A Masked Murder, page 15
“Who, me? Never! I’d never do something like that,” he said. But in the glow of the flashlight, his face was sheet white, and he was tugging at the knots of the mooring rope with shaky hands.
“You’re not leaving!”
Autumn bent down and, reaching out, grabbed the other end of the mooring rope and tugged at it. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to achieve. Maybe just to drag the boat closer, right up to the pier, so that she could grab the edge of the boat itself and hold on.
Her determined actions had a very different effect, though.
With a screech of panic, waving his arms as the boat suddenly rocked, Julian overbalanced and fell into the dark, lapping water.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
“Julian!” Autumn scrambled down into the boat, which was now close enough for her to reach. Ben followed, jumping down into the speedboat, which rocked again as they both leaned over the side. Julian was spluttering and thrashing as he surfaced.
“Help me!” he shouted in tones laced with panic. “Help me! These shoes are heavy. They’re dragging me down. I’m a terrible swimmer and I have a phobia of getting water in my face. Help me!”
“Tread water!” Autumn leaned over, trying to get to him, flinching back when a wild thrash of his arm sent cold water sluicing into her face. “Don’t do that. Just remain calm,” she advised. Almost falling out of the boat herself, she tried again to get him, reaching further this time, taking her balance as far as she dared.
This time, she managed to get hold of his arm.
Autumn grabbed his left arm. Ben grabbed his right. And then, with the boat rocking wildly, they managed to pull him up out of the water. He crawled up into the boat, shivering intensely as he stared at them.
“You killed Rowan Stafford,” Autumn said, as he huddled on a bench next to his valise, which he’d closed up so fast that a sock still dangled half out. “You killed him, and when we came back, you locked us in your gallery.”
For a moment, his harsh breathing and occasional coughing were the only sounds in the still night. With a heaviness in her heart, Autumn waited for the confession that she knew would come.
“I’m so sorry, Autumn,” he said in broken tones. “You’re right. I behaved atrociously to you.” Leaning over, he buried his head in his hands in an attitude of despair. “I had no right to behave the way I did to you. I lied to you, I deceived you, and yes, I ended up locking you in the storeroom, and I do realize that this was insulting to you, and robbed you of your dignity. I guess you escaped through the window?” He sighed deeply.
It was Ben's turn to speak in frustrated tones.
“Mr. Julian, we’re not mad about the fact you locked us in the storeroom. That’s a minor detail compared to the bigger crime. The one you lied about.”
“What crime?” Now, Julian looked up at him blankly.
“Murder,” Autumn reminded him.
“Murder?” Julian’s eyes flew wide. He lifted a hand, sleeve dripping, and raked it through his drenched hair. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry you thought that of me. But it wasn’t murder at all.” He sighed heavily. “This is all my fault. If I’d been honest at the start, then possibly, you might already have caught the killer. Now, I doubt if you ever will.” He sounded utterly crestfallen. His words rang with self-blame and sorrow.
And she had no idea what he meant at all.
Confused, Autumn stared at Ben. What was he talking about?
“I think we need to discuss this inside,” Ben said, grasping the edge of the pier and stepping onto it, before holding out a hand to Autumn. “Because, whatever you are talking about, it sounds like you’ve helped a killer commit a crime.”
***
A few minutes later, they were clustered in Julian’s living room. Autumn and Ben were perched in two chairs that resembled seashells. Julian was hunched over on a red chaise longue opposite. He’d changed out of his drenched suit and into a turquoise velvet robe, but still looked cold.
“I don’t know how to start, or even where to start,” he said. “I have to confess that much of what I told you was lies, but I – well, I only realized the seriousness of the situation at a late stage, and I’d made a bargain with the buyer.”
“Please, start from the beginning,” Autumn pleaded. “What was this bargain?”
“Well, I was approached by this buyer, just a couple of days ago, who wanted to buy up all the Stafford works I had in my gallery. The ones that I displayed were released by him for sale, you know, they weren’t his favorites, and he was happy to let them go. This collector said that he was investing in a lot of the artwork because he knew it was going to appreciate in value very soon.”
Autumn gasped.
“It was going to appreciate in value when he died!”
That was the missing link, the one motive for profit they hadn’t fully explored. Was it Julian himself that had mentioned how works appreciated in value when an artist died, and how it seemed unfair that many of them didn’t reap those rewards when they were still alive? She thought it had been.
And now, somebody had done just that for himself.
“So, what exactly was the deal?” she asked.
“The deal was that I sold all the paintings immediately, and that I did not disclose the sale at all, not even put it on the books, until tomorrow morning. It was to remain completely secret. I had the money for the sale, but I was not allowed to disclose it until that time. And there was a bonus as well, which I was told I’d receive tomorrow if I kept my side of the bargain. ”
Why tomorrow morning? With a shiver, Autumn realized that this deadline might give the killer, too, a chance to get away.
“So this deal was done in such secret that you didn’t even tell the police?” Autumn said.
“I didn’t have a chance to tell the police,” Julian said haughtily. “They have not, as yet, been to question me. I couldn’t exactly walk up to the police station’s front desk and volunteer information that I didn’t think was relevant.”
“You really didn’t think it was relevant?” Ben asked disbelievingly.
Julian sighed. “Look, I get a lot of very unusual requests. You have no idea what my average working day at the gallery is like. I did think it was a little odd. Then, when that poor man was murdered, it took a while for me to make the connection. Then, when you kept coming back, I found myself thinking about it more and more. I knew I should say something, but the problem was that he’d said he would pay me this handsome bonus if I kept my side of the bargain. That meant keeping quiet.”
“So you were going to say nothing until tomorrow, to receive the bonus?” Autumn sighed. Greed or need, who knew, but either way, he’d kept a lid on valuable information, and locked them into the back room to make sure that they couldn’t get it out of him.
They had managed to get almost all the puzzle so far, apart from the critical missing piece. And that was the identity of the killer himself.
“So,” Autumn challenged, “who is he?”
Julian shrugged. “Please believe me when I say I don’t know.”
“How much did he pay you to say that?” Ben challenged.
Julian was fiddling with the robe’s tie, running it through his fingers again and again.
“I really don’t know. It was done anonymously, because that was the buyer’s wish. He sent one of the buggy drivers to pick the paintings up and deliver them to a restaurant. It all sounded – well, above board, but not really, if you know what I mean? As I already told you, I get lots of odd requests.”
A buggy, delivering to a restaurant? That was going to take days to sort out. Which buggy, which restaurant, and would the restaurant remember the details of the customer who’d been sitting there at the time? It was all possible in theory. It was just going to take a lot of work to figure it out.
“How were you paid?”
“From a bank account in the Cayman Islands,” Julian said. Defensively, he added, “A lot of my clients have accounts in the Caymans.”
“The name?”
“It was some company. It wasn’t a name I know. Something strange, maybe Ebony Logistics, something like that. It didn’t ring any bells.”
Ebony Logistics. If they could only track that down. Autumn found herself thinking furiously, Ebony Logistics. Where and how could she find the owner? The phrase itself seemed weirdly familiar, but perhaps that was because she had just been repeating it over and over in her head.
“It must be somebody who stayed on the island,” Ben mused. “A visitor who came for that reason.”
“Yes,” Julian said, his voice shaky and subdued. “Someone visiting. I think that’s who it was.”
“They bought the artworks, they went to the masked ball, they made sure to murder Stafford,” Autumn said, piecing together the timeline in her mind. “They could already have left the island.”
“Or maybe not,” Ben argued. “Leaving straight after a crime like that would arouse suspicion. I am sure that the killer would wait a day or so. Maybe he booked for a longer stay, and then left early, for another reason.”
“Wait!” Realization hit Autumn so sharply that she jumped to her feet, feeling as if her entire body was covered in goosebumps.
“What?” On the edge of his nerves, Julian also leaped to his feet, clutching his robe around him. “Don’t do that!”
Autumn barely heard him. Her mind was all on the connection she made, the one she now knew must be correct.
“Wait a minute! I think – no, I don’t think. I know who the killer is. I’ve just realized who he must be! And he’s been staying at my own bed and breakfast.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“At your bed and breakfast?” Ben and Julian asked the words in unison, their voices equally incredulous, as Autumn nodded.
“There was one guest, Mr. Pringle, who bought up a lot of art, and who attended the masked ball. And then afterward, he pretended to be spooked by the murder. He said the island wasn’t safe, and he was leaving.”
“He used the murder he’d committed, as an excuse? The cheek of it!” Julian said, sounding irate.
“He even tried to get other guests to leave. He created a groundswell. That’s why I assumed the whole island was suffering.” Autumn glanced at Ben, who nodded. “And there was a plaster crack to be fixed in his room. With him checking out early, it gave us the chance to do that. When Ethan was fixing it, he found a couple of items that had fallen down behind the ottoman. One of them was a business card, and if I remember, it was a card for Ebony Logistics. It had a logo on, and a postal address I remember vaguely.”
The puzzle was becoming clearer by the minute, but the problem was that time was running out.
The conversation over the breakfast table was coming back to Autumn now. Pringle had said he was leaving immediately, and the other guests who’d befriended him had talked him into staying. He’d agreed, probably feeling that it was less suspicious, and he’d said…
“He’s leaving by a private boat. Straight after an early dinner.”
Now, Ben and Julian jumped to their feet, too.
“A boat is picking him up?” Ben pulled out his phone, stabbing at the keys.
“Yes. He was having an early dinner, and then he was going to collect his belongings and go over to the mainland. He could go anywhere from there. He gave me a passport number, but it could be fake. Even his name could be fake.” She felt as if she was hyperventilating in her anxiety. “He mentioned that he was getting a ride to the opposite shore after dinner, but I don’t know how he was getting across. He must have hired the boat.”
“He wouldn’t take the ferry?” Julian asked hopefully.
“I doubt it,” Autumn said. “That's not what he said, and I'm sure it wasn't his plan. My guess is that he’s got someone coming over from the mainland to fetch him. Someone who’s not connected with the island at all.” The lake’s vastness suddenly felt intimidating. He could be going anywhere out there. Anywhere.
With adrenaline pulsing, wishing she’d put two and two together, Autumn pulled out her cellphone and called the guesthouse.
“Harbor View, good evening,” Jasmine answered on the first ring, a smile in her voice.
“Jasmine! Listen, it’s an emergency.” Autumn was pacing up and down the living room floor, aware that Ben was also on his phone.
“Autumn, what’s happened? You sound as if there’s been a disaster?” Concern resonated from Jasmine’s voice.
“There hasn’t yet, but there might be. Please tell me, has Mr. Pringle left yet?”
“Yes. He got back just now, about twenty minutes ago. He collected his belongings and took a buggy down to the harbor.”
Autumn’s heart thudded into her shoes with disappointment. The worst had happened, and the fugitive had already made his escape.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Is there anything I can do?” Jasmine asked. “Was it the right thing to let him go?”
“Did he mention what boat he was taking?” Autumn asked.
“He didn’t. He just said he had to meet his transport. That’s all. Now I’m worried I’ve done the wrong thing.”
“You’ve done absolutely fine. Just hold the fort, and keep things calm there," Autumn said firmly. It hadn't been Jasmine's fault at all. It had been Autumn's fault for not having figured out the truth sooner. The signs had all been there. She just hadn’t been able to make sense of them.
She hung up, the urgency of the situation feeling like a weight on her shoulders, her mind racing as she figured out what the best course of action was.
“I can’t get hold of anyone at the harbor,” Ben said, as they rushed into the entrance hall. “It’s the voicemail again. Sunday night, nobody is answering the main inquiry line. If he gets onto the water, he could reach the mainland, and disappear, before the police can find him.”
“We have to get to the harbor ourselves then.” Reckless as it seemed, there was no other course of action that could save this situation. If he’s there, we have to get there first and stop him,” Autumn decided.
“We do!” Dramatically, Julian headed over to the fireplace and shoved his feet into a pair of purple trainers. “I might have helped to cause this mess, but I’m going to help fix it, too.”
All three of them crowded into the hall, reaching the front door together. Julian wrenched it open, and Ben took off, pounding down the road at a speedy run.
Speedy.
Perhaps it was that word which activated Autumn’s creative brain. Plus, the knowledge that her legs were done for today. There was no way she was going to be able to keep up with him.
She turned to Julian.
“I’ve had an idea,” she said.
“We need an idea,” Julian replied.
“Your boat.”
His eyes lit up. “My boat! Not that I want to go in the damned thing again, ever. But you’re right. It’ll get us around to the harbor, fast. Maybe we can even patrol the waters.”
“We’re going via the lake!” Autumn yelled to Ben, so loudly that she saw a light go on in a neighboring house, and a curtain twitch aside. She hoped Ben had heard her. At any rate, there was no other option now but to turn and head back through the house, with Julian pausing only to slam the front door again.
They headed down to the pier, feet clattering across the boards, and leaped into the boat. Julian started it up as Autumn struggled with the mooring rope. It was very tightly fastened, which had saved the day when she and Ben had arrived. Now, she was battling to loosen the knot.
The engine rattled into life, and another light went on from the house on the other side. With the peace of the evening disturbed, the neighbors were becoming curious.
Finally, Autumn managed to get the knot undone, and the rope slipped away.
“Hang on, sweetheart!” Julian let out the throttle, and in a surge of spray, they sped away.
Autumn rushed to the front of the speedboat as it juddered over the lake’s surface, the wind tugging at her hair. It was a new, powerful and fast boat, and she was grateful that they were heading to the harbor with all the speed they possessed.
What she didn’t know was whether they would be in time.
“Can you see any lights on the water?” Julian shouted.
“I can see a few,” Autumn shouted back. There were still a couple of boats out, and in the distance, she could see the lights of the ferry, approaching Magnolia Island for its second to last trip of the day.
“Well, do any of them look like the lights of a boat carrying a criminal art dealer?” Wildly, Julian stared around. He was keeping the boat at full speed, because all the lights were in the general direction of ‘ahead’, but just now, they would have to make a decision about which one to follow.
Autumn got on the phone again.
“Ben?” she said breathlessly, when he picked up.
“Autumn. I’m nearly… at the harbor.” He sounded as if he was running hard. “Where… are you? On… the water?”
“Yes. We’re going to try to figure out which boat he’s taken.”
“I’m meeting… Officer Warring here.” Ben said. “He’s on his way… from the north of the island. I’ll tell him… to notify the mainland police… and we’ll take a boat out, too.”
“Good idea,” Autumn said.
“Be safe!” Ben called to her.
“And you!” she shouted back over the surging of the spray, before hanging up.
Now, where in the vastness of the lake was Pringle going to be?
Try to think like him, Autumn exhorted herself, as Julian called out, “I’m going to have to make a decision soon, sweetheart. Which way?”
He’d left the harbor and would want two things. Firstly, he wouldn’t want to spend too much time on the water. He’d be intent on getting where he was going, making a clean getaway with those paintings. And he would want to go to one of the more isolated harbors. That would be very important to him. He wouldn’t want to be caught when he landed. He might even ask to be dropped off at one of the fishing piers, and from there, catch a cab.
