by David Evans
“I see,” was all Stahmer said.
The captain made another short telephone call, a small, thin Nepalese security guard entered the captain’s day room. Stahmer immediately recognized him as a Gurkha, probably ex-British soldier, he thought.
“This is Lachiman. He will be your guard and will not leave your side until we sadly say au revoir to you later today, Mr Stahmer.”
Stahmer nodded towards the Gurkha guard.
“Lachiman and his three counterparts are ex-soldiers from the Brigade of Gurkhas. As you probably are aware, all ships have had some problems with Somali pirates. The Gurkhas are some of the toughest men in the world, so you can feel quite safe with him, just as Mr Cutler requested.”
“I appreciate the assistance,” Stahmer replied.
“Lachiman, like his comrades, would not travel anywhere without his knife, Mr Stahmer. Show him your knife, Lachiman.”
The Gurkha just stood there without movement, expressionless.
“Very good, Captain. I get the joke. I know if a Gurkha takes out his khukuri he can’t put it back into his scabbard unless he draws blood.”
“You are most astute, Mr Stahmer. His khukuri is a work of art. I have never seen the blade, thankfully, but I can tell you the scabbard appears as if it has been crafted by Leonardo da Vinci himself. Would you be so kind, Lachiman, as to show Mr Stahmer the scabbard?”
Lachiman placed it on the captain’s table just in front of Robert Stahmer.
Stahmer could see why the captain took every opportunity to display the weapon, for it was a vision of beauty. The forward-curving twelve-inch Nepalese knife was housed in a handmade leather scabbard. It was the ornate handle which stood out; it was carved out from buffalo horn, which had an engraving of a shark, and was separated by a band of gold leaf from a pair of crossed khukuri knives and topped at the top of the handle by a cow’s foot. This indicated that it belonged to the Brigade of Gurkha, and as such, its owner had been professionally trained in its use.
“It’s very impressive. Thank you for the honour of letting me see it, Lachiman,” Stahmer said honestly.
“Well, I’m sure if you wanted to look at beautiful things all day you would have gone the Louvre, so I suppose we had better get on.” The captain turned to Lachiman. “Show Mr Stahmer to cabin 17a, and use your master key to let him in. When Mr Stahmer has finished in the cabin, escort him to the conference room on deck six, where I will ensure Mr McKenzie will be waiting for him,” he ordered.
Stahmer rose from the chair, which was several inches lower than that of the captain.
“Thank you, Captain, for your hospitality.”
The captain looked up and stared at Stahmer for a second.
“You can return the hospitality with the respect to briefing me on what is going on when you finish your interview, Mr Stahmer.”
Stahmer realized that the captain was none too happy at having a crew member interviewed by an outsider without prior knowledge of the details.
“Certainly,” Stahmer said, as he exited the cabin with his guard.
Stahmer put on latex gloves and spent ten minutes in Sebastian’s cabin. He looked through the set of drawers and wardrobe. All the clothes were clean and ironed, and all looked like they had been dry cleaned, which would destroy any usable DNA. The bed was freshly made, and the sheets appeared to be fresh.
In the bathroom, there was a brush, but Stahmer discounted that, as the hair on the brush would be synthetic fibres from Sebastian’s wig. There was no toothbrush, as unbeknown to him, Sebastian only used toothbrushes once, and then he would discard them and use a fresh one the following day.
Stahmer began to fret that he would not be able to get a usable DNA sample. He went back to the wardrobe and searched the hidden depths at the rear of the closet floor. “Eureka!” he said to himself, as he extracted a battered old pair of slippers that Sebastian took everywhere with him. Stahmer was sure these were not cleaned every day, and he placed them in a nylon bag.
The conference room on deck six was on the starboard side and had heavy doors that would lead out onto the deck. The lifeboats that hung down from their gravity davits psitoned above the deck, and there were white cylinders containing inflatable lifeboats roped together in cordoned-off areas of the deck.
Inside the room was a podium at the far end. Overhead there was a projector, and a screen was draped down behind the podium. The tables were laid out in a horseshoe shape; there were notepads with the company logo and pencils at the top of the paper. The leather-backed chairs were placed on the outer perimeter of the horseshoe.
Sebastian was sitting at the head of the horseshoe adjacent to the deck door. Stahmer entered and pulled a chair up opposite Sebastian and placed a folder down between them. Lachiman stood at the far end of the room at Stahmer’s request.
“Good afternoon, Sebastian.”
“Here to see me again so soon, Mr Stahmer? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need to clarify a couple of points and ask you some new questions.”
“Just me or the rest of the crew as well?” Sebastian inquired, as he relaxed back into his chair, leaving it balanced on the back legs.
“Just you. I need to ask you again; did you have anything to do with the lifeboat incident?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“Did you know Christie had nicknamed you the Grim Reaper because people tended to die or go missing on ships you both worked on?”
Sebastian leaned forward and the front feet of the seat rested upon the lush red carpet.
“No, I’m not aware of that.”
“So, you agree that there was a high proportion of ships you both worked on where people either died or went missing?”
“No, I’m not aware of that, either.”
“Some of the body parts from the dead have been identified, and in a couple of cases there was evidence of hair being pulled out.”
“I don’t see what all this has to do with me.”
“Elisa Cutler was attacked by a half-white, half-Asian man, and she had her hair pulled out. Elisa called the man Maestro. Do you know anything about that?”
Stahmer could see the tension suddenly spurt through Sebastian’s upper body. Did I overlook a closed-circuit television? How does this investigator know what she called me? Sebastian thought.
“I don’t know this girl or anything about what happened.”
At that moment, Stahmer’s phone vibrated to life. Stahmer glanced down and swiped the phone to open and read the message from Ghislaine. Sebastian could see from Stahmer’s wide eyes that the message was important.
“You have to understand that I think you killed all those innocent crew members on the boat because of the Grim Reaper label. I believe that we have links to many other deaths on ships that you have been on,” Stahmer stated.
“You should have been a screenwriter. You’re putting together innuendo and tragedies and contorting them to fit a theory you have dreamed up from God knows where,” Sebastian said in a quiet and controlled voice.
Stahmer ignored the statement. “Do you wear a wig, Mr McKenzie?”
“That’s none of your business,” Sebastian said in a much sharper tone.
“Do you remember a young girl called Geraldine from when you lived in the UK, Mr McKenzie?”
Sebastian sat upright, shocked at Geraldine’s name. How on earth has he put Geraldine together with me?
“It’s a long time since I lived in the UK, and I was a child. I can’t remember my neighbour’s name, never mind anyone else’s,” Sebastian replied, realizing that the man in front of him knew far more about him than he should.
“Do you suffer from trichotillomania?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Sebastian replied, rubbing his hands together.
“Strange, you either have dementia or you just lied to me. We have the notes from the psychiatrist your father put you under in Seattle because you kept on pulling out your bodily hairs. You look t
oo young for dementia, so explain to me why you just lied.”
Sebastian just shrugged and remained silent, playing with a pencil in his left hand. Lachiman could sense the atmosphere had become highly charged and moved forward a few paces. Sebastian was aware of the movement.
“They discovered Geraldine’s body many years ago, before DNA testing. But they found some physical evidence in the slurry pit and we are getting it tested now.” Stahmer lied on the last point before continuing, “And while you are the cleanest man I have ever seen, you left slippers in your cabin which I’m certain we can get DNA from. What do you have to say to that, Mr McKenzie?”
“All conjecture.”
“We spoke to the Inspector in the Falklands; we know all about your escapades there. He swears blind you killed two people there.”
“I was never charged.”
“And that was why they could not take your DNA, but that changes now, and we will have your profile sent to him directly. Seems some evidence has cropped up and they are going to see if your DNA matches what they have.” Stahmer lied about the DNA.
“Like I said, it’s a lot of conjecture and ifs and buts.”
“At the moment. I know you have killed many people including your crew mates. Lachiman here will place you under close arrest. You are not leaving this ship until we have pieced together the evidence.”
“You can’t do that,” Sebastian spat out.
“We are tracing every ship you have served on; we are looking at all missing persons, on board and in the area.” Stahmer’s phone rang.
“Hi Fabienne.”
“Speedy has dug up a double murder in Penang. At first the authorities thought it was accidental, but under family pressure they undertook post-mortems, both were murdered. The date they died Sebastian left his ship in Singapore but did not fly home for two days. To cut a long story short, I did some digging and have discovered some CCTV which shows Sebastian getting off a train in George Town. Same day they were killed.”
“Thanks, Fabienne,” Stahmer leaned closer to Sebastian.
“You have been very careful and precise Sebastian. But today it is impossible to have zero footprint. We have CCTV of you in George Town, the day of a double murder. We are just starting the investigation, and I am a hundred percent sure it is you. When we close this case, it will be a country like Malaysia we send you to. European prisons are too good for you.”
“You are good, Mr Stahmer. I have no doubt you and your colleagues will pick away at this until you can prove it’s me,” Sebastian said quietly.
“So, are you admitting it?”
“You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life. I will not spend one day in any prison, Mr Stahmer.”
“You will. See, you killed my boss’s sister, and one of my colleague’s wife. Our company was set up to track you down, and now we have you. Do you think we are going to let you go anywhere?”
Lachiman moved forward a few more steps but was taken completely by surprise by the swiftness of the pianist’s reactions. No sooner had Stahmer finished the last words of the sentence than Sebastian had flicked the pencil into the air. The pencil did a one-hundred-eighty-degree spin. Sebastian caught the pencil in his right hand at the apex of the half-circle, and before Stahmer could react, he plunged the sharpened tip with force into Stahmer’s left eye.
Stahmer screamed out in pain, and at the same time he fell back from his chair to the floor, where he remained, writhing in agony.
Immediately after Sebastian attacked Stahmer, Lachiman rushed forward and swiftly and adeptly unsheathed the khukuri. He raised his right hand, ready to sweep down across the assailant’s chest, and knew in an instant as Sebastian checked the attack that he was facing someone with a high degree of martial arts training.
Lachiman felt no pain but could feel the arterial blood pumping out of the artery. Sebastian had scooped up a second pencil in the microseconds before the Gurkha descended upon him and had blocked the thrust from the khukuri. With his right forearm, while lunging underneath the blocked arm, he expertly plunged the pencil into Lachiman’s brachial artery, ensuring he lost the grip on his khukuri.
Lachiman realised if he removed the pencil, he was dead, for presently it stemmed the flow of blood. In typical Gurkha tradition, he maintained the attack, this time surprising Sebastian.
Grabbing Sebastian’s attack hand, he headbutted him at the top of the nose. Sebastian tried to move away from the second onslaught, but Lachiman had a tight grip on his arm, and headbutted him again, stunning Sebastian and sending his wig skywards.
Sebastian knew he was in trouble; aware he had met a formidable opponent. He was groggy, if he didn’t act fast this former soldier, even though severely wounded, might get the better of him.
Lachiman came back with a third attack, pulling Sebastian to him. This time he could force the nasal bone at the top of the nose backward into Sebastian’s brain. A micro-second before his forehead connected for the final attack, Sebastian dropped his head deftly and moved slightly forward. The forward movement and angle of attack reversed the force in relation to the forehead to forehead. Lachiman let go and staggered backward for a second before his shaken brain again became focused.
It only took a second for his vision to clear, but this was all Sebastian needed to exit the door onto the deck. Running after him, the Gurkha bent slightly forward and with his left hand he scooped up the khukuri and followed Sebastian out of the deck exit.
In the second or so that had elapsed from the staggering blow to picking up the khukuri and exiting the door, Sebastian had jumped up on the white cylinders of the inflatable lifeboats. Sebastian leapt outwards, away from the ship’s side, hanging in the air for the blink of an eye before he plunged towards the waves some thirty metres below.
It was like a flash of lightning, so quick it was impossible to catch on camera, so fleeting was that moment in the air before plunging into the depths. Lachiman had spent years training for such a moment.
In his time in the army, he had been deployed to Iraq. It was not fulfilling, as it was hard to kill men who were running away from you.
Today he had met an opponent, a worthy enemy, who had hurt the Gurkha and whom he had hurt in return. His mission was to protect the investigator, and he had failed. The least he could do was kill the perpetrator.
The transitory period that Sebastian hung in the nothingness was all that the Gurkha needed to launch his ornate khukuri. He aimed it below Sebastian, his training taking over, and his brain calculating the position of the falling assailant.
The khukuri buried itself deep into Sebastian’s left shoulder, down to the hilt, such was the force it entered his body. He fell the thirty metres into the moderate swell, his reflexes moving his body into position to reduce the impact, not sure if he was going to live or die.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The stars pulsated in the clear sky with the thin, reflected line of the moon stretched across the bay’s calm waters. The air was still and warm, and the lights of the small fishing vessels plying their trade blinked on and off. It was a perfect evening to visit an excellent restaurant, eat mezze, and drink ice-cold beer. Cortez, Shultz, Tuck, Colton, and Cutler checked each other’s equipment on the villa’s rooftop, and food was the last thing on their mind.
Once the equipment check was completed, they gathered around Cutler for the final briefing. Cutler went over the plan again. It was the tenth time, but they were all professionals, and accepted the need for repetition. When the briefing was completed, Cutler asked Shultz to stay with him while Cortez, Colton, and Tuck departed in separate cars hired from the local village.
“Fabienne telephoned me a couple of hours ago and I was considering not telling you until after tonight’s operation. However, if I do not pass on the information it may destroy your trust in me, Manfred,” Cutler said.
“What information? Is it about my wife?” Shultz guessed.
“Your wife and my sister. Between Fabienne,
her computer, Stahmer, and Ghislaine, they have come up with a strong link to many missing or suspicious deaths. In short, they have a name, and Stahmer is over there now interviewing him.”
Shultz was quiet and moved around the rooftop, shaking his head while thinking.
“He killed my wife and your sister? Stahmer should have waited until you and I could get over there. I will get the truth out of the bastard. What’s his name?”
“And he’s linked to many more. It would have been better if Stahmer had waited, but we must deal with the situation as it is now. I want to get my hands on him as much as you. His name is Sebastian McKenzie, and he is a ship pianist.”
Shultz stood still, thinking back to the ship, to the piano bar, and the pianist she insisted on listening to each night. “There was an Asian guy, a great musician and singer; my wife could not get enough of him. Weird hair, though.”
“That’s him,” Cutler said coldly.
“So, what happens now?” Shultz asked.
“You can go now. There is a flight out at midnight. Or you can wait until tomorrow and fly with me if we are both still alive. I have already spoken to Cortez and Colton, and they are okay with tidying up after the job and returning the weapons. Your choice and no flak if you decide to go.”
Shultz had taken several minutes before he answered. “We go tomorrow, on the proviso you let me kill the bastard.”
“As long as you do it slowly, I have no problem with that.”
“Believe me, it won’t be quick,” Shultz spat out.
Cutler and Shultz packed the equipment into the car and sped off, driving away from civilization around the bay. They passed the steep lane heading up towards the two villas perched up on the mountain and took the next lane up. The lane was steep, and it had last seen paving many years before. The stones bounced off the chassis continuously.
When they reached the top of the lane, they parked by a building that had once been a shelter for the olive pickers, now it had not been used for over a decade.
Shultz climbed up on Cutler’s shoulders until he got a handhold on the huge boulder and climbed to the top with some difficulty. Once he had mounted the rock, he threw down the nylon rope he had tied around his waist. Cutler tied the handle to the sports bag, and it was hauled up.
