The ship pitched and tossed through the night. Francis pitched and tossed with it, wondering about young strong passengers with flowery shirts and ‘yellow hair’. If it were true that that’s what George had seen, and not some kind of mad Chinese whispers, this threw his previous theorizing right up in the air. Because what passenger – apart from Klaus – would have managed to get downstairs to bump off George? And Klaus was strong enough, sure, but young, certainly not; nor was he blond (unless he had come prepared with a wig).
So who?
Well, Don was a regular wearer of flowery shirts, but he was neither young nor blond. Francis had seen him once in the gym, but did this mean he was strong enough to tip poor Lauren over the edge in the firm way indicated? So how close had George been? Could he have been mistaken about the hair colour? Why mention it, if so?
Who else? Brad and Damian were relatively young, and certainly strong, but neither were blond, and what in any case could possibly be their motive? They had never, to his knowledge, spoken to Eve, and were no more than drinking buddies with Lauren. The Australian with the lizard wife was another one who favoured flowery shirts, but his hair was white. Nor by any stretch of the imagination could you say he was young or strong. There were other guests Francis could eliminate. Henry Forbes-Harley was way too old – and white-haired too. Colonel Joe was bald. Neither would be seen dead in a flowery shirt.
Gregoire was young, strong, and yes, undeniably, blond. Francis had never seen him in a flowery shirt, but that was not to say he didn’t wear one off-duty. Ditto Viktor. But neither of them were passengers. Was it possible that George, who operated way below stairs, could have mistaken them for guests? Or not known they were staff? Mike also fitted the description, but could Francis see that nice, easy, straightforward young man as a murderer? In one of his books, he might well have been, because he was so above suspicion. But in life as it really was? No. Surely not. And if so, why? Why, why, why?
Eventually he fell asleep, waking some time later with the persistent sting of a full bladder. The moonlight was still shining through the half-drawn curtains, but the sea seemed to have calmed a little. Just a gentle rocking motion now. He swung his legs out of bed, pulled back the curtains, and looked out. The waves were half, a third of the size of earlier. The white crests fewer. The storm had passed; or else they had steamed through it.
He eventually found the light switch for the little bathroom. He peed carefully into the rocking bowl, watching his tired features in the mirror. A restful cruise, with plenty of time to think and write. Pah!
He woke his sleeping laptop and clicked on to an Internet session to check his emails. As yet, nothing from the Supreme Court of New South Wales. Nor any of the American probate repositories. Well, what had he expected? An immediate response?
He returned to the smooth, starched sheets. Hentie’s little flannel rabbit was beside him on the pillow. He held it tight, like a child, to calm his racing mind.
When he woke again the light from outside was pink on the curtains. It was the rumble of the anchor going down that had disturbed him. He got out of bed and looked out, to see the huge red disc of the sun perched an inch above the horizon, surrounded by a flaming trail of crimson and yellow clouds. It was almost six forty-five a.m. He checked his email again, but there was nothing new except junk.
At seven thirty the parasols were already up on the Whirlpool Bar deck and John-since-1972 was standing ready to serve breakfast in his cream blazer. Two others had beaten Francis to it. Mike, who smiled and waved; and – well, well – Don, who didn’t. The old man was wearing his trademark dark blue baseball cap, and under that … a beautiful flowery shirt. This one had yellow blooms and twining green leaves on a background as blue as the sky.
Beyond, the sea was sunlit and totally calm. On the starboard side of the ship, towards the horizon, there was land. Long, low-lying islands, bleached to a pale green in this shimmeringly bright sunlight. The jungle vegetation petered out into rocky points strung with the tiny silhouettes of palm trees.
Francis went inside to fetch his starter: white melon, yellow banana, purple passion fruit, orange paw-paw. He ordered coffee and an omelette-with-everything.
He sliced his fruit into little cubes and forked these up one by one into his mouth. Over the deck Don was tackling what looked like a full English breakfast: sausages, eggs, bacon, the works. Was there an equivalent in the good ol’ US of A? The full American? Without looking too obviously in his direction, Francis watched the old man’s mouth working, that baggy jaw chewing carefully, eyes down. What was that face? A man who had murdered his rich, neurotic partner and had – so far – got away with it? Or a man who was stoically consumed with grief for the bright, beautiful younger woman he had loved from the first time he had seen her?
It was brave of him to come out and sit in a public place where he was bound, if he stayed, to be offered sympathy, if not asked questions. On the other hand, perhaps he’d had enough of being cooped up in his cabin. Perhaps he’d decided he would join today’s excursion and to hell with it. For a collector of remote places, Bijagos was surely up there. An archipelago in a country that few outside West Africa had ever heard of. Guinea-Bissau.
‘Morning, Francis!’ It was Mike, holding a mug of tea. ‘Looking foward to Bijagos?’ He gestured towards the distant land mass.
‘I am.’
‘It’ll be good to get our feet back on dry land. That was quite a storm last night.’
‘It all seemed over very quickly.’
‘We powered through it. As our captain likes to. It was heading south anyway. Lucky we didn’t try and stop at Freetown, as it happened. With waves like that we’d probably not even have made landfall.’
‘And today. When do we disembark?’
‘That’ll depend on the tide. We’ll be sending out a recce soon to have a look at the state of the channels. We need a high tide to get all the way up there. Should be OK with this full moon. Means it’s springing. But you never know until you have a look. The mud may have shifted since last year. Anything’s possible out here.’
Mike sat down and leaned forward. ‘I see you’ve got company,’ he said quietly.
Francis made a warning face. ‘I expect there’ll be plenty of others out soon.’
‘I meant …’
‘I know what you meant,’ said Francis. ‘Tra la la la,’ he sang. ‘Tell me more about Bijagos.’
Mike took his point. ‘You’ll love it,’ he said. ‘It’s an awesome place.’
‘What’s an awesome place?’ It was Carmen, with a heaped bowl of muesli.
‘Bijagos, of course,’ said Mike.
‘Awesome is actually the word, mate,’ she said, sitting down. ‘I think of everywhere on this cruise, it was my favourite destination last year.’
‘Mine, too,’ said Mike. ‘Apart, maybe, from the pygmies.’
‘Maybe I’m too close to them,’ Carmen said. ‘You know, there’s unspoilt Africa and unspoilt Africa. For whatever reason, there’s no sense of envy out here in Bijagos. The villagers are genuinely pleased to see us. To welcome us as strangers. In lots of places in the undeveloped world you take out a digital camera and people give you a scowl.’
‘They’ve had too many visitors,’ said Mike. ‘The novelty’s worn off.’
‘Perhaps they just want a bit of what we’ve got,’ said Francis, ‘if we’re going to come and gawp at them, like they’re animals in a zoo.’
‘Totally get that,’ said Mike.
‘But here,’ Carmen said, ‘as you’ll see later, they’re lining up to have their picture taken. Children mostly, but adults too. And when they see themselves on your little screen they’re thrilled. Leaping up and down with excitement. But it’s not as if they want us to give them the cameras. Or even send them the pictures. Though I happen to know that Leo has brought a special present this year.’
‘I’ve seen it,’ said Mike. ‘Brilliant.’
‘In addition to the usual pens and notepads,’ Carmen explained to Francis, ‘they’re getting a collection of laminated portraits, from photos that Leo took last year.’
‘Nice touch,’ said Francis. Across the deck, Don had finished his breakfast. Francis watched him stop to say something to John-since-1972. Then he turned and made his way along the outside gangway, his left hand gripping the rail as he walked.
‘The old man’s gone,’ said Mike. ‘D’you think he’ll dare to show his face again?’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’ said Carmen. ‘Isn’t he, like, the chief suspect?’
‘Mike!’ said Carmen. ‘Lauren was his partner of many years. He’s shocked and grieving.’
‘Shocked that he’s suddenly come into so much money,’ laughed Mike. ‘Hasn’t he? Everyone knows the story now. “Chumba Chumba Cha-Cha.” How many squillions has that made over the years? I’m surprised the captain hasn’t stuck him in the ship’s jail.’
‘Mike, this is very loose talk,’ said Carmen. ‘Nobody knows what happened to Lauren.’
The young man shrugged and got to his feet. ‘They can have a pretty good guess,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a recce to be getting on with.’ He headed over to the steps down to the back of the deck below, where the Zodiacs were kept. ‘Laters!’ he called cheerily.
Francis waited for him to be out of earshot. ‘So Mike has no idea about Eve?’ he said.
‘Luckily not. Nor about George. Christ knows what he’d be saying if he did. There’s a good reason for not briefing all the expedition staff about everything.’
For a moment Francis wondered if he should tell Carmen about Ray, George and the young, blond passenger with the flowery shirt. At one level, it would be good to share. But he didn’t trust her not to immediately pass on whatever he said to Viktor, Alexei and the captain. And that would in no way be fair to poor Ray, who for whatever misguided reason had trusted him, and him alone, with his precious and dangerous secret.
‘Did you manage to sleep OK?’ she asked.
‘Yes, pretty well, thanks.’
‘You’re not one to get seasick?’
‘No. I’m lucky like that.’
‘Me neither. I’m not sure I could do this job if I did. Some of the passengers suffer dreadfully.’
This desultory exchange petered off into silence. There was no doubt that a certain caginess had descended between them.
‘So how long is the expedition today?’ Francis asked.
‘Because of the tides we can only stop for two or three hours. Which is a shame. But that’s all part of the experience. It’s intense.’
‘And then it’s on to the Gambia. And the remarkable birdwatching.’
‘Yes. Leo will be in his element.’
‘And finally Dakar. Where the FBI and the Bahamian police will be waiting. What are you and the captain planning to tell them?’
Carmen laughed out loud; then looked at him levelly, the lines around her eyes crinkling with amusement.
‘Are you still upset with me?’
‘No. Not particularly. I just got the strong feeling, I suppose, that you’d got what you wanted from me.’
‘What exactly did I do wrong, mate? I told Viktor that we’d got nothing out of Ray. He knew we were interviewing him. He was bound to ask, and I was bound to answer.’
‘Did you have to share our reservations with him?’
‘About Ray? Why not?’
‘And with the captain too?’
‘I don’t understand you, Francis. We’re all in this together.’
‘I thought you’d agreed with me that it was possible that Viktor or the captain were maybe part of the puzzle.’
‘Ah, come off it! Viktor may be many things: a philanderer, a man who thinks he is cleverer and more interesting than he is, the possessor of a dodgy ponytail, but he’s not a murderer. Nor is the captain.’
‘Or his surly sidekick?’
‘Come off it. The security officer as the murderer, that would be novel. No, he’s just a useless stooge. Anyway, how do I know that you’re sharing every last observation or speculation you have with me?’
‘You don’t,’ said Francis, with a somewhat forced laugh.
‘Good morning. I hope I am not interrupting some important pow-wow?’
It was Klaus. For once Francis was glad to see the German. He was carrying a plate of salami and cheese and a cup of black coffee.
‘Good German breakfast,’ Francis observed.
Carmen had got to her feet. ‘I’ll see you later, Francis. On the boats.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Klaus. ‘I am looking forward greatly to our little excursion. I have been feeling a bit – how-to-say – boxed up on this ship. Wondering if I was ever going to put foot on dry land again.’
He followed Carmen’s sashaying backside with his eyes. ‘Such a pity,’ he said, turning back towards Francis with that familiar provocative glint in his eye.
‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you. What’s a pity?’
‘That Hastings bats – as you say with your vunderful English cricketing metaphor – for the other side.’
Francis eyeballed him. ‘You mean …’
‘She’s of the Sapphic persuasion. Her island is Lesbos. I had wondered for a while, because even though I am fully aware I am past the age when I might attract the gentler sex with my physique, rather than my brain, I was not getting any vibrations from her at all, if you follow me. And even your flashing-eyed Jewish admirer was giving me the occasional frisson.’
‘Sadie?’
‘Of course.’
‘No longer my admirer. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed, Klaus, but she’s moved on.’
‘Has she? I don’t think so.’ He chuckled. ‘She’s playing the long game with you, my friend. Pretending to be enamoured of the Nigerian bird expert to excite a little envy in the English gentleman.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I am older than you. I am out of the game. I can see these things. He is too much of a how-to-say geek for her.’
‘So what makes you think Carmen …?’
‘As I say, I had my suspicions. And then, last night, I went for a breath of fresh air in that magnificent storm and I saw them.’
‘Them?’
‘Hastings and her girlfriend. There was no mistaking it, I’m afraid. Pressed up against a funnel at the back of deck seven. I don’t imagine they thought anyone else would be out there that late in that weather.’
‘Doing what?’
‘What lovers do. If I were less politically correct, I might have said that it would have been enjoyable to have been wedged between them.’
Klaus twinkled roguishly, but Francis wasn’t going to humour him. Even as he asked his next question, he knew the answer. ‘And who is this girlfriend?’
‘That pretty doctor. I don’t imagine her culture is particularly forgiving of her inclinations either. That may be one reason she likes to travel.’