I was treating all of the people on the tour as customers of McClintoch Swain, which undoubtedly they were, but such deference was surely more than one of them deserved. All I had felt I needed to know before we left was that they could pay for the trip, and were of sufficiently good character to have a passport. I'd only known one of them, Emile, and him only casually, and with the exception of Aziza and Curtis, had never heard of the rest of the group. Unlike Susie, I'd been too polite to ask a lot of questions. Aziza had told some unconvincing story about wandering around in the middle of the night and just happening into Kristi's bedroom. I knew she was lying, but hadn't pressed her on it. While she was in hospital, that was understandable, but I'd never gone back to it.
With six days to go, I was going to have to be more aggressive, customers or not. I had a very good idea where to start, even though the thought of it made me queasy, as if I were about to throw myself headfirst into a vat of slime. I was desperate. I dug out the copy I'd made of Kristi's list. If anybody knew what was going on here, it was she, and any one of the items on her list might just have led to murder, Rick's or her own.
"A ZIZA," I SAID later. "How about a little walk around the grounds?"
"Certainly," she said, looking surprised.
"I just wanted to warn you that the police are reopening their investigation into Rick's death," I said, as we paused for a moment to enjoy the view.
"How so?" she asked.
"They think there's a possibility he was murdered," I said. "The autopsy results didn't support the notion of a careless dive into the pool."
"That's dreadful!" she exclaimed.
"Yes," I agreed. "There is also a possibility they'll take another look at Kristi's death."
She stopped abruptly and turned to look at me. "I was wondering if there's anything you'd like to tell me, Aziza," I prompted.
"No," she said. "I mean, what would I have to tell you?"
"What really happened that night you were in Kristi's room?"
"It was exactly as I told you," she said, but her hands were shaking.
"No, it wasn't," I said. "Look, Aziza. This is not going to go away."
"No," she whispered. "Let's sit down somewhere private. Promise me you will not tell the others, the media, anybody, what I'm going to tell you."
"I won't, Aziza, but I can't promise you the police won't ask you or me about it."
"I understand, but no one else." I nodded. "All right, then. First of all, I want you to know that Kristi Ellingham was a truly evil person. She was blackmailing me. I don't know how she did it, but she found out about some . . . indiscretions . . . when I was young, and just starting in modeling."
"And she sent you a note suggesting you and she needed to talk," I said.
"She did."
"And?"
"I suppose now that I've mentioned them, I'll have to tell you what these indiscretions were," she said, with a catch in her voice. "I signed a contract with a big international agency when I was only fifteen. They sent me to Europe. My parents thought everything was fine. I was supposed to be chaperoned, and I was to stay with other girls my age in a dorm of some sort. The agency supplied a chaperone, all right, or at least what they called a chaperone. Others, more interested in accuracy, would call this person a drug supplier and pimp.
"After six months, I was heavily into drugs, cocaine mostly, and I'd taken up with a string of truly unsuitable men. I think I was almost lost, but one day one of the other girls I was staying with OD'd and died. I cannot tell you how shocked I was by her death, but I owe her a lot. I ran away--they'd never have let me go--got myself home with some help from my parents, and into rehab, and eventually made my way back. I was really lucky not to end up in a body bag, I know.
"I have no idea how Kristi found out about this. I thought that part of my past was long gone and buried. But she did, and she was going to make me pay, big time. Half a million dollars, can you believe it? You know she gave me the impression that she'd been looking into my background for some time, and had actually signed up to cover the trip when she heard Curtis and I were going."
And here Clive thought it was his persuasiveness that got Kristi to Tunisia. Wouldn't he be disappointed? "Couldn't you just tell her to go ahead and print it? You're really successful, Aziza, and you could probably even turn the story to your advantage. You know, "˜model who overcomes a terrible addiction goes on to become huge success,' that sort of thing."
"First of all, I may be a successful model, but I am not wealthy. Curtis has, we have, made some very bad investments, and virtually lost everything in the past year or two. Curtis is a really terrible businessman, I have to admit it. He got into a fight with my manager, and the guy told him to stuff it. Curtis said no problem, he'd be my manager. I love him, but he's a disaster with money. Luckily, I got a very good offer recently, a clothing manufacturer. There's going to be a new line of classy evening wear with my name on it. I even had some say in the design, and I'm happy about the quality. I get well paid for the use of my name, but I also get to model the line everywhere. It'll be worth six figures almost right away."
"That's terrific. Are you going to tell me sex and drugs isn't good for business?"
"Exactly. It's even in my contract that I have to be squeaky clean, and if there is any hint of trouble with drugs or alcohol or anything like that, the deal is off. The company prides itself on being socially responsible. They make much of the fact they don't use child labor, and always pay fair prices to their workers, that kind of thing. If Kristi broke this story, I'd be out on my fanny so fast, you wouldn't even see me go by. We need the money, but Kristi seemed to think we had lots.
"I told her I was broke, but that I'd pay her off over a period of time. The wretched woman said she'd take postdated checks, can you believe it? That's how confident she was I wouldn't go to the police about her. Next thing we know, she's blackmailing Curtis, too. Says she's writing an article for First Class about how he's taken all my money and blown it on some really dicey ventures--part of a feature on successful women who take up with the wrong man, it pains me to say. The worst of it was that she was using information we had given her about our financial state.
"I waited until Curtis was asleep that night, and then went to try to reason with her. I was going to tell her that if she wrote this story about Curtis, she wouldn't be getting any money from us, because we'd be ruined.
"I did not kill her, though, if that's what you're thinking. I knocked, and then tried the door. Just as I told you, it was not shut tight, just pulled so it looked closed, but the lock hadn't engaged, if you understand what I'm saying. I just gave it a little push and it opened. The hallway was dark, so I stood there for a minute, to let my eyes adjust. I think that must have been when I pushed the door closed behind me, and this time it latched. I saw what I thought was a light in the bedroom, although it was flickering--that I did notice. And there was a funny smell," she said.
"What kind of funny?" I interrupted.
"Smoke, of course, but something else. It smelled a little the way your house does when it's being painted. Not the paint, though. The other materials they use, to clean the brushes, things like that."
"Lighter fluid," I said. "She had that fancy lighter--no cheap disposables for her, of course. I watched her fill it more than once. She had a little tin of it."
"Could be," Aziza said. "If I could have a sniff, I'd know for sure. Anyway, all of a sudden, there is this sound, a whooshing, sort of, just like I said before, and the smoke gets really bad. I rushed in and tried to wake her, but she didn't move. I tried to pull her off the bed, but the smoke was terrible, and she just fell to the floor. I suddenly realized I had to get out of there. I was feeling dreadful. I couldn't breathe. So I made a run for it, although I didn't get very far, did I? I know you're probably thinking that I was saying good riddance, let her burn. But quite honestly I didn't think about that until later. Did I mourn her passing? Certainly not. In fact it was a great weight off my shoulders. But I wouldn't have left her there to die, if I'd had a choice. I couldn't live with myself if I had, no matter how vile I thought she was.