Murder on the Caronia (6 page)

“No, Mr. Dillman. What I saw was a woman, brazenly confident that she and her accomplice had got away with it. Until then, she’d been meek and mild. In a flash her real character suddenly revealed itself.”

“Are you sure that they’re safe where they are, Inspector?” said Taggart.

“Quite safe.”

“A strong man could break out of that cabin.”

“Where would he go? Heritage can’t escape from this ship. Besides,” he said, “the only place he wants to be is with Miss Peterson. Sergeant Mulcaster and I would hear the noise if he tried to break down any doors. We keep a close eye on both of them.”

“I wonder if I might make a suggestion,” Dillman said gently.

“Go ahead.”

“Well, I know that Sergeant Mulcaster doesn’t have too high an opinion of the Pinkerton Agency but it has had considerable success. One of the things it taught me was the value of using female operatives, especially when it came to questioning female suspects.” He saw Redfern purse his lips in irritation. “We don’t want to tread on your toes, Inspector. This is your case and we respect that. I just feel that Genevieve Masefield might be able to talk to Miss Peterson as a woman and draw things out of her that neither you nor Sergeant Mulcaster ever could do.”

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Dillman, but I’ll have to decline it.”

“Don’t you want any help?”

“We don’t need it.”

“Very well. I won’t press it.”

“You’d be wasting your time, Mr. Dillman.”

“Then let me leave you with this thought, Inspector. You told
us, I believe, that both the suspects have repeatedly denied their guilt.”

“Most villains do.”

“But they’re not typical villains, are they?” said Dillman. “Until recently, they were well-behaved British citizens who went about their lawful business without causing a moment’s concern. They then commit a heinous crime—allegedly.”

“Who else could have murdered Mrs. Heritage?”

“That’s beside the point. What I’m asking you to consider is this. The husband may indeed have poisoned his wife—all the signs indicate that—but supposing that Miss Peterson was not directly implicated…. Suppose that, until you arrested her, she didn’t even know that Mrs. Heritage had been killed?”

“She did seem overwhelmed by the news,” Redfern conceded.

“Could that be the reason she was so angry yesterday?”

“What do you mean?”

“Innocent of the crime herself,” argued Dillman, “she refuses to believe that her lover could have committed it. That’s why her denials are so vehement, Inspector. You can’t prove that she has blood on her hands if they’re completely clean, can you?”

“That’s marvelous!” exclaimed Cecilia Robart. “Where did you find them?”

“I didn’t,” said Genevieve. “The bath steward did.”

“Bath steward?”

“You’d be surprised what people leave in a bathroom. They take off watches, necklaces, earrings, and everything else they’re wearing before they get into the water. Then they simply forget to pick them up again. It may seem incredible, but a glass eye was once found in a bathroom on the
Carmania
.”

“Who could possibly leave that behind?”

“An old gentleman who was ever so grateful when it was returned to him.”

“Well, he couldn’t have been more grateful than I am, Miss
Masefield,” said Mrs. Robart. “I’d given up all hope of ever seeing the earrings again.”

“You’re certain they’re the right ones?”

“No question of that.”

When Genevieve had called at her cabin to return the items, Mrs. Robart was quite overjoyed. Now, taking the earrings across to the mirror, she held them up to the lobes of her ears and beamed happily.

“How on earth did they get into the bathroom?” she wondered.

“Did you have a bath this morning?”

“Yes. I had a reservation, first thing. I don’t remember taking the earrings in there with me. Though I did have my necklace for safekeeping,” she said, touching the pearls around her neck. “I always wear that when I’m traveling. Even for breakfast.” She scratched her head. “I suppose I
could
have had the earrings on. I am a little absentminded at times.” She turned to face Genevieve. “Oh, this has cheered me up no end. You must let me give you a reward.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Robart.”

“But you recovered them within a matter of hours.”

“The bath steward must take the credit. He found them when he was putting some fresh towels in there. Why don’t you give him a tip when you next see him?”

“I will,” agreed the other woman, looking for her purse, “but I’d like to give you something as well. You’ve soothed my mind wonderfully.”

“They
are
beautiful earrings.”

“David always knew what to buy for me.”

“Take more care of them in future.”

“Oh, I will, I promise.” She found her purse. “Ah, here we are.”

Genevieve held up both hands. “No, Mrs. Robart. Put it away. I’m not allowed to take money. I was only doing my job and I get paid for that. I just hope that every problem I encounter gets sorted out as quickly and painlessly as this one.”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“We aim to serve.”

“You certainly did that.” She opened the door. “Thank you again.”

“If I might offer one last piece of advice….”

“Leave any valuables in the purser’s safe from now on,” said Mrs. Robarts, anticipating the counsel. “I will, Miss Masefield, I guarantee it. I’ve had my scare. You won’t hear another peep out of me for the rest of the voyage, I promise you.”

Sergeant Mulcaster was outraged. Bunching up his fist, he brought it down on the table with such a bang that he scattered a pile of papers lying there. They floated lazily to the floor.

“Poke their nose into our investigation?” he roared.

“Calm down, Ronnie.”

“I hope you told him to mind his own bloody business.”

“It was only a suggestion,” said Redfern.

“Well, it’s one that we can do without.” Mulcaster’s pride had been hurt. “When I see Mr. Dillman again, I’ll tell him what I think of his offer.”

“He was making it on behalf of Miss Masefield.”

“That’s even worse, Inspector.”

“Why?”

“Because the lady is an amateur!” snarled Mulcaster. “She’s nice to look at, I grant you, but she’s had no experience of real police work. At least Dillman has had some professional training—if you can call it that. But not that well-dressed assistant of his. What on earth did she imagine she could do?”

“Talk to Carrie Peterson as a woman.”

“Give me a dress to wear and I could do that.”

“Ronnie!”

“I’m sorry, Inspector, but this has made my blood boil. We don’t need any outsiders butting in on our investigation.”

“That’s what I said to him.”

“How would Dillman like it if we started to do his job for him?” He bent down to pick up the pages on the floor, still
seething with righteous indignation. “Blimey! There are five days to go yet. We’ve got bags of time to squeeze a confession out of Heritage and his fancy woman. By the time we reach Liverpool, we’ll have them singing like canaries.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said the inspector.

“Oh?”

“They’re a tougher proposition than I thought. Especially Miss Peterson.”

“Let me frighten the truth out of her.”

“No, Ronnie.”

“We’ve been much too soft so far.”

“You weren’t exactly soft when we arrested them,” Redfern reminded him. “You used undue force against her, there’s no doubt about it. She’s not a strong woman. You had no cause to pounce on her like that.”

“I thought she was trying to get away, Inspector.”

“Let’s be honest, Ronnie. You jumped in too fast and too hard. And it’s not the first time it’s happened, is it? You’ve been disciplined twice for handling suspects too roughly.”

“They deserved it.”

“Only if there’s provocation.”

“Well, I was provoked.”

“That’s not the view the superintendent took. If I hadn’t spoken up for you, he might well have suspended you. And you’d never have been given this assignment,” stressed Redfern. “I had to defend you all the way.”

“Yes, I know,” said Mulcaster, restoring the papers to the table. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want thanks, Ronnie. I just want recognition that I’m the senior officer here, which means I make the decisions. There’ll be no strong-arm methods with Carrie Peterson. That could get us both into trouble.”

“It would also get us the confession we need.”

“The evidence is strong enough as it is.”

“It’s not enough for me, Inspector,” said Mulcaster, rubbing his hands together. “When I’ve got someone in custody, I like
to break them down bit by bit. It saves so much time in court.” He nodded toward one wall. “What do you think she’s doing in there now?”

“Thinking about Heritage, probably.”

“And him?”

“I daresay he’s playing chess with himself.”

“Eh?”

“That was my reaction at first, Ronnie, but it is possible.” He heaved a sigh. “John Heritage can certainly give himself a better game than I can. He trounced me good and proper at chess. It’s a pity there’s no dartboard in that cabin.” A reflective smile spread over his face. “Now, there’s a game where I’d take on
anybody
. I’ve won cups at it.”

“I could win cups at interrogation—if I was given free rein.”

“Well, you’re not.”

“What are we going to do, Inspector?”

“Bide our time.”

“Let me have an hour alone with Heritage.”

“No, Ronnie.”

“I won’t lay a finger on him,” said Mulcaster. “I’ll just talk to him. Face-to-face.”

“That’s what you said last time, and the suspect finished up with a split lip and three missing teeth.”

“He threw a punch at me. I had to restrain him.”

“Well, I’m restraining you now,” said Redfern, fixing him with a stare. “I want to get those two back in one piece. This case could be the making of us, Ronnie. Think of the headlines in the papers. ‘Detectives Cross Atlantic to Capture Murder Suspects.’ There’ll be photographs of us, probably. And of them, of course,” he added, taking his pipe out of his pocket and slipping the stem into his mouth. “We have to keep Heritage and his mistress looking pretty for the camera.”

Mulcaster gave a low cackle. “And for the hangman,” he said.

Frank Openshaw was a gregarious man. In the course of a single day afloat, he had befriended a large number of people. As he
strolled along the boat deck, he was able to greet several passengers by name. George Porter Dillman was one of them.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dillman.”

“Hello, Mr. Openshaw.”

“I’m just taking my constitutional,” said the Yorkshireman, patting his stomach. “It’s the only way to keep this from getting even larger.”

“How is Mrs. Openshaw?”

“Not too well, I fear. A touch of seasickness. Kitty is having a lie-down in the cabin. For some reason, it always happens like this. She’s fine on the first day out, then has an upset tummy on the second. You’re a sailor, Mr. Dillman,” he recalled. “Do you know a cure for seasickness?”

“Yes,” replied Dillman. “Stay on land.”

Openshaw chortled. “That’s a fair comment.”

“I was being facetious. Seasickness is not amusing to those who suffer from it.”

“Kitty could confirm that.”

Dillman had just returned from interviewing the man in second class whose wallet had been stolen. A pickpocket was evidently at work in the public rooms and the detective would need to stalk him. He had also dealt with the other problem reported to the purser. When Dillman unlocked the storeroom from which noises had been heard, the ship’s mascot, a large cat, came darting out of the prison in which he had inadvertently been locked. During his incarceration, he had managed to knock over a number of small boxes. Dillman had stacked them neatly before locking up the storeroom again with his master key. He was pleased to see Openshaw again. They had lunched at separate tables so had not spoken since the previous day.

“I was interested to hear that you owned two theaters,” said Dillman.

“Both in London’s West End. The music hall is in Manchester.”

“What sort of plays do you present?”

“Ones that make money, Mr. Dillman.”

“Pinero? Shaw? Henry Arthur Jones?”

“Don’t ask me the names,” the other said dismissively. “I hardly ever go to the theater, myself. I usually fall asleep. Music hall is my passion. I do love that. But I cater to all tastes,” he went on. “One of my theaters put on a Shakespeare play last year.”

“There’s a certain amount of vaudeville in some of those,” opined Dillman.

It was not a point he had any chance to develop. At that moment, a figure tried to sidle past them without attracting attention. Openshaw spotted him at once.

“Mr. Leach!” he called out, moving to intercept him.

Leach came to a halt and exchanged reluctant greetings with the two men. Wearing a long black coat and a black hat, he looked as if he were about to attend another funeral. Dillman recalled the way Leach had left his cabin the previous night.

“Where have you been hiding?” asked Openshaw.

“Nowhere,” said Leach.

“We didn’t see you at dinner last night or at lunch today.”

“I was there, Mr. Openshaw.”

“Well, I hope you’ll be able to join us for drinks before dinner,” said Openshaw, with a benevolent wave of his arm. “You, too, Mr. Dillman. Kitty so enjoyed your company, and I’m sure that she’ll have recovered completely by this evening. We’re in cabin number six. Can I count on seeing you there, Mr. Leach?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“You can tell us about the tricks of your trade.”

“They don’t make for polite conversation.”

“There must be some yarns you can tell us. And you’ll be able to meet some of our other friends as well. They include a couple of attractive single ladies,” he said with a roguish smile. “They’re the best decoration of all at a drinks party, I always think. Come along and say hello to them, Mr. Leach.”

The undertaker looked alarmed. The invitation was unwelcome but he seemed unable to find the words to refuse it. Eyes
darting, he shifted his feet uneasily. Dillman could see how uncomfortable the man was. Frank Openshaw waited for a reply that never came. Unable to find an excuse, Ramsey Leach simply turned on his heel and scuttled away as fast as he could. Openshaw turned in surprise to Dillman.