Murder on the Caronia (27 page)

“You believe Mr. Heritage is innocent, don’t you?” asked Dillman.

“I know he is,” replied Carrie. “We both are.”

“How do you know, Miss Peterson?”

“Because it’s not in John’s nature. He’s the most gentle person alive.”

“Inspector Redfern and I have both met extremely gentle people who have committed murders,” said Dillman. “When someone is put under severe pressure, there’s no telling how they will behave.”

“John did not kill his wife.”

“Then why did he buy that poison from the pharmacy?”

“I’ve already told you that,” interrupted Heritage.

“We’d rather hear it from Miss Peterson.” Dillman turned to her. “Well?”

Carrie was distressed. “John bought it because he was considering suicide.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Yes, Mr. Dillman.”

“And did you believe him?”

“Of course.”

“How did it make you feel?” said Genevieve, taking over. “What did you say when you learned that he was so desperate he was thinking about taking his own life?”

“I was upset.”

“Is that all?”

“No,” said Carrie. “I was deeply hurt. I couldn’t believe John would dream of doing that and leaving me high and dry.”

“But I didn’t do it, Carrie!” insisted Heritage. “Because of you, I drew back.”

“Keep quiet, Mr. Heritage,” said Redfern.

“But I want the situation to be understood.”

“I think we understand it all too well,” said Dillman. “You were faced with an intractable problem. You couldn’t bear to live with the woman you hated and you weren’t allowed to be with the one you loved. Any man would feel hopeless and desperate in those circumstances. There must have seemed only one way out—to kill yourself.”

“No,” cried Carrie. “There was another way! I convinced him of that.”

“We had the idea that he convinced
you
, Miss Peterson.”

She tried to look across at Heritage but Redfern blocked her view. She bit her lip. “It was a joint decision,” she said.

“Like everything else we did,” added Heritage.

“In that case,” said Redfern, “the murder was also a joint decision.”

“There was no murder, Inspector.”

“Then who poisoned your wife?”

“Winifred must have poisoned herself.”

“That’s right,” said Carrie, taking her cue. “Mrs. Heritage told me that she’d rather die than lose John. And she was capable of dispensing poison of her own. I lost count of the number of vile letters she sent, accusing me of trying to take her husband away from here. They were
dripping
with poison.”

Heritage was disturbed. “You never told me about those, Carrie.”

“I wanted to spare you any extra pain.”

“Winifred actually
wrote
to you?”

“I tore the letters up and burned them.”

“Why didn’t you show them to Mr. Heritage?” asked Genevieve.

“Because he had enough to endure at home,” said Carrie. “John must have told you some of the things his wife did and said. She was vicious. When she turned her fire on me, I was shocked at first. Then I reminded myself I had something she would never have, and that was John’s love. So I ignored the letters.”

“You should have brought them to me, Carrie,” said Heritage, in pain.

“Why?” asked Dillman. “What would you have done?”

“Confronted my wife, of course.”

“Would that have achieved anything?”

Heritage was about to answer but changed his mind. He shook his head sadly.

“In other words,” said Dillman, “Miss Peterson did the wise thing.”

He waited while the two suspects tried in vain to look at each other. A small wedge had been driven between them. Dillman exploited the situation.

“Is Mr. Heritage normally a truthful man?” he asked.

“Very truthful,” replied Carrie.

“Have you ever known him to tell a lie?”

“Never.”

“But you’d know if he did?”

She faltered slightly. “I think so, Mr. Dillman.”

“Have you ever told Mr. Heritage a lie?”

“Of course not.”

“Carrie is as honest as the day is long,” affirmed Heritage.

“One or both of you is lying to us now,” Dillman said calmly.

“Yes,” agreed Genevieve. “I’m beginning to think that not everything was a joint decision, was it? How could it be? Until you ran away, you seem to have spent very little time alone together. You worked side by side at the pharmacy, but Mr. Duckham’s presence must have been very inhibiting. As soon as the shop closed, Mr. Heritage had to go straight home or he would have faced his wife’s ire.”

Dillman took charge again. “What Miss Masefield is rightly
pointing out is that neither of you really knew the other person all that well. Yes, I know”—he said, raising a hand to quell the protest that was about to come from both of them—“you were in love and that gives you deep insights into a person’s character. Miss Peterson tells us that Mr. Heritage was a truthful man, yet he deceived his wife and his partner. He also deceived Miss Peterson when he omitted to mention that he had rifled the pharmacy account to fund their escape. As for you,” he continued, turning to Carrie, “you just heard Mr. Heritage say that you were as honest as the day is long, yet you concealed from him the important fact that his wife had sent you poison-pen letters. Small lies on both sides, I grant you, but enough small lies can become a very big one.”

“A denial of your guilt,” said Redfern.

Heritage leaped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this!” he yelled. “Take me back to my cabin. It’s cruel to torment us like this. I’m saying nothing more until we go to court, and Carrie will do the same.”

“Will you, Miss Peterson?” asked Genevieve.

“Don’t listen to them,” Heritage warned. “They’re trying to trick us.”

“Sit down,” said Redfern.

“They’ve got no real evidence.”

The inspector forced him down into the chair. “Sit down and stay there!”

Carrie Peterson glanced around as if noticing something for the first time.

“Where’s Sergeant Mulcaster?” she asked quietly.

“Never mind about him,” said Redfern.

“But I want to know. He enjoys trying to frighten me. Where is he?”

Heritage blurted out the truth. “He’s dead, Carrie. The sergeant was murdered and thrown overboard. You won’t have to put up with him again.”

Her manner changed in a flash. Heritage had shown some compassion when he discovered the news, but she had none.
A smile of joy lit up her face then she began to snigger. Carrie Peterson seemed unable to control herself. Throwing back her head, she laughed wildly until she was on the verge of hysteria. Genevieve moved across to hold her by the shoulders, trying to calm her down, but the cachinnation went on. It was the vengeful laughter of someone whose enemy has been vanquished. Redfern was taken aback but Heritage was utterly appalled. He had never seen her behave like this.

Dillman waited until Carrie finally managed to regain her composure.

“You killed her, didn’t you?” he said. “
You
poisoned Mrs. Heritage.”

“Yes!” she exulted. “I killed her on my own. And I enjoyed it!”

Wes Odell knew he was facing the biggest crisis of his career. Theodore Wright had threatened to sever all ties between them. As the cyclist started to pack his bag, the coach implored him to reconsider his decision.

“I’m sorry, Theo,” he said. “I only did it for your benefit.”

“Keep away from me, Wes.”

“Let’s talk this over. It’s the only way to sort out our differences.”

“No,” said Wright, tossing clothes into his bag. “The time for talking is over. I’ve listened to you for far too long.”

“But look where I got you.”

“It was my legs on those pedals.”

“But who was coaching you, guiding you, building you up?”

“I thought that you were, until last night.”

Odell touched his shoulder. “Theo!”

“Keep away from me,” warned Wright, shrugging him off. “You’ll never touch me again, Wes. You’re through. Get it? We’re finished.”

“Well,
you
certainly are,” sneered Odell.

“Don’t be so sure.”

“Where will you be without me in your corner?”

“Standing a much better chance of winning my races, I expect.”

“Listen to me, son—”

“No, you listen to me,” shouted Wright, rounding on him. “Ever since we got on this ship, you’ve been on my back. ‘Eat this.’ ‘Don’t drink that.’ ‘Run here.’ ‘Cycle there.’ ‘Stand up.’ ‘Sit down.’ ‘Keep away from her.’ Who the hell do you think you are, Wes?” Wright demanded. “Two really nice things have happened to me since we boarded the
Caronia
. Do you know what they are? I met Genevieve Masefield and I gave some riding lessons to Izzy Singleton. You tried to put the evil eye on both of them.”

“I had to, Theo. Don’t you understand?”

“No.”

“I had to protect you from any distractions.”

“You were just jealous,” said Wright. “Because
you
can’t make new friends, you try to stop me from doing it. You can’t bear to share me, Wes, can you? You weren’t trying to protect me. You were protecting yourself.”

“It’s not like that.”

“I’m the only person on the ship who’ll even talk to you.”

“We don’t need anyone else!”

“
I
do. I need people I can relax with once in a while.”

“Rest has been built into your training schedule.”

“How can I rest with you standing over me like a mother hen?” Wright went back to his packing. “I’ll speak to the chief steward and get a cabin of my own. And I’ll work out my own training program from now on.”

“Then you’re done for.”

“We’ll see.”

“You’re a good cyclist, Theo, and you could have been a great one with me to help you. On your own, you’ll never be a champ. Pull out of that race against Vannier while you can. That French guy was right,” he taunted. “Vannier will crucify you.”

Wright confronted him. “At least I’ll have ridden an honest race.”

Odell was about to fling a spiteful retort at him, but the glint in Wright's eye deterred him. The coach contented himself with a contemptuous curl of his lip before leaving the cabin and slamming the door behind him. Wright finished his packing. He was about to close the lid of his suitcase when he remembered something. Crossing to the little cupboard that had been used by Odell, he took out a tin of ointment and tossed it into the case. With a feeling of great relief, he let himself out of the cabin and stalked off.

When he turned a corner, he saw Genevieve Masefield coming toward him.

“You’re not leaving already, are you, Theo?” she said, noting the luggage. “I know that you’re a miracle worker in the cycling world, but even Theo Wright can’t walk on waves, surely.”

“I’m moving to another cabin, Genevieve.”

“Why?”

“I finally saw the light. Wes and I have split up.”

“For good?”

“Yes.”

“Over what?”

“Over you, among other things,” he said. “I’ll never forgive him for the way he tried to scare you off. Then there was Izzy. Imagine the rage he’d have got into if he’d known I was teaching her to ride. But the main reason is this,” he explained, opening his case to take out the ointment. “He’s been rubbing this into my legs.”

“What is it, Theo?”

“That’s what I want to find out. It felt good at first and it loosened the muscles up. After last night, though, I got to thinking.”

“Last night?”

“I was tired. My times were way below the targets I set myself. So Wes slips these flakes on my tongue and suddenly I get a rush of power. It was only after we’d done that I realized it must have been a drug of some sort.”

Genevieve’s curiosity was sparked. “A drug? What kind?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I promise you this. I’ve never used drugs to win races before. It’s cheating, Genevieve. I’ve never needed to do that. There are some cyclists who use strychnine tablets to give themselves a boost and there’s all kinds of other things they can take. But not me.”

“Didn’t Wes tell you what he was giving you?”

“No. It’s one of the reasons we fell out. He said we were only experimenting in case we could use this ointment in the race. It would give us an advantage, he said, and that would enable me to beat Vannier. But I tell you this, Genevieve,” he said earnestly, “I’d rather lose to the guy than cheat.”

“I’m sure. Where are you taking that ointment?”

“To the ship’s doctor. I’m hoping he can tell me what’s in it.”

“We’ve got someone better than the doctor aboard, Theo.”

“Have we?”

“Yes,” she said. “A trained pharmacist.”

John Heritage was in tears when they went into his cabin. Slumped in his chair, he looked desolate as he contemplated the end of his relationship with Carrie Peterson. Confident of his own innocence, he had never dared to question hers. The fact that she had committed murder by using the poison bought by him had left Heritage in despair. He was left with nothing. Inspector Redfern and Dillman had to wait a few minutes while he pulled himself together.

“We’ve come to ask you a favor,” said Redfern.

Heritage looked up. “I’m not in the mood for company, I’m afraid.”

“We appreciate how you feel, Mr. Heritage,” said Dillman, “and we wouldn’t trouble you unless it was very important.” He held up the tin of ointment. “This was given to me by Miss Masefield. We believe it may contain a drug and we’d like to know what it is. It could turn out to be a vital clue in our search for someone who is smuggling narcotics on this vessel.”

“Why should I help you, Mr. Dillman?”

“No reason, sir.”

“Then I’d be glad if you’d leave me alone.”

“Of course. I just thought that, as a pharmacist, you’d take an interest. Nobody understands the perils of addiction as much as someone in your profession. There are opium dens in London as there are in New York,” said Dillman, “and other strong drugs are being used to destroy lives all over the world.” He moved to the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Heritage. We’ll have to ask the doctor instead.”

“Wait!” said Heritage. He snapped his fingers. “Give it here.”

“There’s not much left in the tin, I’m afraid,” said Dillman, handing it over.