Once it became apparent that there was nothing left to find on the surface of the water, Richard ordered Camille to drive them back to harbour. When they arrived, Richard saw a small crowd of locals gathered on the quayside. Richard couldn’t imagine why. After all, the explosion had happened hundreds of metres away, there was nothing much for the crowd to see, but then he noticed that everyone seemed to be clustered around one woman in particular.
While Camille tied the boat up, Richard saw the crowd jostle the middle-aged woman forward, and he went to find out what was happening.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you all to move on,’ he announced as he came within earshot. ‘There’s nothing to see here.’
‘But is it true?’ the woman at the front asked.
‘Is what true?’
‘That it was Conrad’s boat?’
‘It’s still early in the investigation.’
‘But was it Conrad’s boat?’ she said again, almost begging.
Before Richard could reply that he couldn’t possibly comment, Camille pushed past him and took the woman’s hands in hers.
‘Natasha,’ she said, ‘I’m so sorry. It was Conrad’s boat.’
‘Detective Sergeant?’ Richard said, irked that Camille had so effortlessly taken control of the situation.
‘Yes, sir?’ Camille replied.
‘You know each other?’
Richard indicated the woman. He could see that she was perhaps in her late forties, and was dressed somewhat dowdily, with a simple skirt, blouse and cardigan.
‘This is Natasha Gardiner,’ Camille said. ‘Conrad Gardiner’s wife.’
‘Oh,’ Richard said. ‘I see.’
‘But it was definitely his boat . . .?’ Natasha asked, her eyes desperate with worry.
‘I’m sorry,’ Camille said. ‘It was.’
‘Then where is he?’
‘We don’t know. But we didn’t see him in the water, so maybe he got away before it happened.’
Richard decided that enough was enough. If it was unprofessional that they should be talking about the incident before they’d even finished their first survey of the scene, it was doubly bad that they’d be doing so in front of a crowd.
‘Perhaps we could have this conversation somewhere a little more private?’ he asked Camille.
‘Good idea,’ Camille agreed. ‘Natasha and Conrad live only a couple of houses away, we can talk there.’
Natasha’s house was precisely the last place on earth Richard wanted to visit, but he couldn’t see a diplomatic way of explaining this to his partner, so he just harrumphed by way of an answer.
‘Good!’ Camille said, and then started to lead Natasha off, telling her how she shouldn’t prejudge the situation, there were a million things that may have happened, and maybe they’d find a very damp and embarrassed Conrad already waiting for them back at her house. This seemed to settle Natasha a little, but it did nothing to improve Richard’s mood as he followed behind.
Natasha’s house was a one-storey bungalow that led directly onto the little beach of Honoré. It had a green and white striped awning out front, and a couple of hanging baskets of flame-red flowers either side of the front door. The inside of the house was just as quaint, with simple furniture, and sea shells arranged on shelves.
‘Now, why don’t I get us all a glass of water,’ Camille said, heading to the sink. ‘And maybe you could tell us a bit about where Conrad was going this morning.’
‘Well, I don’t know. Not exactly. Only that Conrad always goes out fishing every morning.’
‘He’s a fisherman?’ Richard asked.
‘Oh no, he’s a music producer. Or he was for a time.’
‘So what does he do now?’
‘Well . . . you know. This and that. I mean, we don’t need so much money to get by, now we’re older.’
‘But he goes fishing every morning?’
‘Not every morning. Sometimes he doesn’t get up in time. But most days.’
‘And do you ever go out with him?’
‘Me? Oh no, I’m not welcome. You see, Conrad never catches anything much. For him, it’s more about getting away, I think. You know what men are like.’
Natasha addressed this last comment to Camille as she came over with two glasses of water.
‘Here you go,’ Camille said.
‘Thank you,’ Natasha said gratefully as she took her glass. ‘And you think he maybe wasn’t on the boat when it went up like that?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ Camille said.
‘But we can’t really talk about specifics this early in the investigation,’ Richard said. ‘Although you should perhaps know that we found a smear of blood on the one remaining part of the hull we could find.’
‘Oh,’ Natasha said as this information sank in.
‘It may not be blood,’ Camille said with a warning glance at her boss to soften his approach. ‘And even if it is, it’s possible it belongs to someone other than your husband, of course.’
‘But he always goes out on his own. No-one else would have been with him. If you found blood . . .?’
Richard could see tears forming in Natasha’s eyes.
‘Can I ask,’ he said, ‘was your husband’s boat safe?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, are you surprised he had this accident?’
And with that, the tears came.
Richard looked at Camille, partly in helplessness, and partly in irritation. As far as he was concerned, it was entirely his partner’s fault that they now found themselves in this situation. This was far too soon to be talking to a key witness.
For her part, Camille ignored her boss’s disapproval and went and knelt by Natasha.
‘You mustn’t worry. We still don’t know what happened.’
‘But where is he?’
‘We’ll find him. If he’s out there, we’ll find him.’
As Camille continued to console Natasha, Richard realised that he was now something of a spare part to the whole conversation. So he wafted his arms a bit. He didn’t quite know why, but as he did so, he had the flash of a memory of being at college parties where, no matter what room he went into, no-one seemed to want to talk to him. In fact, Richard remembered how college parties had been a type of living hell. They were full of all of the beautiful and confident people, and he’d drift from room to room being roundly ignored. Before his memories spiked too painfully, Richard decided to keep himself busy by poking around.
On a nearby shelf, he found a collection of photos that charted the growth of a young woman from a baby up to the day she graduated from college, a mortar board on her head and a scroll in her hand. This was no doubt Natasha’s daughter. But Richard could also see photos of Natasha and a man he presumed must be Conrad, her husband. The photos were taken at parties, and Natasha and Conrad were laughing or dancing together in all of them. They looked a handsome couple, Richard thought to himself, and he realised he had trouble matching the vivacious young woman in the photos with the older woman he’d just met. But then, he had to remind himself, Natasha had just discovered her husband had possibly recently died.
As for the photos of Conrad, he looked as though he was always having a good time. He was laughing in every photo, or smoking a cigar, or raising a toast with his bottle of beer.
Seeing that Natasha was still crying, Richard slipped into a little corridor that led from the main room. He saw an open door. Telling himself that seeing as Natasha had invited him into her house he didn’t need a warrant, he pushed the door open a bit further, and what he saw inside shocked him.
The room had been trashed, with all its contents tipped over or dashed to the floor. What’s more, Richard could see that the room’s one window had been smashed, and there was a fist-sized chunk of concrete lying in the middle of the glass-strewn rug.
Clearly, someone had thrown the chunk of concrete in through the window, but what had happened next? Had this person then climbed in afte
rwards looking for something? Or had the room been smashed up just for the hell of it?
Richard was about to return to Natasha to find out what she knew about the break-in, when his eye caught something red and shiny sitting in the centre of a small writing desk to the side of the room. Unlike the rest of the furniture, this one table had been left standing. But what was on it?
Richard picked his way across the room until he could see the object more clearly..
It was a ruby.
A big, fat red ruby that was significantly larger than any jewel Richard had ever seen before. In fact, it was so large, Richard knew it couldn’t be real. It must have come from some kind of theatrical costumier’s or joke shop.
But what on earth was a ruby doing in the middle of the desk?
CHAPTER TWO
Richard returned to the main room of the house and explained what he’d just seen.
‘I don’t understand,’ Natasha said. ‘There’s been a break-in?’
‘It’s how it looks,’ Richard said, and then he asked Natasha what the room was usually used for.
‘It’s Conrad’s. His den. It’s where he likes to go. You know, when he wants some peace and quiet.’
‘Then can I ask, have you been in his room today?’
‘No. Conrad doesn’t like me going in there.’
‘Do you recall hearing the sound of glass smashing at all today?’
Natasha rose from her chair.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘If you could just answer the question.’
Natasha looked to Camille for support, and she nodded kindly, which seemed to give her strength.
‘Okay. Well, no, I didn’t hear any glass smashing today.’
‘Thank you. And have you been in the house all day?’
‘I’ve been cross-stitching a kneeler for the church.’ As Natasha said this, she indicated some brightly coloured threads that were piled on an occasional table nearby.
‘I see. You’re involved in the local church?’
‘Of course. Aren’t you?’
Richard didn’t quite know how to reply, if only because he always felt a touch bashful that religion had never quite ‘taken’ for him. As he tried to think of a suitable reply, Camille stepped in.
‘And what church do you belong to?’
‘Father Luc Durant’s. He’s such an impressive priest. Don’t you think?’
Richard had no idea who Father Luc was, but he recognised that he was in danger of losing control of the interview entirely.
‘Then can I ask,’ he said, ‘if you didn’t hear any glass smashing, and you were here all morning, what time did you leave?’
‘How do you mean?’ Natasha asked.
‘Well, we first met you at the harbour. So when did you leave your house for the harbour?’
Natasha frowned as she considered her answer.
‘That’s easy enough to explain. I left when . . . you know, I heard the . . . the boat . . .’
‘You heard the explosion?’
‘Not that I knew what it was. It was just this terrible noise.’
‘What time was this?’
‘It was just after eleven, I think. I was listening to the news on the radio.’
‘And then what did you do?’ he asked.
‘Well, I got on with cross-stitching. I didn’t think it had anything to do with me. But about five minutes later, Morgane Pichou came and knocked on my door. You know Morgane? She runs the tourist centre in Honoré. Anyway, she said she’d been down at the harbour when the explosion happened, and she’d heard that it was Conrad’s boat that had just . . . well, that it had just happened to. I didn’t know what to think. And then my phone rang. It was the harbour master, Philippe. He said I should come down to the harbour at once. There’d been an accident. I still didn’t believe it could be true – I still don’t believe it . . .’
‘So what time did you get down to the harbour?’ Richard asked, aware that Natasha was about to start crying again.
‘I don’t know. Twenty past. Something like that.’
‘And just to be clear, you were definitely in the house the whole morning before the explosion?’
‘Yes.’
Richard paused to collect his thoughts, because this meant that if Natasha could be believed, the break-in must have happened after she’d left her house following the explosion. After all, if it had happened at any time before, she’d surely have heard the glass smashing. But what sort of person would break in to Conrad’s house after his boat had just exploded? Were the two facts connected, or was it just a coincidence?
‘Mrs Gardiner, could you follow me?’ Richard asked, before leading Natasha and Camille into the corridor where Conrad’s room was. As he pushed the door open, Natasha gave a little gasp and her hand shot to her mouth.
‘Is this a surprise to you?’
‘Of course,’ Natasha said, deeply shocked. ‘I mean, Conrad’s not the tidiest person, but he’s not this bad. Everything’s been thrown onto the floor. Hasn’t it? And the window’s been smashed.’
‘I think it was smashed with that piece of concrete there,’ Richard said, indicating the chunk in the middle of the room. ‘Which is why I was asking if you’d heard the sound of any glass smashing today. I think it would have made a considerable noise when that rock came in through the window.’
‘Of course. I didn’t hear any smashing this morning.’
‘Can you see if anything’s been stolen?’
Natasha scanned the room from the doorway.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t say Conrad had anything worth stealing.’
‘Then can you tell me if this belongs to him?’ Richard said, entering the room and going over to the table where the bright red ruby was sitting.
‘What is it?’
‘It looks like a ruby.’
Natasha’s expression of concern briefly froze, and Camille and Richard exchanged a glance – both knowing that the ruby had just registered with her.
‘A what?’ Natasha asked.
‘A ruby,’ he replied.
Natasha didn’t speak for a few moments.
‘Does it mean anything to you?’ Camille asked as kindly as she could.
Natasha seemed to come to a decision.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘But you’re saying it’s a real ruby?’
‘I don’t know,’ Richard said. ‘I doubt it. It would be worth millions.’
‘Then I’ve no idea how that got there,’ Natasha said with finality.
‘Do you think it belongs to your husband?’ Camille asked.
‘Oh no. Where would he get something like that from?’
Richard bent down to give the jewel a good inspection. It lay on its side and was cut so that it was fat at one end but sharpened to a point at the other. Richard could see tiny air bubbles trapped inside, making it clear that it really was just a trinket made of plastic.
‘So you’re saying this jewel doesn’t belong to your husband, and doesn’t belong to you, either?’
‘That’s it exactly,’ Natasha said, happy with Richard’s assessment. ‘I’ve never seen it before in my life.’
‘Then I wonder who put it there?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Don’t you? Only you seemed to recognise it.’
‘I didn’t,’ Natasha said, and Richard could see how sincere she was. ‘I was just surprised. I couldn’t work out what it was doing there.’
‘Which is very much the question, isn’t it? Can you imagine why anyone might have wanted to smash that window there, break in to your house, and then place a paste red ruby on this desk here?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Oh yes. I’ve no idea what it can possibly mean.’
Natasha seemed to have got control of whatever doubts she’d previously had, and Richard could see that he wouldn’t be getting any more from her for the moment.
> ‘Okay, we’ll have to treat this room as a secondary crime scene, so we’ll need to have our officers process it. And we’ll need to take your fingerprints as well, Mrs Gardiner. Just so we can exclude them from whatever we find in this room, of course. And can I ask where we might be able to find sample fingerprints from your husband?’
Natasha looked into the room and indicated a spilled bottle of rum on the floor that was lying next to an old metal tumbler. ‘That’s Conrad’s bottle. And his glass. His fingerprints should be on both of them.’
Richard thanked Natasha for her time and told her they’d update her with news of her husband the moment they had any. In the meantime, she was to wait until one of his officers returned to take her fingerprints and start processing the room.
‘So what do you think of Mrs Gardiner?’ Camille asked as they walked the short distance back to the Police station.
‘I think she’s in shock.’
‘But the ruby didn’t surprise her entirely, did it?’
‘I’d agree with you there, Camille.’
‘So why did she deny all knowledge of it?’
‘Indeed,’ Richard said as he stopped at the bottom of the slope that led up to the Police station. As he did so, he saw two people emerge from the station.
‘Oh no, no, no, no, no, no,’ Richard said, and started racing up the steps two at a time.
Camille had no idea what Richard was doing, but, looking up, she saw that Dwayne was standing on the veranda and was chatting easily to a very attractive blonde woman. Camille smiled to herself. So that’s what had upset her boss.
As for Richard, he was a man on a mission as he strode onto the veranda of the Police station and found Dwayne talking to Amy, the woman who had answered the door that morning wearing only a towel.
‘Officer Myers, what the hell is going on?’
‘Chief?’ Dwayne said, startled by his boss’s sudden arrival.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘How do you mean, “here”? I work here.’
‘But I left you strict instructions to get the remains of the boat to shore. So how come you’ve been inside the station with a civilian?’
Murder in the Caribbean Page 2