The Killing Of Polly Carter. Robert Thorogood

that what he’d said had chimed with Juliette.

      ‘What sort of yellow coat?’ Juliette asked.

      ‘A bright yellow raincoat.’

      ‘With a hood?’

      ‘Do you know someone who owns a coat like that?’

      ‘I don’t. But a few days ago, I saw someone down at the bottom of the garden—you know, over by the cliff’s edge—wearing a shiny yellow raincoat with a hood, and I couldn’t work out who it was. I just presumed it was someone from the house.’

      ‘Did you see if this person was a man or a woman?’ Richard asked.

      ‘I don’t know. I was too far away.’

      ‘Then what about the person’s build? Or hair, even? Think. It could be important. What can you describe of this person?’

      Juliette thought for a long time before answering.

      ‘I’m sorry. Whoever it was, I couldn’t see, but I remembered it because they had their hood up.’

      ‘This person had the hood up on their raincoat so you couldn’t see their face?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      Richard frowned. This was the second time someone in the house had seen a mystery person wearing a yellow raincoat over by the top of the cliff. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

      ‘But if you had to guess, who in the house could it have been?’ Richard asked.

      ‘I’m sorry. It could have been anyone.’

      ‘Maybe the person wasn’t from the house,’ Alain offered.

      ‘Is that possible?’

      ‘It might be. There’s an old smugglers’ path that goes around the headland up here. People sometimes use it as a shortcut to get around the coast even though they’re not supposed to.’

      ‘There’s a smugglers’ path up here?’ Richard asked, surprised.

      ‘That’s right,’ Juliette said, taking control of the conversation back from her husband. ‘This used to be a smuggler’s house. Because of its access to the hidden bay. Back in the day, illegal shipments would come in by boat and get unloaded on the beach at the bottom of the cliffs where the British customs officials couldn’t see. You know?’

      ‘So the general public have access to Polly’s garden?’

      ‘They aren’t supposed to, but there’s plenty of people who know about the paths. There are old smugglers’ paths all over the island.’

      Richard was disappointed. As long as the mythical yellow-coat wearer was one of the people from the house, then proving that person’s identity might have been an achievable aim. But if it could have been anyone on the island who went down the steps wearing a yellow coat just before Polly died …?

      ‘I see. Then would you mind if we search your house for a yellow coat?’ Richard said and he noticed Juliette’s eyes narrow at once.

      ‘Why would you want to do that?’ she said, and both Richard and Camille could see the intelligence in her eyes as she asked the question.

      ‘Because it’s possible that Polly interacted with this person in the yellow coat just before she fell to her death. And we’re trying to find the coat.’

      ‘What?’ Juliette said. ‘Are you saying the guy in the yellow coat pushed Polly to her death?’

      ‘We’re very specifically not saying that,’ Richard clarified. ‘However, we’re not ruling anything out for the moment, either.’

      Juliette looked at the police and Richard wondered if there was a hint of triumph in her voice as she said, ‘Search wherever you like.’

      As the cottage was small, it didn’t take Richard and Camille long to discover that there wasn’t any kind of yellow raincoat anywhere—and nothing much else of interest, either. Once Richard and Camille had thanked the Moreaus for their time, they went back outside.

      ‘So what did you think?’ Richard asked.

      ‘I don’t know,’ Camille said. ‘He seemed shocked. Decent. But there was something about her, wasn’t there?’

      ‘She was happy enough to stick the knife into the deceased,’ Richard agreed.

      Before Richard could say anything more, the alarm went off on his mobile phone—which he was quick to pull out of his pocket and silence.

      ‘What’s that?’ Camille asked.

      Richard knew that it was a reminder he’d set earlier to tell him his mother would be touching down on Saint-Marie in an hour’s time.

      ‘Oh, nothing,’ he lied.

      ‘No, I don’t buy it,’ Camille said. ‘You’ve been checking your watch all day, and I’ve never known you set an alarm before. Something’s up.’

      Richard looked at his subordinate and knew that he had no quick answer, so he decided that his best course of action would be to pretend that she hadn’t spoken at all. He started walking away from her.

      ‘Hey!’ Camille called out after her boss, before setting off to catch up with him.

      ‘I want to see this old smugglers’ path,’ Richard said, as though he weren’t sidestepping Camille’s question.

      ‘Okay, if you want to be like that,’ Camille said, ‘but I’ll find out what’s going on. You know I will.’

      ‘Nothing’s going on,’ Richard lied again. ‘But where’s this path?’

      ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be over by the cliff’s edge, I reckon. If it’s an old smugglers’ path.’

      Once they’d passed the border of shrubs and plants that separated the main garden from the cliff top, Camille looked at where the garden stopped and the jungle began.

      ‘Yes, you can see it there,’ she said, pointing at an old dirt path that was set ten or so feet back from the cliff’s edge—and which started at the edge of the lawn and disappeared into the thick jungle that swept down the headland.

      Now that he knew what he was looking for, Richard could see the old path as well.

      ‘And where do you think the path leads?’ he asked

      ‘All the old coastal paths around here lead back to Honoré.’

      As Camille was saying this, Fidel appeared over by the cliff’s steps.

      ‘Sir, sir, I think I’ve found it!’

      Richard and Camille went over to Fidel, and, as the three police officers descended the steps that were carved into the cliff face, Fidel explained how the paramedics had removed the body, and since then he had been trying to identify the place on the stairs from where Polly had jumped.

      ‘And I think I’ve found it, sir.’

      As Fidel said this, he led around the first bend in the stairs, and, just a few steps further on, he pointed at the edge of the step. Richard could see there was a gap in the stubby thorn bushes that ran along the edge of the steps, and the escarpment of red dirt had given away a bit. Edging as close to the vertiginous drop as he dared, Richard looked over and could see that the gap in the thorns was directly above where Polly’s body had been found on the beach below.

      Richard looked about himself and saw that this spot on the stairs was, as Claire had said had been the case, just beyond the first turn in the steps as they led down the cliff face. As such, this was pretty much the first place on the whole staircase where a person would have been invisible to anyone standing at the top of the stairs. Or sitting in a wheelchair.

      This troubled Richard. After all, why didn’t Polly just jump to her death from the top of the