She nodded.
‘There is somebody who wishes to speak with you. Would you be happy to accompany me?’
‘You’re from the police?’
He nodded. ‘No names, if you don’t mind. We don’t want any trouble. Understand?’
‘I do,’ she said, aiming for nonchalance, although she wasn’t sure. Trouble from her? From him?
‘You may be aware that withdrawal of the Constitution is on the cards. If that happens the island will revert to being a British Crown Colony. Everyone would prefer to avoid that.’
She followed him into the centre of the town and then along a side road. ‘Is this a back way to the police headquarters?’ she asked, feeling increasingly apprehensive.
He laughed. ‘Sensitive matters are rarely dealt with at police headquarters. Ah, here we are.’
He unlocked a heavy wooden door and ushered her in and then up a wide stone staircase to a room at the back of the building. He knocked, walked straight in, and heldthe door open for Riva. She glanced around at floorboards polished to a high shine and paintings of wild animals hanging on cream-coloured walls.
‘Sir,’ he said.
A thin man with his back to them was staring out of the window. As he turned round another man who had been standing just inside the door coughed. Riva spun on her heels to see who was there.
‘Miss Janvier,’ he said, and with a sinking feeling she instantly recognised the man with salt-and-pepper hair and a walking stick. Stanley Lucas. ‘We meet again,’ he said and gave her a smile. ‘How delightful.’
She stood hands on hips. ‘I thought you’d moved away from the island.’
He waved the other two men off and they left the room.
‘For a while. As you may know the police cleared me of those scurrilous accusations of fraud.’
‘Corrupt police in your pay?’
He laughed. ‘I like your sense of humour. But there it is. If you have evidence to the contrary, be my guest.’
She inhaled deeply before she spoke, feeling uncertain, but despite that came out with it anyway. ‘I saw you.’
His eyes darted momentarily as if he hadn’t been expecting that. ‘Saw me?’
‘With young girls. The Russian girl, Anya, for example.’ She studied his face, then tilted her head to ask the question. ‘Did the police clear you of murder too?’
He bristled, puffed out this cheeks, and darted her a look of loathing. ‘I rather think you may be something of a fantasist. In the past women were put away for less.’
‘Your wife maybe?’
His face went red and then purple. ‘Ariadne died.’
There was a long silence while he turned his back, lit a cigarette. She wasn’t sure what to do. Leave now? Stay?
‘Anyway,’ he said, clearly having collected himself and coming back to face her. ‘Like you, I have made my home here. I am a collector.’
‘A collector?’
‘Ofobjets d’art.’
And people, she thought.
He waved his hand vaguely at the glass-fronted shelves behind his desk where a host of ornaments were displayed.
She looked and her heart lurched. A row of wooden dolls sat on his shelf behind the glass, among all the other ornaments. Anya’s old, rare Russian dolls.
