Tapas, Carrot Cake and a Corpse (A Charlotte Denver Cozy Mystery Book 1) (6 page)

“Oh my goodness,” Charlotte’s brow furrowed as she took in this new information.  “So, even though she denied knowing him, there’s proof that she was in his hotel room?”

“Exactly.”

“So I guess things aren’t looking too good for Samantha?” she asked.

“No, they certainly aren’t,” replied Nathan, and he drained his coffee cup.  “With an extension, we can keep her in for questioning for up to 36 hours, and then we’ll see where we are.  For now though, Samantha Driscoll is the prime suspect in the murder of Blake Hamilton.”

At the police station, Nathan looked through the one-way glass window into the interrogation room.  Samantha sat at the table, hands clasped in her lap, her heels nervously bouncing up and down.

She’d waived all her rights to have legal representation during questioning.  “I haven’t done anything wrong, so I don’t need it,” she’d told Nathan after he’d explained her rights – but she looked as though she may be regretting that decision now.

Accompanied by PC Farrell, Nathan stepped into the room and quietly closed the door.  Pulling out a chair, he sat opposite Samantha and leaned forward to push a button to begin recording their conversation.

“OK, Mrs. Driscoll.  I think it’s about time you started being truthful with me, so to get the ball rolling, I’m going to be truthful with you.  After locating Mr. Hamilton’s hotel, we conducted a thorough search of his room and found some strands of hair that weren’t Mr. Hamilton’s, nor any of the staff at the hotel.  Any idea who they belong to?”

Samantha shook her head, but looked decidedly uneasy. 

“No?  No idea?  None at all?  Well, I’ll tell you, Mrs. Driscoll … they belong to you.”

Samantha began to protest.  “What are you talking about?  They can’t possibly be mine – I didn’t even know the man, so how could you have found my hair in his hotel room?  You have absolutely no proof that it’s my hair.”  She crossed her arms tightly across her ample chest and pursed her lips. 

Nathan fixed her with a glare.  “Actually, we do have proof – quite indisputable proof.  The hair that was found in Mr. Hamilton’s room is a complete match to the DNA sample you gave us.”  He paused, allowing her time for his words to sink in .  “Now, I’ll ask you again, what was your relationship to Mr. Hamilton?  And before you answer, let me remind you of what you were told earlier … it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something which you later rely on in court, and anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Despite all efforts to remain indifferent, Samantha’s face crumpled and fat tears began to fall onto the table.  Nathan waited until she had composed herself before asking again, this time in a more benevolent tone, “Mrs. Driscoll – what was your relationship to Blake Hamilton?”

Samantha took a tissue from the box that PC Farrell handed her.  She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose noisily before speaking in a quavering voice.  “I’d known him for a few years,” she answered quietly, eyes downcast as she looked at her hands in her lap.  “He just couldn’t deal with it when Gabe and I got married.  He’d been following us around for months – everywhere we went, he found us – so I went to see him to tell him that Gabe and I are happy now and to ask him to leave us alone.  But I didn’t kill him.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

“Because I didn’t want to risk Gabe finding out that I’d seen him.  He’s very possessive, y’see, and there would have been trouble.”

Nathan looked at Samantha thoughtfully.  While her story seemed perfectly plausible, he still wasn’t quite ready to let her go home.  He had until the following day to prove or disprove what she’d told him, and until then, she could sweat it out at the station for just a little bit longer.

ººººººº

The next morning, Leo and Harry sat in the café debating the circumstances of Blake’s demise.  The headline in the local newspaper read, ‘Suspect Held in Hunt for Sailing Boat Murderer’. 

The police hadn’t disclosed the suspect’s name, but the general consensus of opinion was that it was Samantha.  No-one had seen her since she’d been taken in for questioning the previous day, and Gabe appeared to have gone to ground, retreating to the isolation of his hotel room until his wife was released.

“Mark my words, there’s always trouble when a new face shows up around here,” said Harry.  “It must upset the balance of the community.”

“I seriously doubt that the young man’s death had anything to do with the arrival of Samantha and Gabe,” said Leo, “it was just that his time was up.”

“Well, there’s no smoke without fire.” Harry firmly stuck to his guns.  “If that woman really is the suspect, then she must have done something to make the police think she’s guilty.  If not, they’d have let her go by now.” 

“Much as I hate to admit it,” said Leo, “I completely agree with you.” 

The two friends raised their tots of rum and clinked them together before pouring them into their coffees.

“Well at least the police seem to be making some progress,” Jess said as she cleared away their breakfast plates.  “I just wish we could all get back to living our lives without having to keep looking over our shoulders.  It gives me the creeps.”  To illustrate her point, she shuddered dramatically.

Charlotte listened to the chat from inside the kitchen.  Of course,
she
knew for sure that the suspect was Samantha, but in keeping Nathan’s confidence, she couldn’t share the information with anyone. 

She wondered how Nathan was getting on with his questioning and hoped that the next time he called, it would be to tell her that the case was solved, the murderer was behind bars and that peace could finally be restored to St. Eves. 

She sighed as she opened the oven door and removed three perfectly-baked loaves.  Turning them out onto a cooling rack, she got to work on the lunch orders that Jess had passed through the hole in the wall. 

ººººººº

“Chief, I think you’d better come and see Mrs. Driscoll,” PC Farrell said in concerned voice as she poked her head into Nathan’s office just after 9.15 am.

“Why, what’s the problem now?” he rolled his eyes as he contemplated the prospect of going to see Samantha Driscoll again.  She had refused to speak to the Custody Officer, instead insisting on directing all her questions and requirements to him.

This would be the second time today that she’d wanted to speak to him.  The first had been half an hour ago to tell him that she’d reconsidered her decision not to have legal representation during questioning, and that she’d like her solicitor to be present at all further interviews.  Unfortunately, as her phone had been taken from her, she couldn’t give Nathan his number, so she’d suggested that he call Gabe and get the details from him. 

Gabe, however, had been one step ahead of the game.  He’d already called their solicitor, Vincent Ramone, and put him on an eye-watering retainer to secure his personal services until such time as they were no longer required.  Vincent was travelling down from London after he’d accompanied a client to court, and would be at the police station by 6.00 pm, Gabe had told Nathan.

“She’s complaining of back pains,” said PC Farrell, “and I don’t think it’s a stalling tactic either.  She looks like she’s in a pretty bad way.”  PC Farrell had been around enough phonies in her time to know that Samantha Driscoll was in genuine pain.

As Nathan approached the holding cells, he heard Samantha before he saw her.

“Owwww, please, someone … I need my medication NOW!”  He and PC Farrell rushed down the corridor to find Samantha hunched over, her palms flat against the wall.  Her face was contorted with pain and as he looked at her, Nathan knew instantly that she needed medical help.

“Get a doctor here, right now!” he told the Custody Officer.  “Mrs. Driscoll, what medication do you need?  What’s wrong with you?”

“Owww, oww … it’s my back.  When I get stressed, it goes into spasm and I can’t move.  Can someone please get my pills from the boat – they’re in the bathroom cabinet.  Hurry, please!”

PC Farrell was despatched to fetch the medication, leaving Nathan and the Custody Officer to watch over Samantha.  Before long, the doctor arrived and after asking her a few pertinent questions about her condition and medical history, he gave her an injection to relieve the pain.

Almost immediately, the pain began to subside and within a couple of minutes, Samantha had managed to straighten up. 

“Oh, thank God … I can’t thank you enough, Doctor – that injection was even better that my pills.  Perhaps I should have you on speed dial?” she suggested, only half-joking. 

“We’ll tell your husband, of course, that you’ve received medical treatment here,” said Nathan.  “Would you like me to call him now?”

“Oh no – no need to bother him.  I’ll be seeing him again soon enough, I’m sure,” Samantha smiled sweetly.

At that moment, PC Farrell appeared, her face flushed from running.

“Where are my pills?” Samantha looked from the officer’s one empty hand to the other. 

“They’re not on the boat, Mrs. Driscoll,” she puffed.  “I told the investigator where you said they’d be, but when he looked, they weren’t there.  They weren’t anywhere on the boat.” 

“Of course, they’re on the boat!  I haven’t used any for weeks.  He obviously didn’t look well enough,” Samantha said crossly.  “Honestly, ask a man to look for anything … even when it’s right under his nose, he can’t see it.  When I get back on board, I guarantee I’ll find them right away. 

“Anyway, I’m not going to stress myself out again – Gabe will just have to get me another prescription from this nice Doctor – sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“It’s Dr. Talbot,” the doctor smiled amiably.

Samantha continued.  “Yes, he’ll have to get me a prescription from Dr. Talbot and bring the tablets to me here.  You’ll be able to give him a prescription, won’t you Doctor?” she asked, looking up at him from under demurely batted eyelids.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Talbot coughed nervously.  “Under the circumstances, I can write you an emergency prescription, even though you’re not registered in St. Eves.  I’ll leave it with the receptionist at the surgery – just tell your husband to drop in and collect it any time between five and seven this evening.  The shot I’ve given you should keep you comfortable for at least another ten hours.”

Nathan interjected.  “Please be aware, though, Mrs. Driscoll – you won’t be allowed to keep the medication with you in the cell, but just call out if you need it, and whoever’s on duty will give you a tablet in line with the prescribed dosage on the label.”

Samantha opened her mouth as if to protest, but closed it again without a word.  Over the past day and a half, she’d come to realise that arguing with Nathan got her nowhere fast.  In any case, she didn’t envisage being locked up for much longer - Vincent Ramone would see to that. 

When the doctor was happy that Samantha’s condition had improved enough for him to leave, he bid her goodbye and left the cell.  Nathan walked with him back up to the station and as they chatted, he remarked at the speed with which the injection had eased her pain

“It’s just a faster-acting version of her tablets,” the doctor said, and quoted the immediately-forgettable medical name for the drug, “but you probably know it better by its more common name.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” asked Nathan.

“Muscle relaxant,” replied Dr. Talbot cheerfully, as he went on his way.

ººººººº

“Well, that’s all the evidence I need to keep Mrs. Driscoll in for further questioning,” Nathan told PC Farrell as they sat in his office. 

“Don’t you think it’s rather unlikely that she would have used her own medication to murder Mr. Hamilton, only to then implicate herself when we found out about it, Chief?” asked the young officer.  

“Yes, but where
is
her medication?  Why wasn’t it where she said it would be?  Let’s face it, if her back hadn’t gone into spasm like it did, we might never have known that she used muscle relaxants,” said Nathan, his brain working overtime as he pieced together likely crime scenarios.  “She could have easily have arranged to meet Mr. Hamilton on the boat that morning after her husband had left, given him a whisky with the pills in it and then injected him, jumped off the boat and left him there to die.”

“But why did she tell us to look on the boat if she knew that her medication wasn’t there, Chief?” asked PC Farrell.

Nathan sighed and scratched his chin.  “To divert suspicion away from her, is my guess, but honestly, I don’t know.”

He shuffled through a file on his desk and took out a photograph of Blake Hamilton.  Turning to the large notice-board in the corner of the room, he stuck the picture of Blake at the top, and underneath wrote Samantha’s name as a suspect, along with her possible motives. 

“Right,” he said to PC Farrell.  “We can’t question Mrs. Driscoll again until her solicitor arrives, so I suggest we pay her husband another visit and see if he can tell us anything more.”  He smacked his fist against the desk in frustration.  “We’re missing something, I know we are, and I won’t rest until I know what it is.”

ººººººº

“I’m not saying anything until my solicitor arrives.”  Gabe Driscoll sat on an over-sized sun-lounger on the balcony of his hotel room.  Leaning over to the low table beside him, he picked up a frosted glass containing a fluorescent-blue liquid and enough fruit to feed a family of chimpanzees.  He raised the glass high and said, “To my Samantha, may she be home beside me very soon.”  He took a large gulp of the liquid and placed the glass back on the table before burping loudly.  “Beautiful view, don’t you think?”

Nathan looked out across the sapphire-blue sea and shielded his eyes from the sun shining down from the cloudless, cobalt-blue sky.  The sand was smooth and blindingly-white, and from this vantage point, he could see the marina and the masts of the boats glinting as the sun fell upon them.  The surface of the sea dappled slightly in the wake of the canoes and paddle-boats that passed by, their occupants having taken to the water before the sun became too hot to bear.