I nod half-heartedly. As I follow him out, I catch my reflection in the mirrored door of the cupboard. It confirms my suspicions. I couldn’t look less innocent if I tried. I look like I’ve been trapped down an abandoned mine. My skin has a sickly hue, peppered with streaks of last night’s mascara. My mousey-brown hair falls in loose, tatty waves around my shoulders (no longer the sophisticated ‘Rachel’, more of a Worzel Gummidge), and my sad-looking hazel eyes look huge and swimming with tears. With my head hanging down so that he can’t see my tear-streaked face, I decide that my mother was right all along. I should never have come here.
26
Absolutely everyone is avoiding me. The whole of the dining area is full of guests chatting away, the music is playing, Astrid and Tiffany are serving drinks as though everything is normal. The chefs have brought up an exciting array of platters – almost as if they are showing off in front of the policemen, some of whom are mingling with guests as though they are family members, while the others take turns to systematically search all of the cabins. All while Shaun and I run around like lunatics serving theself-servicelunch to them. Shaun throws me an apron and tells me to set more tables. It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind him that he’s not the boss, but I’d rather keep the peace. He seems genuinely shocked that Garry is missing, that life is not always a party, thathislife does not consist of one shag after another in various storage cupboards.
I wrap the apron around me, instinctively reaching into the front pocket to pull out the lump, wrapped in a napkin, that’s in there.
‘What’s that?’ Shaun asks.
I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ I unwrap the napkin and hold the metal object up to the light to get a better view.
‘Is that Garry’s Rolex? It is! It’s Garry’s Rolex!’ he exclaims loudly enough to alert the authorities in all eight of Turkey’s neighbouring countries.
‘Is it?’ I squeal, dropping it to the floor along with, presumably, my fingerprints now all over it.
‘What’s it doing in your apron?’
‘It’s not my apron! You just gave me this apron a few seconds ago.’
‘Well, it’s notmyapron,’ says Shaun defensively, watching me with alarm as I hurriedly untie it and toss it back to him.
He leaps backwards, flinging his arms in the air as though I’ve thrown him a hand grenade. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Giving it back to you. What does it look like?’
‘You’re trying to frame me!’ he yells.
‘No, I’m not. Frame you for what? Crimes against workwear?’ Shaun is going on ridiculous. ‘Calm down. It’s just an apron.’
A policeman appears from nowhere and swoops to the floor, picking up the Rolex, the crinkled napkin and the apron. He turns his inquisitive stare to each of us in turn. Shaun is the first to point the finger. ‘It’s hers.’
Oh. My. God.
‘No. It isn’t.’
A loud ‘ahem’ and a tingle down my spine (because I have developed a sixth sense) alerts me to the presence of Jackson. He leans towards me and says in a pleading voice, ‘What part of “whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourself” did you not understand?’
‘Clearly none of it,’ I snap. I’m exhausted. Simply exhausted. I step away from him. ‘And what part of “let’s be distant and cold to each other” doyounot understand?’
He bristles instantly at the clear sarcasm in my tone. ‘Can somebody just tell me what is going on?’ For an Australian he can be quite short tempered.
Shaun’s response is to stand with his head tilted upwards at a forty-five-degree angle, his hands clamped to his hips and his feet wide apart like a Butlins cabaret singer about to deliver his final showtune. We watch him take a beat before he resumes his glowering as though I am somehow to blame forhimgivingmethe apron. ‘Ask her.’
Sighing inwardly, I point to the watch in the policeman’s hand. ‘That looks like Garry’s over-priced Rolex and that must be the apron he was going to wear for theWhere’s My Shoe?game today, or was it yesterday? I have no concept of time on this bloody boat. One day is blurring into the next.’ I rub my hands down my face. ‘I’m going stir crazy. I’m not cut out for a life at sea.’
‘Please stop talking, Maddie,’ Jackson says tightly, jerking his head towards the policeman who thankfully is busy inspecting the watch, biting the solid gold strap between his teeth and checking the dial for signs of authenticity that Emir told me about – it will be etched with a Rolex crown logo. I scan the immediate area for Emir, wondering if he had anything to do with it. I spot him sitting with his mother and grandmother. They are not looking very happy. Emir catches my eye and pulls a face in the direction of the policeman, who has turned his attention to the napkin and is inspecting it.
I inwardly groan as he marches straight towards us holding it out. ‘What is this?’ He waves it at me before giving it to Jackson, who turns it this way and that. ‘It has a sort of secret code on it.’
This is going to look so bad.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ I say, recognising my own handwriting on the napkin.
‘Cross-Check. Decoy. Desperado Sacrifice. What can that mean?’ Jackson looks at the policeman, flummoxed. It’s as though I’m invisible all of a sudden as I watch the men huddle together.
‘It’s some sort of plan!’ deduces Shaun, grabbing it from Jackson and holding it aloft. ‘It’s obvious, innit? Checking the coast is clear. Sending a decoy in to lure Garry away. And then a cold-blooded sacrifice sending him to the icy depths of the ocean. This is how the killer planned to murder the victim,’ he says, flicking the napkin dramatically back and forth. ‘All we need to do is match the handwriting to someone on the boat, and we catch the culprit.’ It’s like he’s starring in his very own whodunnit. He’s waving the napkin about as though it’s a flag and not primary evidence.
‘Hmmm,’ ponders Jackson. ‘And how are you linking the napkin and these words to the Rolex and the missing person? What’s the through line?’
