But knowing that a huge amount of effort had gone into making his father’s encounter with his mother look entirely coincidental, Richard found himself wondering: in what way might Polly Carter’s arrival on the cliff steps at the precise moment that the killer needed her to be there have been similarly stage-managed? It didn’t seem in any way possible, and yet, if Richard had managed to get his father to walk into a bar on the other side of the world at a specific time, why couldn’t the killer have similarly manoeuvred Polly Carter?
With a rush of excitement, Richard realised he needed to go back to the case notes at once. So, without saying another word, he grabbed up the notes from the table and started stuffing them back into his leather briefcase.
‘Sir?’ Camille asked.
‘I think I’m onto something, Camille.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll let you know when I know.’
‘You’ll let us know what when you know what?’ Dwayne asked.
Without another word, Richard strode from the bar, leaving his friends behind, baffled and infuriated. But Richard didn’t care, he knew this was important, and as he strode down the starlit road to his shack on the beach, he felt a surging and entirely atypical sense of optimism. It was as if, having finally given his parents the chance to get back together, he had finally freed his brain to think about the case with clarity. So, back in his shack, he lay out the initial statements from the witnesses on his bed and looked at all the names.
Claire Carter, Sophie Wessel, Phil Adams, Max Brandon, Juliette Moreau, Alain Moreau and Luc Pichou. One of those seven people killed Polly Carter, and Richard decided that he wasn’t going to go to bed until he’d worked out who it was.
After a quick once-round with his handy dustbuster to remove the worst of the sand from the floorboards, Richard got into his M&S pyjamas and slippers and sat down in his one tatty armchair to read through the whole case from start to finish.
But this time he’d know that Claire could have been lying to them from the start. And that Alain’s affair had been still ongoing when Polly died. And that Polly had ordered ten thousand dollars’ worth of heroin three days before she died—even though she, herself, hadn’t taken any of it. And that there’d been no ‘Man in a Yellow Raincoat’ on the steps beforehand—although he’d been there three days beforehand. And, above all, Richard now knew that there was a secret tunnel that led from the house to the cliffs.
It was just before dawn when it happened.
At the time, Richard was outside on his verandah watching the sky lighten from darkness into day. He was supposed to be on a five-minute break, but he was instead considering how the killer had managed to be on the cliff steps before the murder—and had also managed to hide Claire’s phone in the chandelier before the murder as well—and he was wondering how these two apparently unrelated facts could perhaps be connected. And it was as he thought back to the mobile phone in the chandelier that Richard made the key breakthrough—because he suddenly realised that there was one very clear way that Claire’s mobile phone could be said to be connected to Polly’s arrival on the cliff steps.
In fact, as Richard continued to work through the logic of his realisation, a feeling of excitement filled him like a cork about to pop from a bottle of champagne. The phone was indeed the key to solving the whole case!
And then, as Richard looked out over the cloudless dawn sky with the knowledge that it was going to be another boiling hot day in the Caribbean, he finally worked it out.
He knew who had killed Polly Carter.
Chapter 15
Later that morning, Richard gathered Claire, Sophie, Juliette, Alain, Max, Phil, and Luc in the sitting room of Polly’s house. Luc in particular had not taken kindly to being woken up so early and being brought to Polly’s house, and he was now sitting off to one side looking edgy. As for Camille, Fidel and Dwayne, they stood around the perimeter of the room in case the killer tried to make a run for it.
‘Thank you all for joining us,’ Richard said.
‘But what do you want?’ Alain asked, worried.
‘With six of you? Very little. But with the remaining seventh person, I want to arrest them for the murder of Polly Carter!’
The witnesses all looked at each other, suddenly worried.
‘But before I reveal who the killer is, I want to spend a moment discussing our victim, because—all along—it’s been almost impossible to work out exactly who Polly Carter was. After all, she was a world-famous model who had apparently turned her back on being a world-famous model. Or had she? She was the wild party animal who, according to Alain here, wanted to go back to the UK and live on a farm. But can he be believed? What’s more, she was a longtime heroin addict who’d finally kicked her addiction—and yet, according to Luc, she’d recently bought ten thousand dollars’ worth of heroin. Assuming, of course, he’s telling us the truth. And if Max said that he’d never seen Polly happier over the last few weeks of her life, then why was she so furious with Claire on the morning of her death? You see, it’s so hard to work out exactly who someone is when all you’ve got is the hearsay of those who survive her. And it’s especially hard when one of those people is the murderer and has been manipulating us from the start.
‘So was Polly selfish or kind? Forgiving or cynical? And, at the simplest of levels, was she happy with her life—as both Max and Alain told us—or was she actually so unhappy that she wanted to commit suicide—as Claire insists? Because that’s what Claire said happened that morning, didn’t she? She claims that Polly said she was going to end her life just seconds before she ran down the cliff steps and was brutally murdered. Which, as coincidences go, is pretty colossal, don’t you think? But let’s unpack that a bit, shall we?
‘You see, it’s interesting we found no suicide note back at the house, isn’t it? Just as it’s interesting that Polly never mentioned any suicidal thoughts to anyone else before that morning. And, it’s also interesting that although Sophie was in the garden nearby at the time, she didn’t hear exactly what Polly was saying to you, Claire. So there’s no independent witness to confirm that Polly was telling you she was about to end her own life.’
‘It’s not my fault Sophie was too far away to hear,’ Claire said.
‘That’s right,’ Richard agreed. ‘But she wasn’t just too far away to hear what was going on, was she? She was also too far away to see what was going on as well, what with there being a great big bed of shrubs in between you and her at the time. In fact, when we get down to it, it was only you, Claire, who witnessed Polly’s apparent suicide attempt in any meaningful way. Is that a coincidence? I don’t think so. Because when it comes to murder, I don’t believe in coincidences.’
Richard said this directly at Claire, and the colour drained from her face.
‘Especially when we look at the relationship you had with your sister, the woman who ten years ago pulled a Boxing Day prank on you so catastrophic that you’ve spent every day of your life since then in a wheelchair. As you finally admitted to us, it’s not something you’ve ever been able to forgive her for, is it? And the string of threatening letters you’ve been sending her only proves to me just how messed up your relationship with your sister really was.
‘And then we come to your lie to us that you saw a “Man in a Yellow Raincoat” on the cliff steps just before your sister was murdered. In fact, when I think about it, I can’t imagine anyone who’s done more to hinder this case than you, Claire.’
‘I thought you’d think I’d killed her!’
‘I bet you did, especially when we discovered that Polly believed you suffered a condition called conversion disorder—where you are capable of walking and yet, for one psychological reason or another, choose not to. So did you get out of your wheelchair that morning and push your sister to her death?
‘Well, here’s the thing: even though you had a motive to want your sister dead, we spoke to your GP back in the UK.’ Here, Richard looked up at the others in the room
. ‘He told us in no uncertain terms that Claire wasn’t suffering from conversion disorder. In fact, he said her injuries are real—she really can’t walk—and, seeing as Polly was pushed to her death from partway down a flight of steps Claire couldn’t possibly have got down, we can only conclude that Claire Carter didn’t kill her sister.’ Richard let this hang in the air a moment before he turned to Sophie.
‘Which brings me to you, Sophie. You were the second person to the scene, and so, with Claire out of the frame, I had to consider, could you be our killer? Well, seeing as everyone else says you were on the lawn outside the house at the time of the murder, it’s hard to see how you could also have been on the cliff steps at the same time—but your presence in front of the house did allow us to confirm one other significant fact. And that’s that although both Max and Phil claimed to be standing at an upstairs window at the time of the murder, you only saw one person looking out at the garden.
‘Now, the re-enactment we staged suggested that the person you saw must have been Phil Adams—standing at his bedroom window—which is interesting because there’s no doubting that Phil had a motive to want Polly dead: the day Polly tipped off his movie studio that he was still taking drugs, she effectively ended his career.
‘And yet, I can’t help feeling that Phil hadn’t reached crisis point with his studio just yet. After all, I believed him when he said he was going to try and get clean before he returned to the States. So what I found myself realising was that I’d perhaps believe Phil killing Polly if he’d already failed his drugs test because of her tip-off, but he hadn’t failed it yet. And what’s more, Polly had even told Phil what she’d done so he’d have plenty of time to get clean before he returned to the States.’
‘And I told you,’ Phil said insistently, ‘I am going to get clean!’
‘Yes,’ Richard said. ‘And as long as you believed you had a chance of getting clean—and seeing as we’ve got a witness who saw you at your window at the time of the murder—I don’t see how you could be our killer, either.’
‘Thank you!’ Phil said before nervously running his hand through his hair in relief.
‘Which brings me to the secret underground tunnel that runs from Polly’s house to the cliff steps. Because although Claire was lying to us when she said there was a “Man in Yellow” on the steps just before the murder, there had to have been someone on the steps who attacked Polly. And yet, until we uncovered the old smugglers’ tunnel, it was difficult to see how this person could have got to and from the murder site unseen.
‘So who was it who’d used the tunnel to kill Polly? It couldn’t have been Claire or Sophie—they were both above ground the whole time. And if Phil was at the upstairs window, it couldn’t have been him, either. Which leaves only four people who might have been able to use the tunnel to get to and from the cliffs to commit the murder. Max, Juliette, Alain and Luc.’
As Richard said this, he looked at each of the four remaining suspects in turn.
‘But even that list is too long, isn’t it? Because Alain couldn’t have been the killer, could he? I mean, it’s true that he lied to us that his affair with Polly was over when it was nothing of the sort—and he even lied to us about where he was at the time of the murder—but that’s the point, isn’t it? He was elsewhere at the time of the murder. Buying aeroplane tickets. He didn’t kill Polly Carter.’
Alain looked at Richard as though he didn’t quite understand that he’d just been ruled out of the murder inquiry.
‘And then there were three,’ Richard said holding up three fingers. ‘Luc Pichou, Max Brandon, and Juliette Moreau. All three of you arguably benefited from Polly’s death, and not one of you has a proven alibi for the time of murder. But let’s interrogate that statement a bit.’
‘Damned right you should,’ Max interrupted. ‘Because I’m telling you, I didn’t kill her!’
‘And I’m inclined to believe you. Because, even though Polly found out you’d been stealing from her, it’s interesting that she hadn’t told the police yet, isn’t it? Even though we know she found out about your theft some time ago. And you’ve been in Polly’s house for weeks yourself, Max. If your theft had been a big issue for Polly, I think she’d have thrown you out by now—or gone to the police—and the truth of the matter is that she’d done neither of those things. Which rather suggests that maybe you were right. She had forgiven you for the theft. Or had at least told you you could pay the money you stole back as and when you were able to.’
‘Finally!’ Max said. ‘But you’re also forgetting the fact that I was standing at the upstairs landing looking at Sophie in the garden when Polly was killed.’
‘But were you?’
‘Look, I don’t much care what you think, I’m just telling you that that’s where I was standing when Polly was killed, whether or not Sophie or anyone else saw me!’
‘And that’s very much the point, isn’t it?’ Richard agreed. ‘Because although you couldn’t be seen at the window at the time, it didn’t mean you weren’t standing there. But we’ll come back to this in a moment, if that’s okay. Because next I want to look at you, Luc.
Here, Richard turned to face Luc.’
‘And to be honest, it’s never really made much sense that you’d be our killer, Luc. After all, as one of my officers pointed out to me, if it was you who killed Polly, you’d hardly leave a plastic raincoat covered in your fingerprints in a secret hideout right by the scene of the crime.’ As Richard said this, a grin of pride lit up Fidel’s face. ‘And as long as you believed Polly would continue to order her heroin from you, she was worth considerably more to you alive than she was to you dead.
‘Which means—through a process of deduction—that there’s only one person left who could be our killer,’ Richard said, turning with a cold smile to face Juliette. ‘Juliette Moreau.’
Juliette, for her part, was studiously looking at the floor in front of her feet—she was refusing to meet Richard’s gaze.
‘Because there’s no doubting that Polly’s murder—being pushed to her death from a cliff—has always felt like a crime passionel. And, of all the people gathered here, I can’t imagine anyone who hated Polly more than you did. After all, Polly seduced your husband last Christmas. And then, when she came back from rehab in Los Angeles, she seduced him again—or that’s how you viewed it. And let’s be honest, setting a surveillance bug in your employer’s bedroom is hardly the behaviour of a rational person. I can well imagine that killing Polly would be the next logical step for you, once you’d proven to your satisfaction that she and your husband were still carrying on their affair.
‘But here’s what I kept coming up against. Even if you wanted to kill Polly—and I bet you’ve wished her dead often enough in the past—just how did you know that Polly would be on the cliff steps at that precise moment? And I don’t see how you could have got hold of Claire’s mobile phone beforehand to hide it in the chandelier up there, either.’ As Richard said this, he indicated the dusty chandelier directly above their heads. ‘Because, the fact that Claire’s phone ended up hidden in this room that morning has always made it clear to me that, at some level, this murder was pre-meditated. And yet I couldn’t for the life of me work out how you, Juliette, could have possibly known that Polly was even going to go to the cliff top that morning—let alone have known to hide Claire’s mobile in this room beforehand.’
‘Hang on,’ Phil Adams said. ‘Are you saying that Juliette didn’t kill Polly, either?’
‘Yes,’ Richard said, really very pleased with himself. ‘That’s precisely what I’m saying.’
‘You are?’ Juliette asked, finally daring to look at Richard.
‘I am,’ Richard said. ‘You didn’t kill Polly Carter.’
‘Then who did?’ Phil asked.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well,’ Phil continued, not sure if he was about to make a fool of himself or not, ‘you’ve gone around this room and ruled each one of us out one b
y one, so who killed Polly?’
Richard held up a finger to get Phil’s attention.
‘Oh don’t worry,’ he said. ‘The killer’s in this room, you have my word, but I needed to explain the logic of how I finally came to work it out. You see, I couldn’t see how any of you could have been on the cliff steps beforehand, until I identified the one key fact of the whole case. When we pulled Claire’s mobile phone out of the chandelier, it had two sets of fingerprints on it. Claire’s, of course—it was her phone. But it also had fingerprints on it from one other person. Polly herself.
‘I dismissed this fact at the time. After all, it’s hardly surprising to learn that a phone has been handled by the phone owner’s sibling, is it? And instead I continued to presume that the phone had been put in the chandelier by the real killer, who’d had the good sense to be wearing gloves at the time so that his or her fingerprints didn’t get on the phone. But that was to forget Occam’s Razor.’
‘What’s that?’ Alain asked.
‘Well, William of Occam was a Franciscan monk from the thirteenth century, and he came up with the idea that if you ever have a group of competing theories—for example, who put a phone inside a chandelier—and you want to know which of the theories is correct, then, in the absence of any one theory being better than another, you should always choose the one that’s simplest to explain.
‘And when I applied Occam’s Razor to the problem of who put Claire’s phone in the chandelier—seeing as only Claire and Polly’s fingerprints were ever found on it—I realised that I should consider that it was one of Claire or Polly who had hidden the phone in the chandelier on the morning of the murder. And—once again using Occam’s Razor—seeing as it would have been nigh-on impossible for Claire to get the phone into the chandelier—seeing as she’s confined to a wheelchair—it must therefore have been Polly who put it there. And it was when I realised this fact that I decided to apply Occam’s Razor to the whole case. And finally, it started to make sense to me.
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