Entry Island(103)

Sime found it hard to meet his eye. He said, ‘Well, of course she would. She has motive, too, Lieutenant. If we’re to believe the two of them, then she was keen to ditch Cowell, but didn’t know how to tell him. Her husband said she was actually afraid of him. It’s perfectly possible that they both conspired to murder him.’

Crozes nodded his agreement. But beneath his veneer of professionalism his discomfort was clear. ‘That’s true. But we have not one single scrap of evidence to put either of them at the scene.’

‘Then maybe we should be looking for some.’

Now Crozes concealed his irritation with difficulty. ‘People have been looking for extraterrestrial life for years, Sime. It doesn’t mean it exists. Without evidence to the contrary, and with each providing an alibi for the other, I think we have to rule them out.’

He took his chalk and drew a firm line through Briand’s name. The room was silent. Then he tapped the tip of the chalk on Morrison’s name.

‘I don’t think there’s one of us who believes that Norman Morrison had anything to do with the murder. He was a sad case. Retarded. The mental age of a twelve-year-old. And while he might have had an obsession with Mrs Cowell, I think his story that James Cowell had him beaten up to warn him off was just that. A story. That he took a beating from someone seems clear, but it’s unlikely that we are ever going to find out who. And while his mother can’t definitively swear that he was home in bed on the night of the murder, a search of his house has failed to turn up a murder weapon, or any clothes that he might have been wearing during the attack. And certainly no ski mask. In fact, his mother would have known if he even possessed such a thing. And according to her he didn’t.’

‘And his death?’ Lapointe asked.

‘A sad accident, Jacques. He was concerned for Mrs Cowell when he heard about the murder. We think he went out in the storm to go and see that she was all right. It was dark. The island was being battered by a force ten or eleven. He must have lost his way and gone over the edge.’

Crozes drew another line through Morrison’s name before turning back to the room.

‘Then there’s Mr Clarke.’ He scratched his chin. ‘There was clearly antipathy on his part towards Cowell. He blamed him for the death of his father and the loss of their family boat. But his wife swears that he was home in bed, and we have absolutely no evidence to the contrary.’ He scored out his name. Then looked up at the one remaining suspect. ‘Which leaves us with Mrs Cowell. Who in my view is, and always has been, the most likely killer.’

Sime listened with growing disquiet as Crozes outlined the case against her. It was strong and indisputable, and he knew that in any normal circumstance he could not have found fault with it. But this was different, for one simple reason. He didn’t want it to be true.

Crozes said, ‘She is the only witness to the murder. She was there when it happened. She doesn’t deny that. She was covered in his blood. And, yes, she told us a story to explain that. But there is not one shred of evidence at the scene to support it. There is nothing to suggest that there was in fact a third party.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘She lied to us more than once. About being happy that her husband had left her. About not leaving the island. About not knowing he was coming back that night. She’s admitted to all that. Why would an innocent person lie?’

He looked around all the faces focused on him and knew that his summation was compelling.

‘She threatened him. Not directly. But she doesn’t dispute that she told Ariane Briand that if she couldn’t have him she’d see that no one else could. In his last interview with her, Sime very clearly, very concisely, outlined the most likely scenario. We’ve all seen the tapes by now. He accused her of luring her husband back to the island by threatening to set their house on fire, and killing him in a fit of jealous rage. He suggested that, immediately filled with remorse, she tried to revive him, and when she failed made up a story about an intruder.’ He looked at Sime. ‘Powerful stuff, Sime.’ There was an edge in his voice.

Sime felt his face colour. He didn’t want the credit for any of this. It was almost as if Crozes knew it and was deliberately salting a wound that Sime couldn’t even acknowledge. And any praise coming from Crozes had a double edge to it in the light of the previous night’s events. Sime stayed focused. ‘There are two problems,’ he said.

‘Oh?’ Crozes tried to look interested. ‘And what are they?’

‘The guy who attacked me two nights ago. You say there’s no evidence that Kirsty Cowell’s claimed intruder exists. But this guy fitted the description, right down to the ski mask.’