by Sue Nicholls
Kitty cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted across to him, ‘Are you Jean, who used to work at Le Chamarel?’
He rose, calling, ‘Oui Mademoiselle,’ and beckoned them over.
His hand was dry and hard in Kitty’s, with crooked, rheumatic fingers. After saying, ‘Enchantée,’ Kitty lapsed into slow English. ‘Please forgive me for me interrupting your evening, I’ll try not to keep you long. My name is Kitty Thomas. My mother, Fee, was murdered on the cliff outside Le Chamarel in 1996.’
Jean studied Kitty. ‘I see the resemblance,’ he bellowed over the noise. ‘You are like your mother.’ His eyes twinkled, ‘Apart from your nose ring and tattoo.’ At her wan smile, he was quick to apologise. ‘This must be difficult for you.’ He turned to his cronies and said something in French then took Kitty’s elbow and steered her towards the bar. Leaning across the counter he had a brief word with the owner, and pointed at a door to the rear. He put his mouth to her ear. ‘We can go upstairs and talk in private,’ he said, releasing a powerful blast of garlic.
Kitty nodded, and the three struggled between tables to reach the door. At the top of a short, narrow staircase was a studio flat, which Kitty assumed to be the home of the bar owner or one of his staff. Jean gestured to a couch and pulled up a metal chair from the small table. ‘How can I ‘elp you? It was a very long time ago, vous savez?’
Kitty spoke as succinctly as she could. ‘It was, but they have released the murderer and he is still protesting his innocence. Nobody from Mauritius was at his trial in the UK, so I am hoping to uncover something that might add to the evidence against him.’
‘I see.’ The old man tipped his head to one side, ‘Well, I think I can help you there. The correct man was certainly imprisoned. My friend downstairs, Jerome, he saw the entire thing from his fishing boat.’
To find a witness this early in their trip was beyond Kitty’s craziest dreams.
‘Why didn’t he come forward at the time?’ Sam demanded.
Jean winked. ‘Jerome is not a fan of the police. His fishing boat does not always carry only fish.’
Kitty found her voice again. ‘Can we speak to him - find out what he saw?’
Jean nodded. ‘I think so.’ Jean rose. ‘I will send him up. When you have what you need, come back and drink with us. You will need it by then, I think.’
Soon, a fresh pair of feet banged up the stairs and an ancient face with skin like a dried date blinked at them in the room's brightness. Jerome broke into a wide smile, exposing large, yellow teeth. His muscular thighs strained against the fabric of his trousers, which was, in common with the rest of his garb, inappropriate, youthful denim.
‘Bonjour Monsieur, Ma’m’selle.’ He almost genuflected to Kitty. ‘Excusez moi, je ne parle pas beaucoup d’Anglaise.’
Kitty dropped into schoolgirl French, and Sam watched, uncomprehending as they found their way through a conversation that seemed to please Kitty. She turned to him and continued to talk to him in French, forgetting he did not understand. He gave a Gallic shrug, and Kitty looked at the ceiling with a smile and reverted to English. ‘There’s no doubt it was Max. Jerome says he was fishing off the coast and saw him push Mum. He is sure it was the right man because his picture was on the front page of the local paper the next day.’ Her body slumped with relief. ‘I didn’t expect to find a witness.’
Sam reached across and gave her a squeeze. ‘Good news for us both.’ He looked at Jerome. ‘Merci beaucoup,’ he said, with a wide smile, nodding several times to convey his appreciation.
Kitty asked for a description of her mother, what she wore, how she seemed, and her position on the cliff, but aside from saying she was seated with her legs hanging over the ledge when Max pushed her, Jerome remembered nothing. As soon as he had seen Fee fall, he made his escape, not wishing to draw the attention of the gendarmes.
When they ran out of questions, Jerome beamed and rose to his feet and gestured towards the stairs, saying, ‘Allons-y.’
In the bar, the group of old men, amid much arguing and jostling, widened their circle to let Kitty and Sam in. The barman was called to bring more drinks.
Sam knocked back a neat rum and grinned at his rollicking companions. He was reeling at their luck. A witness turning up so unexpectedly was worth raising a glass to. Another rum landed before him on the table, and soon the room was a blur of noise and faces.
A phone rang somewhere and Kitty’s voice, loud with alcohol, said, ‘Hello?’ For a moment, her face wore a broad smile, then she put her hand over the other ear and frowned. ‘Sorry, it’s noisy here. Would you repeat that?’ She listened, her eyes on Sam, and said, ‘Okay. Thanks a lot, Lisa. I owe you one.’
Sam raised his eyebrows.
‘It’s been lovely, everyone.’ Kitty stood up, pushing her chair backwards on the vinyl floor. ‘But I’m afraid something has come up and we need to go.’
There was a chorus of regret and Jean said, ‘Sit. Nothing can be so urgent.’
‘We’d love to, Jean, but this is truly important. Maybe we can come back before we return home.’
They exchanged contact details, and she strode to the door with Sam following her in a haze of intoxication. On the street, they sheltered against the wall of the bar as a boisterous crowd streamed past.
‘What was that about?’ Sam asked.
‘It was my forensic friend, Lisa, about the green stuff.’ She took a breath and frowned in confusion. ‘It came from Little Calum Lake.’
‘God.’ Sam shook his head from side to side. ‘I need coffee - or water. Let’s sit somewhere quieter. They dropped into a small supermarket and bought bottles of water and a packet of cakes to soak up the alcohol, then walked in silence back to their guest house. In Kitty’s room, they sat on the bed, their shoulders touching, and drank the water while shovelling down cake. After a few minutes, Sam was more clear-headed. ‘So, the trolley in the park was used to…,’ he hesitated, ‘To do what? Could it be a coincidence about the lake?’
Kitty shook her head, ‘No, I don’t believe in coincidences. That trolley was used in the murder of your mum. Of that I’m certain.’
Sam flinched at her blunt words, but his heart told him she was right. In a low voice he said, ‘Max must have buried it there.’ He did not wish to think about the purpose of the trolley.
It would be difficult to prove. We can’t tell how long it was there for. Lisa said she wouldn’t be able to date it, other than a rough estimate based on its state, but even that would be conjecture. It was wrapped in plastic, and we have no idea when it came to the surface. Basically, we have nothing.’
Sam thought for a moment. ‘Did she get fingerprints from the plastic?’
‘I doubt it, or she would have said.’ Kitty pulled out her phone, ‘I’ll text her.’
Sam sat in silence, then said, ‘It looks as though we might be finished here and with this trolley turning up, I think we should get back to asking questions nearer to home.’
‘Agreed,’ Kitty said, ‘Once we’ve had tomorrow's meeting with the police.’
‘Something might come out of that, I suppose,’ said Sam, ‘But if not, I moot we try for an earlier flight home.’
Kitty pulled a face. ‘My poor credit card balance.’
‘At least we’ll have more time to get ready for your Dad’s wedding. I haven’t even bought a present yet.’
‘Neither have I. They seem to have everything they need.’
‘Baby stuff?’ Sam eyed Kitty, wondering how she felt about the prospect of a baby half-sister or brother, but she did not react.
‘I expect they’ve got a list.’ Kitty gave a crooked smile. ‘I ought to know, didn’t I? I’m not a brilliant daughter.’
Sam nudged her arm with his elbow. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. He did his best, but your dad was hardly an outstanding example of good gift buying. Remember that elephant?’
‘I do. There was no space for it in my room.’ Kitty chuckled at the memory. ‘It lay on
the bed during the day, staring at the ceiling, and during the night it made a massive furry mountain on the floor that I jumped on in the morning.’
‘Maybe you could give it back to them for the baby.’ Sam chortled, picturing Cerys’s face, and Kitty snorted, forgetting for a moment the gravity of their mission.
43 KITTY
They drew chairs up to a desk in a cramped, open plan office. Close by, Mauritian police personnel were bent over computers or held telephones to their ears, their French words too fast to follow.
‘Thanks very much for seeing us. Merci beaucoup.’ Kitty gave the middle-aged policewoman her best smile, and the officer grinned back. In a heavy accent, she apologised that her English was not better.
‘I do not get a lot of practice,’ she said, ‘But I will try to help.’ She straightened a sheaf of paper that had been lying on the desk, and slid it back into a buff folder, propping it against the side her computer screen and holding it in place with a pot of pens and a coffee mug. Her name was Officer Edouard.
After explaining the purpose of their enquiries, and her relationship to the ‘deceased’, Kitty flipped open her reporter’s notepad and pulled a pencil from behind her ear. ‘What would be the normal procedure after a crime like this?’ she asked.
The policewoman pulled a second folder from a drawer, and said, ‘I can tell you what did happen if that is helpful.’
‘That would be brilliant.’
She removed a sheaf of papers from the envelope, and Kitty and Sam studied her face, watching her eyes shuttle left and right over one page at a time. She glanced up at Kitty. ‘Mr Thomas was brought here to the station and placed in one of our cells, through there.’ She waved a hand at the door through which Kitty and Sam had entered. They had noticed no cells, but Kitty let that go.
‘What about Max Rutherford – Will Owen I mean?’
‘There is no mention of Mr… I am sorry, what name would he use?’
‘Owen, I think. He had a double-barrelled name, Owen-Rutherford, but I believe my mother was Mrs Owen when she died. I don’t think she knew his other name.’
‘Well, this is your father’s arrest report and there is no mention in it of a Mr Owen but,’ She held up a small cassette tape, ‘There is this.’
Kitty and Sam sat up in their seats and Kitty said, ‘What is that?’
‘The label says it is three separate interviews with Paul Thomas.’ Edouard slotted the tape into a machine and a voice blurted from the speakers making Kitty jump.
The first voice introduced himself as Inspector Kipling and he went on to say that he was with Sergeant Gopaul and they were interviewing Paul Thomas. Paul gave his name and address then Kipling asked him to explain what happened on the cliff.
‘I was worried about Fee,’ Paul’s voice came from the speakers with compete sincerity.
‘Who is Fee, please?’ Kipling asked.
‘My wife. Ex-wife.’
‘And why were you worried about her?’
They hear Paul hesitate before saying, ‘It’s a long story but basically, I’d found out that she was planning to marry Max Rutherford. He was my counsellor and I realised I had given him a lot of information about my wife, which he could have used to trick her into marrying him.’
‘And why exactly would he want to do that?’
Another pause, then, ‘I don’t know. It was a feeling. He had hidden the relationship from me. I felt duped. I didn’t want her to be tricked or misled.’
‘OK. So, what happened next?’
‘Paul explained that he had hidden in a bar to wait for Fee to emerge from her hotel, then followed her towards the restaurant where he watched from behind a bush as she sat down on top of the rocky promontory.
‘You must have been incredibly angry.’
‘I suppose so, but mainly I was trying to understand what was going on.’
‘And?’
‘And I saw Max come out of the restaurant and look around for Fee. He saw her sitting there and walked towards her, still holding the glasses. She was enjoying the sun. Her eyes were closed, and her face was to the sky. I don’t suppose she heard him because of the waves. Max carried on, walking towards her, then suddenly, he dropped the glasses and ran at her and pushed her over the edge of the cliff.’
‘And all this time you stood and watched?’
‘I didn’t expect him to do what he did. I started towards him when he dropped the glasses, but I was too late. I had the number of the police on my phone. I looked it up on my flight over here, just in case of trouble, so I dialled them and told them what I’m telling you, now.’
After that, the questioning became much more detailed: Why was he watching, where precisely did he stand, did he recognise Fee and much more. Soon, Paul became angry and belligerent and a chair scraped on the floor. He shouted, ‘Why are you wasting time with all these questions? You should be arresting Max Rutherford. Get him behind bars before he kills someone else.’
Kitty shook her head. It had been many years since she had heard Paul yell like that.
Kipling’s stern voice said, ‘Please sit down, Mr Thomas. We will interview everyone concerned, but you would be well advised to co-operate calmly.’
After some shuffling, the interview continued. Questions bombarded Paul, posed in varying ways to catch him out, but he was clear about the events every time.
Once again Kipling hammered the question, ‘Why did you follow your ex-wife to Mauritius?’
Paul was now yelling. ‘I told you. I thought she was in danger. I’d only just found out she was getting married, and then, to top it all, found her husband-to-be was Max Rutherford, my Counsellor. And I was right, wasn’t I. She lost her life because I wasn’t there to save her.’ Paul’s voice wobbled, and that convinced Kitty he was telling the truth. The interview ended then, with Kipling’s promise that it would continue the following day.
In the next interview, Paul sounded weary. The questions were the same, over and over until he lost his temper again and yelled, ‘Why are we going over this again. You should be out there arresting that Rutherford bastard. He’s the one who killed Fee. Can’t you see? He gained my trust and plied me with questions, pretending he was helping me, and all the time he was learning all about Fee, so he could…’ There was a pause then he continued, ‘Murder her.’
‘And remind me why he would want to do that, Mr Thomas?
‘I have no idea. I’m not a mind reader. I know what I saw, that’s all.’
‘Mr Thomas, we have spoken to the police in England, in Lee-mee-shire.’ Kitty smiled at the man’s mispronunciation of Lymeshire, and Paul’s sarcastic correction of it. Kipling thanked him for his help with the English language and said that police in the UK had advised him that Paul was a suspect in the murder of Twitch. He continued, ‘We are becoming more and more convinced, Mr Thomas, that you killed your ex-wife out of anger. You have demonstrated this anger here, and I believe on more than one occasion at home in the UK.’
Paul’s voice was loud and determined. ‘No comment,’ he pronounced, and thereafter, this was all he said.
The third session shed no further light and at the end, Inspector Kipling advised Paul that he would recommend extradition to the UK.
Kitty sat back in her chair and sked Edouard, ‘Were there no witnesses to the event at all? What about staff at the restaurant, people in boats out at sea?’
‘Let us see what other documentation there is.’ Edouard pulled open a second folder and flicked through some pages. ‘According to this report, enquiries were made without success.’ She ran her eyes down the documents. ‘There were many character references regarding Monsieur et Madame Owen and some not so good ones about Monsieur Thomas.’
Sam said, ‘Do you have a copy of your interviews with Mr Rutherford, I mean Owen?’
Edouard shrugged, saying, ‘We only keep interviews of guilty parties. In case there is some requirement by the court. In this case, it seems that the tape was not requested.’
‘I’d say very little investigation was done by UK police into events here.’ Sam said. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but Owen-Rutherford was charged with his wife’s murder.’
Again, the officer shrugged. ‘I was not here at the time of this case. I do not remember it. It seems as if enquiries were made of the British police, and as Monsieur Thomas was already under investigation, suspected of the murder of another woman, they assumed he was the guilty one.’
There was nothing to be gained from telling this woman of their new witness.
In the foyer once more, they thanked the police officer for her help. A door opened on their right, and they glimpsed a row of empty cells. Kitty imagined her father in there, worried and frightened, and she determined to prove his innocence beyond any doubt.
44 KITTY
After another long but uneventful flight home the following day, Kitty returned to her flat. On the threshold, she sniffed the unfamiliar scent of polish. She was still getting used to her tidy living room and bright kitchen. It was la pleasure to fill her shiny kettle with water from gleaming taps. It made her feel grown up - in control. She dumped her suitcase in the bedroom and was heading for a cup of tea when her phone sang out.
‘Hi Dad.’
‘Hello. You’re back then?’ Paul’s voice conveyed deep gloom.
‘Just walked through the door.’ Her mind went to the taped interview and she thought how different her father sounded on the phone, more relaxed. Would he be so calm if he knew what she was up to? She put the thought from her mind and asked, ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Yeah. It’s fine.’ He sighed.
