The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(49)

She knew how these investigations could drag on. She could see them all still being on board the boat tomorrow night as well.

She put the finishing touches to a huge steak and ale pie and stepped outside, on the lookout for Lucas, to announce that dinner was ready.

But only Rycroft, Graves (who had returned after setting his superior’s orders in motion) and the two forensics sat around the main salon. The others, perhaps not surprisingly, had taken themselves off to less harrowing, calmer parts of the Swan’s interior.

She wondered if somebody had sent for a doctor, just to check over Dorothy Leigh. A woman in her condition had to take care of herself and her unborn baby.

‘We’ve gone over everything, sir,’ the chief forensics man was saying. ‘Apart from the wet planking on the port deck, there’s nothing else amiss. In the rear engineering sections, there’s only the usual equipment you might expect. An axe for the wood, with a large plastic sheet covering the woodpile. It’s totally dry. There’s a loading trolley, a half-full coal room and plenty of oily rags. The equipment box for odds and ends is at the rear starboard deck. Again, it contains nothing more than you’d expect. Ropes, the same kind as the one used on the deceased, a block and tackle, boxes of nails, spare gauges . . . I’ve written it all down.’ He handed the detective the list.

Rycroft scanned it without much enthusiasm. ‘And the boat itself? Any irregularities or instances of cut corners that could be offences?’

But the man was already shaking his head. ‘Not that I know of, sir. Of course, this isn’t my field. But there’s a ship’s horn and a bell at the forward end. There are four life-rings, two on each side, both located at front and rear. Firmly fastened and fully inflated. The one on the rear starboard side, just above the equipment box, is on an especially large bracket. I imagine it was once used to hold something much heavier. And there’s a small lifeboat, situated at the rear, enough to seat ten people at a pinch. No, I’d say that the ship’s well run and as safe as houses.’

Rycroft nodded gloomily. ‘I expected as much. But best to make sure. Well, that’s it then. And you’re sure there are no papers in Olney’s room?’

The forensics man shook his head.

So they’d gone missing, Jenny mused. Interesting, that. ‘And you’ve found nothing suspicious around the scene of the crime itself?’ Rycroft pressed.

But it seemed that they hadn’t. Lucas Finch’s fingerprints were on the railing top, but then so were practically everyone else’s. More importantly — and revealingly — there were no fingerprints at all around the bottom of the railing, where the rope had been tied.

‘Humph. The killer obviously wore gloves,’ Rycroft sighed. ‘And presumably threw them away afterwards.’

By now, Jenny knew, all the rooms on the boat had been thoroughly searched, and nobody had brought a pair of gloves with them. In high summer it was not so surprising, she thought. But surely, if somebody had brought gloves with them, it would mean the killing was premeditated.

Somehow, Jenny Starling had the feeling that the killing of Gabriel Olney had been anything but. Still, you didn’t need gloves in order not to leave fingerprints, she quickly surmised. Any piece of cloth wrapped around the hands would do. But she didn’t think it would be very politic to point that out to Inspector Rycroft right now. He was already looking considerably miffed that the killer was not in any apparent hurry to make his life easier for him.

‘Dinner is ready, Inspector,’ she said quietly, making the man jump and look around at her suspiciously. He wondered fleetingly how much she’d heard, then shrugged. The forensic report had hardly been important.

But, in fact, Jenny had found it fascinating. And very illuminating.

‘Right. Well, go and find the others, will you, Miss Starling? We might as well all eat a decent meal together like civilized human beings. Even though one of them isn’t.’

Jenny blinked at that rather unexpected statement, but followed the departing forensics team out onto the deck. This policeman certainly liked to do things differently all right. And she rather suspected he had the reputation as being a bit of a maverick, back at the old cop shop. She wondered if he was popular with his superiors, and somehow doubted it.

On the riverbank, the cook noticed two constables helping Brian O’Keefe set up the tents. She wondered where Rycroft and Graves would be spending the night.

She only knew that neither of them would be sleeping in her bunk. Nobody was going to filch her digs from her. No damned way!

She was just about to call out that dinner was served, and ask O’Keefe if he knew where everyone was, when she heard the sound of a motorbike.

She watched another young constable dismount and practically leap onto the boat. She wisely took a quick step back as he rushed past and then followed him in, wondering what all the excitement was about.

‘Sir, Constable Wright, sir.’ The young, red-faced bobby faced his superior with brightly gleaming eyes. He didn’t look any older than eighteen, Jenny thought with a smile. No doubt he’d never had a murder case before, and this was the height of excitement for him.

‘Slow down, Constable,’ Rycroft ordered prosaically. ‘You have news?’

‘We do, sir. We’ve been walking the riverside route the boat took, searching for witnesses who might have seen anything,’ he began, getting it all out in one shaky breath.