Murder in the Caribbean. Robert Thorogood
Читать онлайн книгу.
the time Richard and Dwayne arrived at the harbour, the smoke from the explosion had long since cleared, and they found Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey and Police Officer Fidel Best securing the Police launch, which was really no more than an old wooden skiff that had a pair of massive engines strapped onto the back and the words ‘Saint-Marie Police’ written in white down the side.
‘Did you see that, sir?’ Fidel asked, as he pulled the old tarpaulin off the steering position.
‘Of course I did, or what do you think I’m doing here?’
‘Anyone know what it was?’ Dwayne asked.
‘I was on the veranda of the station when it happened,’ Camille said, ‘and I saw a ball of fire out in the harbour. I think a boat went up.’
‘Then we need to get out there,’ Richard said as he boarded the boat and sat down on the bench that ran down one of the sides.
‘Yes, sir,’ Camille said, joining him as Dwayne cast off. Camille started the twin engines, Dwayne stepped onto the boat and it started to move off.
‘Not too fast!’ Richard yelped as Camille opened the throttle and the boat started to surge through the water.
‘What’s that, sir?’ Camille asked over the roar of the engines.
‘Not too fast!’
‘Can’t hear you, sir,’ Camille shouted as Richard’s old school tie freed itself from his suit jacket and started flapping wildly behind him. It was perhaps a sign of how seriously Richard was holding on for dear life that he didn’t make any attempts to grab it and force it back down the front of his suit jacket so that sartorial decorum could be restored.
As Camille drove the boat in a wide arc around the clutch of yachts that were at anchor, she, Dwayne and Fidel shared grins, knowing how much their boss hated any kind of physical danger, real or imagined.
They came across their first piece of debris from the explosion less than a minute later and Camille cut the engines, the launch slowing to a slooshy stop almost immediately.
Looking about themselves, the Police could see that it was one of those days in the tropics of almost perfect stillness. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the sea seemed to be breathing as it gently rose and fell, and there were sparkling diamonds of reflected light all around them on the water. But there were also what looked like thousands of different-sized pieces of ripped-up wood floating on the surface of the water.
‘Look, over there!’ Fidel said, and they all saw that there was something much larger floating in the water just off their port bow.
With a quick squirt of power, Camille steered the launch towards the object, and it revealed itself to be the back end of an old boat. The prow should have been pointing vertically downwards towards the sea bed, but Richard could see that the front half of the boat was missing from where the explosion had split it in two.
The section of the stern that was still just above the water line had the boat’s name written in white letters. It was called Soundman.
‘Anyone know who owns the boat?’ Richard asked, before he realised that his team was looking at an area of the hull just above the painted name. As Richard looked for himself, he could see why. There was a bright smear of what looked like blood. In fact, the way the smear ran down the wood, it was easy to imagine that someone who was heavily bleeding had briefly clung to the side of the boat before subsiding and slipping into the sea. There even appeared to be a rather macabre handprint in blood just to the side of the smear.
‘I’ll call the coastguard,’ Dwayne said, pulling out his phone. ‘They can maybe winch the boat out of the water and help us get it back to shore. And in answer to your question, Chief, Soundman belongs to a guy called Conrad Gardiner. He lives in a house on the beach to the side of the harbour.’
‘And what do you think happened here?’
Richard’s subordinates looked at each other, nonplussed.
‘It exploded,’ Fidel eventually said.
‘I can see it exploded,’ Richard said in exasperation. ‘But how did it explode? Do boats normally explode?’
This time it was Dwayne’s turn to answer.
‘No, Chief.’
Richard pulled a hankie from his jacket pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow, his face, and then the back and front of his neck.
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘we need to keep this bit of boat above water. And we also need to keep our eyes peeled for any survivors.’
Even as Richard said this, he could see that there was no-one in the water near the debris, either alive or dead.
Within half an hour, the coastguard’s bright yellow rescue boat had arrived and was starting to winch the rear end of the boat onto its deck. This allowed Richard to order Fidel and Dwayne to stay with the coastguard and coordinate the safe return of the boat while he and Camille drove the Police launch in wide circles through the expanding spread of floating debris. All they found were various pieces of detritus – from plastic jerry cans to kitchen implements and even an old white plastic chair – but they couldn’t find anything that seemed to shed any light on exactly what had happened.
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