She met the Defcon 1 full on. ‘And tell me,’ she replied, ‘which side of the fence do you farm, Mr Wilson?’
‘That’s not relevant,’ I replied evenly.
‘Exactly how I feel about your question,’ she responded.
‘There’s a big difference. It’s been suggested that Cameron is bisexual.’
‘So what? You need to get out more. A lot of modern chicks are – I think they got so sick of men they decided to try the other team.’
Before I could respond to the theory, I heard the sound of heels clicking on the linoleum in the hallway.
Cameron walked in.
Chapter Seventy-one
INGRID TURNED AND, thanks to a fortuitous arrangement of the chairs, I was looking at both of them at the precise moment they saw each other.
No flicker of affection, no secret sign of acknowledgement, passed between them. They looked at one another exactly as you would expect of casual acquaintances. If they were acting, they sure carried it off – then again, for a billion-two you’d expect a good performance, wouldn’t you?
‘Hi,’ Cameron said to Ingrid, extending her hand. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here. They said I could get my passport.’
‘Me too,’ Ingrid replied bitterly, and jerked a thumb accusingly in Hayrunnisa’s direction. ‘Mr Wilson here was just asking if you were bisexual.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Cameron replied. ‘And what did you tell him?’ She pulled out a seat and sat down. She had no apparent anxiety either, and I had to admire their self-possession.
‘I said you were – but only with black chicks. I figured as we were dealing with a male fantasy we might as well go the whole nine yards.’
Cameron laughed.
‘Murder isn’t a male fantasy,’ I said.
I told Cameron it was now a homicide investigation, and I explained about the fireworks and taking the mirrors to Florence. All the time, however, I was trying to assess the two of them, to get some clue to their actual relationship – were they lovers or just two attractive women who had drifted into Bodrum and were nothing more than ships in the night? Was it Ingrid I had heard in the bedroom? Who was the woman who knew about the secret passage and – I was certain – had induced Dodge to go to the cliff and then tipped him over the edge?
‘I have a photograph of Dodge and the killer in the library together. All I need is the face,’ I said.
They both looked at me, shocked at the existence of the photo – that was gossip they hadn’t heard.
‘Was it your idea – developing the mirrors?’ Ingrid asked, and I sensed a change in the atmosphere. She may not have thought much of my clothes, but she had a new-found respect for my abilities.
‘Yeah,’ I replied.
‘Helluva thing to come up with,’ she said thoughtfully.
I started to explain the difficulties facing somebody attempting to get on to the estate unseen. ‘There has to be a secret pathway, a passage, so to speak.’
But I didn’t get any further. Ingrid bent down and lifted her cheap bag on to the table. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I need something for my cold.’
While she was trying to find the throat lozenges, the bag slipped and spilled its contents on to the table and floor. Cameron and I bent and picked up lipsticks, change, a battered camera and a dozen other trivial things. As I stood up, I saw that Ingrid was gathering the remainder of her stuff off the table and putting it back in her bag. Still unclaimed was a glass tube with a picture of a flower etched into its side.
‘Perfume?’ I said, picking it up.
‘Yeah,’ she replied. ‘I got it in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul – some guy blends it by hand. It’s a bit strong – can take out an elephant at fifty paces.’
I smiled, took the cap off and sprayed my hand. ‘Gardenia,’ I said.
She looked at my face, and she knew something was wrong. ‘What are you – a fucking horticulturalist?’ She tried to laugh, and took the perfume back, but it was too late.
All the doubts I had about her voice had been dispelled. I knew with certainty it had been her in Cameron’s bedroom: when I stepped out of the guest room and headed for the secret elevator I had smelt the same unique scent hanging in the hallway after she had passed.
‘No, not a horticulturalist,’ I said. ‘I’m a special agent with the FBI investigating several murders. Gianfranco, the guy you named your dog after – how long did you date him?’
She and Cameron heard the aggression in my voice and they knew that everything had changed.
‘What’s Gianfranco got to do with anything?’ Ingrid asked.
‘Answer the question, Ms Kohl.’