Swimming with Sharks Page 11

  Answer machine! Gillian curses under her breath, drops the phone, picks it up – Deon’s voice says he can’t come to the phone but will get back to her as soon as he can. Beep! She starts walking towards her driver, calling out to him: ‘Here! Over here! I’m DS Marsh!’ He raises his eyebrows.

  ‘Oh hi, Deon. It’s Gillian. Have you heard from Tara? Let me know. I seem to be missing her. Her phone is off. Can you pick up? I’m a bit worried …’

  ‘DS March?’ the driver asks.

  ‘MARSH. Yes, yes!’ Gillian fumbles in her pocket for her ID card. She flashes it in the man’s face. She passes him her suitcase. ‘Are you parked somewhere nearby? Central Police Station, please.’ She realises she hasn’t rung off. ‘Deon? Call me, all right? On my mobile. Thanks.’ She presses the end call button.

  ‘Let’s go, then,’ she tells her driver. He leads her out of the airport and into the steaming Maldivian pressure-cooker. It occurs to Gillian that even in her light bomber jacket and jeans she is seriously overdressed. She begins to sweat. ‘Bloody heat!’

  ‘Indeed!’ says the driver.

  He stops by a police car, opens the boot, and shoves her suitcase in.

  ‘You’re a policeman? Sorry, I thought –’

  ‘Detective Nasheed.’ He shuts the boot. ‘You thought I was a taxi.’

  ‘You thought I was a man,’ she counters smugly.

  ‘Not any more,’ he beams in acknowledgment and opens the passenger door for her, ‘Are you sure you want the police station? I could take you to your hotel – give you a chance to unpack, refresh,’ He looks pointedly at her bomber jacket. ‘We booked you into Holiday Inn.’

  ‘I’d rather we got straight down to business. I didn’t fly here for refreshments.’

  In the car Gillian strips down to her white vest. She positively smells; she screws up her nose. ‘Sorry,’ she says.

  ‘What for?’

  She doesn’t have the will to explain. He knows anyway but is too polite to admit it. ‘Right, so what do we know so far?’ she demands.

  ‘Very little. No trace of her. It may be drowning. The body may not emerge for days, possibly – never. It depends on how far the currents would’ve carried it into the open waters.’

  ‘The resort manager told me drowning was unlikely.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be good for business, true, but it is the only logical explanation. You can drown in a spoon of water, you know?’

  ‘Without a body we can’t make any assumptions.’

  ‘No, nothing apart from the fact that she is missing.’

  ‘Did you preserve the crime scene?’

  ‘What crime scene? There aren’t any indications of foul play. Like I said, she is missing. This is a missing person inquiry as far as we are concerned.’

  ‘Yes. I mean her room. I asked the resort manager not to touch anything in her room. He was rather reluctant …’

  ‘We secured everything – all her belongings. We’ve got them here –’

  ‘You removed all the evidence from her room!’ After she specifically asked them not to! She wanted to inspect the room as Nicola Eagles had left it – to see where every single item was placed, on purpose or accidentally. Did Nicola Eagles prepare for her departure? Did she pack? Or did she leave unexpectedly, her belongings scattered on the floor, a glass of water left half-empty, toothbrush still in the bathroom, bed unmade? Perhaps there were signs of a struggle? Was the door locked, or left open? Was the TV playing? Gillian needs to know. She needs to get into the person’s house – it is the same as getting into their heads. It helps her build a picture of the last few minutes before death. Or disappearance. Or both. Visiting Nicola Eagles’ house in Sexton’s Canning gave Gillian several vital clues. The fact that she had left the central heating on for the cat and made arrangement for his care until a specific date told Gillian that Nicola Eagles was not suicidal and had every intention of returning. The way her clothes were tidily folded and organised in the wardrobe told Gillian she was not likely to have done anything on the spur of the moment, anything spontaneous. The fact that, despite the clutter, Nicola Eagles had kept both her own furniture and her aunt’s old pieces side by side without being able to dispose of either set said a lot about the woman’s character: conservative, indecisive, reverent; not the kind to sail into the sunset on a whim. Everything that Gillian had learned about Nicola Eagles in her house was turned on its head by her disappearance. People like Nicola Eagles do not disappear; they do not leave any loose ends. They are too dutiful and too caring to put anyone out, to cause any trouble. They would feel awfully guilty if anyone had to worry about them, like that lovely Mr and Mrs Devonshire. Gillian has a picture of who Nicola was – is; now she wants a picture of how – and why –anyone would want to get rid of her. Evidence left in her room would point Gillian in the right direction – in some direction – if it was there, but the hotel manager got it his way!

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t seal the room! I can’t believe you didn’t wait for me –’

  Nasheed gives her a hard look: ‘It is my jurisdiction, if I can point it out to you. I have satisfied myself that there was nothing in that room to indicate crime has been committed there. I have had the contents of the room brought to Malè for forensic examination.’

  ‘I just wish you’d waited for me!’ Gillian sighed. ‘Can I at least have a look at what you have here?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. We’ve looked already, found nothing, but be my guest!’ There is resentment in his tone which contradicts the flippancy of his reply. He takes her down the stairs to a cool basement. He requests Nicola Eagles’ evidence box from a male officer with a thick mane of greying hair and the gritty voice of a heavy smoker. They are led to an empty room without windows and presented with a cardboard box. When the officer leaves, Nasheed says, ‘The only thing that puzzles me is the blood.’

  ‘Blood?’

  ‘On bedsheets. We found a bloodied bedsheet hidden in the wardrobe, and some stains on another sheet on the bed.’

  ‘And you call that a classic case of drowning? What did you say? No indications of crime being committed?’ Gillian is appalled.

  ‘The blood could mean anything: she could’ve cut herself. It could be menstrual. We don’t even know it is her blood. There was only a small quantity. Definitely not enough to point to a serious wound. She did not bleed to death if that’s what you’re thinking. You need to get a perspective before you jump to conclusions.’

  ‘We will send samples to the UK for DNA examination. We need to know if it is Nicola Eagles’ blood. If it is –’

  ‘Even if it is, it means nothing unless we have a body. Remember that this is still a missing person inquiry.’

  He must have said that twice already. She found his defensiveness irritating. Nothing must be allowed to disturb the tranquil image of the Maldivian paradise! Gillian has to hold her tongue. She depends on Nasheed; she needs his co-operation. ‘I realise that. What I want to know is this: how do you disappear from an island? How do you leave an island without being seen? Dead or alive.’

  ‘The only way is drowning.’

  ‘There are other ways: killing, abduction, kidnap for ransom … Shall I go on?’

  ‘We’ve excluded those. You imply we’re doing nothing, but you’re wrong and I am beginning to take offence.’ Nasheed’s face muscles tighten and his speech becomes more accented. ‘We’ve explored all possibilities, interviewed potential witnesses, checked all departures from the island, talked to owners of yachts that moored at Itsouru in the last ten days … We searched. We sent boats out. Nothing. She’s gone.’

  ‘We need to find her, if only to eliminate foul play,’ Gillian insists.

  ‘All we can do now is wait.’

  ‘You didn’t search hard enough.’

  He snorts, throws his arms in the air. ‘We don’t have the manpower to comb through the entire Indian Ocean! There are limits to what we can do.’ He is irritated as much as she is. Gillian
has a feeling that they are going to be stepping on each other’s toes a lot …

  Gillian’s mobile makes her jump. She answers it without looking at the number of the caller. Deon’s voice is like a call from beyond. She is momentarily covered in cold sweat. ‘Deon? What’s happened? Has something happened!’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, it hasn’t.’ He sounds his typical patronising self: a bit tired of her, a bit bemused.

  ‘Then why are you calling me? You gave me an almighty fright. Thought something happened to Tara. Don’t do this to me!’

  Nasheed realises it is a personal call, mutters a vague excuse and leaves the room just as Deon hollers in utter exasperation, ‘I don’t believe this! You asked me to call you, Gill! Get a grip on yourself!’

  Of course, she remembers now, she did call him. If only he had answered then and there! She has forgotten – the case, as every other case in the past, has hijacked her, body and mind. ‘No need to shout, Deon.’

  ‘How do you think I felt when you called in the middle of the night? I thought something happened to Tara, for God’s sake! I should ask you not to do this to me!’

  ‘I was worried – I am worried! I can’t get hold of her. Something may have happened …’

  ‘Nothing happened.’

  ‘How do you know? Have you spoken to her in the last two days?’

  ‘No! And for a good reason! She’s gone elephant riding, somewhere in the jungle. She didn’t expect to have signal. Two – three days. Do you ever listen to what your daughter tells you?’

  ‘Of course I do! I wasn’t home when she called. She left the most enigmatic message –’

  ‘What’s new?’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘You’re either not listening or not there at all! Nothing’s changed.’

  The hurt tone of the old supercilious Deon is unmistakable. Gillian remembers precisely why she had to leave him fifteen years ago. ‘Nothing’s changed, indeed,’ she concedes. Her mind is elsewhere already.

  ‘Thanks for calling back. Must go. Bye.’ She takes great pleasure in pressing the end call button. An expedition into the heart of the Thai jungle presents new challenges, but Gillian refuses to face them. Not now. She has an explanation for Tara’s silence. That’s all she needs for the time being.

  Back on the case, Gillian takes out object after object from Nicola Eagles’ evidence box. She has little interest in shampoos and toothbrushes or various items of the woman’s rather dull clothing, but by being left behind they are the confirmation that whatever happened to her was not planned: you would normally take your basic necessities with you if you were going away. The type of sensible outfits Nicola Eagles brought with her on her holiday adds another piece to the puzzle: she was definitely not meeting up with a lover. Kinky nighties, lace knickers, suspenders and bright red lipstick are conspicuous by their absence.

  Gillian finds a few books, some of them in Russian. That reminds her that Nicola Eagles can speak Russian. Good Russian! If she can read Anna Karenina in original, she has to be fluent in Russian. Gillian flicks through the book, marvelling at the alien Cyrillic alphabet. Fluency in Russian is something that sets Nicola Eagles apart – one of her most unusual characteristics amongst the dull and the ordinary. But does it mean anything? Does it have any bearing on the case? Gillian doesn’t know but she inventorises this fact at the back of her mind.

  Her telephone rings again. It’s Jon Riley.

  ‘How are the tropics? Hot?’

  ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘Not much. The woman is a non-entity. No one knows anything about her. They haven’t heard from her at work. She was due to return today. Her boss said she was a reliable employee but called her Nicolette instead of Nicola. That tells you something! I got hold of Paul Collins.’

  ‘Paul Collins?’ Gillian is not quick enough to keep up with Jon’s sharp turns and twists in conversation. There are usually plenty of short cuts in his verbal reasoning, which she is accustomed to (as he puts it, great minds think alike) but today she is jet-lagged and on the edge.

  ‘Paul Collins – one of her blokes from that dating site, remember?’ Gillian nods to herself. Jon sniggers: ‘He pretended not to remember her, said I got the wrong man. Turns out he got married a few months ago and his wife is sitting right next to him when I call! Anyway, preliminaries aside, he claims not to have heard from her in two years. He admitted he met her – once. “And once was more than enough,” is what he said. Maybe just for his wife’s benefit. Though he did say Miss Eagles – he actually called her Miss Eagles, not Nicola – Anyway, he said she was awkward. He used the word awkward and when I asked him to clarify that, he said: “weird if you must know, son, as weird as they come. Out of touch. Psychotic!” Strong words, if you ask me, but the guy struck me as over the top: agitated, nervy…’

  ‘Wouldn’t you be if a cop called you about a missing ex-girlfriend in front of your wife?’

  ‘That wouldn’t have happened. I only have an ex-wife. Now, the other bloke – Peter Bird – wasn’t home. Spoke to his mother. Blimey, she must be a hundred, couldn’t hear a word I said, had to repeat everything twenty times. Like talking to a stone, as in stone deaf?’ He sniggers.

  ‘Get on with it, Jon!’

  ‘So Peter wasn’t home, travelling on the continent – some river kayaking thing in France. His deaf mother’s never heard of Nicola Eagles, but then … she’s deaf, isn’t she, so she wouldn’t’ve heard!’ Jon chuckles. Gillian is not in a mood to acknowledge his quips. ‘I want you to check that.’

  ‘I checked it – deaf as a post,’ another chuckle.

  ‘I’ve no energy for this, Jon. Check where Peter Bird is. Check where he’s been in the last ten days.’

  ‘Hang on a second!’ Jon protests. ‘Don’t you have DC Webber to do your dirty jobs?’

  ‘Webber is on holiday. I only have you,’ Gillian tries to instil a purr into her voice.

  ‘Ahhh,’ Jon has been tickled under the chin. He loves being indispensable – he doesn’t have much else going for him these days. He can deliver a star performance – as long as it does not involve getting out of his chair. Gillian will have to push her luck this time. Now that he is temporarily appeased, she demands, ‘Anything else? How about her calls history?’

  ‘Nothing of consequence. Actually no, scrap that! Nothing is the word. She hasn’t made any phone calls nor received any in the last three months. Do you want me to go further back than that?’

  ‘No. Mobile?’

  ‘Can’t help you there. No mobile in sight.’

  ‘Hang on!’ Gillian explores the depths of the evidence box. A mobile phone lies at the bottom with a charger still plugged into it. She was charging it when she disappeared – more proof she didn’t intend to walk into the ocean and die. It is an old-fashioned cheap job with a conventional keypad. ‘Okay, it’s a Virgin mobile.’ Gillian reads out the number.

  ‘Got it! Will let you know tomorrow if anything of interest. Don’t hold your breath. Her Facebook statistics are a record low. There are weeks when no one as much as glances at her page. Weeks! And then once in a blue moon one or two clicks. Poor woman! Never known anyone living in deeper obscurity than that! She could disappear tomorrow and no one’d notice.’

  ‘She did disappear and someone has noticed.’

  ‘Oh yeah, the cat! You’ll like this. Listen good!’ There is a faint echo of excitement in Jon’s voice – a rare occurrence. Gillian often wonders if she has ever known anyone more detached from the rest of humanity than Jon the Geek. ‘Hey, ho! Here it goes: the brother! Robert Eagles flew to Hong Kong five days ago precisely. Business trip. He’s a sales rep for a software company, one of those Aussie Silicon Valley mavericks.’

  ‘Except how did he know she would be here?’

  ‘Yeah, well … you could ask him.’

  ‘Clever, Jon! I did that trick already. He sounded genuinely surprised –’

  ‘Those sales bastards usually s
ound very bloody genuine. Whatever they tell you, it means fuck all!’ Vaguely, Gillian recalls a sour car deal Jon fell victim to a few weeks ago. He is obviously still very sore about it. That gives her a new perspective on the level of Jon’s personal bias against Robert Eagles. ‘Anyhow, he could be one of those few and far between views on her Facebook page.’

  ‘If only she’d made any prior announcements. If I remember correctly the first entry about the Maldives was the day she got here.’

  ‘Well, whatever you say. Just don’t write the guy off.’

  ‘I never do. Few more things, Jon, are you listening?’ There is a grunt at the other end of the line. Gillian proceeds: ‘Get a DNA sample from Nicola Eagles’ house. We’ll be sending some blood samples from here, see if they match.’

  ‘Got that. What else?’

  ‘Find out if she has a will and who gets how much when she dies if there’s no will.’

  ‘Right … That’s it?’

  ‘Find the cat.’

  ‘Say again?’

  ‘The cat took off yesterday from my place. Answers to Fritz. Must be on his way home. Find the cat, get him into a cattery. The neighbours will kill me if I don’t find that cat, never mind his owner!’

  ‘How am I supposed to find a cat?’

  ‘He’ll be loitering somewhere around the woman’s house. That’s what cats do.’

  ‘What the hell does it look like?’

  Gillian ponders the question for a minute. ‘Like a cat,’ she says, ‘fluffy and fat.’

  ‘That narrows it then.’

  ‘Thanks, Jon!’

  ‘You’ll have to thank Miller. I’m passing this one to him. I don’t do outdoor commissions.’ He rings off.

  Gillian gets back to the box. She pulls out a laptop. This must be the one that replaced the old one left at the house. The switch button doesn’t work: the screen remains black. How much she needs Jon to be here at hand!