Dying For a Cruise Read online

  ‘Oh, but there you fall into the usual trap of all men,’ Jenny said complacently. ‘You assume that if a woman is thin and dainty, then she must also be mentally and physically weak. Whereas, in fact, Dorothy Leigh was neither. I saw for myself how good a swimmer she was, that first day on board the Swan. And she said herself that she often took their dog for long walks. She may have been three months pregnant, but she was also an extremely fit young woman. Besides, as you pointed out yourself, Gabriel Olney was a thin man. It wouldn’t have taken much just to hold his legs whilst he thrashed about in the water butt. The butt itself is four feet deep and narrow. A man, submerged head-first, with somebody pinning down his legs so that he can’t get a good purchase, would very quickly drown. He would have only his hands with which to try and lift himself up anyway, and on a smooth-sided, round, wooden barrel … well. As the medical examiner said, he broke some fingernails and bruised his knuckles. But that was all. It would have been over very quickly.’

  Both men were grimly silent. Then Rycroft stirred. ‘But how did you figure out what she did next? Even as fit as she was, she wouldn’t have had the strength to drag his dead body out of the butt and cart him to your cupboard. Not quickly, anyway.’

  Jenny smiled. ‘Ah, there I had the advantage over you,’ she admitted. ‘When Mrs Leigh first came on board, Brian O’Keefe was carrying a block and tackle over his shoulder, and Mrs Leigh admitted that she knew what it was. She explained that her father had worked on a building site all his life and that she, like so many fond daughters, as a child had loved to visit him and watch him work. It was obvious that she would know how a block and tackle was used. Then, when we were out on the starboard deck, we both observed Brian O’Keefe use the equipment box. Which, incidentally, is conveniently situated right next to the freshwater butt. And, as a final cherry on the cake, your own forensics man, when giving you a run-down on the condition of the ship, told you that the life belt ring above the equipment box and right next to the water butt, was hanging on a particularly strong bracket.’

  Graves smiled. ‘So you knew that Dorothy Leigh would be able to use the strong bracket to set up the block and tackle to haul Olney out of the water butt and….’ He trailed off, not yet quite sure of his ground after that.

  Jenny happily came to his rescue. ‘She would have put the plastic sheet onto the trolley and lowered the body onto it. Remember, she’d be at pains to keep the deck, and the trail to my galley, totally dry. Then it was just a question of wheeling the body to the cupboard, upending the trolley – those railway-porter type trolleys are so good for that sort of thing – and shutting the cupboard door quickly, before he could fall back out. Not forgetting to take the plastic sheeting back to the engine room to dry off, of course.’

  ‘But why hide the body in the cupboard at all? Why not use the block and tackle to put the body over the side?’ Rycroft asked suddenly.

  But Jenny was already shaking her head. ‘No time. She’d have had to winch the body sideways, swing him out, and drop him overboard. It would take much longer, and besides, with both Jasmine Olney and David Leigh in their rooms above her, one or the other of them would be bound to hear the splash as his body hit the water and look out. On board a boat, a big splash would be a dead giveaway that someone had gone overboard. And how would she be able to explain then what she was doing out there, with the block and tackle all set up? No, silence and speed were her main requirements.’

  ‘So she hid the body in the only place she was sure where it wouldn’t be found too soon.’ Graves nodded. ‘Your cupboard.’

  ‘Right. There aren’t many places on a compact boat where you can hide a corpse, after all. And she knew I was out on my walk at the time,’ Jenny reminded them. ‘Of course, during all this time, Dorothy was supposed to be upstairs in the bathroom, suffering the pangs of morning sickness.’

  ‘Faked, I suppose?’ Graves said.

  Jenny shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But perhaps not. I think the thought of what she was about to do probably did make her feel genuinely ill. And the shock and strain she showed afterwards was certainly real enough. She was not a natural-born killer, after all. Just desperately in love with her husband and terrified of losing him.’

  ‘So that was how you figured it all out?’ Rycroft said, full of admiration and awe in spite of himself.

  Jenny smiled wryly. ‘That, and one or two other things. Something Jasmine Olney said, when giving you her statement, stuck in my mind, for example.’

  ‘Oh?’ Rycroft said, frantically casting his mind back. ‘What?’

  ‘She said that when she left her room and bumped into the Leighs on the landing, Dorothy obviously wanted to go back to her room, but her husband insisted that she went back downstairs for a cup of tea.’

  ‘So?’ Rycroft said. ‘I don’t see any significance in that.’

  The cook sighed. ‘No, neither did I, but I should have done. Especially as I’d noticed the dress Dorothy was wearing, and had seen with my own two eyes what should have been so obvious.’

  ‘Dress?’ Rycroft echoed, glancing at his sergeant, who, for once, looked as puzzled as himself.

  Jenny obliged. ‘On the morning of the murder, Dorothy was wearing this pretty, powder-blue dress. I remember thinking how much like a meadow blue butterfly it was in colour. But later that afternoon, after the murder had been committed, when I came to give her her tea and toast, I remember thinking how much darker it looked. I put it down to the fact that she was sitting in the shade, but really, I should have remembered that pastel colours, when wet, look much darker.’

  ‘And in all the business around the water butt, getting Olney out and onto the plastic, she’d be bound to get a little wet,’ Graves breathed.

  ‘Exactly. So when she went back upstairs, with Olney dead and safely in my cupboard, all she must have wanted to do was go and change her dress. Just in case anybody noticed, and later remembered that she had got damp for some reason at some point that afternoon.’

  Graves snapped his fingers. ‘And she did go upstairs later on,’ he said. ‘Do you remember, sir, when we first got here and started taking statements, you had to send me upstairs to go and get the Leighs?’

  Rycroft nodded. ‘And, if my memory serves me right, Mrs Leigh wasn’t wearing a blue dress then, but a skirt and a fluffy pink sweater.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘I thought at the time she’d changed into something warmer, because the shock of finding that Mr Olney had been killed had made her feel cold. I even remember thinking how sensible it was of her, especially in her condition, to change into something warmer. Later, of course….’ She shrugged.

  Thinking of the woman’s cleverness, Graves slowly shook his head. ‘She’ll get prison, of course,’ he said, but didn’t sound at all happy about it.

  ‘But not for life,’ Jenny said matter-of-factly. ‘That husband of hers is no fool. And that fancy QC he’s retained won’t be either. Together, they’ll arrange for her trial to start just when she’s heavily pregnant. And they’ll have no shortage of witnesses to testify what a bad lot Gabriel was. And what jury, when faced with a pretty, fair, petite, heavily pregnant woman will go hard on her, when she murdered a man who threatened to destroy her life? Who threatened to have her husband dismissed from his job and – far worse – who threatened to tell her husband, quite untruthfully, that the child she carried wasn’t his?’ Jenny shook her head. ‘No. Gabriel’s attempted blackmail of Lucas will come out, and David Leigh will be at pains to point out that Gabriel Olney was a coward, a deserter, and a murderer himself. He as good as murdered Arnold Leigh, after all, and the jury will see it the same way. Maybe the QC will even put forward temporary insanity as a defence. Any man can argue that a pregnant woman is prey to depression. No, they’ll pull out all the stops and get it down to manslaughter I should think.’

  Graves found himself hoping that the cook was right. He had no desire to see Dorothy Leigh spend the rest of her life in jail for doing away with Olney.

&n
bsp; ‘I think you’re right,’ Rycroft agreed. ‘If ever there were mitigating circumstances, this case is full of them. Well….’ He rose to his feet and stretched. ‘We have to get back to the station. Can we give you a lift, Miss Starling?’

  But the cook shook her head, and explained how she needed to get back to her van. Best to call a taxi. She waved the two policemen goodbye, giving the burly, handsome sergeant a slightly wistful, final look. Then, when the car was out of sight, she lifted her case and walked slowly down the deck.

  The sun was just beginning to redden as she stepped onto the lush green river bank and started towards the village and a telephone.

  Suddenly there was a loud squawk, and a scarlet and blue flash shot past her to land on the limb of a nearby tree.

  Jenny looked at it fondly. ‘So long, featherbrain,’ she called cheerfully.

  ‘Goodbye, sweetheart,’ the parrot said, and gave her a long, low, flattering wolf whistle.

  By the Same Author

  BIRTHDAYS CAN BE MURDER

  A FATAL FALL OF SNOW

  Copyright

  © Joyce Cato 2012

  First published in Great Britain 2012

  This edition 2012

  ISBN 978 0 7198 0755 8 (epub)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 0756 5 (mobi)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 0757 2 (pdf)

  ISBN 978 0 7090 9852 2 (print)

  Robert Hale Limited

  Clerkenwell House

  Clerkenwell Green

  London EC1R 0HT

  www.halebooks.com

  The right of Joyce Cato to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988