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Chapter 21

21

TUESDAY MORNING

Oscar and I took a walk through the crowded streets and up the hill past the Carabinieri barracks where Maresciallo Veronese was for once missing on the terrace – no doubt across the bay at the Poseidon . As soon as we got away from the sea, the crowds began to thin and the narrow road very quickly reached an abrupt halt and an even narrower footpath continued up the hill ahead of us. It was very pleasant here in the trees but there wasn't really anywhere for Oscar to run, but at least he had the pleasure of marking virtually every single tree and gatepost he came to, thus indicating to other dogs that he now claimed control of the whole village. As we walked, I called Anna and got her as her train was arriving in Florence. She couldn't talk so I just told her everything was going well and that I would ring her this evening. She sounded quite happy and it was with a feeling of relief that I returned to the job in hand and headed back towards the harbour.

In the dinghy, I made sure that I kept hold of the end of Oscar's lead. He had almost dried out completely in the hot July sunshine and I certainly didn't want him to leap overboard and get soaked all over again. The trip out to the yacht through the multitude of moored boats took only three or four minutes, although I had a moment of concern when the ferry loomed up dead ahead of me, looking huge from where I was sitting. Fortunately, I managed to take avoiding action and stay well clear, and the remainder of the brief voyage was uneventful. The view back towards Portofino with its faded yellow, orange and pink houses highlighted against the backdrop of dense deep green vegetation on the surrounding hills was delightful. Shame about the crowds… and two murders.

I found Martin Grey at the pool, doing a determined and stylish front crawl against the counter-current swimming jet. I waited several minutes until he stopped swimming and noticed me. The expression on his face wasn't exactly welcoming but he swam over to the ladder and climbed out.

‘Good morning, Chief Inspector.'

‘Good morning, Mr Grey, and it's ex-chief inspector nowadays. I wonder if I could have a word with you in private.'

For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw what might have been a look of insecurity on his face before he summoned the cheesy grin that Officer Solaro had noted. He looked around and indicated a couple of sun loungers at the end of the pool. ‘We seem to have the deck to ourselves at the moment, so how about over there?'

I followed him across and we both sat down in the sun, Oscar positioning himself in the shade of my body on the opposite side from Grey, who sat back and gave me an expansive smile that looked almost genuine. ‘How can I help?'

I decided to play down my suspicions for the moment. ‘Lieutenant Bertoletti has had to go off. There's been a potentially important development that might result in the apprehension of Jerome Van der Groot's killer. In the meantime, he's asked me to speak to one or two people here on the yacht. I don't have many questions so I won't take up too much of your time.'

The smile stayed firmly on his face as he nodded. ‘Fire away. I'll be only too happy to give you any help I can.' He looked and sounded cheerful but, of course, he spent his career looking like that so it didn't necessarily mean anything but, maybe, I told myself, I was just being too cynical. My ex-wife often accused me of this and she was probably right. Doing my best to stifle any feelings of mistrust, I started on the questions.

‘Have you heard that I'm investigating the disappearance of a considerable sum of money from the company's accounts?'

‘Yes, indeed, but I doubt whether I'll be able to help. I'm afraid I'm terrible with figures.' He gave me what could probably have been described as a cheeky grin. ‘All I know is that I've got six fingers on each hand, but that's as far as my maths goes.'

I duly smiled back. ‘Don't worry, I'm sure you aren't involved in anything like that. Apart from any other considerations, only a limited number of people have all the access codes and passwords. What I was wondering was whether you can think of anybody in the accounts department or elsewhere in the company who might have been in urgent need of money. Anything you tell me will be in the strictest confidence.'

He took his time before replying and, at first, he repeated what the others had already told me. ‘I'm afraid poor old Edgar is going through the mill at the moment with a divorce, and it would appear that his wife's lawyers are intent on taking him to the cleaners. I would think he would love to get his hands on some extra cash but I'm not sure I see him as a thief.' He caught my eye for a moment. ‘But brass is brass, isn't it? What is it they say – "Money doesn't buy happiness, but it makes unhappiness a lot more comfortable"? Who knows, maybe he did dip his fingers in the till.'

‘Anybody else?'

‘The only other person is Susie. She spends money like water and she seems to have a different outfit every day. And I'm not talking cheap stuff either. If it doesn't have a designer label, Ms Upton isn't interested.'

Considering the clothes I had seen him wearing and the fact that his swimming shorts had Burberry emblazoned on the front of them, I had a feeling this might be the pot calling the kettle black, but I pressed him all the same. ‘So you think Susie might be on the lookout for money?'

‘Definitely. She seems to throw herself at every millionaire we meet. I heard recently she was working her way through the Manchester United football team. I've heard her described as the good time had by all.' Even if I hadn't already been warned that he enjoyed spreading libellous allegations about his colleague, the petulant note in his voice was a clear indication of jealousy. And jealousy, as thirty years in the murder squad had taught me, can be a powerful motive for murder.

‘Thank you. I'll relay that to the lieutenant. The other thing he wanted me to ask you was exactly what happened on Saturday night immediately before Jerome Van der Groot was murdered. I believe you and he were involved in an argument.'

This time, the cheesy smile did slip. ‘Not so much an argument as a bloody lynching. Are you familiar with the expression "kangaroo court", Mr Armstrong? In my case, it was very public humiliation in front of my colleagues. As soon as we get back to the UK, I intend to speak to my lawyer about this totally unacceptable and disrespectful treatment. Miserable old sod! Would you believe Jerome had the gall to accuse me of betraying company secrets to another TV company, and I found myself summarily dismissed?' He glared at me and I got a brief glimpse of a more visceral Martin Grey beneath the jolly professional veneer. ‘Sacked, me? Me, the instantly recognisable and much-loved public face of the company? Of course I'm sorry Jerome's dead, but I think the old man must have been going doolally.' He caught my eye again. ‘Is the lieutenant absolutely certain that it wasn't suicide? It wouldn't surprise me.'

In spite of his protestations, I distinctly got the impression that the death of the CEO hadn't saddened him in the slightest. Ignoring the fact that he had described the victim – who had been barely a handful of years older than me – as ‘old', I decided to stick with obfuscation. ‘I'm not really sure of the facts. Certainly the Carabinieri are treating it as murder. Tell me, is it true that Jerome Van der Groot wanted to give your job to Susie Upton?'

His perfectly tanned face suddenly turned a very unhealthy puce colour. ‘As if she could take on the role of host for the biggest-grossing game show on UK television! Bloody ridiculous! As I say, I reckon Jerome was losing it. His health hasn't been that great recently, so maybe something was going wrong in his brain.' He then spat out a colourful selection of unprintable expletives to reinforce his contention that Van der Groot had been insane, and even Oscar looked up in amazement.

‘So it's not true that you were talking to another TV company?'

‘I talk to lots of people and I have a whole heap of friends, some very good friends, in a number of different media companies.' He thumped his fist on the table for good measure. ‘Was Jerome really trying to tell me that I can't even choose my own bloody friends?' His outrage was only too clear to hear and I could well imagine how an excess of alcohol could have led to actual physical assault on Saturday night, although murder still seemed excessive retaliation even for a narcissist like Martin Grey.

‘Returning to Susie Upton for a moment, what do you think of a rumour I've heard that she was involved with Jerome Van der Groot, maybe trading sexual favours in order to get on in the company?'

I was interested to hear none of the backtracking he'd demonstrated when asked the same question by the lieutenant, but maybe that was because he was already visibly furious. ‘Of course she was, anybody could see it, the little slag! How else did she manage to do so well? That's why he was going to give her my job. What a miserable little…' The list of invective he then went on to level at Susie would have scandalised an East End docker and I could sense the passion – no doubt unrequited – below the surface. And unrequited passion can be a powerful motivator.

‘Until somebody murdered him.' I deliberately let a more sinister note enter my voice and after a second or two, a new expression appeared on his face. This time, it wasn't so much anger as uncertainty, and I saw him go straight into damage limitation mode – in fairness, remarkably fluently.

‘Yeah, you're right, and like I said, it's very sad.' He didn't sound it. ‘It's particularly sad for me because I wanted the satisfaction of seeing him hauled up before an employment tribunal for his shameful treatment of me.' He looked across at me and gave me a look of great sincerity, his eyes trained right on mine. ‘Murder is a terrible thing.' I waited for another litany of swearwords, but this time, I waited in vain.

He might well have been a good comedian and a successful game-show host, but, as an actor, he lacked sincerity. Filing away this lack of sympathy for his deceased employer, I nodded. ‘It certainly is.' I got to my feet and Oscar immediately did the same. ‘Anyway, thank you for your time. I need to go and speak to the captain now. Sorry to drag you away from your exercise.'

He gave me a generous smile – one that might well have been tinged with relief – and dived neatly into the pool.

As I climbed the stairs to the bridge, I reviewed the conversation with Grey. One thing was for sure: his choice of vocabulary meant that he would never have made it into the Oxford Union Debating Society, but, more significantly, I found it interesting that, when asked, he had had no hesitation at pointing the finger at both Edgar Beaumont and Susie Upton. Whether this was just because of antipathy towards them or to deflect suspicion from himself remained to be seen. Certainly, from what he'd told me, he'd had a deep and lasting loathing for the first victim. Deep enough to have made him resort to murder?

I found the captain up on the bridge, deep in discussion with a man in a smart, white shirt with gold braid on the epaulettes. Tamsin had pointed him out to me the previous day as the first officer, sort of a deputy captain, but we hadn't spoken yet. He was probably no older than my daughter, in his early or maybe mid-thirties, and he was the first to look up when Oscar and I came in. As my arrival interrupted their conversation, I was quick to hold up an apologetic hand. ‘I'm sorry if I've come at a bad time. I can come back. It's not a problem.'

The captain beckoned to me and we all shook hands. ‘Not at all. Do you know Timothy, my first officer? We've just been discussing how we're going to reschedule parts of this week's cruise in view of the fact that we've been stuck here for days. Have you any idea when the Carabinieri will let us leave?'

I shook my head. ‘I'm sorry, but I haven't. I know the lieutenant's gone across to a boatyard in Lavagna today where he's hoping to unearth something that might help him solve this case. He'll probably be calling back here a bit later on this afternoon, so you can ask him yourself.'

‘Thank you, I will. How can I help you now?'

‘It's about the murder of Heinrich Schiller. I've been hearing rumours about your having had to speak to him in the past about fraternisation, or more, with guests on previous trips. Is that correct?'

She nodded. ‘Yes, I'm afraid so. Rick wasn't one of our successes. He was sent to me by our head office in Genoa at a time when we were desperate to fill a vacancy, but I've been keeping an eye out for a replacement ever since. Apart from him having an unhealthy interest in our female guests, I've recently been hearing more serious allegations about possible theft.' She caught my eye for a moment. ‘I'm appalled that he's been murdered, but it wouldn't surprise me if his death wasn't just a random killing.'

‘In what way?' Although I had a pretty good idea I knew what the answer was going to be.

‘I'm not aware of him being involved with any of the guests currently on the Regal Princess , but it wouldn't totally surprise me if we were to discover that he'd been carrying on with one of them, and this might have aroused jealousy or worse.'

‘But you have no idea whether he might have been carrying on with someone?'

This time, the first officer answered. ‘One of the housekeeping staff mentioned something this morning but, since Rick's now dead, I didn't pay much attention. I think she said she'd seen him hanging around the guest accommodation.'

I immediately picked up on what he had said. ‘Thank you, I've heard that rumour as well. I believe I have to speak to a woman called Maggie. Does that sound right?'

The first officer nodded. ‘Maggie's been with us for several seasons now and she knows more about what goes on in the ship than anybody on board. At this time of day, you'll probably find her in the kitchen or in the saloon, preparing for lunch.'

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