Murder in the Caribbean - Robert Thorogood

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      ‘That’s the whole point. He’s been in prison for the last twenty years. But he was released three days ago.’

      The team looked at each other, absolutely stunned.

      Richard was the first to recover.

      ‘Then I suggest we find this Pierre Charpentier as a matter of some urgency,’ he said. ‘Don’t you?’

      It’s amazing what you learn in prison. Who knew you could make an improvised bomb out of an old phone and a few wires? And it was so easy to set up. Conrad had no security on his boat. The hatch to his engine compartment wasn’t even locked. It was simple. Under cover of night, I taped the phone inside, and then it was just a case of working out which tube was the fuel line that led from the petrol tanks. A quick slice with a knife, and the job was done. It was amazing. The rush I felt knowing I now had his life in my hands. After two decades of waiting. One call, that’s all it would take. And that’s all it took. I dialled the number when his boat was out in the harbour where everyone could see it. I then waited a few seconds for the call to connect, and then the boat went up. Just like that. Boom. Then, when everyone rushed to the bay, I went to his house and smashed in the back window. Wrecking his study wasn’t part of the plan, but I couldn’t help myself. I felt alive. Finally alive. And then I left the ruby. That had always been the plan. To leave the ruby. Because it wasn’t enough to kill Conrad. I wanted to make a statement. To let the whole world know. I was back.

      It took a quick phonecall to the administration department of the Central Prison to find out that Pierre Charpentier had indeed left prison three days before, and his registered address was a halfway house a few miles away.

      When Richard told his team Pierre’s address, Dwayne offered to come along.

      ‘Why?’ Richard asked.

      ‘Let me put it this way,’ Dwayne said. ‘It’s not the sort of place someone like you wants to get lost in.’

      As the Police jeep arrived, Richard found himself agreeing with Dwayne’s analysis. For the last few minutes they’d travelled down a narrow dirt road that cut through a field of sugar cane, the thick stalks pressing in on either side. Then, once the field ended, the track opened up into a dirt clearing that contained half a dozen clapboard houses that were nestling in scrubland right next to the sea.

      Camille parked the Police jeep by some overflowing bins. There was no-one around. Just some laundry drying on a line and a scrawny dog sleeping in the shade of an old pick-up.

      It felt like something out of the Wild West, Richard thought to himself.

      ‘Come on, let’s get this over with,’ he said, heading to the crumbling building that was listed as Pierre’s halfway house.

      Stepping up onto the porch, Richard knocked loudly on the wooden door. There was no answer from inside, although Richard saw a net curtain twitch in a house nearby. Interesting, he thought to himself. The enclave wasn’t as deserted as he’d first thought.

      Richard took a few steps back and looked at the upstairs windows of the old building. They had yellowed copies of the Saint-Marie Times taped to the inside, and there was a bush of some sort growing out of the gutter above.

      ‘Let me see what I can do,’ Dwayne said, heading around the side of the house.

      ‘Dwayne!’ Richard called out after him. ‘We don’t have a warrant.’

      ‘I know that, Chief,’ Dwayne replied, before disappearing.

      Richard knocked on the door again, but there was still no answer.

      ‘Mr Charpentier!’ he called out. ‘Saint-Marie Police. Are you there?’

      Richard noticed the net curtain at the nearby house twitch again. Whoever was inside was very interested to see what was going on.

      After knocking on the door for a third time, Richard was gratified to hear the sound of footsteps approaching from inside. He took a step back to make sure he wasn’t within striking distance of Pierre when he opened the door and pulled his warrant card, ready to show it.

      There was the sound of various chains being lifted, bolts being slid back, and then the door opened inwards.

      ‘Detective Inspector Richard Poole of the Saint-Marie Police Force,’ Richard said.

      ‘I know who you are,’ Dwayne said as he finished opening the door.

      ‘How did you get in there?’ Richard asked, quietly furious.

      ‘Well, that’s the funny thing, Chief. The back door was open, so I just walked in.’

      ‘The back door was open, was it?’ Richard asked, sceptically.

      ‘I mean, it took a bit of effort, but it was definitely open. Eventually.’

      After a moment’s indecision, Richard pushed past Dwayne into the house, his interest in Pierre’s whereabouts drawing him in. After all, if the back door really were open, they could claim that they were investigating the security of the house as a matter of community policing. If Dwayne had broken in, then that was something he’d have to explain to a tribunal if it ever came to that.

      As Richard looked about himself, he saw that the house was shabby, and was only furnished with the bare minimum. He saw a little sidetable with an ashtray and packet of cigarettes and matches next to it. There was also a bottle of beer that Richard saw was half full.

      Pulling on a pair of crime scene gloves, Richard went into the kitchen at the back of the house and saw a brown paper bag on the worktop. Inside there were a few basic groceries, none of them unpacked. And from the smell coming from the bag, Richard guessed that it had been sitting out in the heat.

      There was also a see-through folder to the side of the groceries that contained all the literature from the prison explaining the ups and downs following a spell inside. Richard also found an open brown envelope, and he used his pencil to raise the flap so he could see its contents. It was full of what looked to be about a hundred dollars in low denomination notes.

      ‘He left in a hurry, didn’t he?’ Camille said from the doorway. ‘He’s not even finished his beer.’

      ‘That’s what it looks like to me,’ Richard agreed. ‘And, from the state of his food here, I don’t think he was here for very long.’

      ‘So what happened?’ Dwayne asked.

      Richard looked about himself. There were no signs of a struggle. In fact, it looked as though Pierre had only just popped out for a few minutes. As Richard went back into the front room, he half expected to find a cigarette still smouldering in the ashtray.

      ‘Dwayne,’ he said, ‘I want you to bag the physical evidence.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘As for you and me, Camille, I think we’ve got a lead to follow up.’

      ‘We have, sir?’

      A few moments later, Richard and Camille had gone to the house next door where Richard had seen the curtain twitching. Having knocked loudly on the door, they soon heard a shuffling of feet from inside the house.

      ‘Hold on, hold on,’ a voice called out.

      The door opened to reveal an ancient woman who was almost entirely bent over, and seemed only to be kept upright by a claw-footed hospital walking stick that she was gripping firmly in her right hand.

      She lifted up her head, and Richard could see that her eyes were cloudy.

      ‘Are you the Police?’ the woman asked.

      ‘We are,’ Camille said. ‘We just wanted to ask you a few questions about your neighbour.’

      ‘What neighbour?’

      ‘The

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