Journey to Death

by Leigh Russell

‘What if she asks for me? I’m not leaving her alone.’

  After a brief discussion in Creole with Adrian, the staff nurse agreed to let George to stay on a chair at his wife’s bedside.

  Adrian drove Lucy back to the hotel.

  ‘I’m so grateful to you,’ she burst out. ‘You’ve been such an amazing help with all this.’

  He did not answer.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own overnight?’ Adrian broke the silence as they approached the hotel. ‘I could always stay with you.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she laughed.

  ‘Well, you can’t blame me for trying. Tell you what,’ he went on as they drove into the car park, ‘how about something to eat? I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.’

  ‘That sounds like a great idea. I’m ravenous.’

  With a guilty pang she remembered her father, stuck in a ward at the hospital.

  ‘We should’ve asked Dad if he wanted us to get him something before we left. He must be hungry too.’

  ‘He’s quite capable of looking after himself,’ Adrian told her. ‘Stop worrying about your parents. They’re going to be fine. And in the meantime here we are, it’s late and we’re both hungry. So let’s have something to eat.’

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  Parking the car, Adrian turned to scrutinise her. Wrinkling his nose, he laughed. ‘Maybe a romantic dinner for two isn’t quite the thing tonight.’

  Lucy glanced down at her filthy jeans and her hands covered in green muck and smiled. ‘It’s a bit late anyway, isn’t it?’

  ‘How did you get so dirty?’

  She shrugged. ‘Clambering on the rocks and through the trees, you know.’ As she spoke it occurred to her that she would be leaving the island in a few days anyway. She wondered if the same thought had crossed Adrian’s mind. ‘Actually, something to eat sounds great. I promise not to sit too close to you.’

  ‘Damn, foiled again,’ he said, and they both laughed.

  Ignoring her dirty state he took her by the hand, and led her across the car park. He took her into the deserted dining room where the tables were laid ready for breakfast, and told her to sit down.

  ‘Wait for me here. I won’t be long.’

  ‘I’ll just go and have a wash and change.’

  He glanced down at her feet and trousers and nodded. ‘That’s a good idea, and it will give me time to ferret around for something to eat. Tell you what, meet me here in half an hour.’

  When Lucy returned, Adrian was waiting for her. He refused to let her see what was in the bag he was clutching.

  ‘Grab a couple of glasses and follow me.’

  He led her down to the patio and they sat together at a table overlooking the sea. Under the light of the stars he displayed the contents of his bag on the table: small fresh bananas, papaya, bread rolls, smoked fish, cheese and a bottle of wine.

  ‘Tuck in. I’m sorry it’s nothing very exciting, but it was the best I could rustle up at such short notice, without preparation.’

  ‘It’s a banquet,’ she replied, grinning. ‘A midnight feast!’

  It was late by the time Lucy went up to her room. Laughing and joking with Adrian, she had felt intoxicated with wine and relief about her mother. Once she was on her own she could not help thinking about the hut up on the mountain, replaying that dreadful scene in her mind, with her mother chained to the wall. She almost regretted having declined Adrian’s offer to spend the night in her room, and double checked her door was locked and the window to her balcony was securely fastened before she went to bed. Putting her mobile phone by her pillow in case her father called, she lay down, but could not sleep, wondering how her mother had been affected by her ordeal on the mountain.

  40

  LUCY CALLED HER FATHER first thing in the morning. She could tell he was reluctant to leave her mother.

  ‘Tell you what, Dad. You stay at the hospital and sit with Mum. I’m sure she wants you there with her. It can’t be fun, stuck in hospital in a foreign country. Adrian and I can go to the police.’

  ‘Isn’t he working today?’

  ‘No, he’s taken the day off. We want to spend some time together before we leave. He’s meeting me here around eleven, so leave it to us. Give my love to Mum and tell her we’ll be there as soon as we’re done at the police station. Adrian can drop me off and I’ll come back with you, whenever.’

  She glanced at her phone. It was already half past ten.

  ‘If you’re sure . . .’

  ‘Just stay there, Dad, and stop worrying. Adrian and I will speak to Inspector Henri. Leave it to us.’

  She promised to give her father a detailed account of the police response to her visit and he rang off after anxious exhortations that she should call him if there was any problem at the police station.

  ‘They’re the police, Dad. It’ll be fine. And Adrian speaks Seychellois and French. There won’t be a problem. We can sort it.’

  Despite his pallor, and the grey bruising still evident around his nose, he had recovered his characteristic air of authority. But while her father was reverting to normal, Lucy had changed. They would never return to the simplicity of the relationship they had enjoyed before this strange and terrible visit to the Seychelles.

  As soon as she had hung up, Lucy got ready to meet Adrian, showering, fluffing up her short hair and applying subtle make-up. Despite the recent trauma she looked well, her normally pale complexion tanned and glowing with health. With only three days left, she was determined to make the most of her remaining time on the island. She was also a little excited at the prospect of spending the morning with Adrian. To begin with she had been convinced he was not her type, but she had fallen for Darren and where had that got her? Perhaps a short holiday romance would be the perfect way to end a trip that had hardly gone well so far. It was a pity the Seychelles were such a long way from England.

  She waited for Adrian in the lobby, unaccountably nervous about seeing him again. At exactly eleven o’clock, he walked through the entrance.

  ‘You’re very punctual,’ she said.

  ‘Punctuality is a good thing,’ he answered solemnly. ‘It shows I’m reliable, and trustworthy, and responsible . . .’

  She could not tell if he was poking fun at her. They wandered outside and she told him about their proposed visit to the police.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind my volunteering you,’ she concluded, wishing she had asked him first. It was hardly a pleasant way to spend their limited time together. He must have had other plans for their day. ‘It’s absolutely fine if you’d rather not. I didn’t mean to presume. I can easily go by myself, or with my dad—’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Lucy. Of course your father should be with Angela, and we have to report this whole crazy situation to the police. The sooner they close the case the better.’

  Remembering what she had done, Lucy nodded nervously.

  The inspector’s face creased into a grin when Lucy told him her mother had been found and he held out his arms as though to wrap her in a hug. She wondered how he would have treated her if he had known she was a murderer.

  ‘That is wonderful news,’ he beamed. ‘And your father is well?’

  He glanced enquiringly at Adrian. Lucy explained that her father was with her mother in hospital and the inspector started forward in consternation.

  ‘Please tell me your mother will make a full recovery.’

  He could not have sounded more concerned if the patient had been his own mother.

  ‘Yes, thank you. She was severely dehydrated, but they put her on a drip as soon as she was admitted, and she’s already much better.’

  ‘Ah yes, it is important to drink plenty of fluids. I am sure your mother is a careful woman and it was only a temporary mental aberration that caused this problem. When you are not used to this climate, it is easy to forget, and with your mother—’

  ‘It wasn’t the sun,’ Lucy interrupted. She took a deep breath an
d glanced at Adrian. ‘My mother didn’t have sunstroke. She was attacked by a drunken maniac.’

  ‘Probably harmless as a rule, but drunk enough to get violent,’ Adrian added.

  ‘Ah, that is always a problem,’ the inspector replied easily. He did not appear unduly perturbed by her hazy account. ‘It was a tourist who attacked her, not an islander?’

  ‘We think so,’ Adrian said, with a glance at Lucy.

  ‘We don’t know really. I’m sorry, we’d be more specific, but unfortunately my mother can’t remember much about what happened. We think she was knocked out and then very confused. We found her wandering about on the beach—’

  ‘On an empty beach,’ Adrian concluded her rambling account. ‘It looks as though she somehow crossed the island, because from what I can make out, they found her past North Point, on this side of the island, nowhere near Beau Vallon.’

  The inspector leaned his elbows on his desk and drummed his fingertips together as he asked exactly where the missing woman had been found. Lucy glanced uncertainly at Adrian.

  ‘On a beach,’ she repeated.

  ‘A beach?’

  ‘Yes, she was lying by the sea, near some rocks. I can’t tell you exactly where. It’s all a bit muddled.’ She smiled at the inspector. ‘We were so relieved to find her, alive, we didn’t make a note of where we were. We just rushed her to the hospital.’

  The inspector looked at Adrian, then back at Lucy again. ‘You were all together?’

  ‘Not Adrian. I was with my father, out searching for my mother.’

  The inspector frowned. ‘The Australian girl’s body was also found on a beach.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know what happened to her?’ Lucy asked. ‘Only I kind of knew her, and I’d really like to know who killed her, and why, before I leave for England, if that’s possible. It’s just that I met her and we became sort of friends.’ Aware that she was talking too much, she hoped it was not obvious that she was keen to change the subject.

  ‘As it happens, we have a lead.’ Inspector Henri leaned forward suddenly. ‘Do you know of an old man called Baptiste?’

  The point-blank question scared Lucy so much that she could not speak. She let out an involuntary cry. This was it. The body had been discovered, just as she had predicted. She was facing prosecution, defenceless in her guilt. There was no way of glossing over what she had done. She had crept up behind an old man and killed him with her bare hands.

  ‘I – I . . .’ she stammered.

  Unwittingly, Adrian came to her rescue. ‘Do you mean Baptiste who sweeps up leaves at the Garden of Eden Hotel?’

  Inspector Henri nodded. ‘The very same.’ Lucy stared from the inspector to Adrian and back again, too terrified to speak.

  ‘Yes, I know him to speak to,’ Adrian said, ‘although I don’t think Lucy knows him. Why would she?’

  ‘Why would I?’ she echoed stupidly.

  Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited for the policeman to slap handcuffs on her before throwing her in a cell. The sentence for murder would be a long one. She would spend years and years in an island prison for murdering a defenceless old man. Not even Adrian could help her now.

  ‘Well,’ the inspector continued, addressing Adrian, ‘it may interest you to know that we have reason to suspect Baptiste may be implicated in the death of that poor Australian girl.’

  ‘Really? Baptiste, a murderer?’ Adrian’s surprise sounded genuine.

  ‘You may find it hard to believe, but I assure you the most unexpected people can turn out to be killers.’ The inspector turned to Lucy with a resigned smile. ‘Yes, even an old man like that. I can see you are very shocked, but it is a long time since anything surprised me. We have several witnesses,’ he went on, ‘local lads who saw the victim getting into a boat with Baptiste six days ago. That was the last time she was seen alive. Of course the old man may be blameless, but we will see. And if he did not kill her, at least we will learn from him where it is she went on the night she was killed.’ He nodded solemnly.

  ‘So what does Baptiste say about all this?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘We are looking for him. He has not been seen at the hotel since the girl was killed.’

  ‘That’s suspicious,’ Adrian said. ‘Do you think he’s done a runner?’

  ‘We are keeping a look out for him,’ the inspector replied. ‘He may be innocent of any wrongdoing, but—’ He broke off with a shrug. ‘He was seen returning to shore later, alone in his boat. Yet the girl was seen going out to sea with him. What can I say? The family have been told.’

  The inspector beamed at Lucy suddenly. ‘Well, I am delighted that you found your mother.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Adrian said. ‘We came here straight away to let you know that she’s no longer a missing person.’

  Lucy was touched by his support. This mess had nothing to do with him. It had been generous of him to offer to help out at all, and now he had become entangled in the madness that had threatened to destroy her family.

  Leaving the police station, they returned to the hospital to find out how her mother was progressing. She was fast asleep. Lucy’s father was seated at her bedside, holding her hand. His eyes were shut too, but he looked up when they entered the room. Lucy suspected they had woken him, but he jumped up and followed them into the corridor, keen to know what had happened.

  ‘So he didn’t say anything about investigating any further? He didn’t want to know what had happened?’ her father asked, staring anxiously at them.

  ‘There isn’t really anything to look into,’ Adrian replied. ‘To be honest, the whole account of her discovery is rather vague, but it’s hardly surprising you can’t remember much about it. You must have been really shocked, finding her in such a state.’ He stared at Lucy so hard, she wondered if he suspected she was hiding the truth. ‘But I hardly think the police are going to spend time looking for a beach, with rocks,’ he concluded with a shrug.

  ‘What’s that?’ her father sounded confused. ‘A beach with rocks?’

  ‘That’s how Lucy described where you found Angela, lying on a deserted beach somewhere near North Point. That is where you found her, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well anyway,’ Lucy interrupted him, ‘once we told the inspector that Angela had been attacked by a drunken tourist, he seemed happy enough to close the case, so that’s that. There’s nothing more to say about it.’

  41

  SMOTHERED IN SUNBLOCK, LUCY was kneeling under a parasol, engrossed in building a sandcastle. Scooping up sand, she patted it firmly yet gently in place. Apart from a few handfuls she managed to dig up from deep beneath the surface, the sand was dry and her edifice threatened to cave in at any moment. Her father was spending time with Lucy before he returned to the hospital to be with Angela. He twisted his head round, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand.

  ‘You should get a bucket and spade if you want to play at sandcastles.’

  ‘I’m not a child. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘A child would know the sand’s too dry for sandcastles. You need a bucket to carry water up so you can work with the sand.’

  ‘If I need your advice on building sandcastles, I’ll ask you.’

  Smiling, he lay back in the sun, mumbling to himself.

  ‘I heard that,’ she fibbed.

  Aware that her stress was misdirected, she delved down into the sand, relishing the cool dampness on her finger tips. She dug up as much wet sand as she could, slopping dollops of it around the base of her structure, but it was slow going and the sand dried out in minutes.

  ‘Do you think he believed us?’ she asked, leaning back on her heels, scowling at the side of her castle which was slipping slowly downwards.

  ‘Who?’

  He obviously knew what she meant, but she told him anyway. ‘Inspector Henri. He did believe us, didn’t he?’ She paused, but her father did not answer.

  Returning to her sandcastle, she worked furiously to construct a bar
ricade around it, hollowing out a narrow trench.

  ‘It’s going to have a moat.’

  ‘How are you going to fill it without a bucket?’

  With a flash of anger she swiped at her painstakingly constructed fortress. Sand flew everywhere. Her father swore and sat up, spitting, brushing sand from his face, and shaking his thick white hair.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, ‘it’s just all such a bloody mess.’

  ‘Don’t blame me if you can’t make a sandcastle,’ he replied, smiling, his good humour restored.

  He lay down again and closed his eyes. Lucy stared at the top of his head, his hair speckled with sand. It was all right for him, recovering from the horrors of the past week and lazing around in the sun on his holiday, without a care in the world. He had not just killed a man. She closed her eyes and shivered despite the heat of the day. Baptiste had been an old man, frail and defenceless against her attack. As soon as she struck, he had fallen without a sound, not even a groan or a cry of protest.

  To her shame, the fear of discovery troubled her even more than her guilt. Sooner or later someone would stumble upon the hut, hidden though it was in mist and trees.

  ‘People go hiking up there, don’t they?’ she asked.

  Her father grunted. He sounded half asleep. She pictured a troupe of ramblers in khaki shorts and hiking boots, trekking up a steep narrow path. They could pass the red moped without noticing it concealed among the bushes, but they might notice the hut. Sooner or later someone must come across it. Curious, they would peer inside. Perhaps the stench would deter them from entering, but they would wave a torch around from the doorway. With a sickening lurch, she realised she had left her prints all over the metal bowl. It lay on the floor beside the old man’s cracked skull. A forensic team would arrive on the mountainside, perhaps flown in from a distant city. Within hours they would be busy gathering evidence, like a scene from CSI on the television. Along with the dead man’s blood, the hut would be covered with her fingerprints. Her DNA would be present, along with her mother’s. Any amount of proof establishing her mother had been chained in there, like an animal, would not wipe out the evidence that Lucy had murdered Baptiste. When they arrested her, she would be unable to deny it.