ Dwayne said in wide-eyed innocence. ‘What women?’
Jennifer smiled wearily. If Dwayne wanted to pretend he hadn’t just been caught cheating—and all while he was supposed to be meeting her for a drink—then she wasn’t going to press the point.
In the silence that briefly followed, a man in his sixties walked into the bar wearing an evening jacket, polished black shoes, a crisp white shirt and silk black tie. The man wasn’t exactly handsome, but he was tall, broad-shouldered and he had the solidity of an oak tree.
Jennifer saw who it was and slowly rose from her seat as though she were seeing an apparition.
‘Graham …?’
The man wearing black tie was Graham Poole—and he looked over and saw his wife standing by the table in a pretty summer dress, her face glowing with health from her time in the tropics.
‘Hello, Jennifer,’ he said.
As for Richard, he coughed, got out his hankie, wiped his brow, and then wiped his hands of sweat before putting the hankie back in his pocket.
‘Hello, Father,’ he said, before offering his hand as Graham came over and shook his son’s hand firmly.
‘Hello, son,’ he said. ‘Your tie’s come loose.’
‘No. Sorry. Of course,’ Richard said, jamming his tie back up into his neck.
‘This is your father?’ Camille interrupted.
Before Richard could reply, the well-fed Police Commissioner Selwyn Patterson—also in black tie, if a little more shabbily so—ambled into the bar and came over to Richard at his table.
‘Ah, good evening, everyone,’ the Commissioner said. ‘Graham and I were just on our way to dinner at the Ambassador’s residence when we decided to pop in for a quick sharpener. How very fortunate that we bumped into you all.’
Just about managing to keep his nerve, Richard introduced his father to his team—and Selwyn in particular was delighted to meet Jennifer, elegantly kissing the back of her hand when they were introduced—but what everyone couldn’t help but notice was how Jennifer seemed only to have eyes for her husband, just as he seemed only to have eyes for his wife.
‘So tell me,’ Richard asked his father, as if he didn’t already know the answer, ‘what on earth are you doing on Saint-Marie?’
‘Well,’ Graham said, ‘the Commissioner here contacted me yesterday to say that his keynote speaker had dropped out of a special conference the British Ambassador was convening on the island about pan-Caribbean crime.’
‘He did?’ Camille said, knowing full well that there was no such thing as a pan-Caribbean conference on crime happening on the island.
‘A hastily convened conference,’ Selwyn explained to Camille with a smile. ‘But yes, when we were let down, I thought to myself, I know who we should get in to save the day. Our very own Detective Inspector’s father, Graham Poole, the one-time Superintendent of the Leicestershire Police Force.’
‘So when I got the call from the Commissioner here,’ Graham said, ‘I agreed to hop on the next plane out. After all, it’s always gratifying to pass on one’s knowledge to the next generation.’
‘And was there another reason you wanted to come out here?’ Jennifer asked, her voice tight with emotion.
Graham looked at his wife. His brow creased.
‘Yes. Of course.’
Graham wasn’t the most communicative of people, and he looked briefly at his son for moral support—but then, Richard was even less communicate than his father was, and he ducked his eyes down to avoid eye contact altogether—so Graham looked back at his wife and, after another long moment, he sighed.
‘I wanted to see you.’
Having said this, a silent message seemed to pass between wife and husband that was unreadable to everyone else who was watching. Or rather, it was unreadable to everyone apart from Selwyn, who had been around the block enough times to recognise a rapprochement when he saw one.
‘And you see,’ Selwyn said, ‘it’s so fortunate we bumped into you all. Because I know there’s a spare space at the welcome dinner we’re going to tonight. So, it’s just occurred to me, Jennifer, would you like to accompany your husband and me to a black tie dinner at the British Embassy tonight?’
Selwyn’s question seemed to unleash a wave of panic in Jennifer.
‘But I’ve got nothing to wear,’ she said.
‘What you’re wearing is perfect,’ Graham said.
‘But it’s not smart enough if it’s a black tie do,’ Jennifer said again, all of a-twitter.
‘Maybe not,’ Graham said gruffly, ‘but you’re wearing it, so it won’t matter, will it? Because there won’t be another woman at the dinner who’ll be as beautiful as you.’
Jennifer looked at her husband, surprise in her eyes. Had he just paid her a compliment? A romantic compliment? Jennifer thought for a moment longer—and then her chin lifted imperceptibly as she turned to look at Selwyn.
‘Thank you very much for asking. I’d love to come to the dinner.’
And then a wondrous thing happened.
Graham smiled.
He then lifted his right arm and offered it for his wife.
With a smile, Jennifer took her husband’s arm, and without either of them exchanging another word, Graham strode manfully out of the bar, Jennifer floating on his arm at his side.
Richard realised he’d been holding his breath for a very long time and he let it out in relief.
‘Thanks for everything, sir,’ he said to Selwyn.
Selwyn inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Always happy to help,’ he said, clearly delighted by the evening’s turn of events. And then, Selwyn followed Graham and Jennifer out of the bar.
Although Fidel, Dwayne and Camille all looked in wonder at Richard, it was Catherine—beetling over from the other side of the bar—who got the first word in.
‘Oh, bravo, Richard! Bravo!’
‘What just happened?’ Fidel asked.
‘Yes, sir. Did you just do that?’ Camille asked.
‘Me? You saw me, Camille, I didn’t do a thing. But I think I’d like to buy everyone a drink, and—in honour of our illustrious hostess—I think we should have one of your reasonably priced bottles of French champagne, Catherine.’
‘Of course!’
‘And do you maybe also have one of those large bags of locally produced crisps that are five per cent potato and ninety-five per cent cooking oil? I think we need to have a couple of kilograms of those as well.’
Catherine was beaming as she stepped up to Richard and kissed him once on each cheek.
‘You did it. I knew you would, you clever boy!’ she said.
‘You knew about this?’ Camille asked her mother, but Catherine didn’t want to steal any of Richard’s thunder, so she just smiled enigmatically and returned to the bar to get the drinks together.
‘You orchestrated that whole encounter, didn’t you?’ Camille said, before looking at Dwayne. ‘Come on, Dwayne, admit it, the Inspector made you come to the bar with one girlfriend, and then get caught by another girlfriend—and all so that Jennifer would arrive and see you apparently cheating on her!’
‘Hey!’ Dwayne said in mock outrage. ‘Those women weren’t my girlfriends, they’re just two Australians I met on the beach half an hour ago.’
Now it was Richard�
��s turn to be surprised. ‘Hang on, you’re saying you’d never met either of those two women before?’
Dwayne’s grin just got wider, and he held up the palm of his hand which had a mobile phone number written across it in biro.
‘I may not have met them before, but I’m meeting them both later on tonight. We’re going on a double date.’
‘Who with?’
‘Well, me and them—that’s what a double date is: when two women get to date me.’
‘But hold on,’ Camille said to her boss before Dwayne sidetracked the whole conversation. ‘If you lined up Dwayne to be in here being caught cheating on a woman, how did you get the Commissioner to walk into the bar with your father only a few minutes later?’
‘Ah, well, Camille,’ Richard said, ‘I’m sure the Commissioner couldn’t possibly be involved in anything so underhand as abusing his official position on the island.’
‘But that’s all the Commissioner ever does,’ Dwayne said. ‘In your opinion, Dwayne. I couldn’t possibly comment.’
‘But are you saying,’ Camille said, as impressed as she was amused, ‘that we’re supposed to believe it’s a complete coincidence that your mother should see Dwayne two-timing on a woman just seconds before your father just happens to walk into the same bar wearing evening dress and looking all smart and romantic?’
Richard realised that this would be a good time to see if he could still raise one eyebrow independently of the other—and he was gratified to discover that, in fact, he could.
‘I think you’ll find, Camille, it’s just that. A happy coincidence.’
‘But you don’t believe in coincidences!’
‘Well, I must be wrong on this occasion,’ Richard said. ‘But come on, sir!’ Fidel said. ‘You stage-managed the whole thing, you must have done.’
Richard looked at Fidel. He’d just set off half a thought for him about Polly Carter’s murder, because his team were correct—it of course hadn’t been a coincidence that Selwyn had walked into the bar with Graham at that precise moment. The whole thing had been previously planned over a very awkward cup of tea in the Commissioner’s office. And what Richard had had to promise to the Commissioner in return for his help didn’t bear thinking about as far as Richard was concerned.
Killing Of Polly Carter Page 22