They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Peter James (73 Autumn 2011) #74

73 Autumn 2011

The signal was better in the morning. Nicos was the lead story in the Bailiwick Express, and the Jersey Evening Post’s front-page splash for the second day running.

ABANDONED YACHT MYSTERY DEEPENS

Beneath the headline were photographs of Nicos and myself.

Was it just an unfortunate printing glitch that made my face look dark and sinister, or had someone in the photographic department of the newspaper done this to deliberately make me look like a criminal? I stared at it in horror. I looked a bit like the Moors murderer Myra Hindley. Where the hell did they get it from? Great. I read on.

States of Jersey Police have taken command as the lead investigators in the mystery of the abandoned thirty-eight-foot motor yacht Bolt-Hole, found drifting ten nautical miles off St Peter Port, Guernsey, on Tuesday morning. Chief Inspector Callum O’Connor told this paper that they are working closely with the Jersey Coastguard and Customs and Immigration and that the boat, which has now been towed into St Helier harbour, has been declared a crime scene.

‘We are currently conducting a forensic search of the vessel,’ CI O’Connor told the JEP. ‘At the present time we do not know who was on board or how it came to be abandoned. The boat is modern, in good mechanical order, and the sea-state was moderate at the time it was found adrift and abandoned. No freak waves, which might have caused a capsize, had been reported by any local fishermen or sailors.

‘We are working on a number of theories, which include the owner, Nicos Christoforou, who had business interests in Jersey, and who was believed to have been on board earlier Monday evening, falling overboard. But, having done some investigation into Mr Christoforou’s background, we are not at this stage ruling out foul play. We are anxious to speak to his partner, Sandra Jones, with whom, along with her young child, he shared an unqualified apartment close to Victoria Avenue. Neither have been seen since the beginning of the week.’

Not ruling out foul play? No shit, Sherlock!

I was deeply curious what they had found out about Nicos’s background. And I did not like that they were anxious to speak to me. How anxious, and how far would they push to do that? I was far enough away, I thought, unaware I was about to find that Jersey might be a small island but it had a long reach. But for now I wasn’t worried about myself, I desperately needed to find out what had happened to Nicos. What did the police know and were holding back? What investigations had they done into Nicos’s background?

‘States of Jersey Police held a press conference yesterday in which we put out an appeal to any members of the public who might have seen either Mr Christoforou or his partner, Sandra Jones, and her son, between the hours of 11 a.m. and 8 p.m. on Monday, to call States of Jersey Police, on +44 (0) 1534 612616 and ask for the Operation Sandbar incident room, or call Crimestoppers, anonymously, on +44 (0) 800 555111.’

I read the piece again, then a third time, checking for any little nugget, any hidden clue about Nicos in the Chief Inspector’s guarded comments that I might have missed.

The boat had been declared a crime scene, which surely indicated they did suspect foul play. Investigations into his background led them to the possibility of foul play, they said.

‘Mama, I’m hungry,’ Bruno whined, walking sleepily into my room in his pyjamas and rubbing his eyes.

I put my phone down, gave him a good-morning kiss on the forehead, then suggested he get dressed quickly, so we could hurry downstairs before all the food was gone.

‘Do I have to go to that class again today? They are too babyish for me,’ he asked, his face squidging into a grump mask.

‘Actually, my darling,’ I said as an idea flashed into my head, thinking about Hans-Jürgen’s request last night for Bruno to see the resident doctor — Borg or whatever his name was. ‘There’s someone who is going to talk to you this morning and see if there is a better class for you.’

Bruno suddenly looked so serious. ‘I think that would be good, Mama. They were all so stupid in my class yesterday.’ He nodded his head. ‘I mean, really, you just wouldn’t believe how stupid they are.’

I ruffled his hair, which he hated and immediately stepped away. ‘How does it feel to be the brightest little boy in the world?’ I joked.

But he replied without smiling. ‘I’m brighter than a five-year-old.’

‘Of course you are, darling.’

He tilted his head back and strode off back to his room, reminding me of a character called Johnny Head-in-the-Air from one of my favourite childhood books, Struwwelpeter.

Then I shuddered. They were all cautionary tales in that book. Most of the children died horribly. Johnny Head-in-the-Air walked over the edge of a riverbank.

My phone rang. It was Julia Schmitt. Dr Borg could see Bruno at 9 a.m. I looked at my watch. It was just gone 7.30.