The Eulalie Park Mysteries Box Set 1

by Fiona Snyckers

  “You’ve been running to Daddy, have you? And Daddy said I must give you the file? Well, you can both go and get…”

  It seemed to Detective Wright as though she flickered for an instant. He had never seen anyone move that fast. The next moment, she was standing in front of him holding a green file.

  “Manilow.” Eulalie held the file sideways to see the tab. “Yes, this is the one. I’m much obliged to you, Detective Wright.”

  “Give that back, bitch.” He lunged at her. She avoided him effortlessly.

  “I’ll put it back in your pigeon hole when I’m done with it.”

  “Come here, you!” He rounded his desk and charged at her. It felt as though she was already sidestepping him before he could reach her. He couldn’t lay a hand on her. His colleagues were starting to laugh.

  “This intradepartmental cooperation is appreciated, Detective.” Eulalie blew him a kiss and left the bullpen. She could hear him still roaring and raging behind her.

  She decided to copy the file at her own office rather than here in the department. Her continued presence would only enrage him.

  There was a certain kind of alpha male bully that had reacted badly to her throughout her life. Even before she had said or done anything, they disliked her. Normally, she tried to defuse these situations, because the very nature of her business relied on the cooperation of others. She had let Detective Wright get under her skin.

  It was probably because he had used the M-word. ‘Monkey’ was the nickname the bullies had given her when she had joined Queen’s Town Middle School at the age of twelve. It had upset her then, and clearly still had the power to upset her now. It was depressing to realize that she hadn’t outgrown her childhood sensitivities.

  As Eulalie stepped out into the sunshine, her optimism reasserted itself. At least she had the Manilow file. She would ask Mrs. Belfast to make a copy of it and also to return it to the police department. She would enjoy that. As former administrator of the department, Mrs. Belfast still had many friends there and liked dropping in to visit. They all missed her.

  It was early afternoon. If she read the file quickly, Eulalie thought she might be able to fit in an interview that afternoon. The file was strangely thin for such a high-profile investigation.

  Eulalie got back to the office to find it full of ant traps. But these were small and green, with the words ‘Environment-friendly’ written on them. They were nothing at all like the red thing she had seen next to Mrs. Belfast’s desk. The thing that had looked very much like a bowl.

  She glanced at her secretary, but Mrs. Belfast’s cat’s-eye glasses caught the afternoon light and reflected blankness back at Eulalie. It was impossible to read her expression.

  Later, when Mrs. Belfast went to return the file to the police station, Eulalie had a quick look around her desk. The red plastic thing was gone.

  “Hmm.”

  She went back to her desk to carry on reading the file. The two detectives who had worked on the Jessica Manilow disappearance were called Chief Elsberg and Detective Reinard. Chief Elsberg had been Chief Macgregor’s predecessor. Officially, he had taken early retirement, but unofficially he had been fired for incompetence and corruption. Eulalie didn’t know much about Detective Reinard, except that he was no longer with the Queen’s Town Police Department.

  She had to admit that they had done a reasonable investigation, at least on the surface. They had interviewed the three boys and everyone they had come into contact with on their return from Monk’s Cay. They had also spoken to everyone - mostly bartenders - who had seen the four students before they headed off to Monk’s Cay. All of these interviews were included in the file, either typed or handwritten by Chief Elsberg.

  The speedboat the students had stolen had been meticulously swept by crime scene technicians. Their report was included in the file, and the original evidence should still be available in lock-up, provided it hadn’t been lost.

  Elsberg and Reinard had made the trip out to Monk’s Cay, where they noted signs of a camp fire on the beach, as well as a wooded area where the students had apparently torn off dry brush for their fire. The waves had obliterated footprints below the tide line, and the wind had obscured those above the tide line. Still, the two officers had been able to identify areas of churned up sand which seemed to suggest someone running or possibly struggling with something. These had been duly photographed and included in the file.

  Attempts had been made to trace Jessica’s family in Ohio. The officers had contacted the university to let them know what had happened. The detectives had conducted Skype interviews with two girls who had been identified as particular friends of Jessica’s from Ohio State. Both had been too tearful and upset to be of any help. It was clear to everyone that Jessica’s disappearance had nothing to do with her life in college.

  Detective Reinard had managed to turn up a second cousin once removed living in rural Idaho. The woman claimed to have met Jessica’s mother years earlier, and to have been aware of her death. She said she had never met Jessica, but expressed dismay at her disappearance, and promised to update the family tree in their Bible should she turn out to be dead.

  The American connection led to nothing but dead ends.

  All in all, the investigation had not been terrible. Elsberg and Reinard had gone through the motions and left behind a respectable record of their efforts. But there had been no follow-up of interviews, and no attempt to answer the many questions left dangling by their investigation. The file had been moved from current to open-unsolved just three months after Jessica’s disappearance. After that, as far as Eulalie could tell, it hadn’t been touched again until Chief Macgregor decided to dole out cold cases to his officers for investigation during their quiet moments.

  Eulalie made a note of all the loose threads and unanswered questions and compiled her to-do list accordingly.

  When Mrs. Belfast returned to the office, Eulalie dictated a progress report for Nancy Shrike detailing the areas of investigation she had identified and her plan of action for following up on them. Mrs. Belfast wrote everything down in shorthand and would type it up later. She would email the report to Nancy Shrike, and drop off a physical copy at the youth hostel on her way home.

  The first person Eulalie wanted to speak to was the security guard at the marina who had noticed the theft of the motorboat and reported it to the harbormaster’s office. According to media reports, the guard had notified the harbormaster immediately that a boat had been taken. But others had noticed a disturbance at the marina at five past ten on the night of Friday the fifteenth, and the stolen motorboat was only reported at eleven-thirty.

  Eulalie knew that the yacht club marina was a twenty-minute walk from the harbormaster’s office. Or it was a thirty-second phone call away. Whichever way you looked at it, a delay of one hour and twenty-five minutes cried out for explanation.

  She phoned the yacht club to confirm that the security guard – Raimond Augustin – still worked there. She was told that he would be coming on shift at four that afternoon.

  Eulalie freshened her makeup and put on a smarter jacket. Then she took the Vespa out to the yacht club.

  The Cinq Bay Yacht Club was one of the most exclusive institutions in Queen’s Town. It offered berthing facilities to some of the world’s wealthiest billionaire playboys. The elite families of Queen’s Town – those that had their homes in the suburb of Edward Heights – used the yacht club as their own personal playground. Twenty-first birthday parties, weddings, anniversary celebrations, and important client dinners were held there. There was dinner and dancing every Saturday night, and those sessions were always well attended.

  Eulalie’s grandmother, Angel de la Cour was a member in good standing. She had offered to sponsor her granddaughter’s membership, but Eulalie declined. She had been to the club a few times as her grandmother’s guest and had found the atmosphere to be stuffy and overly formal.

  “Bonne après-midi, Renoir,” she greeted the el
derly French doorman.

  “Bonne après-midi, Mademoiselle Park. Are you and Madame de la Cour joining us this afternoon?”

  “No, it’s just me, and I’m not here to socialize. I need to interview Raimond Augustin, the security guard. He was working the night of the disappearance of Jessica Manilow.”

  The doorman’s face settled into lines of disapproval. “I remember it well. That matter was not well handled. Not at all.”

  “What should have been done differently?”

  “Those students could have been intercepted on their way to Monk’s Cay if the harbormaster’s office had reacted sooner.”

  “But where did the problem lie - with how quickly they reacted, or how quickly they were notified?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that the harbormaster’s boat is a powerful vessel. It could have overtaken that little motorboat quickly. All four students would be alive today if that had happened.”

  “You were working that night, weren’t you?”

  “I was indeed. There are those of us who prefer the four to midnight shift. The tips are better and it’s a convenient time.”

  “You were one of the people who heard the disturbance down at the marina when the boat was being taken out.”

  “That’s right. It is a lasting regret to me that I didn’t phone the harbormaster’s office myself. But I thought Raimond had the situation in hand.”

  “What exactly did you see or hear?”

  Renoir gestured to his left. “You see how close we are to the marina?”

  Because of the curve of the bay, the entrance to the yacht club was just a few hundred feet from the part of the marina where small motorboats were berthed. As you rounded the curve of the bay, the berths became bigger and bigger, until you reached those in deep water that could accommodate the giant yachts of the billionaire playboys.

  The marina was lovely in the late-afternoon sunlight. There were sailboats as well as motorboats bobbing in the water, attached to the piers and jetties that protruded into the bay. It was a peaceful, privileged scene. It was hard to imagine anything bad ever happening there.

  “I heard talking and laughing,” said Renoir. “That’s not unusual. The marina is a popular place for nighttime walks. I saw a light bobbing about, as though someone were carrying a flashlight. Then I heard a motor starting up. It didn’t start smoothly. Someone was struggling to get it to fire. That’s when I knew something was up. When kids hotwire the boats, it makes that noise. I was about to radio to the guardhouse, when I heard shouting. Someone in a guard’s uniform ran down to the marina.”

  “Was it Raimond?”

  “I thought it was because of his build. We heard a lot of squealing and laughing. Then everything went quiet and I assumed Raimond was handling it. I didn’t think about it again until the next day when I heard what had happened.”

  “Thanks, Renoir. I’ll go down to the boathouse now and see if I can find Raimond.”

  He gave her a gracious smile. “You come for lunch one Sunday with your grandmère. I’ll make sure you get good seats in the dining room.”

  Eulalie thanked him and strolled down to the marina. A queue at the boathouse indicated that the rental business was as brisk as ever. Inexperienced sailors could hire a staff member to take them sailing. Kayaks, SUPs and pedalos were also popular options.

  Eulalie spotted Raimond patrolling the boardwalk. Renoir was right – his stocky build made him a recognizable silhouette. She introduced herself and told him she was investigating the disappearance of Jessica Manilow.

  The moment she said the missing girl’s name, his manner became hostile.

  “What is this?” he demanded. “After all this time, why now? I answered the same questions over and over again five years ago. Why do you come here to stir it all up again?”

  “Jessica Manilow has never been found, sir. There are people who care what happened to her, who wonder if she could still be alive somewhere. Surely it is worth stirring everything up for that reason?”

  The guard shook his head. “Not after all this time. It’s impossible. She has been dead for five years.”

  “Then where is the harm in talking about it?”

  “The harm!” He threw up his hands. “I’ll tell you the harm. The harm is that you people think it is my fault that girl died.”

  Chapter 4

  Eulalie led the security guard to a bench and persuaded him to sit down.

  “Nobody is trying to pin anything on you. I’m just looking for information. This isn’t a police investigation.”

  “You’ll stir things up,” he said. “They’ll come after me again. The police. The media. The harbormaster.”

  “It was five years ago. It’s too long ago for them to come after you now.”

  “Never. They’ll never stop coming after me.”

  “Listen to me, Mr. Augustin. There is no way you can be held responsible for that girl’s death. The chain of causation has been broken. There were too many intervening factors. Like the boys who left her behind on the island. Not to mention whoever attacked them.”

  “Or whatever…”

  “Or whatever. The point is that no one can say Jessica Manilow died because of something you did or didn’t do.”

  “It’s not only that. The harbor code…”

  “I looked into it. Section 24A of the harbor code states that anyone noticing a craft behaving dangerously or erratically within the limits of the port authority is obliged to report it timeously to the harbormaster’s office.”

  “Exactly!” he wailed.

  “But there is also a statute of limitations on certain sections of the harbor code, and section 24 is one of those. Any charges relating to a violation of section 24 have to be brought within four years of the offence, or they expire. It’s now five years later. You’re safe.”

  It seemed as though she was getting through to him, but he shook his head again. “My job. I don’t want to lose my job. I can’t afford to lose it.”

  Eulalie had to stuff down her irritation. A girl was missing, presumed dead, and all he could think about was how it affected him. She kept her tone patient.

  “Look, I don’t think the yacht club is going to fire you for something that happened five years ago. They must already be aware that there was a delay in reporting the incident. I’m not going to tell on you. I’m just trying to do my job, which is finding answers for my client.”

  Augustin nodded. “Okay. Ask me what you want. I might answer.”

  “The night those kids stole the motorboat – it wasn’t the first time it had happened, was it?”

  Eulalie knew she had guessed right when she saw his face contort.

  “Every week!” he said. “Every week, a bunch of snot-nosed brats would come down here and try to steal one of the boats. It was like they were playing a game with me. They were always drunk and laughing. Most of the time I managed to stop them, but sometimes they would get away with a boat. Then I would have to call the harbormaster and a boat would go out to rescue the entitled little pigs. All that time and trouble and manpower and fuel because of some drunk rich kids. It made my insides boil to think about it.”

  “Spring break must have been the worst.”

  “It was. Suddenly the local brats had American friends to impress. That made them worse than ever. Some days there would be two attempts in a night. I was run off my feet trying to stop the idiots from endangering themselves.”

  “And that night – the fifteenth of April – you didn’t manage to stop them. They got away with a boat.”

  “They tricked me. One of them caused a disturbance up at the boat house. When I went to investigate that, I heard them trying to start an outboard motor. I ran down to the marina as fast as I could, but they got away.”

  “What happened next, Mr. Augustin? Remember, I’m not here to judge you.”

  “I was so angry I wanted to resign from my job. But I couldn’t afford it then and I can’t afford it now. They were runni
ng without lights in a busy harbor. I knew they were either heading for one of the cays or going for a joyride around the harbor. I wanted to teach them a lesson. I wanted them to get properly lost in the dark, so they would get a fright and never do such a thing again. I wasn’t going to report the incident at all.”

  “And then?”

  “I thought better of it. I imagined them drifting out to sea or colliding with a vessel in the dark. I saw lights flashing out to sea and thought they might have run into trouble. I called the harbormaster and reported it. I made it sound as though it had just happened.”

  “What kind of lights?”

  “I don’t know. Red flashes. Like a warning.”

  “What do you think it was?”

  “They probably got flashed by another boat.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t regret what I did. I’m sorry that girl died, but it served them all right. They were stupid, and they got what was coming to them. Ever since then, I don’t get half so many kids bothering me at night. My life is much more peaceful now.”

  As Eulalie got back to town, the sun was setting fast. There were no lingering sunsets on the eastern side of Prince William Island. One moment the sun was there, and the next it was gone, dropping behind the cliffs like a stone.

  When the sun disappeared, the intense heat of the day did too, leaving the air warm and pleasant against the skin. On either side of Lafayette Drive, there were tree-lined boulevards for pedestrians. Soon the fairy lights that were strung between the trees would twinkle on and Queen’s Town would move into evening mode. The sidewalk cafes would advertise happy hour, and the tourists would warm up for a festive evening.

  Snatches of French Creole music spilled onto the sidewalks from the little cafes.

  It was hard to believe that Queen’s Town had been battered by a tropical cyclone just weeks earlier. Normally, debris littered the streets for ages afterwards. The fact that everything had been cleaned up and repaired within days was thanks to Chief Macgregor. He had hauled Queen’s Town’s emergency response services into the twenty-first century. Everything looked as good as new.