Murder on the Caronia (16 page)

“Where have you been, Theo?” he complained.

“Talking to a supporter of my rival.”

“What rival?”

“Vannier, of course.”

“The best cyclist in the world,” said the other man, with a heavy French accent. He thrust out a hand. “Michel Fontaine,” he declared.

Odell shook his hand. “Wes Odell. I’m Theo’s coach.”

“He knows all about us, Wes,” Wright said with a grin. “Mr. Fontaine recognized me from a picture he’d seen in a French newspaper. We’re
famous
.”

“Before the race, maybe,” argued Fontaine. “Afterwards, you’ll be forgotten.”

“Not if I win.”

“Gaston Vannier will win. He always does.”

“Only because he hasn’t come up against Theo before,” said Odell.

“What chance does this boy have? Look at him. While you cross the ocean on a liner, Gaston will be training on the roads between Bordeaux and Paris. He knows them better than anybody.” He gave a smile of mock sympathy. “You have never even been to the country before.”

“One road is much like another,” said Wright.

“You have no chance,
mon ami
.”

Odell was getting angry. “Don’t listen to him, Theo.”

“All that he will see is the back of Gaston’s jersey.”

“Says who? What do you know about cycling?”

“Very little,” replied Fontaine genially, “but I read the papers. All the experts say the same thing. Gaston Vannier cannot lose. He has one big advantage.”

“What’s that?” asked Wright.

“He is French.”

Fontaine laughed merrily then strolled off down the deck. Odell wanted to go after him to continue the argument but Wright took no offense from the remarks.

“At least they know that we’re coming, Wes.”

“They’ll know you’ve been there when you win the race.”

“French guys are very patriotic. I won’t be popular.”

“You’ll have a
name
, Theo. And that will open doors for us. Anyway,” he said, “what have you been doing all afternoon? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Wright was evasive. “I was around.”

“You weren’t with that English dame, were you?”

“If only I had been!”

“Theo!”

“Genevieve is a friend.”

“You can’t afford to have friends—not that kind, anyway.”

“I’ll decide that.”

“Not as long as I’m your coach.” Odell saw Theo’s jaw
tighten, and backed off. He tried a more relaxed approach. “How do you feel?”

“I felt great until you started to hassle me.”

“No stiffness in the legs?”

“Not after that massage you gave me.”

“Good.”

“What was in that stuff, Wes? It put a kind of zing into me.”

“Oh, it’s just an ointment I made. We’ll use it again.”

“That’s okay by me.” Wright shrugged his shoulders. “So why have you been chasing me this afternoon?”

“For a chat, that’s all.”

“We never stop chatting, Wes.”

“I wanted a word about that guy with the loud voice.”

“Frank Openshaw?”

“Yes,” said Odell. “That’s him. I’m worried about that invitation to have a drink in his cabin this evening. Maybe we should give it a miss, Theo.”

“Not on your life!”

“We got nothing in common with guys like that.”

“There’ll be lots of other people there as well.”

“So? He won’t notice if we don’t turn up.”

“But I want to go, Wes. We can’t just stay away. What will Mr. Openshaw think?”

“We can send him an apology.”

“But we’ve already accepted his invitation.”

“You accepted it, Theo,” said Odell. “I just went along with the idea. The more I think about it, the more I worry. It could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“All that booze floating around. You’re not supposed to touch alcohol.”

“They’ll have soft drinks as well,” reasoned the cyclist. “Besides, there’s plenty of booze floating around in the restaurant during lunch and dinner. Yet I haven’t been tempted to touch a drop. Come clean, Wes,” he advised. “What’s the real reason you don’t want to show up this evening?”

“I think we’d be out of place.”

“Not with a guy like Frank Openshaw. He’s as straight as they come. I took to him. He’s like me. Born at the bottom of the heap and dragged himself up by sheer hard work. I’d have thought you’d admire him for that.”

“I do. It’s the others I worry about.”

“What others?”

“Some of the stuffed shirts aboard. They’ll all be there.”

“Who cares? I’m not being scared off by anybody. I’m surprised at you, Wes,” he said. “You always tell me to hold my head up. We don’t need to kowtow to anyone, you say. Lost your nerve all of a sudden?”

“No, Theo.”

“Then why all this worry about a drink with friends?” He saw the look in the coach’s eye and understood. “Ah, now I get it!”

“
She’ll
be there, won’t she?”

“No idea.”

“But she could be,” said Odell, with rancor. “She’s the kind of woman who gets herself invited to things like this. It’s her world.”

“Why don’t we keep Genevieve’s name out of this?”

“You know damn well why not.”

“Wes—”

“She’s bad news, kid. Take my word for it.”

“Look,” said Wright, trying to keep calm. “When it comes to cycling, I worship you as a god. There’s nobody to touch you. Away from it, though, I make my own decisions and you’d better get used to the idea.”

“Not if one of those decisions costs us that race in France.”

“It won’t do that.”

“Stay away from her, Theo,” urged the coach. “Let’s skip that party this evening.”

“No, Wes.”

“I got this feeling about it.”

“So have I. It’s going to be good fun.”

“Pull out, Theo.”

“But I’ve no reason to.”

“I’m asking you, as a favor to me. I won’t be turning up, I know that.”

“You can please yourself,” said Wright. “Whatever happens, I’m going.”

Carrie Peterson was astonished when her visitor explained who she was. The prisoner stared at Genevieve Masefield with a surprise that was tinged with disbelief.

“You’re a
detective?
” she asked.

“Employed by the Cunard Line.”

“I didn’t realize a woman could do a job like that.”

Genevieve smiled. “We can go to places that men can’t always reach. When it comes to a difficult arrest, of course,” she said, “some male assistance is welcome.”

“I know all about being arrested,” said Carrie, scowling. “Sergeant Mulcaster left bruises all down my arm.” She was suspicious. “Why isn’t he here with you?”

“Inspector Redfern thought you might prefer to talk to me.”

“I’d rather talk to anyone but the sergeant.”

“If nothing else, I can break the monotony for you. Of course, you’re under no obligation to speak to me, Miss Peterson. Say the word and I’ll disappear.”

The other woman scrutinized her in silence for a long time.

“How is John?” she said at length.

“He’s fine, I promise you.”

“Have you seen him yourself?”

“No, but a colleague of mine had a long talk with him earlier. Mr. Heritage is bearing up very well under the circumstances.”

“Well, I’m not,” said Carrie.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“They shouldn’t treat me like this. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

The strain showed in her face and in the sag of her shoulders. Carrie Peterson looked weary and hunted. There was an edge of desperation in her voice. Genevieve schooled herself not to
feel sorry for the woman. Objectivity was essential.

“May I sit down?” she asked.

Carrie nodded.

“Thank you.”

Genevieve took a seat but the other woman remained on her feet, still watchful.

“What exactly is going on, Miss Masefield?”

“ ‘Going on’?”

“Yes. Inspector Redfern has a bandage around his head, Sergeant Mulcaster hasn’t looked in all day, and now you turn up out of the blue. It smells fishy to me.”

“Does it?”

“Why should you be involved at all?”

“I explained that.”

“There something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“Miss Peterson,” said Genevieve calmly, “I simply came here to listen to you. It’s all I’m authorized to do. I understand that you’ve been troubled by the way you’ve been questioned so far. It must have been frightening, coming as it did on top of the shock of the arrest.”

“I’ve been terrified.”

“Tell me why.”

Carrie Peterson needed some time before she decided she could trust her visitor. When she spoke again, she gave a detailed, if halting, account of her arrest and of the statements she’d given the detectives during her time on the vessel.

“I’ve told them the truth,” she pleaded. “We’re completely innocent.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Neither of us has ever been in trouble with the police before, Miss Masefield. We led respectable lives. We worked hard at the pharmacy. John and I caused no trouble to anybody.”

“You made up for that when you left,” Genevieve reminded her. “I gather that Mr. Duckham was distraught when the pair of you walked out on him without warning.”

“It was the only way we could do it, don’t you see?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Our hand was forced.”

“Did Mr. Heritage have to raid the shop account like that?”

“That’s what the inspector asked me,” said Carrie. “To be honest, it was the first I’d heard of it. If it happened, John must have had a good reason to do it.” Her voice darkened. “He suspected for a long time that his partner was taking money out of the account on the quiet. That’d be typical of Stephen Duckham! I shed no tears for him.”

“What Mr. Heritage did was a crime.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“And what about the death of Mrs. Heritage?”

“We knew nothing about that until the police arrested us.”

“Then why did you run away?” asked Genevieve. “If you were not implicated in Mrs. Heritage’s murder, why jump on a ship and sail to America?”

“It was our only chance,” said Carrie, sitting opposite her and leaning forward in her chair. “We knew that John’s wife would try to find us but we never imagined they’d follow us to Ireland. When we realized the police were on our tail, we thought Mrs. Heritage had sent them. So we booked passages on the first ship we could find.”

Genevieve pondered. “You didn’t like Mrs. Heritage, did you?”

“I
despised
her.”

“Why?”

“Because of the terrible way that she treated him.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“I saw it with my own eyes, Miss Masefield, believe me. Winifred Heritage was a witch. While he was in that house, John led a dog’s life.”

“It’s one that he chose himself, Miss Peterson.”

“That’s what he always used to say,” recalled Carrie. “John admitted that it was his own fault for marrying her. He’s a religious man. He took his marriage vows seriously.”

“Until he met you.”

“He wrestled with his conscience for months about us.”

“What about you?”

“I did the same, of course. What sort of people do you think we are?” asked Carrie with indignation. “I’d been brought up to believe that marriage was for life. The last thing I wanted to do was to break up a home.” She screwed up her face. “Then I met Mrs. Heritage and I changed my mind. It would have been cruel to leave him under the thumb of a woman like that.”

“Like what?”

“Have you ever been treated with total contempt by anyone, Miss Masefield?”

“No, I don’t think I have.”

“John had to put up with that day after day. Sneers, insults, demands. It was the same at work,” she said. “Because he was the senior partner, Mr. Duckham used to tease and bully John. It was embarrassing to watch.”

“Why did Mr. Heritage put up with it?”

“Because he had no choice at first.”

“And then?”

“He saw a way out,” she said simply. “With me.”

“Whose idea was it to go to Ireland?”

“Mine. I had relatives in Cork.”

“What about your family in England?”

“I have none, to speak of. My parents both died.”

“You must have had lots of friends?”

“I just had to forget about those, Miss Masefield.”

“It was such a huge step for the both of you to take,” said Genevieve. “Running away from everything like that. You must have thought about it for a long time.”

“We did.”

“Were there no misgivings?”

“None at all.”

“Did you never pause to consider the damage you’d leave behind?”

“No,” Carrie Peterson said with a defiant smile. “We’re in love.”

______

After sleeping for a couple off hours, Inspector Redfern awoke in his cabin. His head was still throbbing but there was far less pain. Anxious to get back to work, he struggled out of bed then summoned a steward to fetch some hot water. While the man was away, Redfern peeled off the bandaging and examined himself in the mirror. His face was drawn, his eyes bloodshot. His forehead still bore the imprint of the bandage. The hot water finally arrived and he was able to wash and shave. He felt much better as a result. Redfern had just finished dressing when there was a light tap on the door. He opened it to find Dillman outside. The visitor was invited in.

“I wasn’t sure if you were awake,” said Dillman. “That’s why I didn’t knock hard.” He peered considerately at the other man. “How are you feeling now, Inspector?”

“Better.”

“Good.”

“Any news?”

“I came to tell you about my conversation with Mr. Heritage.”

“How did you find him?”

“Bitter and unhappy.”

“Criminals are always like that after arrest,” said Redfern. “They always blame us for daring to catch them. And even if you nab them with a smoking gun in their hand, they always swear that they’re innocent. In twenty-five years of arresting villains, I’ve never had one with the guts to admit his guilt straight away.”

“Mr. Heritage is still protesting
his
innocence.”

“He would.”

“I expect that Carrie Peterson will do the same.”

“What did Miss Masefield get out of her?”

“I don’t know, Inspector. Genevieve is in there with her now. I daresay she’ll report to you when the interview is finished.” He produced a small notebook from his inside pocket. “But let me tell you about Mr. Heritage. I jotted this down after I’d left him. I didn’t want him to think he was being grilled.”