Bird Island looked close and the birds were still agitated, squawking in distress and flying back to their nests to protect their eggs or chicks. The time of the season was crucial but I had no idea of their nesting timetable.
I went into a cubicle, put the lid down and sat down on the seat. This was a fine state of affairs. I was on the run, had only the clothes I stood up in, no cruise card that would pay for anything. Food was less of a problem as the cafeteria was open nearly all hours. And there were water fountains around on deck. But where would I sleep? The night cleaners would soon find me if I tried to sleep on a lounge sofa.
Suddenly I was very tired. My head was beginning to ache. Only three more days and we would be back at Southampton, that is if they got her moving. I could bluff my way off the ship, lost my swipe card, left it in the cabin, etc., luggage being carried by kind porter, etc. Or perhaps I could slip off at Bergen, if we ever got there, and somehow find my way back to Latching.
I was suddenly homesick for the pier, the sea, the long walks along the beach, my noisy seagulls. All my good friends.
But meanwhile I had to keep out of sight, out of mind, while Berry searched the ship from top to bottom. He wouldn’t give up till he found me now that he knew I was on the loose.
Footsteps came into the cloakroom, heels clicking on the tiled floor. A woman was humming, running water, washing her hands and then repairing her make-up. She was taking a long time about it, humming under her breath.
I kept very still. I had heard that tuneless humming many times before. Coming from the other bathroom in the stateroom as Joanna did her make-up, applying the layers, disguising the wrinkles and lines. She was an artist, painting on her face every day.
It sounded like Joanna Carter. I peered through the tiny crack by the door hinge, trying not to breathe. It was Joanna Carter. She was alive and well and doing her face in an empty cloakroom. For a moment my head swam with confusion. She was supposed to be dead, lying at the bottom of a fjord.
And I was under arrest for her murder.
TWENTY
Still at Sea
Joanna Carter was very much alive and well. I could barely believe my eyes, trying to take in all the implications. And I was being charged with her murder. Why hadn’t she come forward to clear my name? Perhaps she didn’t know what had happened. Perhaps she had lost her memory. She had been in that dreadful trance state for days.
I wanted to rush out and hug her, congratulate her on her recovery, go somewhere together to celebrate my freedom. My own clothes again, a decent bed, luxury towels galore. Bliss.
But a sense of caution stopped me. Why hadn’t she made her survival known to Dr Russell or Geoff Berry? They both thought she was dead, victim by my hand. I peered through the crack again. She was wearing different clothes, less elegant, quite plain and ordinary, looking unglamorous with Seventies rimmed glasses and her blonde hair tucked into a turban. She was dialling on her mobile phone.
‘Ollie? She’s got out. Yes, that damned fool Berry didn’t lock both doors to the staterooms. Idiot. So she’s swanning around the ship, probably poking her nose into everything, being a damned nuisance. But someone is bound to spot her. It can’t be for long.’
Ollie? That name rang a bell but I couldn’t place it. And she knew about Berry locking me into the stateroom. Did Berry know she was alive? Surely not, he was investigating her murder with all the energy he could muster.
‘Yes, we’re aground, dammit, but it won’t be for long. And there’s a mist rolling in. Can’t wait to get back to Southampton and get things moving. Of course, we could get off at Bergen and fly home. Now, that’s an idea. There’s a good airport nearby. Money no object now.’ She gave a short laugh. It rang like a ship’s bell with a crack.
This was more and more intriguing. She wanted to get things moving. What things? But if she went ashore at Bergen and disappeared into the thin Norwegian air there would be no way of proving my innocence. I would have to stop her. James could do this. He had the authority.
‘I’ll need to get my passport out of the cabin safe,’ she went on. ‘And pick up a few decent clothes. I’m sick of these ghastly old things. Only for the Gatwick arrivals control, you understand, then the passport can go in a bin. I’d like a new name, something really cool and glamorous. You can get me a new passport, can’t you? You said you could. I’ve always disliked Joanna. Too boyish for me. Do you like Dolores? Or Samantha?’
I was stunned. She was going to bin her current passport, get a new name. Some things were falling into place like a jigsaw but I was not sure what pieces they were or the picture they made. She was going to get herself a new identity. It was horrendously confusing and a motive of sorts was emerging but I could not recognize what it was.
‘The diamond necklace will be a problem, but it’s your problem, Ollie darling. Berry has got it as evidence, locked away in his little night safe. You’ll have to claim it back when we return to England. Sign a few forms. A nuisance, I know.’ She sighed deeply. ‘But it’s me who has done everything so far. About time you did your bit.
‘I had to give it to him. I had no choice. He was turning nasty. It was a sort of insurance.’ She laughed again at the word. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve plenty of euros, tucked away in my jewellery box, the one you gave me, with the special key.’
She sprayed herself liberally with Dior’s Pure Poison, still humming.
There was a pause. ‘OK, so it has to be room service again. I’m sick of room service but, as you say, the dining room would be too dangerous. Someone would be bound to recognize me and come rushing over to congratulate me on my miraculous recovery. For heaven’s sake, don’t worry about the girl. She’ll probably get off lightly for good behaviour or something.’
With a clatter of heels on the tiled floor, she left the cloakroom. The ship was still not moving. I crept out of the cubicle. By the washbasin was a slender silver tube. She had left her lipstick behind. I wrapped it carefully in a tissue and put it in my bag. It might still have fingerprints. I didn’t know if lipstick would carry DNA. Somehow I had to get it date stamped or someone could argue that I’d acquired it days ago. It was a slender chance.
I went straight to the photo salon where passengers ordered all the set photos, getting on and off the ship, at their dining table, shaking hands with the captain, birthday parties. The walls were festooned with ribbons of photographs, taken on every occasion. The photographers were an industrious team.
‘Would you mind putting this into one of your nice envelopes, sealing it and stamping it with the date?’ I asked one of the assistants behind the counter. She must have thought I was mad. It still wasn’t foolproof but it was the best I could think of on the spur. They could still say I picked it up ages ago.
I sat down at a table that was hidden by a large fern, took out my notebook and began writing.
1. Joanna is not dead.
2. She did not fall overboard. Only her bathrobe fell overboard.
3. She has recovered from her shock trance.
4. She knew Berry had locked me in the stateroom.
5. She has an accomplice/friend on board called Ollie.
6. She is going to get herself a new identity. Why?
7. She wants to get things moving. What things moving?
I stared at my notes. As often happens, another thought strayed into my head. The invisible man, the one in the background of all the CCTV film. A mystery man that no one recognized. That was Ollie.
I strolled back to the photo salon and walked slowly past all the hundreds and hundreds of couple photographs, smiling, smiling, smiling, from the wall. Why do we all smile into a camera even if our heart is breaking? When I was almost cross-eyed with faces, I spotted a snap of him coming down the gangway, behind another smiling couple, wrapped up in scarves and caps at Tromso who had stopped to pose at the end of the gangway. He looked grim-faced, determined not to be photographed, already shaking his head.
I unpinned the photo and to
ok it to the counter. I put on my fluttery, dizzy old lady expression. ‘My dear, do you have any idea who this gentleman is? He’s very much like someone I used to know. It would be lovely to say hello again.’
The photo was passed round the staff. ‘Sorry,’ said the girl. ‘We don’t know his name. We’ve never seen him or taken his photograph by request. One of those shrinking violets. Not everyone wants their photo taken. Perhaps he’s a celebrity or on the run.’
‘Thank you, dear. I’ll put the photo back on display for you, shall I? You’re so busy.’
‘Thank you.’
As soon as she was occupied with a customer, I slid the photo into my bag. I’m such a liar.
Where was James? I needed to talk to him, tell him what I had found out, that I had seen Joanna Carter. Show him the photograph. Get his opinion. I had not seen him for hours. I’d seen everyone else, practically the entire passenger list.
We were still aground. No one seemed to be doing anything. The birds were the most active. Still agitated and distressed. Perhaps we ought to throw them a few bread rolls.
‘We could rock the ship off, like they did in that Caribbean pirate film,’ I suggested to a video man who hung over the rail taking shots of waves. ‘You know, run from one side to the other, all of us. Rock it.’
‘You into that kinda film, grandma?’ came the laconic reply.
‘I was in it,’ I said, flipping one hundred per cent. He was so rude. ‘Don’t you recognize the mask? I came up from the depths of the wreck with a crab in my mouth.’
‘I should take it out if I were you.’
James rescued me. ‘Is my aunt troubling you?’ he said, taking my arm a little too firmly. ‘She gets overexcited about things and it’s time for her medicine.’
He led me away, talking in a consoling manner. ‘Come along, auntie. Time for your nice medicine. Then you can have a sweetie afterwards. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
I could barely control my laughter. I turned it into a fit of asthmatic coughing. James was holding me up now. His eyes were brimming with mirth. At that moment, I had never loved him more. He was my star, my hero, my always everyman.
‘A j — jelly baby?’ I managed to choke out.
‘You can have two. Promise.’
‘Pink ones?’
‘Any colour you like.’
He led me down some steep stairs to a lower deck and then towards the stern of the ship where it was more private. He pulled me into the shadowy space between two lifeboats and put his mouth against my ear. I could feel his breath fanning my skin. For one dizzy moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but no. He didn’t. He was speaking in a low voice.
‘What’s this all about? How has Berry found the bird has flown? What’s this good news he has for you?’
‘It’s a trick,’ I whispered back. ‘He’s trying to trick me into giving myself up. So I’m stuck as Miss Brown for ever and ever. I’m getting quite itchy in these stage clothes. Come closer. I’ve something to tell you.’ I pulled him to me. I had never done this before. It was heady stuff. He smelled delicious, fresh not floral. ‘Guess what? I’ve seen Joanna Carter.’
He pulled away. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, in the flesh. Joanna Carter is alive and well. I didn’t kill her. I’m totally innocent as I always was.’
‘Tell me about it.’
So I told him about seeing her through a crack in the door hinge. I told him everything she said. He nodded a few times.
‘This doesn’t surprise me,’ he said. ‘I thought all along that it was some sort of con, a swindle, a scam. But I couldn’t see what was happening and why they had set you up to take the blame. It’s coming clear because I have found out the identity of the grey man. His name is Oliver Carter.’
‘Joanna’s husband,’ I breathed.
‘Yes, he’s also a passenger on the ship. So he must be involved.’
‘So is Berry and maybe even Dr Russell. Though he is rather nice when he’s in a good mood.’
‘And you’ve been around when he’s been in a good mood?’
He was teasing me in the gentlest way. He knew that we were an item even if neither of us planned to do anything about it.
‘Yes,’ I said, nodding. ‘He was in a good mood several times. It bolstered my morale immediately. And, I can tell you, sometimes it needs bolstering. Especially when I’m feeling abandoned.’
‘This kind of bolstering?’ he asked. He kissed me, softly and sweetly, folding his arms round me. Time stood still as it does when history is being made. He eased away slowly. ‘I’ll get a reputation if I’m seen kissing my maiden aunt.’
‘Your maiden aunt could do with this kind of medicine three times a day.’
‘And the jelly babies?’
‘Lay in a stock.’
He pressed a key card into my hand. ‘This is the spare key to my cabin. It’s twin-bedded, so no maidenly hysterics please. Use it as you wish. Sleep when you want to. Have a shower. Help yourself to tea, coffee, hot chocolate.’
The invitation saved me from curling up behind the curtains in the lounge. I tried not to think about the sharing aspect. Head firmly on shoulders, girl.
I took the photo out of my bag. ‘Here’s a photograph of Oliver Carter. If they are thinking of getting off at Bergen, we’ve got to move fast.’
‘Impound her passport. Invalidate her swipe card — easy if she is supposed to be dead. She won’t be able to get off unless she makes a run for it. I’ll go and see the captain, though it might not be so easy. The ship is aground. He has other things on his mind.’
‘Other things on my mind, too,’ I said, wrapping my arms round him.
‘Steady on, auntie. You haven’t had your medicine.’
His inside twin-bedded cabin was perfect for two. None of the luxury of the two interconnecting staterooms on A Deck but all that anyone could need for comfortable sleeping, washing and relaxing.
His few possessions were in the wardrobe and one drawer. I had everywhere else for myself but nothing to put in it. But at least I could have a shower and use their shower gel.
As I stood in the shower, letting the warm water soothe my tense muscles, I thought of the problems in Latching that faced me. I had to find somewhere to live. Two weeks had nearly gone of the month’s notice. My two bedsits were not over-furnished. Many items could be stored at FCI premises, till I found my dream home. The books were more of a headache. I had more books than were sensible for one pair of eyes.
I turned off the water, dried myself on a big towel and put on James’s own navy blue towelling robe that hung behind the door. It was big on me but I wrapped the extra folds round and tied the belt. It didn’t take long to make a cup of coffee from the hospitality tray. I stretched out on the second bed and let my tired bones relax. If I closed my eyes, I would be asleep in seconds.
At least I felt safe in James’s cabin, the first time for days. Motivation, motivation, motivation. There must be a motive for Joanna wanting to lay the blame for her death on me.
I could write one of those outrageous confessional features for a woman’s magazine with a screaming coverline: Wealthy Woman frames Best Friend for her own Murder. They pay very well, I understand. Joanna had plenty of glossy photographs I could use and there were those sketches. Portfolio for murder.
What usually happened when wealthy people died? Firstly, they leave their estate, i.e. money, to someone, usually family. But often they have huge life insurance which is paid out on death. Death has to be saintly or proved. And death has to be by accident or intent. And murder is certainly intent. An insurance policy would have an invalidity clause about suicide.
Supposing they were all in it? Geoff Berry, Max Russell, Joanna and Oliver Carter. Supposing they were going to split the spoils four ways in unequal amounts? Joanna and Oliver would go off into the sunset, hand in hand, with a tidy capital sum in their joint bank account and a villa in the Bahamas. Berry would buy himself a second pens
ion. Max would buy … well, I had no idea.
But why me? Why not? They had to have some idiot to frame for the murder. Who better than a small town private eye with money problems and a reputation for getting her investigations in a twist. How could I have been so naive? But there had been nothing to make me suspicious. The threats on her life had seemed genuine. Yet Joanna could easily have slipped out while she was making that coffee, and hung the noose on the tree.
I heard the door opening. I turned over on to my side, a smile of welcome ready for James.
‘I thought I’d find you here, Jordan. Especially when I discovered that DI James was once operational at Latching CID. Your paths must have crossed during your various investigations. And crossed they obviously did. That looks a lot like a man’s towelling robe. What else will DI James be lending you?’
Geoff Berry was standing in the doorway, looking so smug and triumphant. I thought of throwing the coffee in his face but what good would that have done? I could hardly run around the ship half naked.
‘You’re not going to escape this time. I’m going to make sure you don’t get out again. I’ve put a guard on the door and I’m having the lock combination changed first thing. Not even your fancy man will be able to get you out.’
‘I don’t have a fancy man,’ I said coldly.
‘And I’ll take all these clothes, if you can call them clothes.’ He scooped up the pile of granny gear off the chair with distaste. ‘Now give me your key.’
‘I don’t have one,’ I said. ‘DI James let me in.’
DI James’s key was in the electricity socket by the door which activated the lights. It was there for all the world to see. But Geoff hadn’t noticed.
‘I’m getting the lock changed so DI James won’t be able to get in and you won’t be able to get out.’
Geoff Berry was too hyped up with this chain of success to check on my latest lie. His face was red with excitement. His next move would be handcuffs.
He slammed the door shut and I was alone again. It had all happened so quickly. I could barely believe it. There was no point in protesting that Joanna Carter was alive and no charge would stick on me. I’d have to prove it and if Berry was involved, he’d make sure that was impossible.
Fold and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 8) Page 17
