Murder in the Raw (18 page)

Rex knocked on Mrs. Winslow’s bedroom door and, upon being invited in, found her stretched out on the bed, in conversation with Toni Weeks.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Toni said, slipping off the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Rex asked Elizabeth.

“Calmer now. Max prescribed a sedative.”

“Vernon told me Sabine took Luminal for anxiety. Did she tell you?”

“I suggested she get on one of the newer types of medication. Barbiturates are potentially addictive. But I suppose she wanted to stick to what she was familiar with.”

You got that right
, Rex thought. Seemed that Sabine was quite the expert on the subject of barbiturates.

“I thought I’d take her some clothes. You could come with me.”

“Do you think she wants to see me?” Elizabeth asked hopefully. “Do I look an absolute mess?”

The usually
soignée
Mrs. Winslow did look ravaged. “This must be verra hard on you,” he murmured. “Sabine told me you were her mother. And now that I’ve met her in person I can see a resemblance.” The greenish eyes, the hair color, though Elizabeth’s was redder.

“She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?” she said with a sigh that ended in a sob. “It’s not been easy, pretending to be just a caring friend all these years, but we decided it was for the best, to save our families any embarrassment—even though it happened such a long time ago.”

“I understand.”

“I never forgot her, not for a minute. Every day since I gave her up, I’ve said a little prayer for her. On her eighteenth birthday, I returned to Switzerland to look for her. The Maison de Lausanne was an institute for young women of society who found themselves in trouble,” Elizabeth explained in a voice laced with irony. “It was run by a Madame Bossard. We weren’t even allowed to read novels, which were considered to be corrupting. Surprisingly, the director was still alive all those years later, although she was in a wheelchair and a bit senile. Her establishment had reverted to a private house and she was taking in foreign students.”

Mrs. Winslow took a deep breath, as though drawing the stamina to continue. “An English girl who was studying French at the university was sympathetic to my plight. She said she’d seen piles of old boxes in the cellar. We went down there. That part of the house hadn’t changed one little bit. I was transported in time. It still had the same stone sinks where we used to scrub the bloody sheets by hand in cold water until our knuckles were raw. Most of the deliveries were done on the premises, you see. It may have been an establishment for respectable young women in trouble, but Madame Bossard made us contribute to the running of the household. I think deep down she wanted to punish us for our sins. The memory made me all the more determined to find my baby!”

Fresh tears streamed down her face. Rex reached for the box of tissues by the bedside and waited for her to continue.

“She had kept all the records of the unmarried mothers,” Elizabeth said, after composing herself. “I found my file and discovered that Sabine, whom I’d named Alice, had been placed with a banker and his wife at a smart address in Paris.”

“And that was your next destination.”

“Yes. I caught the next train out of Lausanne, tracked Sabine down in Paris, and told her everything. She took it very well. We were in a café on the boulevard St. Michel. I remember her saying, ‘I knew my mother couldn’t really be my real mum. We never got on.’ Of course, I should have been sad that she hadn’t had a better relationship with her adoptive mother, but I was thrilled. Naturally, she was at a rebellious age, so the idea of our secret communication between Paris and London must have appealed to her creative imagination. Soon after, she came to London. I suggested she try for a job at David’s restaurant and then I arranged for her to come and live in our basement flat.”

“You confided all this in Paul?”

“Oh, yes. I told him all about the adoption before we were married. We’d been married ten years before Sabine reappeared in my life. I never felt right about having other children. Paul has been so wonderfully supportive.”

“That’s why you were so eager for me to come to St. Martin and help find out what happened to her. She was so much more than the friend you said she was …”

“We felt the truth would have compromised the investigation. We were sure Vernon had killed her, but you might have felt we were biased if you knew that he was, in effect, our son-in-law. You might have thought we were being over-protective.”

“The truth is always best, Elizabeth. It might have saved time. Tell me about Vernon’s phone.”

“You know everything, don’t you? I took it from his cabana while he was out diving. Sabine had asked me to get hold of it if I ever got the opportunity. She said she wanted to get some information off it. I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity while he was out on the boat, but I didn’t see her all afternoon. I kept the phone in my purse that evening. It rang while we were on the beach searching for her, an incoming call from abroad. The guards were approaching. I managed to switch it off, then I chucked it onto the rocks. By that time I had a feeling something was terribly wrong. I left it on the beach to point the police in the right direction, to lead them to Vernon.”

“You accidentally took a picture of yourself. Fortunately, the police didn’t notice.”

Elizabeth shook back her mass of red hair. “I’d laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic. I was so convinced Vernon had murdered her. I absolutely had no idea it was she who had planned
his
murder all along. She did murder him, didn’t she? I wish to God she’d listened to me and not married him. Now her life, her bright future are ruined!”

“They say hindsight is 20-20.”

“They also say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. If I knew who ‘they’ were, I’d tell them to go to hell.”

“Well, I can tell you for a fact Sabine inherited some of her mother’s character.”

Elizabeth blew her nose and gave a proud sniff. “You had someone taken away from you too, didn’t you?”

“My wife, Fiona. She died of breast cancer. She still had so much life left to live. I think the hardest thing for her was knowing she would never see our son grow to manhood.” Rex rubbed Elizabeth’s shoulder in sympathy. “Are you ready to see her now?”

Elizabeth nodded and accomplished a quick repair of her makeup. “I should go and splash some cold water on my eyes,” she said, scanning her face in a compact. “I don’t want her to see me in this state.”

Paul Winslow stepped into the hall as they were leaving.

“I’m going with Rex to see Sabine,” his wife told him. “I wanted to slip out without the others knowing, so I could have some time alone with her.”

“Send her my love.” Paul took her face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Chin up.” He turned to Rex. “Don’t be too hard on the girl.”

Rex nodded in understanding. The Winslows had brought him out here to solve a mystery and he had accomplished his mission. The trouble was, it had not turned out the way they had expected. Yet from the moment he suspected Sabine was implicated in her husband’s murder, he had had to pursue the case to its bitter conclusion in the interest of justice—which he was morally bound to do by his profession.

He opened the front door for Elizabeth. The rain had stopped, clearing the air and leaving the landscaped grass and tropical plants fresh and invigorated. He, by contrast, felt jaded and in need of a beer. They stopped by Sabine and Vernon’s cabana, where Mrs. Winslow picked up a change of clothes for her daughter, and proceeded to the main building. Lieutenant Latour had not yet arrived. The portable TV mounted on the wall at the reception area showed pictures of a fatal pile-up outside Grand Case, caused by the earlier rainstorm. Pierre stood guard outside the small office, watching the news at the same time.

Rex explained his business and, leaving Elizabeth outside the door with a promise to be quick, went in to speak with Sabine.

“Where are the police?” she demanded, leaping from her straight-back chair.

“Are you that impatient to see them?”

“The sooner I’m arraigned, the sooner I can be set free on bail.”

“I wouldn’t bank on it. It’s too easy to disappear off this island.”

“It wasn’t when I tried earlier. Jean-Luc is such an imbecile. I hope his cell is more comfortable than mine.” She indicated the small bare office with a brush of her slim hand.

“The officer in charge was called to an emergency. Then he will see to you.”

“I phoned my father in Paris. He’s very wealthy, you know. He will hire me the best lawyer and see to it that my
séjour
in prison will be as comfortable as possible. The French will never pronounce the death sentence on me!”

“France abolished the death penalty in 1981, as I’m sure you’re aware. If they find a drug like pentobarbital in your husband’s system, it will look very bad for you, considering your connection to the stables where the drug was stolen.”

Sabine tossed back her head in defiance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Tell me what you know about Monsieur Bijou and perhaps we can work something out.”

“What has he to do with this?”

“Nothing specifically, but I suspect him of other murders.”

“That cold fish?” She shivered in the bathrobe Hastings had brought her. “Are you referring to the two girls who were found bound and tortured on the island a few years ago?”

“And perhaps others in Amsterdam.”

“I have met him a few times. A few weeks ago, he contacted me about doing some publicity for his Diamonds are Forever Club in Marigot and asked me to meet him. I would have gone had I not had a prior engagement with Jean-Luc.”

“You’re lucky. You may not have left the meeting alive. You’re just his type.”

“Didn’t they find jewels in the victims’ sodomized bodies?”

“You seem well-informed.”

“The paper said ‘raped.’ I’m just reading between the lines, knowing what I do about Bijou. But the mayor issued a statement at the time saying the police had reason to believe the murderer had left the island.”

“It was wishful thinking. I’d love to put an end to Bijou and his jewel fetishes.”

“What would I get out of it?”

“Face space. Every time his name came up in the international news, your photograph would be right there alongside it.”

Sabine pouted prettily. “I don’t know if I want my name connected to his. It makes me so sick—what he did—what he is.”

“There’s no bad publicity in your business, you know that. You would be cited as being instrumental in securing his conviction. But I need something solid.”

“Well, he did tell me something personal, which is unusual for him because no one really knows anything about him. When he found out my real name was Alice, he said that was his mother’s name and that she bore a striking resemblance to me. I looked into his eyes then and it was like staring through the gates of hell. I was fascinated and frightened at the same time.”

“His mother’s name was Alice Frankel. She married a Henrick van Bijhooven.”

Sabine collapsed in her chair. “God! I tried to get Vernon to buy a condo at Marina del Mar. Of course, he was such a cheapskate he wouldn’t consider it.”

“When news of this gets out, it’ll become Marina del Nightmare.”

“You are quite funny. Vernon had no sense of humour.”

“You don’t seem to have a lot of remorse. A jury will want to see tears.”

“Don’t worry. They will.”

Rex had no doubt she would play to the jury. The story of her adoption and insecure childhood would come out, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Duke Farley appeared in court to testify to Vernon’s physical abuse of her at his Texas ranch, while her biological mother made an impassioned plea for leniency. The French loved drama. “I’ll leave you with your mother now,” Rex said and he called Elizabeth in. “Ten minutes,” he told her.

“Mummy!” Sabine cried, throwing herself into Elizabeth’s arms.

“My darling child,” Elizabeth said, stroking her long copper-colored hair. “What have you done!”

Standing outside Greg Hastings’ office, Lieutenant Latour fondled his mustache with smug satisfaction. “You see, I was right about Mademoiselle Durand not being dead.”

“You said she was eaten by sharks,” Rex reminded him.

“But not murdered, monsieur. Ze alleged murder victim turned out to be ze murderer. We were both right,” the gendarme concluded magnanimously.

“Splendid work,” Winslow complimented them both. “But it’s been hard on Elizabeth, first thinking her daughter was dead, then finding out she was alive, only to have her taken into custody for murdering her husband.”

“We will take her now.” Latour signaled to his subordinate. “Is Monsieur Hastings in his office?”

“Aye, he’s with Jean-Luc Valquez, Ms. Durand’s accomplice. I’m not sure how far he’s involved, but I think it’s safe to say that Sabine Durand called the shots.”

“Zere was a shooting?”

“No—it’s just an expression. Incidentally, she appears to know Monsieur Bijou better than most.”

“
Alors?
”

“So, you need to bring him in for questioning.”

Latour, who already carried heavy purple bags under his eyes, contrived to look even more exhausted. “On what pretext? It has been a long day.”

For me, too
, Rex thought. “There is no time to waste if this man is in fact the Jewel Killer. I believe I have enough proof for a warrant. He faced charges in Amsterdam for murdering women in exactly the same way he brutalized the two girls here on the island.”

The lieutenant sighed in dramatic fashion. “If it is as you say …”

“It would be a feather in your
chapeau
to denounce him.”

“If I live to see it. Monsieur Bijou has many persons working for him.”

Rex thought of Oscar, the valet-bodyguard. “Well, you can’t have Bijou running the island. One of the victims was found across the border on Dutch territory. Even if you don’t have the balls here to bring Bijou to justice, at least cooperate with the Dutch authorities.”

“Ze balls? What are ze balls we do not have?” Latour asked in all innocence. “It is true we are sadly lacking in resources …”

Rex moved on quickly. “I can give you a profile on his alias, Coenraad van Bijhooven, compiled by Interpol.” A slight exaggeration, but the lieutenant looked suitably impressed. “It details his nefarious activities in Amsterdam. I think it makes a strong case against Bijou now that we know for certain he is one and the same person.”

“I will do it!” Latour said, standing to attention. “
Ah, oui, monsieur
, leave it to me.”

“God help us,” Paul Winslow muttered behind Rex’s shoulder. “Do you think it’ll do much good?” he asked when the lieutenant stepped aside to take a call on his cell phone.

“At the very least, it’ll make Bijou feel verra uncomfortable when this gets out. People won’t be so willing to hand over their money.”

“He may just skip town like he did the last time.”

“He can’t run forever.”

“Marigot?” Latour asked sharply on the phone. “
Mais non, voyons, c’est impossible!”
he protested.
“Mademoiselle Durand est ici sous surveillance.
”

Rex and Winslow exchanged puzzled looks. How could Sabine be in Marigot?

Latour stormed through the lobby, his moustache set in a rigid line.

“Has she escaped?” Rex asked, rushing after him. He had left her with her mother not twenty minutes ago, or however long it had taken him to go back to his cabana to shower and change.

The gendarme gestured to Pierre to open the door to the small office. Sabine looked up from the desk where she was writing a letter.

“
Finalement
,” she said.

Latour turned on his heels. “It is not to be believed. I received a call from ze Marigot police saying Mademoiselle Durand was found dead.”

“How can that be?” Winslow demanded.

“Ze police in Marigot did not know we had found her. Someone fitting her description was discovered in an abandoned farmhouse, dead for a couple of weeks, it appears.”

“If it’s not Sabine Durand, who is it?” Winslow asked.

“Another of Monsieur Bijou’s victims,” Rex suggested.

“Ze builder for ze renovation, he goes in to check for rain damage. He looks in ze cellar. Ah, ze scene zat meets his eyes and his nose sickens him. He calls ze emergency services
toute de suite
.”

“Was there a gem in the woman’s naval?”

“A sapphire. Before she died, she was able to write ze letters ‘Bij’ on ze cellar floor with her blood.” Latour donned his cap. “I will take Mademoiselle Durand and her friend to ze station and I will assist in ze arrest of zis monster.
Salut, messieurs
.”

As Sabine was escorted from the main building, she slipped an envelope into Rex’s hand.

Rex watched while Latour and his sergeant installed Sabine and her wretched-looking friend in the patrol car. He then set foot toward his cabana. Brooklyn sat on the patio staring out to where the umbrellas flopped one by one as the beach attendants passed by, shutting down for the night. There had not been many takers, even after the sun made a brief and reluctant appearance that afternoon. The Irvings, undeterred, were practicing yoga motions in perfect sync on the sand.

“I’m not really one for this naturist culture,” Rex confided in his roommate.

Brooklyn shrugged with a smile. “To each his own.”

“Sabine gave me this.” Rex deposited the envelope on the table. “It’s addressed to you.”

Brooklyn gazed at it for a long moment before breaking the seal. He reached into his shirt pocket and fished out a pair of reading glasses.

“You need spectacles?” Rex asked in faint surprise.

“A bitch, isn’t it? My near vision suddenly deteriorated in the last year or so.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

So Brooklyn wasn’t perfect after all. Rex didn’t need reading glasses, and he was a full decade older than Brook. Nor did his mother, who was in her mid-eighties. He didn’t know whether to feel childish disappointment that his hero figure had a physical flaw, or else ignobly pleased.

He went inside for a beer and brought one out for Brooklyn, who threw the letter on the table.

“You know, in spite of what she did, it doesn’t really change my feelings for her,” he said. “Funny to think we were suspected of having an affair, but since I was still around, no one considered the possibility she may have run off with another man.”

“It was a right clever plan,” Rex agreed as he sat down. “Are you going to be returning to New York now?”

“No, I’ll stick around for as long as she needs me.”

“Brook, I wanted to ask you about that woman from Philipsburg you were dating.”

“Gerry Linder.”

“You just answered my question.” So it
was
Geraldine Linder, the murdered tour guide in Thad’s report on Coenraad van Bijhooven. When Brooklyn had referred to her as Gerry, Rex had not immediately made the connection. “Are you sure she went back to Europe?”

Brooklyn looked flummoxed. “I don’t know. I never heard from her again. One time, after I found out about her involvement with Bijou, I went round to her apartment. I was flying back to the States and thought I’d say goodbye. No hard feelings and all that. Her landlady said she had gone back to Holland and that some men had been in and cleaned the place out. Why do you ask?”

“She was one of the women murdered on the island two years ago. I have the newspaper cutting. She was found dead in September, missing since the end of August.”

“Hell, poor Gerry. I guess I must have missed the story, same as everybody else here.”

“It would have come out after you left St. Martin. The paper had to print a retraction clearing Bijou’s name. I’m very sorry, Brook.”

“You think he had something to do with this?”

“I think he had everything to do with it.”

“That’s why you went to The Stiletto.”

“Actually, I went there to see if he had an alibi for the night Sabine Durand went missing. He did. But she had a lucky escape since it appears he had designs on her too.”

“We must have the same taste in women. What’s going to happen now?”

“He’ll be taken into custody. The latest bit of evidence is quite damning. Anyway, it’s not my pigeon. I came to solve the mystery of Sabine Durand and, I have to say, it’s been an interesting experience in many ways. I wouldna have missed it for the world.”

“Do you think you’ll ever return to St. Martin?”

“Who knows?”

The other guests would migrate back to their countries of origin, perhaps to return next summer, but the prize butterfly would no longer be among them. Sabine Durand would grace the gray cell of a prison for many years to come.

“So—looks like you solved at least two cases, Rex. And that’s not all.” Brooklyn raised an eyebrow in a quizzical expression. “David Weeks said you had a woman visitor while I was away. I’m assuming it wasn’t Moira, the social worker in Iraq?”

“No. Her name is Helen.”

“A girl in every port, huh?”

Rex coughed modestly. “Just one.”

“Hope it all works out for you, buddy.”

“I have a feeling it will—but you never know what life will throw at you, do you?”

“You just gotta play it for all it’s worth.” Brooklyn raised his bottle in a toast.

“Here’s to that,” Rex said, saluting him with his Guinness.