‘We only have a few minutes before you join the others upstairs. Is there anything at all you need me to know? Off the record,’ he clarifies. ‘Because this isn’t the formal interview. I’ll be recording that.’
Of course he will.He’s as thorough as you’d expect a senior manager working for an international company to be. Especially one who is currently dropping his latest squeeze like a hot brick.
‘I genuinely have no idea where he is. And sure, we disagreed over the bookkeeping but that was it. I guess I can explain the Mallet Method system of accounting during the formal interview. Garry was very dismissive of it. He even waved it dangerously close to my face. He could have had my eye out with that long rusty nail,’ I say, masking my embarrassment at being kicked to the kerb so quickly as I search my brain for what information to tell him. ‘I’ve got proof Garry was overcharging everyone. All the receipts are hidden in my room. Along with all the cash that Emir’s family keep giving me.’
Jackson creases his brow. ‘Okay. Go on.’
‘Oh, and the jewellery that Emir keeps stealing from guests so that he can bribe the chefs into giving him baklava. That’s all in my case too. And remember, I told you Garry’s fake Rolex wasn’t fake? Emir says it’s worth over a hundred grand. That’s suspicious, don’t you think? And then there’s the business with the redhead, who I’m pretty sure was Erika. Have you questioned her? Does she know Garry is missing?’
Jackson shakes his head. ‘I couldn’t reach her. I left another message with Banu on reception. She said she’d get it to her as a matter of urgency.’
‘Something fishy is going on.’
For a moment, he doesn’t even respond.
‘What? You must believe me. Please don’t tell me you think I pushed Garry off the boat. He can’t even swim. There’s no way I’d do that to anyone.’ A thought suddenly occurs. ‘Astrid! Astrid pushed Emir off the boat and didn’t bat an eyelid. You should question her. And I’m pretty sure she’s pregnant and keeping it secret.’
‘What?’ Jackson gasps. ‘Hold on. I think we need to save all this for the formal interview.’
‘Her and Shaun keep shagging all over the place, which you witnessed yourself the other night, right? And don’t get me started on the horse mask and costume,’ I rattle on nervously. ‘Well, apparently, it was Tiffany who broke them up first. Astrid and Shaun were practically engaged until he had an affair with her,’ I say, throwing Astrid and Tiffany under the bus with surprising ease. ‘So there’s definitely beef between those two. Although, I’m not sure how Garry and Erika fit in to all that, so it may not be relevant, but if Astrid is preggers and not thinking straight and capable of nudging people into the water on a whim then maybe you should tell the police and make her the prime suspect instead of me. Or even the Hello Chicken family. It could have been Mehmet. He did say I wasn’t to worry about Garry any more.’
Jackson raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s a lot of dots you’re connecting there.’
‘Yes. It’s the law of probability. It’s all in the details.’
‘And we’ll need to circle back to the stolen cash and jewellery, but honestly, Maddie, none of this is painting you in a good light. You’ve been on this boat for, what, three days? And all this shit has happened?’
It sounds incredible. Farfetched. Preposterous. For someone who is usually so predictable and (yes, Dillon, maybe you were right) …boring, I barely recognise myself. I look pleadingly at Jackson. ‘I’m innocent. Please believe me. Don’t let them send me to jail. I had nothing to do with Garry’s disappearance.’
‘I do believe you,’ he says softly. ‘But your alibi for last night?’ Disappointment clouds his gaze.
‘Nothing happened, I swear.’ I jump to my feet. ‘I may have played one too many games of cards and stayed up way too late with Mehmet and his family, showing them how it could be done, but it was only to thank him for rescuing me. When Garry was threatening me earlier that evening.’
‘Garry threatened you?’ A dark look crosses his face.
‘Uh-huh. Luckily, Mehmet came in just at the right time and ordered him to leave. But I’m not attracted to him if that’s what you’re thinking.’ One glance at Jackson tells me he absolutely isn’t, he’s busy taking notes, focusing on the more important details. ‘Besides, I think Mehmet may be the father of that giant baby on the plane. You know, the one who vomited on you? The waiter I said worked at Hello Chicken and More? Well, Mehmetownsthe restaurant.Andhe’s a giant. What are the chances? I just wish I could remember which hotel she said they were staying in. It was definitely Marmaris somewhere.’
Jackson rubs his brow and begins shaking his head as though I’m giving him a headache. ‘Whoa, whoa. Enough.’ He sounds very weary. ‘We need to go. All of this information needs to be recorded properly.’
I drag my teeth across my lower lip. He’s right. I’m overloading him with extraneous detail when, in actual fact, I should be homing in on specifics. I’m a mathematician for God’s sake. I should be better than this. The devil is in the detail. Forensic maths is an essential component of solving crime; everyone knows that. Algorithms pinpoint criminal activity. Geometric analysis helps build an understanding of spatial relationships between crime scenes, and don’t even get me started on the vital role of trigonometry and statistical probability. ‘I shouldn’t be overloading you with extraneous details. Complicating matters.’
‘No offence but maybe the less you say, the better.’ He slaps his notebook shut. ‘We’ll put some distance between each other until this whole shitshow has been cleared up. Keep it strictly professional.’
I feel a flare of indignation flushing my cheeks but refrain from commenting.Professional? Distance? Shitshow?
He catches my look, craning around to make sure no one is listening in the corridor. ‘If anyone finds out that we… that we had a romantic connection then my credibility to lead this investigation will be compromised.’
I feel his use of the past tense a little hurtful, but he seems on edge, so I will let it go. ‘Maybe,’ I say, picking at some imaginary fluff on my sleeve, attempting to seem less upset.
‘The police and LoveIt Holidays would replace me with someone else. Someone else who might be a lot less understanding. And quick to judge. Quick to make an arrest.’
He does have a point.
Suddenly the gravity of the situation hits me. A man may have drowned, or worse, been murdered. And just because I didn’t care for him or his drooping ponytail doesn’t mean that he wasn’t someone’s disappointing son, or brother or friend. Tears prick my tired eyes. Maybe my mother was right after all. Women like us don’t have high-flying jobs in exotic places like this. What was I thinking? Instead of leaving my hideous mess of a life behind, I’ve brought it with me. And made it even worse. I could go to jail for a crime I didn’t commit.
‘I’m not the strong, confident, know-it-all you think I am.’ My shoulders sag under the enormity of what I’m admitting. I’m not the carefree, pole-dancing karaoke queen that I’ve led Jackson to believe. I’m certainly not the spontaneous hand-job-in-the-middle-of-the-sea vixen that I became for one night. I’m not even sure the French allure that I lured him in with the first night we met isn’t just a figment of my own imagination. It’s all fake. I’m fake. I wipe away the tears falling down my cheek.
‘Hey,’ he says, coming over to place a hand gently on my arm. ‘I’ll do my best to get you out of this. Just try to stay under the radar. Say as little as possible and whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourself. Okay? We have enough people on board who think you might be guilty as it is.’
