see. Thank you.’
‘But I don’t understand why you’re wasting our time,’ Sylvie said. ‘That man shot himself, didn’t he? So what does it matter where we all were?’
‘But that’s the thing,’ Richard said. ‘He didn’t shoot himself. He was murdered.’
There was a gasp from Lucy, and Richard could see that the rest of the family were just as shocked.
Sylvie recovered first.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said.
‘Which leads me to my next question,’ Richard said, deciding that it was time to steamroller Sylvie. ‘Because, according to Lucy, the murder victim has been hanging around the plantation for the last couple of weeks. And we’ve found some kind of hideout in the jungle that seems to back up her statement. So I need to know, have any of you been aware of a stalker spying on the plantation recently?’
Hugh answered on behalf of the family, but Richard could see how rattled he was.
‘I’m sorry, we haven’t. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s like I said to you in the shower room. Lucy mentioned to us that she’d seen someone lurking about, but none of the rest of us have seen anyone.’
‘So, to be clear,’ Richard said to the family, ‘not only can none of you identify the murder victim, you’re also saying that it was only Lucy who’d even seen him about over the last few weeks?’
Richard looked at the family, and could see that they all agreed with his statement. Very well. Time to move on.
‘Then can I ask, do any of you own a handgun?’
There was a sharp intake of breath from Sylvie.
‘What?’
‘It’s a simple enough question,’ Richard said. ‘Do any of you own a handgun?’
‘No, of course we don’t,’ she snapped. ‘Why would any of us own a gun?’
It seemed a fair enough answer, but before Richard could ask any follow-up questions, the door opened and Fidel entered the room.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s something I think you need to see.’
‘There is?’ Richard said.
‘Yes, sir. Although can I ask the family a question first?’
‘Of course,’ Richard said.
Fidel turned to the room and was suddenly awkward.
‘Well, it’s just…you see, I was wondering if any of the family own any kind of three-wheeled van at all? Or it could be a three-wheeled motorbike.’
‘No,’ Hugh said. ‘We’ve got two cars we share between the five of us, but nothing that’s got three wheels.’
‘Then maybe there’s a three-wheeled vehicle on your plantation somewhere?’ Fidel asked.
The witnesses were just as sure that there were no three-wheeled vehicles anywhere on the plantation, so Richard thanked the family for their time, and then he and Camille followed Fidel back to the murder scene. On the way, he asked Fidel why he’d wanted to know about three-wheeled vehicles.
‘It’s probably best if I show you, sir,’ Fidel said.
‘Very well. How did you and Dwayne got on trying to catch the Commissioner’s bootleg rum seller?’
‘Well, sir. We spoke to the manager down at the Fort Royal hotel, and he confirmed what the Commissioner told us. There’d been a guy on the roadside trying to sell knocked-off bottles of rum to the guests as they came and went from the hotel.’
‘Did you see him?’
‘We didn’t. He was gone by the time we arrived.’
‘Then did you get a description of him?’
‘Not in the time we were at the hotel. Camille phoned us and told us you’d found a body, so we dropped everything and came straight here.’
‘Quite right,’ Richard said, already wishing he could kick the bootleg rum seller into the long grass. But experience told him that once the Commissioner had expressed an interest in a case, he tended to stay involved until the bitter end.
As Richard mulled how best to manage the Commissioner’s expectations, Fidel led them to a group of buildings just beyond the old drying shed.
‘Where exactly are we going?’ he asked.
‘Don’t worry, sir. It’s just through this building.’
Fidel went through the open door and Richard was instantly hit by the aroma of coffee beans. It was overpowering, Richard thought, as he looked about himself. The room was full of some kind of fabric conveyor belt that led into and out of various old bits of cast iron machinery that were painted dark green. The paint was flaking in places, and there were signs of dark rust on some parts of the machinery.
‘What is this?’ Richard asked.
‘I think this is where they pack the coffee, sir,’ Fidel said, indicating a palette tray of empty hessian bags at one end of the assembly line. Richard could see the words ‘Premiere Bonifieur blend, Beaumont Plantation, Saint-Marie’ printed onto each bag. But before Richard could make much sense of how the machinery might have worked, Fidel was leading across the floor again and taking them through another open door that led out to the bright sunshine and jungle on the other side of the building.
‘You searched out here?’ Camille asked, impressed.
‘Well, it didn’t take me too long to gather, bag and log the physical evidence in the jungle clearing, so I thought I’d check the buildings near to the scene of the murder. See if I could find anything.’
‘And what exactly is it that you found?’ Richard asked.
‘That’s the thing, sir, I don’t know if it’s much, but I did find this.’
Fidel pointed down at the dusty ground, and Richard and Camille could see a set of tyre tracks in the dirt. And, as Fidel had suggested to the witnesses, they clearly belonged to a three-wheeled vehicle of some sort.
But if the family said they didn’t own any three-wheeled vehicles, then whose vehicle did these tracks belong to?
Richard saw that the tyre tracks continued along the side of the building for about twenty yards, and then they turned and disappeared between two thick bushes. On the further side of the bushes was the main road that serviced the plantation.
Richard realised that if someone had driven a three-wheeled vehicle up to this side of this building, they could have approached from the main road without being seen by anyone who was in the courtyard. It was essentially a private way for a vehicle to access the plantation. And then Richard remembered something else. There’d been a sudden burst of heavy rain when he and Camille had arrived at the plantation at about 11am. So had these
