Murder in the Caribbean. Robert Thorogood

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      ‘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 afterwards 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 СКАЧАТЬ