by Andre Baby
“We already have. The pathologist’s report is due in a couple days.”
“Any fingerprints?”
“My men dusted the room and found some. They’re being processed through HOLMES 3 at the Yard.”
“But no note.”
“None.”
Dulac felt a growing sense of disquiet. Seemingly sensing Dulac’s uneasiness, Simeon spoke. “Believe me, we’ve seen many suicide cases without notes.”
“You mentioned that the butler gave Bolding a drink, a scotch I believe?”
“Yes, they found the glass empty. We’re checking for prints. The results will be in the forensics preliminary report.”
“When would that be available?”
“Our people are pretty quick.”
“I’d much appreciate a copy.”
Clearly impatient, Simeon sucked in a deep breath of air. “We’ll see.”
At that moment, they heard a disturbance outside the room, the sound of two voices quarrelling heatedly. Simeon walked to the door and swung it open to find the butler in an intense argument with one of the maids.
“I’m not accusing you, Anna,” said Higgins. “You simply must have misplaced it.”
“Begging your pardon sir, but I didn’t. It just wasn’t there this morning.”
“It couldn’t have just disappeared, now could it, Anna?”
“Excuse me.” Simeon looked at Higgins. “Mind telling me what this is all about?”
“Oh, it’s nothing sir,” said Higgins. “Just something missing from Sir Adrian’s, I mean the late Sir Adrian’s music room.”
“And what would that be?”
“A cushion,” said Higgins. “There’s usually a small mauve cushion on that chair over there. Sir Adrian uses it for the small of his back. We can’t seem to locate it. It’s a trivial thing but you did ask me to let you know if anything was missing.”
Simeon looked at the maid. “Let me know when you find it.” He turned to Dulac. “ Is there anything else?”
“Not really. At least for the moment.”
“Fine. I’ll get one of my men to drive you to the station. What time is your train?”
“I’ll be sticking around. I’ve booked a room at the Devonshire Hotel. I’ve got work to catch up on.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll have one of my men drop you off.”
“Much appreciated.” Dulac handed him his card. “Let me know the results of the prelim.”
Chapter 60
Southampton, the Devonshire Hotel
The following morning, Dulac sat in the hotel’s breakfast room and chewed on a cardboard-tasting croissant while sipping a tepid coffee. Hs cell rang. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Dulac.”
“Simeon here. Wanted to catch you before you left for London.”
“Actually I was on my way to P & W.”
“Something in the prelim I thought might interest you.”
Simeon paused, as though to heighten the dramatic effect.
Dulac took the bait. “And what may that be?”
“The coroner. He found no traces of gunpowder on Bolding’s right temple. None whatsoever.”
“Interesting.”
“But he did find something else.”
“Don’t tell me. Bits of cloth or duvet.”
“Microfibers. How did you know that?”
“Presumably from the missing mauve pillow. Did you find it?”
“Negative. Our men searched the whole house this morning. There’s more.”
“Always is.”
“Our people looked at the glass, the one Bolding was drinking from.”
“And?”
“There are no prints on it. Not even Bolding’s.”
Long pause.
“I’ll be right over,” said Dulac.
* * *
Dulac entered the hall and went directly to the music room. He smiled at the bobby standing guard at the entrance. Simeon walked to and fro in front of the sofa, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped and faced Dulac. “Seems we might have been a bit hasty on the suicide front.”
Dulac smiled and tried not to appear smug.
“Before you ask, we questioned the butler and the chambermaid, and they swear they didn’t touch the glass in the music room, never mind wipe it clean.”
“Did the butler wear gloves when he served Bolding?”
“Says he did, as usual.”
Dulac frowned, then looked at the French doors.
“Listen Dulac, I know you’ve been thinking this wasn’t suicide from the start.”
“Never said that.”
“But you’ve been thinking it. That guess about the pillow—”
“Under the circumstances of there being no gun powder residue on Bolding’s temple and there being a missing sofa pillow, it’s not much of a guess. You have to admit it changes the picture somewhat. Besides, I haven’t heard of many cases where the suicidal person takes the precaution of trying to muffle the sound of his gun. Have you?”
Embarrassed, Simeon walked to the far side of the room and stood in front of the French doors. “Still begs the question, though. How the hell could the murderer, if there was one, have gotten back out and locked these doors from the inside?”
“I’ve been giving that some thought.” Dulac turned to the bobby, now standing next to Simeon. “Think you could get me some string, or a piece of wire?”
The bobby looked at Simeon, who nodded his approval.
Moments later, the policeman returned with Higgins, the butler. “I use this to hang pictures,” said Higgins, handing a piece of wire to Dulac.
Dulac went to the French doors. He tried inserting the wire between them. “Doesn’t fit,” said Dulac. “String won’t either. The space is too small.”
“So much for that theory, said Simeon.
“May I go now, sir?” Higgins asked Simeon.
“Yes, that’s all for now, I suppose. Unless Mr. Dulac can think of anything?”
Dulac didn’t react, and Higgins started to leave. He was at the doorway when Dulac shouted. “Floss!”
Higgins turned back to Dulac. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Get me some dental floss.”
Higgins nodded politely. “Yes sir.” Moments later, Higgins arrived with a plastic dispenser of dental floss and gave it to Dulac.
Dulac cut two long strands of floss and handed the dispenser back to Higgins. Simeon, the bobby and Higgins looked on.
“Showtime.” Dulac walked to the French doors. He stuffed the strands of floss in his pocket and took a credit card out of his wallet. He opened the doors and a gust of fresh morning air invaded the room.
“Close and lock the doors behind me,” Dulac instructed. He he stepped out onto the patio.
Simeon complied. Dulac took his credit card and inserted it between the doors below the top latch. He struggled at first, wiggling the card upwards, but the latch finally turned. The bottom latch was easier. Dulac opened the doors and entered.
“Step one,” he said. “Step two: killer goes to the desk and takes the .38.”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Simeon. “How does he know Bolding even has a gun, never mind where he keeps it?”
“He either knows Bolding well enough, or somehow he has access to the gun registry. Even if he doesn’t know where Bolding keeps it, where else would you keep a short-nosed .38 and have quick access to it yet have the possession of it remain hidden? There’re only two places, his office desk or the bedroom, and the bedroom’s more subject to discovery by the maids and other staff. In this case, the killer guessed right. If he hadn’t, I’m quite sure he had a plan B.”
“All right, so he’s in the room. He gets the pillow, then he hides behind say, the curtains over there.” Simeon pointed to the drapes. “Then Bolding sits down and—”
“Bolding doesn’t have his drink right away,” said Dulac. “Instead, he puts the music on, then goes to the sofa.”
“Then
the killer sneaks up behind him, puts the pillow to Bolding’s right temple and fires.”
“Something like that, except the killer makes his first mistake. When I was at Bolding’s office the other day, I saw him sign documents as I walked in.”
“So?”
“He was left handed.”
“Crikey!” Simeon turned to the plain clothes policeman. “And we didn’t pick that up?”
The man’s face turned crimson with embarrassment.
“The killer then makes his second mistake,” said Dulac. “After he shoots Bolding, he sees the glass of scotch, and can’t help himself. His mission successfully accomplished, he figures he has time for a quick drink, since Bolding hasn’t touched it. So the killer downs the scotch.”
“Therefore no prints on the glass, since he’s surely wearing gloves,” said Simeon.
“Exactly,” said Dulac. “Now comes the tricky part. He must get out and preserve the illusion of suicide by locking the doors.”
Dulac walked to the French doors, opened the door the levers were attached to, and pulled out the two lengths of dental floss from his pocket. He wound one around the knob of the top lever, then the other around the bottom one, leading the ends of the floss outside along the edge of the open door. Still holding onto the lengths of floss, he went outside, carefully closing the door behind him, the thin floss fitting between the closed doors.
He started lifting the top length of floss on the top latch upwards. The latch rose, then with a quick snap, Dulac lifted it all the way. The latch completed a semicircular arc around its pivot and fell into its u-shaped receptacle on the adjoining door.
“Voilà!” Dulac repeated the procedure on the bottom latch, then pulled the floss clear.
After Simeon unlocked the doors, Dulac walked in, not bothering to hide his air of triumph.
“Incredibly simple,” said Simeon.
“And effective.”
Simeon turned to the bobby and the plainclothesman. “We’ll be keeping a lid on this for the moment, do I make myself clear? And as for you, Mr. Higgins, I’d appreciate your cooperation with keeping this little discovery strictly between the people in this room. The longer the assassin thinks he got away with this, the better.”
All three men nodded.
“Shall I call the forensics people to have another look around the grounds, sir?” the plainclothesman asked Simeon.
“Call Morehouse. Tell him to bring Jenkins. I want this place gone over with a goddam microscope.” Simeon turned to Dulac. “Any ideas on the killer’s motive?”
“Nothing firm, no,” said Dulac.
“Care to share your thoughts?”
“Not yet.”
Chapter 61
The Devonshire Hotel
Dulac was on his way up to his hotel room when his cell rang. Dulac recognized the number. It was Wade.
“Simeon filled me in. Nice work. I have a bit of news myself. We picked up Singh. He was trying to board the Dover ferry. Thought you might be interested.”
“I’m on my way.”
Dulac packed his bag, paid the bill and grabbed a taxi to Southampton Central. Moments later, ticket in hand, he was waiting on Platform 3 B for the London –Waterloo Station express to arrive. He grabbed his cell and dialed Lescop’s number.
“Lescop.”
“It’s me. Wade’s men have picked up Singh. I’m on my way to the Yard right now. Any news on Mirolet?”
“Not much. We’ve only been able to break through the first layer. Five owners, all numbered companies, all incorporated in Zurich. Beyond that, we can’t pierce the corporate veil, so to speak, without furnishing proof of a major crime to the Swiss.”
“Great. Just pissing great. Anything on the ownership of the unregistered phone?”
“I spoke to Gina and our guys downstairs last night. They don’t dare try any harder to break through MI-6’s firewall. They say it’s too risky. Might show up on their screens. If it does, we’ll have a major diplomatic row.”
“Damn. On another subject, remind me again. The cross-default clause on P & W’s ships’ insurance policy was triggered by the non-payment of which policy?”
“The building policy.”
“And the payment was withheld on Bolding’s instructions?”
“The cheque had been issued by accounting, but was actually stopped by Mills, the CFO. If you recall, he and Bolding said there was a cash flow problem. We have no evidence that Mills acted under Bolding’s instructions.”
“Makes sense.”
“What?”
“Never mind. My train just arrived. Talk to you later.”
* * *
Two hours and ten minutes later, Dulac stood in front of Wade’s closed office door. He knocked.
“Come in,” said Wade.
Wade was sitting at his desk, busily typing on his computer when Dulac walked in. Wade rose slightly and extended a moist right hand across his desk. Dulac shook it reluctantly.
“Where is Singh?” said Dulac.
“He’s in a holding cell downstairs,” said Wade. “Claims he left P & W two weeks ago because he was having a nervous breakdown. He’s been seeing a doctor Dagmar Dokkar. A few days ago, this doctor conveniently recommended Singh take a vacation. Apparently that’s when he decided to leave for France.”
“Yes, very convenient.”
“Under the Antiterrorist Act, we can only hold him for one more hour. He’s called his barrister.”
“Let me take a crack at him,” said Dulac.
“Be my guest.”
They took the elevator down. Accompanied by two constables, Wade led Dulac along a narrow corridor, lined on both sides with the heavy metal doors of the holding cells. Near the end, they stopped and a constable unlocked the door of Cell 15.
Dulac entered the small room, where a tall, middle-aged, bearded man wearing a white turban walked back and forth nervously behind a small table. A wooden chair was set in front of the table. The man stopped and looked at Dulac with suspicion.
“Interpol. My name is Dulac. Mind if I sit down?”
“I want my solicitor. You have no grounds to keep me here.” Singh thrust his chin forward in defiance.
“We’ll see about that. So you were sick?”
“I have a medical certificate to prove it.” Singh started pacing to and fro again.
“Supposedly. You must admit it’s a hell of a coincidence that you fall sick just as the people you hired happen to hijack the Caravan Star. While your solicitor’s on the way, let’s chat about P & W, shall we? You’re aware that Sir Adrian Bolding was murdered?”
Singh stopped pacing and looked at Dulac. “Murdered? The TV said it was suicide.”
“That’s what the assassin wants us to think. Obviously, Bolding wasn’t playing ball, as the Americans say.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you don’t. Does the name Leon Binagro mean anything to you?”
Singh shrugged his shoulders and resumed his walking.
“How about Henri Messier? His name ring a bell?”
“Never heard those names before.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Except they’re both dead now also. Murdered.” Singh stopped, and Dulac noticed a small twitch in the right corner of Singh’s mouth. “When was the last time you saw Allister Mills?”
“I suppose before I left P & W. Two weeks ago.”
“About the same time Mirolet was incorporated?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t. Probably don’t know Andrew Toombs either.”
“I’m not talking until I see my solicitor.” Singh stopped pacing. He crossed his arms against his chest and leaned against the wall, facing Dulac.
“Of course. Let me do the talking for now.” Dulac dropped his fists down onto the table and rose. He leaned across and locked his stare onto Singh. “Let me tell you a story, a story of what I think happened. You are,
or were, a security officer at P & W, but you are also a member of the Baluchistan Tigers, with whom you have a dormant relationship.”
“Nonsense.”
“You, the Tigers and their accomplices have been planning the hijack for some time, carefully replacing the Caravan Star’s security officers. That would have been key to the operation to control the passengers. You had to do this gradually, lest you attract unnecessary attention and someone started to get suspicious. Your plan was just about complete when Allister Mills mentions that the company is in trouble during a corporate meeting of you were attending with your fellow officers,. In fact, P & W’s been edging closer and closer to bankruptcy. This threw a wrench in your hijacker friends’ plans. When you told them this, they realized they had to act before P & W did in fact go bankrupt and you lost your privileged position at P & W. Out of a job, you’d have beenre useless to the Tigers and their accomplices. Besides, in the event of foreclosure, there’d be a strong chance the ships would be seized. You couldn’t afford to wait.The hijacking had to go forward.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh really? Then tell me how it happened that at the time of the hijacking, all the security officers aboard the Star were Baluchistan Tigers? You were responsible for hiring them, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t check what province in Pakistan they were from. There are many other Pakistanis aboard P & W ships fulfilling many other functions. I don’t choose personnel based on race or nationality. That would be against the law.”
“And you wouldn’t do anything illegal, of course. So to continue, your accomplices still needed some vital info to control the ship, such as the ship’s detailed schematics, and only a few senior officers such as Mills and Owens, the VP Ops, had that info. But you happened to know that Mills has an extravagant lifestyle. When I reviewed his file recently, his credit rating was triple C. Not good for a VP Finance. I found that he applied to P W for a loan, presumably to cover his debts. But now that the company is in financial difficulty, you and he knew there was no way the Board of Directors would approve that loan. So you saw a potential ally in Mills, because desperate men do desperate things. Plus, if P & W went bankrupt, Mills would be out of a job, too, with no chance to pay back his debts. Some of his creditors wouldn’t have taken too kindly to his defaulting. But Mills knew there was one way to make money on P& W’s demise, by selling some of its stock short.But Mills is a drowning man, he hasn’t got enough money to make that option work, either. That’s when you decide to throw him a lifejacket, but first you have to talk to the others.”