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‘The back door was open, was it?’ Richard asked, sceptically.
‘I mean, it took a bit of effort, but it was definitely open. Eventually.’
After a moment’s indecision, Richard pushed past Dwayne into the house, his interest in Pierre’s whereabouts drawing him in. After all, if the back door really were open, they could claim that they were investigating the security of the house as a matter of community policing. If Dwayne had broken in, then that was something he’d have to explain to a tribunal if it ever came to that.
As Richard looked about himself, he saw that the house was shabby, and was only furnished with the bare minimum. He saw a little sidetable with an ashtray and packet of cigarettes and matches next to it. There was also a bottle of beer that Richard saw was half full.
Pulling on a pair of crime scene gloves, Richard went into the kitchen at the back of the house and saw a brown paper bag on the worktop. Inside there were a few basic groceries, none of them unpacked. And from the smell coming from the bag, Richard guessed that it had been sitting out in the heat.
There was also a see-through folder to the side of the groceries that contained all the literature from the prison explaining the ups and downs following a spell inside. Richard also found an open brown envelope, and he used his pencil to raise the flap so he could see its contents. It was full of what looked to be about a hundred dollars in low denomination notes.
‘He left in a hurry, didn’t he?’ Camille said from the doorway. ‘He’s not even finished his beer.’
‘That’s what it looks like to me,’ Richard agreed. ‘And, from the state of his food here, I don’t think he was here for very long.’
‘So what happened?’ Dwayne asked.
Richard looked about himself. There were no signs of a struggle. In fact, it looked as though Pierre had only just popped out for a few minutes. As Richard went back into the front room, he half expected to find a cigarette still smouldering in the ashtray.
‘Dwayne,’ he said, ‘I want you to bag the physical evidence.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘As for you and me, Camille, I think we’ve got a lead to follow up.’
‘We have, sir?’
A few moments later, Richard and Camille had gone to the house next door where Richard had seen the curtain twitching. Having knocked loudly on the door, they soon heard a shuffling of feet from inside the house.
‘Hold on, hold on,’ a voice called out.
The door opened to reveal an ancient woman who was almost entirely bent over, and seemed only to be kept upright by a claw-footed hospital walking stick that she was gripping firmly in her right hand.
She lifted up her head, and Richard could see that her eyes were cloudy.
‘Are you the Police?’ the woman asked.
‘We are,’ Camille said. ‘We just wanted to ask you a few questions about your neighbour.’
‘What neighbour?’
‘The man who moved into the house next door three days ago,’ Richard said. ‘I’m sure you saw him.’
‘I didn’t,’ the woman said before retreating from the door and trying to shut it. ‘I can’t help you.’
Richard put his hand out to stop the door from closing.
‘But you see everything around here, don’t you? I saw you checking us over when we arrived.’
‘And there’s been quite a serious crime committed,’ Camille said, far more kindly. ‘If you could give us any help, we’d be so very grateful.’
The old woman considered her answer for a moment, and then she sighed.
‘Alright. What do you want to know?’
‘Did you see the man who moved into the house three days ago?’
The woman laughed with a wet cackle.
‘I don’t see anything. Can’t you tell?’
The woman made an extra effort to lift her head, and indicated her cloudy eyes.
‘Is it your cataracts?’ Camille asked.
‘Everything’s a blur to me now.’
‘But you were spying on us,’ Richard said, unable to keep the note of disapproval from his voice.
‘I was robbed last year. I have to be careful.’
‘So you can see some things.’
‘I can’t see much, but I know where you are.’
‘Then did you see someone move in three days ago?’
‘I did. A taxi arrived in the morning. I could tell it was a taxi from the colour. It was deep red. And a man got out. I heard him thank the taxi driver. It was a man’s voice.’
‘And he went into the house next door?’
‘You know, the prison use it for people who are just released from jail?’
‘They do?’ Camille asked innocently.
‘So you get all kinds of goings on. I don’t like it. But I’m old, no-one cares what I think.’
‘Do you remember what time this was?’ Richard asked.
‘I don’t know. It was in the morning. Maybe after eleven? It was before I’d had lunch, and I always have lunch at midday.’
‘And what did this man do once he’d arrived?’
‘Well, nothing that I know of.’
‘Nothing?’
‘He went into his house, and I didn’t think about him again until that afternoon.’
‘Well, that’s very helpful, thank you,’ Camille said. ‘Although, why did you think about him that afternoon?’
‘Because of the men who came to see him.’
‘What’s that?’ Richard asked.
‘Well, I was sitting on the porch in the afternoon when I saw a car arrive. I don’t know what sort it was, before you ask, it parked too far away. It was just a blur. But I saw three men come from it and then go into the house next door.’
‘And you’re sure there were three of them?’
‘Oh yes. I could see the shapes of three people.’
‘And they were all men?’
‘I heard three voices. They were all male. In fact, they were arguing as they approached.’
‘Do you know what they were arguing about?’
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening too closely.’
‘Then do you perhaps remember anything they said? Any phrase, or even just a single word?’
‘I’m sorry, all I can tell you is they were three men, and they were arguing about something. Mind you, that was nothing compared to what happened next.’
Richard was about to ask the old woman to explain, but Camille put her hand on his elbow, indicating that he should keep quiet. She’d recognised that their witness had finally warmed up and was enjoying the sound of her own voice.
‘The man who’d arrived first – he was wearing a blue jacket – was happy to see them to start off with because he greeted the three men like old friends. But after a few minutes I heard the man in the blue jacket start to get angry.’
‘Did you hear what was said?’
The woman thought hard.
‘It was something about him wanting his share, I think. That’s right, he kept saying “where’s my share?” over and over. And then the three men who’d arrived together started arguing among themselves as well. It got quite heated, and it ended with the man in the blue jacket telling them he wanted them all to leave. And a few minutes later, that’s what they did. But I got the feeling the three men left with their tails between their legs. They weren’t so chatty on the way out as they’d been on the way in.’
‘And it was the same three men who left as who’d arrived?’
‘I think so. The man in the blue jacket was still in his doorway after the others had left.’
‘I appreciate you don’t see too well,’ Camille said, ‘but can you describe any of these men at all to us?’
‘I’m sorry. I think one of them had a red top. Like a T-shirt. But I couldn’t tell you anything else.’
‘Did you maybe see what colour their skin was?’
‘They were dark-skinned.’
‘And did they speak with local accents?’
‘Oh yes, very definitely. They were all from Saint-Marie. Or from an island nearby.’
‘So they were three dark-skinned men who you think were from the island?’
‘That’s right,’ the old woman said with another chuckle. ‘Which isn’t bad for someone who can’t see, is it?’
‘It sure isn’t,’ Camille agreed.
‘Then what happened?’ Richard asked.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, we’ve just looked around your neighbour’s house, and it looks like he left somewhat suddenly at some point.’
‘Oh, that was later that day.’
‘It was?’
‘I was in my kitchen when I heard a car pull up outside. I didn’t think much of it, and I didn’t even see which of the men had come back, but I saw the first man who’d arrived that day – the man in the blue jacket – step out of his house. I could see that from my window. He said something and then I saw him leave. A few seconds later, I heard a car start up and drive off.’
‘Did you hear what he said?’
‘I think he said something like, “I thought I’d never see you again.”’
‘“I thought I’d never see you again”?’
‘And I’m sure he said something else, but I didn’t catch it. But he then walked from the house, and you know what? Now you mention it, I’ve not seen him since. Or any of the other three men, either, for that matter. Not that I’d recognise them, of course.’
‘Have there been any other visitors since then?’
‘No. No-one.’
Richard looked back over the notes he’d taken, trying to make sense of what he’d just learned. Who were the three men who’d visited Pierre on the day he left prison? Where had Pierre then gone off to when one of them returned later on? And, seeing as Pierre very obviously hadn’t been back to his halfway house since then, where was he now?
As for the identity of the three men who’d visited that day, Richard had a theory he wanted to test, especially considering how Pierre had apparently been overheard demanding to know where ‘his share’ was.
Richard asked Camille to take the old woman’s formal statement, and while she was doing that, he drove back to the Police station.
As he entered the main office, Fidel stood up excitedly.
‘Sir, I’ve got something.’
‘You have?’ Richard said.
‘I sure have, because I’ve been processing the evidence Camille bagged from Conrad’s office. And you know that chunk of concrete that was used to smash in the window? I’ve been checking it for fingerprints, and guess what? It’s borderline admissible, but I was able to lift half a thumbprint from a pebble that was buried in its side.’
As he spoke, Fidel led Richard over to his desk and showed him the chunk of concrete. Bending down to inspect it more closely, Richard could see that it was rough–there’d be no way to lift any kind of usable fingerprints from it – but Richard could also see that a few smooth pebbles were embedded in the block, and Fidel had dusted each of them with graphite powder.
‘And?’ Richard asked.
‘The fingerprint also belongs to Pierre Charpentier, sir.’
