"And how do you interpret what you saw, Carthalon?"
"Perhaps the seal on the amphora and the pithos was broken or defective, and he was repairing them so that they might come to no damage in the storm," Carthalon said doubtfully.
"That is one possible interpretation of what you have seen," Hasdrubal said. "But not, I think, the most likely."
"A H, MADAME MCCLINTOCH," Ahmed Ben Osman said, gesturing to a chair. "I thank you for taking the time to come and see me again." My visit to the police station was in no way voluntary, but I decided to regard it as a good sign that Ben Osman was being so polite about it. I set my carry-on bag to one side, and sat down.
"I have been asked by my superiors to have another look at the circumstances surrounding the death of Rick Reynolds. Apparently the Canadian authorities feel that the local police force was not as diligent, perhaps, as they should have been in investigating the death. You may know this already. The matter has now been referred to the National Guard, specifically to me.
"I have asked you here for two reasons. First of all, would you indulge me by recounting again the events leading up to your discovery of the body of Rick Reynolds?"
"Of course. Where should I start? That morning?"
"That will be satisfactory. Tell me all you did, whom you saw, and then exactly the disposition of the body when you found it. I will be taping this if you don't mind," he said. Not waiting for a reply, he pushed the Record button.
I told him about the people I'd seen in the lounge when I went out, about talking briefly to Briars and Hedi, meeting Aziza, then seeing Nora jogging, and talking to Susie. I left nothing out. Except, of course, my ill-considered toss of Kristi's notebook into the bushes. That would have required far too much of an explanation, and I couldn't see that it was relevant. At least that's what I told myself. He made no comment until I came to the part about finding the body.
"There was a kind of haze of blood in the water over his head," I said.
"And the wound? Did you see the wound?"
"I would say it was on the back of his head," I replied.
Ben Osman riffled through some papers on his desk. "That would be consistent with the autopsy findings, yes," he said.
"So I gather you don't get that kind of wound diving into the shallow end of the pool," I said.
"Apparently not. Mr. Reynolds died from drowning, but he also sustained a blow to the back of the head. He was hit with something, then most likely tossed into the pool. Unfortunately the whole pool area has been cleaned several times since, no doubt. Any evidence that might have been there will be long gone."
I reached for my carry-on bag, and started to open it.
"I trust you were searched before you came in," Ben Osman said.
"No," I said.
"No! Then I sincerely hope you don't have a weapon in there."
"Not in the way you're thinking," I said. "You are quite safe with me."
"There is a message here from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police attesting to your good character," Ben Osman said.
Rob did have his good points, even if he was a philandering cad. "So is it okay if I open this bag?"
"I suppose so," he sighed.
"There," I said, laying the croquet mallet out on his desk.
"What is this?" he said.
"A croquet mallet," I said. I felt a surge of relief now that I'd handed it over.
"Ah," he said. "A vestige of European colonialism. Do you want to play croquet?"
"No, I want you to analyze the little bit of blood and hair on it," I replied.
"Ah, I see," he said, peering at the mallet. "You touched this, several times, no doubt," he said severely.
"The handle, yes. Several of us did," I said. "I didn't see any point in worrying about fingerprints anymore."
"Are you going to tell me how you came upon this?" he asked.
"Yes, of course. I have to warn you it sounds improbable, but it is the truth." Then I told him about Catherine, the theft of her necklace and the complaints about someone messing about in her stuff, and how she'd showed me the mallet in her luggage. "She even says someone pushed her down a flight of stairs."
"This woman is quite, uh, well, is she?" Ben Osman said.
"She's very high-strung," I replied. "But have I seen any signs of rampant insanity? No. And her necklace was stolen, we know that. I was able to buy it back from a dealer in the Souk des Orfevres in Tunis."
"Do you have any suspects in mind for this theft?"
"I know who stole it," I replied. "It was Rick Reynolds."
"You blame a dead man? This might be difficult to prove, would it not?"
"Oh, I can prove it," I said. "I couldn't until this morning, but now I can. You see I'm in Rick's former room at the auberge. When Catherine wanted to have her own room, she got mine, and I moved into Rick's. The drawer in the bathroom, the one with the hair dryer in it, has been sticking. It doesn't open and close smoothly. I was in a rush this morning, so I gave it a real yank, and what do you know, out pops this piece of paper." I laid it in front of him. "It's a receipt. Rick signed here for the money in return for the necklace." There'd been something else with it, a note in Kristi's handwriting, suggesting that Rick and she needed to have a little chat. I wasn't going to mention that just yet. After all, Rick didn't kill her, because he was already dead. I couldn't help but wonder, however, how many of the others on her list had received a similar note.
"You can't prove this is for Mme. Anderson's necklace, can you? People do buy and sell lots of jewelry in the Souk des Orfevres."
"Maybe I can't prove it conclusively, but the circumstantial evidence is pretty convincing. First of all, I saw Rick leaving the store. That's why I went in there. The necklace was still sitting on the counter. Secondly," I said, placing another piece of paper in front of Ben Osman, "this is my receipt for buying the necklace. See, same store, same date--I'd say the same handwriting. The proprietor has even described the necklace in the same way."
"The price is quite different," he said, smiling. " Either M. Reynolds did not receive a good price for it, or you paid too much."
"I noticed that," I said. "Irritating, of course. Actually, I got the necklace for a reasonably good price. Rick was either a very poor bargainer, or he was desperate for money."
"So Mme. Anderson realizes Rick stole the necklace and hits him very hard, twice in fact, with a croquet mallet to punish him?"
"Unlikely," I said. "I certainly didn't tell her my suspicions, because that was all they were."
"You told other people?"
"No one," I said. "Except my business partner. But he's back home. Have you heard anything about Kristi Ellingham's autopsy?" While I was having a hard time thinking why anyone would want to murder Rick, I thought Kristi had been practically crying out for it, if anyone else knew about her list.
"No. Am I going to?"
"I don't know. Apparently she had a lot of alcohol and sedatives in her blood."
"You mean she tried to kill herself, or no, you're surmising that someone drugged her and then set fire to the mattress. Rather far-fetched, don't you think?"
"Probably."
"Now I have something else to discuss with you," he said, dismissing my ruminations. "What I require from you is assurance that neither you, nor any member of your party, will leave the country without my permission."