Over My Dead Body

Chapter 6

‘I think I’ve solved the fingerprint problem,’ said James, as he sat down for breakfast the following morning.

‘How,’ asked William, ‘when we don’t have a forensic lab at our disposal?’

‘Don’t need one when there’s a shop selling toys on deck four,’ he announced, looking rather pleased with himself.

‘Stop showing off,’ said William, grinning.

‘It didn’t take much research to discover that one of the most popular items in the shop is a Sherlock Holmes kit for aspiring detectives. I bought the last three sets,’ said James, producing one of them from below the table with a flourish. ‘They contain a fingerprint pad, special paper, dusting powder, a tiny brush and a magnifying glass. What more could you want?’

‘Well done, Detective Constable Buchanan. Thinking outside the box.’

‘Inside the box, actually,’ said James, removing the lid to reveal several small compartments.

‘Pathetic,’ said William, ‘but bravo.’

‘Whose fingerprints do you want to check, Chief Inspector?’ he asked as he took a sip of orange juice.

‘You can begin with your uncle Hamish,’ said William, checking James’s table plan. ‘Start with his silver hip flask, and then his coffee cup, so you have matching prints. Then move on to your great-aunt Flora, who was sitting on his left, next Dr Lockhart, followed by your mother, and finally your grandfather.’

‘What about those who were sitting on the other side of the table?’

‘We don’t need theirs.’

‘Why not?’

‘Think about it, detective, and let me know when the penny drops.’

‘Do you know where that expression originates?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said William.

‘So, where should I start looking for prints?’

‘The water tumblers, the wine glasses and then the coffee cups, remembering the waiters wear gloves, so that eliminates them.’

‘And after I’ve done that?’

‘I’ll double-check the prints you find on Hamish’s hip flask. Once I’ve identified all of them, we’ll know if your theory stands up.’

‘And if it doesn’t?’

‘Then your grandfather died of a heart attack, and I shall inform the commodore that I have no reason to suspect foul play.’

‘And what if Grandfather’s prints aren’t on Hamish’s flask?’

‘Then I’ll need you and Franco to carry out a surveillance exercise for me.’

‘What do you have in mind, sir?’ asked Franco, as he poured William a second cup of coffee.

‘When Dr Lockhart comes down for breakfast this morning, I’ll go straight to deck seven. If he looks as if he might be returning to his cabin, James, you come up as quickly as possible and warn me. Meanwhile, Franco, you try to delay him even if it’s only for a few moments.’

‘I’ll tell him about my dodgy knee that’s been playing up again.’

‘How do I get my hands on a pass key for the cabins on deck seven?’ asked William.

‘No problem, sir.’ Franco took a large bunch of keys from an inside pocket, removed one with the number ‘7’ stamped on it, and handed it to William, who said, ‘I hope this won’t get you into any trouble.’

‘Not a chance,’ said Franco. ‘I had clear instructions from the commodore to give you every possible assistance, so I’m doing no more than obeying orders.’

A few moments later the first guests entered the dining room for breakfast. They stared at the chairman’s table, now roped off, while Franco led them to their usual places.

‘Got it,’ said James. ‘I’ve just worked out why you don’t need the fingerprints of anyone who was sitting on the other side of the table.’

Franco looked suitably puzzled.

‘Time for me to get moving,’ said William, as Hamish Buchanan and Dr Lockhart strolled into the dining room. William was not surprised to see them together. ‘Start work on their fingerprints immediately,’ he whispered. ‘Although time isn’t exactly on our side, don’t hurry and make sure you’re thorough,’ he added, before slipping out of the dining room.

James waited until his uncle and Dr Lockhart had sat down for breakfast before he took a seat on the other side of the table and turned his back on them. He picked up the silver hip flask and sprinkled a light layer of dusting powder over its surface.

‘Captain Neville, what a pleasant surprise to see you in Paris,’ declared an elegantly dressed, middle-aged woman who Miles had known for many years; she’d even sent flowers to his funeral. ‘Unfortunately, none of my ladies will be available until around nine o’clock this evening.’

‘I came early,’ said Miles, ‘because I need to have a private word before your first client arrives.’

‘Then let’s go to my office where we won’t be disturbed.’

Miles entered a Victorian boudoir he’d known long before his physical appearance had been altered beyond recognition. But he sometimes wondered if Blanche had her suspicions about the captain who didn’t quibble over the price, although she’d never seen the one part of his anatomy that hadn’t changed.

‘I need something a little out of the ordinary,’ he said, as he sat down on the sofa next to the madam. It was a request Blanche was familiar with, but when he told her exactly what he had in mind, even she was taken by surprise.

He took out several large photographs from his briefcase that had been supplied by Lamont and handed them to Blanche, who studied them carefully. ‘The police uniform is very convincing,’ she said. ‘If this girl’s ever in Paris, I can find work for her.’

‘She was the mark’s present girlfriend,’ said Miles, without elaboration. ‘I’m hoping you can provide her replacement.’

‘Let me see what I can come up with, captain.’ Blanche rose from the sofa and walked across to a large filing cabinet. She pulled open the second drawer, which was labelled ‘Blondes, European, fluent English’, and extracted two files.

Blanche sat down at her desk and turned the pages slowly, occasionally glancing at the image Captain Neville had supplied. After some consideration she chose three candidates whose photographs she placed on the desk in front of him.

Miles studied the three young women Blanche had selected.

‘What else will she be expected to do,’ she asked, ‘besides seduce him?’

‘The mark has the energy of ten men, but it’s not his sexual prowess I’m interested in.’

‘Any one of them should be able to handle that. After all, they’re professionals. But what other skills are required?’

‘She needs to be bright as well as irresistible. A combination of Mata Hari and Becky Sharp. It’s the pillow talk that’s going to matter.’

‘Then I’d go with Josephine rather than Avril or Michelle,’ she said, pointing to one of the photographs. ‘Why don’t you come back around midnight, captain, then you can judge for yourself which one of them fits the bill?’

‘Quite a large bill, I suspect,’ said Miles, ‘as I may be needing her services for some time.’

‘What do you think?’ asked Beth.

‘Quite magnificent. It would look even better if it were hanging around your neck,’ said William, as he admired the exquisite necklace displayed in the window of the ship’s jewellery shop. ‘Dare I ask how much?’

‘Way out of your price range, caveman. I should have married a banker.’

William took a second look at the necklace and felt guilty. This was meant to be a break from work, but he’d hardly seen Beth from the moment they’d stepped on board. Yoga, followed by the morning lecture, and a film in the afternoon with her new best friend, Catherine Whittaker, had almost got him off the hook, but not entirely.

Beth straightened his bow tie. ‘You need to look your best tonight,’ she said, brushing a hair from the shoulder of his dinner jacket. ‘Catherine is such fun, and I can’t wait to meet her husband.’

‘The last time I saw Mr Justice Whittaker,’ mused William, ‘I was in the witness box when he told me he wasn’t interested in my opinions, and to stick to the evidence.’

Beth laughed as he took her hand and they made their way to the dining room on the deck below. William smiled to himself when they passed a window full of toys and spotted an empty shelf.

They entered the dining room, where Franco was on hand to escort them to their table. The chairman’s table was no longer roped off, but it remained unoccupied. The Buchanan family were now sitting at separate tables on the other side of the room, the two brothers conspicuously seated apart from each other. Franco accompanied William and Beth to the Whittakers’ table, where the judge rose to greet them.

‘William, it’s good of you to join us after what must have been a gruelling couple of days. I don’t imagine you’ve had much sleep.’

‘Not a lot, sir,’ said William, as they shook hands.

‘George, please. I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Catherine.’

‘Beth’s already told me about your fascinating talk on Puccini.’

‘And I can’t wait to visit the Fitzmolean again,’ said Catherine, ‘now that I have my own personal guide.’

‘That’s how we met,’ said William, as Franco appeared and handed them each a menu.

‘Tonight’s special is the rump steak,’ he declared, ‘while there’s the finest smoked salmon for the more abstemious.’

William ordered the steak, confident that Beth wouldn’t overrule him, although she did frown. Once they had all placed their orders, Beth told them about the morning lecture she and Catherine had attended, entitled, ‘The Big Apple: why not take a bite!’ given by Professor Samuels of Columbia University.

‘The professor has made me think again about how we should spend our time in New York,’ Beth commented. ‘I now want to drive across the Brooklyn Bridge, walk around Central Park and—’

‘Not at night,’ said William.

‘—and visit the Bronx zoo,’ continued Beth.

‘Not to mention catching a Broadway show,’ said Catherine. ‘He told us we should get tickets for La Cage aux Folles, if we possibly can,’ she added, as Franco reappeared with their first course.

Beth and Catherine continued to chat enthusiastically about the lecture, while the judge ate his asparagus, commenting only on how delicate the hollandaise sauce was. It wasn’t until their plates had been cleared away, to be replaced with the second course, that he turned to William and said, ‘May I ask how your investigation is proceeding?’

‘It’s complicated. However, I can tell you I’ve handed in my report to the commodore,’ said William, as he cut into his steak and watched the blood run. He looked up to see that all three of them had put down their knives and forks and were staring at him in anticipation.

‘Did the chairman die of a heart attack?’ asked the judge, cutting to the quick.

‘He may well have done,’ said William. ‘But I’m more interested in what caused that heart attack.’

Once again, all three of them waited impatiently while William placed a little mustard on the side of his plate.

‘Are you going to tell us the answer,’ Beth finally demanded, ‘or do we have to wait until our food’s gone cold?’

William put down his knife, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and said, ‘I’m able to tell you how the murder was committed, as long as you don’t breathe a word to anyone.’

‘And that includes you, my dear,’ said George, smiling at his wife.

William waited until Franco had refilled their wine glasses before producing James’s seating plan and placing it in the centre of the table.

He allowed them a few moments to study it, before he continued. ‘First, note that Hamish Buchanan is seated on the left-hand side of the table, between his mother and Flora Buchanan on his left.’

‘Who’s she?’ asked Catherine.

‘Fraser Buchanan’s sister. The formidable grande dame of the company, who the rest of the family are in awe of.’

‘And next to her?’ enquired the judge, peering down at the plan.

‘Dr Lockhart, whose sole purpose in life was to keep the chairman alive. But not on this occasion.’

This revelation silenced the three of them for a moment, giving William the chance to enjoy a forkful of steak.

‘And on his left?’ asked Beth.

‘Alice Buchanan, James’s mother and the wife of Angus Buchanan’ — he moved his finger across to the other side of the table — ‘who recently replaced his brother Hamish as deputy chairman of the company.’

‘I have a feeling that side of the table isn’t going to be important,’ said the judge.

‘A shrewd observation,’ said William, ‘but you’ll still have to concentrate if you’re to work out what Hamish Buchanan was up to. Everyone saw him take a drink from his hip flask during dinner, which caused his father to pointedly ask what he was drinking, as he suspected it was whisky or brandy, despite Hamish having just assured him he was on the wagon.’

No one interrupted as William put down his knife and fork.

‘Hamish claimed the flask only contained a mild sedative that had been given to him by Dr Lockhart to help him sleep. But the chairman demanded it was passed to him so he could check for himself. Their first mistake.’ William paused to allow Franco to refill their wine glasses.

‘Where was I?’ he said once Franco had put the wine back in the ice bucket.

‘Hamish was passing his hip flask to his father, who was seated at the top of the table,’ Beth reminded him.

‘Ah yes,’ said William. ‘So, Hamish handed the flask to Great-Aunt Flora, who passed it on to the doctor, who in turn gave it to Alice, who finally handed it to the chairman.’ He took a sip of wine while they continued to study the table plan. ‘The chairman swallowed a long draught from the flask,’ he continued, ‘and although he found it tasted unpleasant, it clearly wasn’t alcohol, and therefore he assumed it must be the medicine Dr Lockhart had prescribed. He then passed the hip flask back to his son at the other end of the table.’

‘Down which side of the table?’ asked the judge.

‘That’s the point,’ said William. ‘The same side.’

‘As I thought,’ said the judge. ‘But I’m still only half-way there.’

‘When the flask was returned to Hamish, he made a great show of taking another swig from it. His second mistake.’

‘I’m lost,’ said Beth.

‘Patience,’ said William. ‘Concentrate on the seating plan and all will be revealed. James Buchanan, my recently promoted Detective Sergeant, spent this morning identifying all the fingerprints he could find on the tumblers, wine glasses and coffee cups of everyone who had sat on the left-hand side of the table, while I carried out the same exercise with Hamish’s hip flask.’

‘You’re still a yard ahead of me,’ said Catherine. ‘If Hamish’s flask was passed to his father at the top of the table, everyone’s fingerprints on that side of the table had to be on it.’

‘But they weren’t,’ suggested the judge, ‘because someone had switched the flask for a similar one before it reached the chairman at the top of the table, and that person will be the only one whose fingerprints were on both flasks.’

‘Not a bad summing up, m’Lud,’ said William with a grin. ‘So in order to decide who is the guilty party, the jury must first consider the evidence. Flora took Hamish’s flask and passed it on to the doctor like a baton in a relay race, and when the chairman sent it back down the table, the same exercise was carried out in reverse. Simple and well planned, except the accomplices made two mistakes. First—’ William stopped mid-sentence as Franco reappeared to clear their plates.

‘Would you like to see the dessert menu?’ he asked.

‘No, thank you,’ said Catherine, not even looking up.

‘A digestif, perhaps?’ ventured Franco.

‘No, thank you,’ repeated the judge a little more firmly, his eyes still fixed on the place settings on James’s drawing. Franco left, having served no purpose.

William waited to see if anyone had worked out what those mistakes were.

‘Whose fingerprints did you find on Hamish’s hip flask?’ asked the judge. ‘And, more important, whose fingerprints were missing? Because that will tell us who switched the flasks.’

William acknowledged the judge with a slight bow, as if they were in court. ‘The only fingerprints I could identify on Hamish’s flask were Flora’s, who was seated next to him, the not so good doctor Lockhart, and of course Hamish’s.’

‘Got it,’ said Beth.

‘Then you’ll be able to explain what they were up to,’ said William.

‘It had to be Dr Lockhart who carried out the switch both times,’ said Beth. ‘Otherwise, the chairman’s fingerprints would also have been on Hamish’s flask when it was passed back to him.’

‘As well as those of James’s mother, who was sitting between the doctor and the chairman, and passed the flask to him.’

‘Have you found the second flask?’ asked the judge. ‘The one Fraser Buchanan must have drunk from?’

‘Yes,’ said William. ‘I first saw the other flask in Dr Lockhart’s bag when I questioned him last night, and then again this morning when I searched his cabin while he was at breakfast. But the only fingerprints I found on that particular flask were his.’

‘He’d had more than enough time to wipe it clean,’ said the judge, ‘leaving just his fingerprints for you to find. But what about the contents?’

‘The ship’s doctor confirmed it was nothing more than a mild sedative, just as Hamish had claimed,’ replied William.

‘They saw you coming,’ said the judge, ‘and have made it almost impossible for you to prove that Hamish Buchanan and Dr Lockhart were working together as a team.’

‘That would have been the case, if it hadn’t been for the resourceful and observant James Buchanan, who some of them still think of as a child, rather than a young man who plans to become the Director of the FBI, not chairman of the Pilgrim Line.’

‘And what did he observe?’ asked Catherine.

‘Before I answer that, you need to take another look at the seating plan that night. You’ll see that young James was placed opposite his uncle Hamish, from where he had a perfect view of everything that was going on, including when Hamish drank from his hip flask. But it was only later that “the penny dropped”, to quote him, when he realized his uncle wasn’t drinking from the same hip flask as his grandfather.’

‘What made him think that?’ asked Beth.

‘Hamish had placed his flask on the table during dinner for everyone to see,’ said William. ‘A foolish mistake, because James noticed the initials “HB” engraved on one side, whereas the one the chairman drank from had no such engraving, as I was able to confirm when later I found it in the doctor’s cabin.’

‘Bright young man,’ said the judge. ‘However, it still may not be enough to convict them.’ He stopped and pondered for a moment. ‘If I was representing Hamish Buchanan, I would suggest to the jury that they could not rely simply on missing fingerprints, and the uncorroborated testimony of a minor, to send two men down for a life sentence.’

‘I agree,’ said William. ‘But don’t forget we still have the body of the late Fraser Buchanan. I’ve already called ahead to the NYPD to let them know I have reason to suspect a murder has been committed, and they’ve agreed to meet me on the quayside when we dock tomorrow morning. I’m confident an autopsy will show the chairman was poisoned, and end up convicting both of them.’

‘Bravo,’ said the judge. ‘You are indeed the son of Sir Julian Warwick.’

‘Not to mention the formidable Lady Warwick,’ suggested Beth.

‘They would have got away with it if I hadn’t had young James Buchanan to assist me,’ admitted William, as Franco served them coffee and poured the judge his usual brandy, before handing William a sealed envelope.

‘A signed confession?’ suggested Catherine, as William tore open the envelope.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, after extracting a voucher for one thousand pounds. He read out the accompanying letter.

‘It was my holiday that was spoilt, not yours,’ said Beth. ‘In fact, I’ve never seen you happier,’ she added, as she grabbed the voucher and dropped it into her bag.

‘I wonder what time the jewellery shop opens in the morning?’ said Catherine innocently.