second and third fingers on his right hand, and matches for his left thumb and first finger.’
‘So it really was Conrad who was injured in the explosion.’
‘And who then slipped down the side of his boat into the water,’ Dwayne added. ‘Which means he went into the water bleeding.’
Richard shuddered. They all knew how slim the chances were of a heavily bleeding man lasting long before attracting the attention of a nearby shark.
‘And it was a big explosion,’ Dwayne said. ‘Anything that could do that to a boat could do a lot worse to flesh and bone.’
‘Poor man,’ Camille said.
‘Although,’ Richard asked, ‘are we sure he didn’t survive?’
‘I don’t see how he could have done,’ Fidel said. ‘I reckon we were at the scene within twenty minutes. So if he was alive – either on his boat or in the water – we’d have seen him.’
‘Then could he have swum ashore before we got there?’
‘No way. The nearest land was Honoré beach, and that’s where we came from. If he was in any condition to swim to safety, we’d have passed him on our way out. And I was checking the water the whole time, sir. I didn’t see anyone swimming anywhere.’
‘Very well. We’ll need to tell Mrs Gardiner that her husband is missing presumed dead. Camille?’
Camille sighed, but knew it made sense that the task fall to her. After all, she was the only detective at the station who wasn’t Richard Poole, and that was reason enough for her to handle all of the conversations that required any kind of sympathy.
‘Okay,’ she said, and went to her desk to get ready to leave.
‘Then, Dwayne,’ Richard said, ‘what did you get from going door-to-door at the harbour?’
‘Well, Chief, I spoke to whoever I could find, and three witnesses all said that they saw Conrad get onto his boat on his own this morning.’
‘No-one else was with him?’
‘That’s what they’re saying. And the harbour master, Philippe, said he talked to Conrad this morning and was sure he was on his own. In fact, Conrad asked Philippe to help load his scuba kit onto the boat because there was no-one else around to help.’
‘He took scuba diving kit out with him?’ Richard asked.
‘That’s what Philippe said. But the important thing is, Philippe’s ninety-nine per cent sure that no-one else was on the boat with Conrad. Unless they were hiding in the cabin.’
‘I see,’ Richard said, already feeling frustrated that the explosion had ruined their primary crime scene. How could they run forensics or test any of their theories when half the boat had sunk to the bottom of the sea?
‘Then did you speak to the Saint-Marie Dive School?’
‘I did. And tomorrow they’re putting together a team to scour the seabed under where the boat went down.’
‘Oh, Camille,’ Richard said to his partner as she headed for the door, ‘were there any fingerprints on the ruby that was left at the scene?’
‘No, sir. There wasn’t a single fingerprint on it.’
‘Now, that is interesting, isn’t it?’
‘You’re right, sir. Whoever put it there made sure there was no way of tracing it back to them,’ Camille said, and then she headed off.
‘And yet, it must have been bought from somewhere on the island. Dwayne, can you ring all the shops where you think it would be possible to buy a fake ruby. I want to know where it came from.’
‘Okay.’
‘Which brings me to you, Fidel. What have you been able to glean from the mobile phone detonator you recovered from the boat?’
‘Well, sir,’ Fidel said, leading them over to his desk where he’d separated the mobile phone from the wires, and had also removed its back cover and battery. ‘I dusted the tape and outer casing for fingerprints. There aren’t any.’
‘Like the ruby,’ Richard said. ‘Which, again, makes sense. Our killer’s got to be careful.’
‘But I also removed the battery and casing and dusted them all over as well. You know, just on the off chance I could find a fingerprint or trapped hair or something.’
‘Of course. But nothing?’
‘Got it in one, sir. Nothing. Or so I thought. Because I then decided to dust the SIM card before I tried to work out what the number was and where it had been bought from.’
Richard was impressed.
‘You dusted the SIM card for prints?’
‘You’ve got to be thorough, sir,’ Fidel said, believing that Richard was chastising him. ‘And I found a partial fingerprint on the contact side of the SIM card.’
‘You did?’
‘Better than that, I was able to lift it. And the thing is, it doesn’t match any of the exclusion prints we took for Conrad Gardiner. Or his wife, for that matter.’
‘The print from the SIM card belongs to some unknown third party?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Have you uploaded the print to the CPCN?’ Richard asked eagerly.
The Caribbean Police Computer Network was one of the few saving graces of working on Saint-Marie as far as Richard was concerned. It was a database of information that unified all of the Police forces in the Caribbean, and also linked to data held by the FBI and Europol.
‘I uploaded it as soon as I could,’ Fidel said, ‘and I’ve set it looking for a match.’
‘Very good work. Very good work indeed. Although, did you by any chance learn anything from the information on the SIM card?’
‘Nothing that I think will help us. Because it’s got its IME number, so I ran it through the computer. It’s a Saint-Marie number, but it’s a prepaid phone that was sold just over a year ago.’
‘Has the shop that sold it kept any details?’
‘They haven’t. In fact, it’s that dodgy phone shop down by the harbour. Just by the booth where you buy tickets for the glass-bottomed boat.’
‘And they won’t tell us who they sold it to?’
‘No way.’
‘Can’t we get a warrant and force them?’
‘When I spoke to them, they said they’ve lost their records. And anyway, the phone was sold for cash, there’d be no way of tracing who they sold it to.’
‘So the phone is a dead end?’
‘Not necessarily, sir. Seeing as it was used to set off the bomb, it must have received a phonecall at 10am this morning. I’ve put in a request with the phone company. They’re going to let me know what calls were made to or from that SIM card as soon as they can.’
‘Good stuff, Fidel,’ Richard said. ‘Then what do we know about Conrad Gardiner? His wife Natasha said he was a record producer or something back in the day.’
Dwayne laughed.
‘"Or something" more like, Chief.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, he played at being a hotshot record producer, but he had no taste. So he’d scout whatever talent he could find. You know, a young band, or a guy who did his own thing and reckoned he needed a great producer to take him to the next level. Anyway, Conrad would convince these people to sign to his label. He’d then cut a record in a studio he had built,