to visit, but he couldn’t see a diplomatic way of explaining this to his partner, so he just harrumphed by way of an answer.
‘Good!’ Camille said, and then started to lead Natasha off, telling her how she shouldn’t prejudge the situation, there were a million things that may have happened, and maybe they’d find a very damp and embarrassed Conrad already waiting for them back at her house. This seemed to settle Natasha a little, but it did nothing to improve Richard’s mood as he followed behind.
Natasha’s house was a one-storey bungalow that led directly onto the little beach of Honoré. It had a green and white striped awning out front, and a couple of hanging baskets of flame-red flowers either side of the front door. The inside of the house was just as quaint, with simple furniture, and sea shells arranged on shelves.
‘Now, why don’t I get us all a glass of water,’ Camille said, heading to the sink. ‘And maybe you could tell us a bit about where Conrad was going this morning.’
‘Well, I don’t know. Not exactly. Only that Conrad always goes out fishing every morning.’
‘He’s a fisherman?’ Richard asked.
‘Oh no, he’s a music producer. Or he was for a time.’
‘So what does he do now?’
‘Well . . . you know. This and that. I mean, we don’t need so much money to get by, now we’re older.’
‘But he goes fishing every morning?’
‘Not every morning. Sometimes he doesn’t get up in time. But most days.’
‘And do you ever go out with him?’
‘Me? Oh no, I’m not welcome. You see, Conrad never catches anything much. For him, it’s more about getting away, I think. You know what men are like.’
Natasha addressed this last comment to Camille as she came over with two glasses of water.
‘Here you go,’ Camille said.
‘Thank you,’ Natasha said gratefully as she took her glass. ‘And you think he maybe wasn’t on the boat when it went up like that?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ Camille said.
‘But we can’t really talk about specifics this early in the investigation,’ Richard said. ‘Although you should perhaps know that we found a smear of blood on the one remaining part of the hull we could find.’
‘Oh,’ Natasha said as this information sank in.
‘It may not be blood,’ Camille said with a warning glance at her boss to soften his approach. ‘And even if it is, it’s possible it belongs to someone other than your husband, of course.’
‘But he always goes out on his own. No-one else would have been with him. If you found blood . . .?’
Richard could see tears forming in Natasha’s eyes.
‘Can I ask,’ he said, ‘was your husband’s boat safe?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, are you surprised he had this accident?’
And with that, the tears came.
Richard looked at Camille, partly in helplessness, and partly in irritation. As far as he was concerned, it was entirely his partner’s fault that they now found themselves in this situation. This was far too soon to be talking to a key witness.
For her part, Camille ignored her boss’s disapproval and went and knelt by Natasha.
‘You mustn’t worry. We still don’t know what happened.’
‘But where is he?’
‘We’ll find him. If he’s out there, we’ll find him.’
As Camille continued to console Natasha, Richard realised that he was now something of a spare part to the whole conversation. So he wafted his arms a bit. He didn’t quite know why, but as he did so, he had the flash of a memory of being at college parties where, no matter what room he went into, no-one seemed to want to talk to him. In fact, Richard remembered how college parties had been a type of living hell. They were full of all of the beautiful and confident people, and he’d drift from room to room being roundly ignored. Before his memories spiked too painfully, Richard decided to keep himself busy by poking around.
On a nearby shelf, he found a collection of photos that charted the growth of a young woman from a baby up to the day she graduated from college, a mortar board on her head and a scroll in her hand. This was no doubt Natasha’s daughter. But Richard could also see photos of Natasha and a man he presumed must be Conrad, her husband. The photos were taken at parties, and Natasha and Conrad were laughing or dancing together in all of them. They looked a handsome couple, Richard thought to himself, and he realised he had trouble matching the vivacious young woman in the photos with the older woman he’d just met. But then, he had to remind himself, Natasha had just discovered her husband had possibly recently died.
As for the photos of Conrad, he looked as though he was always having a good time. He was laughing in every photo, or smoking a cigar, or raising a toast with his bottle of beer.
Seeing that Natasha was still crying, Richard slipped into a little corridor that led from the main room. He saw an open door. Telling himself that seeing as Natasha had invited him into her house he didn’t need a warrant, he pushed the door open a bit further, and what he saw inside shocked him.
The room had been trashed, with all its contents tipped over or dashed to the floor. What’s more, Richard could see that the room’s one window had been smashed, and there was a fist-sized chunk of concrete lying in the middle of the glass-strewn rug.
Clearly, someone had thrown the chunk of concrete in through the window, but what had happened next? Had this person then climbed in afterwards looking for something? Or had the room been smashed up just for the hell of it?
Richard was about to return to Natasha to find out what she knew about the break-in, when his eye caught something red and shiny sitting in the centre of a small writing desk to the side of the room. Unlike the rest of the furniture, this one table had been left standing. But what was on it?
Richard picked his way across the room until he could see the object more clearly..
It was a ruby.
A big, fat red ruby that was significantly larger than any jewel Richard had ever seen before. In fact, it was so large, Richard knew it couldn’t be real. It must have come from some kind of theatrical costumier’s or joke shop.
But what on earth was a ruby doing in the middle of the desk?
Richard returned to the main room of the house and explained what he’d just seen.
‘I don’t understand,’ Natasha said. ‘There’s been a break-in?’
‘It’s how it looks,’ Richard said, and then he asked Natasha what the room was usually used for.
‘It’s Conrad’s. His den. It’s where he likes to go. You know, when he wants some peace and quiet.’
‘Then can I ask, have you been in his room today?’
‘No. Conrad doesn’t like me going in there.’
‘Do you recall hearing the sound of glass smashing at all today?’
Natasha rose from her chair.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘If you could just answer the question.’
Natasha looked to Camille for support, and she nodded kindly, which seemed to give her strength.
‘Okay. Well, no, I didn’t hear any glass smashing today.’