Chapter 15. Should You Say the First Thing That Comes to Mind When You’re Being Questioned?
Should You Say the First Thing That Comes to Mind When You’re Being Questioned?
As I follow Officer Rolle through the hotel complex to the room he’s been given to conduct his investigation, I’m calm.
I’ve been here before.
A suspect. Interrogated.
Is that what this is?
I haven’t been detained. I’ve only been asked to follow him in a way that was so discreet I’m almost certain no one in my class noticed.
Ha ha.
Did you fall for that again?
They all noticed. And I’m pretty sure Stefano started a TikTok Live as soon as I was out of earshot, which is not my problem but is not not a problem, you know?
Cathy, Sandrine, and a few of the others started following us, but I shooed them away.
Sandrine looked at me with something like sympathy, then determined on some course of action and walked in the opposite direction.
I don’t know what she was thinking, but I know her looks like I know Oliver’s.
That’s the way it is with close friendships.
Even when they’re over, it doesn’t mean you stop knowing that person.
So Sandrine is up to something, which I assume I’ll find out about at some point.
In the meantime, Officer Rolle leads me into a smallish room near the front offices and motions for me to sit down at a table where, to my surprise, Elizabeth Ben is also sitting.
“Elizabeth. What are you doing here?”
“I’m your representative.” Her hair is in its perfect coif, as always, her cane resting against the wall.
“I don’t need a lawyer.”
“That’s good to hear, my dear, and I am not an attorney. But you do need a representative.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone who can listen for you. When you’ve had a shock, you don’t take in information properly.
Such as when you receive bad news in a doctor’s office.
It’s important to have a neutral third party there to take notes, ask questions, and explain everything to you once you’ve had a chance to absorb the news. ”
“I … Um, thank you.” I glance at Officer Rolle. He doesn’t seem surprised that Elizabeth is here, nor concerned. I assume she asked his permission beforehand.
But …
“How did you know I was here?”
“Officer Rolle asked me where you were located. It only took a couple of questions to ascertain why he was looking for you, and I suggested I attend your…” She moves her hand around. “Whatever this is.”
“I have some questions,” Officer Rolle says. “Please sit, Ms. Dash.”
I take a seat in a puffy leather chair. The faux-leather fabric immediately sucks against my thighs, and I know I’m going to be sweating behind my knees any minute. This bizarre day is just getting weirder, but I’m still oddly calm.
I’ve been here before.
I’ve been here before.
My mind is trying to tell me something.
And you too, of course.
“Am I being investigated?”
Officer Rolle laces his hands on the desk in front of him. “Everyone is being investigated. Someone was murdered and you were sitting next to him.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Of course you didn’t, my dear.” Elizabeth pats me on the leg with a veined hand. “I’m sure you simply have questions for her, right, Officer Rolle? Whether she saw anything. What she might know about who wanted to kill this man. Mr. Charles, is it?”
Officer Rolle blinks at her slowly, then turns to me. “Do you know anything?”
“I might. I felt someone behind me just before it happened.”
“Did you see them?”
“No, the lights were out.”
“My fault, I’m afraid,” Elizabeth says. “I was commissioned to tell a ghost story and I like to create an atmosphere.”
Officer Rolle’s eyes shift back to her. “Did you turn them off?”
“Certainly not. I was at the podium and nowhere near the light switches.”
“Who did it, then?”
“I’m not sure, I asked my concierge to arrange it.”
“Concierge?”
Elizabeth shrugs. “A kind young man who’s been waiting on me hand and foot since I arrived, I’m afraid. Being old is not for the faint of heart.”
Officer Rolle opens a notebook and makes a note with a ballpoint pen. “And he was the one who turned them off?”
“I do not know. I only know that they went off at the precise time I asked them to.”
“Which was?”
“I meant the precise time in my story, not the literal time.”
“What is the concierge’s name?”
“Christian.”
Officer Rolle writes it down. “How long were the lights off?”
“A couple of minutes,” I say. “And I think it was Mark who turned them off.” I close my eyes, thinking back to the scene. “Yes, I’m almost certain it was him.”
“Hmmm,” Elizabeth says. “Who is Mark? And it was four minutes exactly.”
“Mark Knowles, the hotel manager.”
“Ah. I have not had the pleasure of meeting him.”
“How do you know how long it was?” Officer Rolle asks.
“I time all of my speeches.”
“Oh,” I say. “Wow. I never do that. Never even thought to.”
“Enough time for someone to cross the room, use the device, then return to their seat,” Officer Rolle says.
“The device?” Elizabeth asks.
He lifts up the plastic bag he’d shown me earlier.
It’s holding a small cream-colored ring that looks like one of those ring pops I used to get as a kid.
Only this one has a needle attached with a little cylinder above it, and I know exactly how it works.
You wear it so the needle extends out from your palm, and when you push it into someone’s body, it releases the poison it contains.
Okay, wait. That sounds bad.
I haven’t used one of them before. I’ve just seen the results.
“My goodness,” Elizabeth says with some fascination. “What is that?”
“It’s a poison-administration system,” I say. “Right?”
Officer Rolle’s face is impassive. “Yes, that is what we believe.”
“How do you know that, Eleanor?”
I clear the lump that’s formed in my throat. “I’ve seen it before. Or not that one, I assume, as it’s sitting in an evidence locker in Italy. But something very similar.”
“You’ve seen this device used before?” Officer Rolle asks.
“It was what was used to kill Abishek Botha six months ago in Italy.”
Elizabeth stirs next to me as he consults his notebook. “Any relation to Ravi Botha?”
“Yes. His brother. Ravi’s taken over writing his crime series since he died.”
“Has someone been arrested for this crime?”
“Yes. Though I’m not sure they ever determined who it was who used the device … He was killed on a boat in the Mediterranean. At first, we thought he’d been poisoned when he drank a glass of Champagne that was meant for Connor Smith. But then the device was found and…”
Officer Rolle leans forward. “Yes, Ms. Dash?”
“It was found in my bag, but of course I had nothing to do with it.”
He doesn’t look very convinced by my “of course.”
And I get it. It’s one thing to be involved in multiple murder plots, but having the same device show up at two of them begs credulity.
Which, I assume, is the point.
“Was Mr. Charles in Italy when this happened?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Could he have had something to with Mr. Botha’s murder?”
“I … No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t sound sure, dear.”
I bite my lip. It’s not that I don’t want to speak ill of the dead—clearly, I have no problem doing that—but the case in Italy was put to bed. The murderers were identified, and one of them died.
And though there is one loose thread—a missing co-conspirator named Marta—that wasn’t Guy.
“There are some things about that case that were never explained. One of the suspects still hasn’t been caught, but it’s a woman. And then Inspector Tucci was just reminding me of a few other details that might still be unresolved.”
“What has he got to do with this?”
“He was the police inspector who investigated Shek’s death.”
Officer Rolle sits back. “What is he doing at this conference?”
“He says his superiors ordered him to be here when the first detective fell through.”
“Who was?”
“I don’t know. I assume someone local?”
“Who organized this conference?” Officer Rolle asks.
“There’s a committee,” I say. “My editor, Vicki, is on it. Not sure about the others.”
He makes another note. “Is he the only one here with ties to Italy besides yourself?”
“There are several others: Connor, Oliver, Harper. Oh, and Cr—Cathy. One of the participants. And Guy was there. We were all on tour together.”
“A book tour, I assume?”
I nod.
“Why was Mr. Charles on your book tour?”
“He’s part of the Vacation Mysteries Extended Universe.”
“Which is?”
“This term my publisher came up with … Connor Smith is the protagonist of my book series. Guy wrote a book about his years working with him as a private detective.”
“What do you know about their relationship?”
I explain what I know of Connor’s background, but I’ve already told you about that, so I’ll just skip over it here.
“And you were involved with this man?” I can feel Elizabeth’s judgment from her stiff posture next to me, but my bad romantic choices seem the least of my worries right now.
“I was, yes.”
“But you still write about him?” Officer Rolle asks.
“I do.”
“And he and Mr. Charles were on the outs?”
“Yes.”
“Over what?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“But you have a theory?”
I pause.
“Do you, dear? You must.”
“I … They were on the outs already when we were in Italy. I asked Connor why, but he wouldn’t tell me.
But I think it had something to do with us being there.
Guy had a gun with him—he smuggled it into the country illegally.
Inspector Tucci told me that he tried to question him about it but was prevented from doing so by his bosses.
He implied Guy was connected, somehow. Maybe to the Mafia.
And then he intimated that the Mafia was also in the Bahamas. Is that true?”
Officer Rolle nods briefly. “I must talk to this Inspector Tucci.”
“I’m sure he’ll be all too happy to give you his opinion.”
He puts his pen down. “You do not like this man?”
“He isn’t my favorite person on earth, no. And I have some major reservations about his competency. But he could tell you more than I can about that device. Maybe they tracked down the manufacturer, for example.”