LITMIR.BIZ

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his team made steady progress, but none of it seemed to take them any closer to uncovering the identity of the victim.

      Richard even realised that he couldn’t presume that the victim – if indeed he were a Brit travelling on his own – had even arrived on the island by plane. What if he’d arrived by boat? So he put in a call to the Harbour Master in Honoré and learned that while it would theoretically be possible to get a list of every solo Brit who’d arrived by boat and cleared customs in the last month or so, there were so many bays on Saint-Marie that there was nothing stopping any potential solo sailor from dropping anchor in a quiet cove and illegally accessing the island from there. When Richard asked if the Harbour Master knew of any boats who’d recently arrived unannounced like this, the man had just laughed at how naive the question was.

      Richard was left deeply frustrated. If their victim had arrived by plane, it was going to take until the following week to get a list of British arrivals. And if he’d arrived by boat, it would have been possible to sneak onto the island past customs and immigration anyway. How were they going to work out who the victim was?

      It was Dwayne who made the first breakthrough.

      ‘Okay, sir, the weapon we found in the victim’s hand is a Glock 19,’ he reported back to Richard. ‘It’s not listed on the gun register of the island – meaning it must have been acquired illegally. And although I’ve been able to lift three partial fingerprints from the handle, they all belong to the victim. As for the rest of the gun, it’s been wiped clean. So, whoever carried out this murder must have worn gloves. Or wiped the gun of fingerprints before putting the victim’s hand around the handle after he was dead to make it look like suicide. But the fact that the gun has been obtained illegally – and has been wiped of prints, sir – suggests we’re dealing with a killer who knew what he or she was doing.’

      ‘I’d agree with you there,’ Richard said.

      ‘But the big news is, I’ve been able to lift a fingerprint from one of the bullet casings we found at the scene. And the fingerprint doesn’t belong to the victim.’

      ‘It doesn’t?’ Richard asked eagerly, heading over to Dwayne’s desk.

      ‘It doesn’t,’ Dwayne said. ‘Meaning, the killer may have wiped the gun clean of his fingerprints, but he forgot to wipe the bullets he used. Or didn’t know that one of his fingerprints was already on one of the bullet casings.’

      ‘And you’re sure the fingerprint on the bullet casing doesn’t belong to the victim?’ Richard asked.

      ‘One hundred per cent. It belongs to someone else.’

      ‘Then see if you can match it with the exclusion prints we took from the Beaumont family this morning. As a matter of urgency. The fingerprint could belong to our killer.’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ Dwayne said.

      As Dwayne went to gather the family’s exclusion prints to start his comparison, Fidel called over from his desk.

      ‘Sir, I think I’ve identified the make and model of our three-wheeled vehicle.’

      ‘You have?’ Richard asked, thrilled that the case was finally picking up momentum.

      ‘I think so. The dimensions of the axle, wheel width and tyre patterns mark the vehicle out as almost certainly being a “Piaggio Ape 50”.

      ‘And what’s one of those when it’s at home?’ Richard asked.

      Fidel pulled up a picture of the vehicle in question, and Richard realised that he knew the type of vehicle well. There were hundreds of the bloody things all over the island: vans that were no more than souped-up three-wheeled mopeds like the tuk-tuks of Thailand, but with a flat wooden loading area at the back for carrying goods instead of space for two passengers. As far as Richard was concerned, he’d spent far too many hours stuck in the Police jeep behind these over-loaded menaces, and his eyes narrowed at the prospect of identifying what this particular vehicle had been doing at a murder scene.

      ‘Right, Fidel,’ he said, ‘I want you to make this your top priority.’

      Fidel was surprised. ‘You do, sir?’

      ‘I just said, didn’t I? We know this particular Piaggio has a distinctive cut in its front wheel. So I want you to get a list of all the registered Piaggio 50s on the island, and then take that plaster of Paris cast to visit every single one of them until you’ve identified whose vehicle was up at the murder scene just before our victim was killed.’

      ‘But sir, these sorts of vehicles are bought and sold for cash all the time. I’m not sure all that many are correctly registered up at Government House.’

      ‘I know, Fidel. So maybe this is our chance – finally! – to bring one of these illegal vehicles to justice!’

      Richard realised a bit too late that he was possibly coming across a bit too much like a tinpot tyrant, but he didn’t much care. As far as he was concerned, these vans were a scourge of the island, and he, through the agency of Fidel, was going to be the sword of truth that finally managed to skewer one of them. Assuming that Fidel could identify the van, of course. And prove that it had indeed been up to no good when it had been up at the plantation. But these were mere details to be worked out once the van was identified.

      Richard looked at his team, hoping to see the same sense of missionary zeal in their eyes, but didn’t. He could tell from the way that Camille was now cocking her head slightly to one side, that she was maybe considering whether he needed psychiatric help or not.

      Luckily for Richard, the awkward silence was broken by the sound of footsteps on the veranda outside. They all turned and saw a little old lady standing on the threshold. She was wearing a purple dress and had tightly-curled grey hair.

      ‘Hello,’ she said in a friendly voice.

      ‘Hello,’ Dwayne said. ‘Can we help you?’

      ‘I don’t know, but I hope I can help you,’ she said. ‘My name is Rosie Lefèvre. I’m the Beaumonts’ housekeeper.’

      ‘You are?’ Richard was surprised. The tiny old woman in the doorway looked as though a strong breeze could knock her over.

      ‘Then come in, come in,’ Camille said.

      Camille fussed around Rosie and set her up on a chair in front of Richard’s desk. She then got a bottle from the office fridge and poured the old woman a glass of cold water.

      ‘Thank you so much,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s really quite a steep climb up to the Police station from the harbour.’

      ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Camille agreed.

      ‘Anyway,’ Richard said. ‘You said you could help us?’

      ‘Well, I don’t know about that, but Hugh rang me and told me the terrible news.’

      ‘And when was this exactly?’ Richard asked, pulling out his notebook and pencil from his inside jacket pocket.

      ‘Just after I’d arrived on Montserrat.’

      ‘That’s right. Sylvie said you’d gone to visit family.’

      ‘I had. Although it’s not immediate family. I never had the good fortune to marry. And although I had a brother once, he died many years ago now.’ Rosie smiled sadly at the memory. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a cousin on Montserrat I go and stay with for a few days every year.’

      ‘I see. Then can I ask, when did you go to Montserrat?’

      ‘This morning.’

      ‘And what time ferry did you catch from Saint-Marie?’

      ‘I was on the 11am sailing.’

      Richard made a note.

      ‘And what time did the ferry dock on Montserrat?’

      ‘At about 12.30. And then Hugh rang me just after I’d cleared Customs. He

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