Murder on the Caronia (28 page)

“Will you need anything from your bag to analyze it?” asked Redfern.

“I don’t know,” said Heritage.

He used a finger to scoop out most of the ointment, then he sniffed it with care. Spreading it onto the palm of his other hand, he examined it more carefully before licking it with the tip of his tongue.

“Well?” asked Dillman.

“Where did you get this?”

“From a professional cyclist called Theo Wright. His coach was using it on him to massage his legs. He also gave Theo a strange substance last night to boost his energy. When he realized he was being given drugs, Theo drew the line.”

“I don’t blame him.”

“Why not, Mr. Heritage?” said Dillman.

“What’s in the ointment?” asked Redfern.

“Basically, it’s a compound of cocoa butter spiced with something else.”

“Go on,” said Dillman.

“Cocaine.”

Smoking a cigarette, Cecilia Robart was relaxing in her cabin. When there was a tap on her door, she looked up in surprise. She was expecting no visitors. She opened the door and saw Genevieve Masefield standing there.

“Forgive this intrusion, Mrs. Robart,” said Genevieve, “but I wondered if I could have a quiet word with you. It’s about your earrings.”

“But you found them for me.”

“I know, but there’s something I forgot to mention. May I come in?”

Mrs. Robart was guarded. “Well,” she said, “only for a minute. I have to meet a friend shortly.”

Genevieve stepped into the cabin and the door was closed.

“Now, then. What’s all this about, Miss Masefield?”

“You and me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I have this strange feeling you didn’t mislay those earrings at all,” Genevieve said pointedly. “If they meant so much to you, the last place you’d leave them was in a shared bathroom.”

“I told you. I can be very empty-headed at times.”

“You seem to be a little more organized now,” Genevieve observed, noting the tidiness of the cabin. “Now that you don’t have to put on an act, that is.”

“What on earth are you implying?”

“I’ve just talked with Sir Harry Fox-Holroyd. It turns out you’re not the duffer at cards you claim to be, Mrs. Robart. He says that you have a brain as sharp as a razor. It was you who carried him through that game of bridge.”

The other woman shrugged. “I was lucky, that’s all.”

“Well, your luck has run out, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

“The purser would like to interview you about some crimes that have taken place.”

“ ‘Crimes’?”

“I think you know what we’re talking about, Mrs. Robart.”

“I wish I did,” said the other woman, “and I’ll certainly accompany you to the purser. It will give me the chance to complain about your impudence, Miss Masefield.”

She picked up her purse and took out a key. Moving to the door, she opened it as if to leave. Genevieve went after her. At
the last moment, Mrs. Robart swung round and pushed Genevieve so hard that she stumbled back. Before Genevieve could get to her feet, she heard the key being turned in the lock to imprison her but she was not disconcerted. Anticipating resistance, she had brought some support with her. There were sounds of a scuffle outside the door then it was unlocked again. Two members of the crew were holding Cecilia Robart in a firm grip.

Genevieve smiled. “Now I realize why you pretended to be upset about the presence of two murder suspects on board. You wanted the names of the Scotland Yard detectives, didn’t you?”

Mrs. Robart struggled to escape, but to no avail.

“No need to rush off to warn your accomplice,” said Genevieve. “My colleague is on his way to arrest him at this very moment. I have an apology to make, you see. When I told you that I worked alone, I was lying to you.” Her smiled broadened. “There are two of us.”

It took Dillman some time to find him. When the man was not in his cabin, the detective scoured the public rooms in search of him. Most of the first-class passengers were attending a concert in the lounge. Stanley Chase was not among them. When Dillman eventually tracked him down, he was reclining in a chair with his head in a magazine about antiques. He was smoking a cigarette. The detective strolled across to him, pleased there were so few passengers about. They could converse in private.

“That looks like an absorbing read, Mr. Chase,” he said pleasantly.

“Oh, hello, Mr. Dillman,” said Chase, looking up. “Yes, I never tire of admiring antiques. There’s some French Empire furniture in here that’s making my mouth water.”

“Do you have a special interest in France?”

“Yes. I have a cottage near Castres. I spend all my free time there.”

“Do you smoke a French brand of cigarettes, by any chance?”

“I do, actually,” said Chase, taking a last pull on the cigarette before snuffing it out between his fingers and dropping it to the deck. “I like them.”

“I understand that you’re going to watch the Bordeaux-to-Paris cycle race this year. Is there any reason for that?”

“Of course. I’ve put a bet on Theo Wright.”

“You expect him to win?”

“I need him to win, Mr. Dillman. It’s a sizable bet.”

“Is that why you’re trying to safeguard your investment?”

“What do you mean?”

“You supplied cocaine to Theo’s coach, didn’t you?”

“Is that what Mr. Odell says?”

“No,” replied Dillman, “but it’s what Theo himself says, and what a pharmacist confirms. Mr. Odell was using a mixture of cocoa butter and cocaine to massage Theo’s legs. It’s also probable that he put cocaine flakes on his tongue.”

Chase put his magazine aside. “What’s your interest in this, Mr. Dillman?”

“A professional one.”

“I thought you built yachts.”

“I did at one time but I work for Cunard now. As a detective.”

“You do surprise me,” said Chase, quite unperturbed.

“I believe you’ve met my partner, Genevieve Masfield.”

“Yes, a charming young lady.”

“She’s presently interviewing
your
partner, Mr. Chase.”

“Oh—and who might that be?”

“Mrs. Cecilia Robart.”

Dillman saw the first flicker of an eyelid and knew that Chase was worried. The other man reached over to lift up a small case, putting it across his knees and opening it so that he could slip the magazine back into it.

“What have you come to do, Mr. Dillman?” he teased. “Are you going to slap me on the wrist and tell me not to be a naughty boy? Drugs are used in all sports. I wanted to make sure Theo Wright had his share of them, that’s all. It’s a subject on which I’ve done a little research, you see.”

“Oh?”

“Boxers, runners, cyclists—they’re all the same, all striving for the extra edge that will mean the difference between success and failure. In France, for instance, trainers give their athletes Caffeine Houdes, a commercial preparation that you can buy across the counter. The Belgians suck sugar cubes dipped in ether. Some people prefer nitroglycerine; others opt for concoctions that contain digitalis, camphor, or atropine. What Theo really needs for endurance is a mixture of cocaine and heroin.”

“No doubt you could provide both from your stock.”

“Need we get so upset about something that’s common practice in sport?”

“But we’re not talking about that, Mr. Chase, are we? What we’re discussing is the illegal import of drugs into England and the murder of Sergeant Ronald Mulcaster. I believe that you and Mrs. Robart can help us on both counts.”

“I’ve never even heard of this Sergeant Mulcaster.”

“No,” said Dillman. “I suppose he didn’t have time to introduce himself properly while you were tipping him over the rail on the boat deck.”

Chase’s mouth hardened.

“We have a witness, you see. He actually saw you club the sergeant to death with a revolver. Shall we go and find the weapon in your cabin, sir?”

“No need,” Chase snapped, lifting the lid of his case to pull out the gun and hold it on Dillman. “It’s right here. I always keep it near me.”

“Like Mrs. Robart and her gold earrings.”

Chase rose to his feet. “Shut up!”

“It wasn’t the antiques that paid for those earrings or for your cottage in the south of France. The big profits are in drug trafficking. Along with the worst kind of human beings. Sergeant Mulcaster knew that.”

“He was no better than us,” said Chase. “Everyone in the trade knew about Ronnie Mulcaster. He was an animal, hiding
behind his police badge. He crippled one man for life and sent a couple more to hospital. Yet he always got away with it. I was doing everyone a favor by getting rid of him!”

Dillman held out a hand. “Give me the gun, please,” he said. “Stand back!” ordered the other. “There’s no way you can escape.”

“At least I can take you with me, Mr. Dillman.”

“Just give me the weapon before it goes off.”

“Not a chance.” Chase backed away from him. “Move an inch and I’ll shoot.”

Dillman remained calm. He glanced over Chase’s shoulder and saw someone walking purposefully toward them. It gave him his chance.

“Watch your back,” he said.

“You won’t catch me like that, I’m afraid.”

“I think that Theo may want a word with you as well.”

“Turn around, Mr. Dillman. Walk toward the rail.”

“You’re the one who should turn around, sir. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Wright was twenty yards away now. He recognized the man he wanted.

“Mr. Chase!” he called. “I need a word with you.”

Taken by surprise, Chase glanced over his shoulder. Dillman moved swiftly. Diving forward, he grabbed the wrist that held the gun and twisted it back so the weapon was pointing in the air. The two men grappled and moved crazily across the deck as they struggled to get the upper hand. Wright looked on in amazement. Forcing his man toward the bulwark, Dillman smashed Chase’s wrist against the rail so that the gun was dislodged. It dropped to the deck with a clatter. Dillman kicked it away before trying to overpower his adversary. Deprived of his weapon, Chase felt a surge of anger and he fought back hard, punching and gouging for all he was worth, but Dillman was much stronger and fitter. He hurled Chase against the rail to take the wind out of him then hit him with a relay of
punches to the body and the head. With blood streaming from his nose, Chase eventually fell to one knee. Dillman reclaimed the gun to hold it on him.

“It’s my turn next, Mr. Chase,” said Wright, bunching up a fist. “There was cocaine in that ointment. I made Wes tell me where he got it from.” He dragged Chase to his feet. “You tried to turn me into a cheat.”

“Don’t worry, Theo,” said Dillman, panting from his fight. “He won’t be selling drugs to anyone for a very long time.”

Paul Taggart was thrilled by the turn of events. He felt the
Caronia
had been cleansed of its ugly stains. Two drug smugglers were in custody and they were also charged with the murder of Sergeant Mulcaster. The purser was delighted with the way Dillman and Genevieve had solved the crimes. When they visited him in his office, he showered them with congratulations.

“The captain insists you join him at his table this evening,” he said.

“We’ll be happy to accept his invitation,” said Dillman.

“Inspector Redfern will be there as well, He’s looking forward to eating a meal in the dining room instead of in his cabin. He has nothing but praise for you two. You helped him to get a confession from Miss Peterson.”

“Not really,” said Genevieve. “We just created the conditions in which it could happen. She’d been under immense strain, locked away on her own. Yet she denied her guilt time and again. When we put her in the same room as Mr. Heritage, however, she couldn’t control her emotions quite so well. She gave herself away.”

“Whatever happened,” said Taggart, “the inspector is deeply grateful.”

“We were happy to lend him some assistance.”

“Yes,” added Dillman. “Even though I went astray at one point when I thought that Ramsey Leach was our man. He and
his wife are still pretending they’re not married, I notice. Presumably, they only meet at night.”

Taggart grinned. “I tried to smooth the path of true love,” he added. “I had Mrs. Anstruther moved from the next cabin. It’s been left empty now so they can make as much noise as they like without disturbing anyone. But the real triumph of the day was the arrest of Stanley Chase and Cecilia Robart. They were another couple who seemed to be traveling independently yet spent the nights together. Thanks to you two,” he went on, “they’re both behind bars. It’s a time for celebration.”

“Not exactly, Mr. Taggart,” said Dillman.

“Why not?”

“We still haven’t found the drugs. We’ve searched every last inch of their cabins and there’s no sniff of cocaine or heroin. Yet I’m certain it’s aboard somewhere.”

“They must have hidden it somewhere else, Mr. Dillman.”

“Unless they have another accomplice,” suggested Genevieve.

Dillman shook his head. “No, the two of them work as a team and they’ve obviously been doing so for some time. That means they have a system. Well, you heard what Chase said as we locked him away,” he reminded them. “He taunted us. He said that we’d never find the drugs in a month of Sundays.”

“Then they’ll never get off the vessel,” said Taggart.

“Yes, they will.”

“How, George?” asked Genevieve.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I have a theory.”

As the
Caronia
sailed on across the Atlantic, the vast majority of those aboard had no knowledge of the drama that had been played out inside it. Passengers and crew alike thought it was a routine voyage. When they were on the last leg of the journey, telegraph messages were sent to Liverpool to alert the police and the press. By the time the vessel eased slowly up against its landing stage, a police escort was waiting to take charge of the prisoners, and a battery of reporters wanted to interview
Inspector Redfern. He appeared before the cameras alone. George Porter Dillman and Genevieve Masefield needed to preserve their anonymity, especially as they would be sailing back to New York on the
Caronia
. While the inspector coped with the press, they slipped quietly ashore.