Misfortune (and Gouda)

by Pierce, Blake

  She paused again, wondering if she was being less than honest.

  Of course, she was pretty sure she did know why Dekker had gotten angry with her. As Honey had pointed out earlier, Dekker seemed to have a serious problem with women, especially ones with any kind of authority.

  Should I tell Braam that? she asked herself.

  She quickly decided not to. It didn’t seem appropriate of her to try to account for Dekker’s state of mind.

  Braam said, “Of course I must know the name of the passenger who quarreled with the victim.”

  London queasily told him Cyrus Bannister’s name.

  This is going to get worse and worse, she thought, picturing the arrogant passenger at odds with this skeptical policeman.

  Braam peered at London silently, as if he were deciding whether or not to arrest her.

  Then he turned to Surveillant Dijkstra and said in Dutch, “You said you recognized the victim.”

  “That’s right,” Dijkstra replied in Dutch. “Although everyone around here called him Meneer Schat.”

  “So he came around for the … usual reasons?” Braam asked her.

  “Yes, he was pretty well known among the local workers. I don’t think they liked him very much. But they never complained that he was violent or abusive, just … well, sullen and grouchy. I think Meneer Schat was kind of a sarcastic nickname.”

  “Can you give me a list of some of the women he … frequented?” Braam asked, still speaking in Dutch.

  “Certainly,” Dijkstra said, taking out her own notebook and jotting some names.

  London was starting to feel uncomfortable that the hoofdinspecteur now was insistently speaking to the policewoman in Dutch. London guessed that Braam probably thought she couldn’t understand what they were saying—which of course wasn’t true.

  Should I tell him? she wondered.

  Fortunately, the policewoman seemed to be worried about the same thing.

  “The witness understands Dutch,” she said to Braam.

  “Oh, I see,” Braam replied English, looking at London with a scoff. “Well, so much for trying to exclude you from the conversation. There’s no point in not being perfectly transparent. Tell me, Mevrouw Rose, would you rather continue this discussion in English or Dutch?”

  “I … it’s … whichever you prefer.”

  “Dutch it is, then,” Braam said. Then he asked Dijkstra, “What else can you tell me about the victim?”

  “Well, he was sort of a furtive type. Most of the men who come around here don’t care whether they’re recognized. But some care a lot. They’re embarrassed, I guess. They won’t tell the workers their real names, and that’s why they wind up with nicknames. They also try to sneak in and out of the Rosse Buurt without being noticed. Some wait until after dark and come here by rowboat from various parts of the city.”

  Pointing to the dock, she continued, “The boats down there belong to men like that. I think the boat we found the body in was the victim’s own.”

  “And it is chained to the dock right now …” Braam mused.

  Braam scratched his chin for a moment in silent thought. London could imagine some of the questions he was asking himself. For example, had Pier Dekker been murdered right here in his boat, or had he been killed elsewhere and then moved here?

  But most of all, she was sure Braam wondered …

  Did I have anything to do with it?

  Her heart sank at the thought of having to prove her innocence all over again.

  Then Braam said to London, “How long is the Nachtmusik scheduled to stay in Amsterdam?”

  “We’re supposed to set sail for Copenhagen tonight,” London said.

  Of course, London knew what the hoofdinspecteur was going to say next.

  “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible. Tell me how I may contact your captain right away.”

  London gulped anxiously as she told him Captain Hays’s phone number. She wished she could call ahead and break the news before Braam did. But she felt sure that the hoofdinspecteur would rather be the first to call.

  I’ll be hearing from the captain soon enough, she thought.

  Meanwhile, London could see that a several policemen were loading the covered body into a boat marked Lijkschouwer, which London knew meant “coroner.”

  Hoofdinspecteur Braam pointed to one of the nearby police boats and said, “I’ll have one of our pilots take you back to the Nachtmusik. I hope I needn’t tell you not to leave Amsterdam until we’ve resolved this matter.”

  “I won’t,” London said, picking up Sir Reggie. As she followed Braam toward the boat, a new worry nagged at her mind. She thought maybe she knew the cause of the victim’s death.

  But should I tell him? she wondered.

  Wouldn’t that just make him more suspicious than he was already?

  Maybe so, she thought. But I’d better be as upfront with him as possible.

  “There’s something I should tell you,” she said nervously. “I think the victim might have been strangled.”

  “Is that right?” Braam said, sounding a bit surprised. “And why would you think that?”

  “It’s just a guess,” she said. “But he was wearing a cravat earlier, back at the museum. He wasn’t wearing a cravat when I found him, and his collar was unbuttoned. His throat looked a bit red to me, maybe even bruised. I think the killer may have subdued him and strangled him with his own cravat.”

  Braam’s eyebrow tilted suspiciously, and his smile twisted into more than a hint of a smirk.

  “I can see why you’ve got something of a reputation as a detective,” he said. “Of course, I can think of one reason you might know the cause of the victim’s death for absolute certain.”

  London felt a flash of resentment. Of course he was insinuating that she, herself, might be the murder.

  She replied in a tight voice, “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. But then, if I were really guilty, would I be telling you how I did it?”

  Braam didn’t reply for a moment. He seemed to be mulling over London’s question.

  Then he said, “I don’t suppose we’d find that cravat if we searched your person.”

  London cringed at the idea of a body search but knew she better than to push back against it.

  “You can have Surveillant Dijkstra search me if you like,” she said.

  Braam chuckled darkly.

  “I’m sure there wouldn’t be any point,” he said. “If you are a killer, I’m sure you’re a very clever one. You won’t give yourself away that easily.”

  He turned toward the policewoman and said, “Dijkstra, I’d like you to accompany Mevrouw Rose back to her ship.”

  Surveillant Dijkstra offered London a hand to help her and Sir Reggie into the police boat, then climbed in after them. The engine roared as the pilot pulled away from the bank and turned around for the short trip back to the Nachtmusik.

  London sat down facing Dijkstra with Sir Reggie in her lap. She and the policewoman didn’t speak to each other for a few awkward moments.

  Finally, Surveillant Dijkstra tried to break the ice.

  “You have a nice dog,” she said over the sound of the engine.

  “Thank you,” London said. “His name is Sir Reggie.”

  “What kind of dog is he?”

  “A Yorkshire Terrier,” London said.

  Dijkstra simply nodded, and the two of them said nothing. There didn’t seem to be much point in trying to make conversation.

  I guess she suspects me too, London thought.

  It was a weird feeling to be suspected of murder all over again.

  An “urban legend,” Braam called me, she thought.

  Which made her wonder—what kinds of wild stories might he have heard about her recent adventures? He didn’t seem the least bit satisfied to believe that she had actually solved those murder cases herself. But how could he believe otherwise? She’d been officially cleared of suspicion of all three murders. Surely the Hoofdinspect
eur knew that perfectly well.

  Or does he?

  London’s imagination was churning with speculations about an international rumor mill. She envisioned messages and conversations in various languages, in which she was cast in the role of some kind of criminal mastermind with a peculiar genius for framing other people for her own dastardly deeds. Her spirits sank even further as she realized it might be harder than usual to clear her name this time.

  Her phone buzzed.

  London stifled an unsurprised sigh as she saw that the call was from Captain Hays.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The phone shook in London’s hand as she took the call.

  “Well, well, well, London Rose,” the captain said in his dry English manner. “I just got an interesting call from a gentleman claiming to be the Hoofdinspecteur for Amsterdam’s Burgwallen district. I hope you can assure me it was some sort of prank call, albeit a rather tasteless one.”

  “I’m afraid it wasn’t a prank, sir,” London said.

  “Another murder, eh?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “But none of our own passengers was the victim?”

  “No.”

  “And not the killer either?”

  “No.”

  Captain Hays let out a grunt of annoyance.

  “I suppose I should be relieved. But this particular cloud seems to come furnished with an unusually small silver lining. And I get the impression that the Hoofdinspecteur has doubts that the murderer isn’t … well … you.”

  London began to stutter a reply.

  “Sir … I don’t know how to explain …”

  “Of course,” captain went on, “I’ll make a general announcement that our departure will be delayed. Where are you right now?”

  “On a police boat on my way back to the Nachtmusik.”

  “What is your current condition? Not drenched in beer again, I hope.”

  London cringed a little at the memory of how she’d found a murder victim drowned in a vat of lager back in Bamberg. She and Bryce had both plunged into the vat to try to pull him out, only to find that he was already dead. She’d thought she’d never get the smell of beer out of her pores.

  “No, I’m perfectly dry this time,” she said.

  I didn’t even get dunked in a canal, she thought.

  “That means you can come to my quarters as soon as you’re back aboard,” the captain said. “I expect to see you momentarily.”

  He ended the call without another word.

  By then the patrol boat was approaching the Westerdok, and the Nachtmusik was in view. A few moments later the boat pulled up to the pier where the ship was moored. London climbed out of the boat and set Sir Reggie down, and they both walked up the gangway. They found that the reception room was bustling with people and conversation. Sir Reggie leaped back into London’s arms to escape being stepped on.

  Letitia was the first person to catch sight of her.

  “Oh, London, is it true?” she said, rushing over to her. “The captain just announced that we won’t set sail for Copenhagen tonight.”

  “I’m afraid not,” London said.

  “But what on earth has happened?” Letitia asked.

  With a nudge and a wink, she whispered, “Not another murder, surely.”

  Of course, Letitia was joking—or at least thought she was joking. But London couldn’t bring herself to reply.

  Letitia’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “There was another murder!”

  London took Letitia by the arm and whispered to her urgently.

  “Please, please, don’t tell anybody. At least not yet.”

  “I won’t,” Letitia replied with a nod. “I promise.”

  Still holding onto Sir Reggie, London pushed through the crowded reception room toward the elevator. Of course she was bombarded by questions.

  “How long will we be staying in Amsterdam?”

  “What’s going on, anyway?”

  “Does this mean more great deals and discounts?”

  London kept her head down and muttered over and over again, “I can’t say anything about it right now.”

  Finally, she made her way into the elevator, still carrying her little dog. When they exited on the Allegro deck, she put Sir Reggie down.

  “I’ll bet you’re tired, boy,” she said. “You don’t have to come with me to see the captain. You can just go back to our stateroom and in through your doggie door.”

  But Sir Reggie let out a loyal-sounding yap, as though he had no intention of abandoning her in her time of need. London felt grateful for his company as he trotted alongside her. The captain’s call had been rather abrupt, and she wasn’t at all sure what his attitude was going to be over her discovery of yet another murder victim.

  “Thanks for the support,” she whispered to Sir Reggie.

  Captain Hays answered the door at London’s knock.

  “First things first,” he said as she and Sir Reggie came into the room. “I want you to look me straight in the eye and tell me you didn’t kill anybody.”

  London looked into his eyes and said firmly, “I didn’t kill anybody, I promise.”

  The captain nodded and said, “That’s all I needed to hear. I’m more than willing to take you at your word. After all, you haven’t killed anybody else since the tour started. You’ve got a pretty clean record as far as homicide is concerned. You didn’t kill any of the corpses you found, after all. You’ve just had jolly bad luck. Have a seat, let’s talk.”

  London sat down with Sir Reggie in her lap while the captain took a seat behind his desk.

  The captain steepled his fingers together and said, “You seem to have had a rather eventful day, my dear. I first got word of your adventures earlier this afternoon.”

  London’s eyes widened with surprise.

  “Sir?” she said.

  “Yes, I was meaning to tell you whenever I saw you. A docent at the Rijksmuseum—Helga, I believe her name was.”

  “Helga van den Heuvel?” London said.

  “Yes, that was it. She called me about how a certain museum staff member had been rude toward you and your tour group earlier today. She said the man’s behavior was most inappropriate, and she wished to apologize wholeheartedly on behalf of the Rijksmuseum.”

  That was kind of her, London thought.

  She remembered catching sight of Helga heading for the Meyer art gallery, but Helga hadn’t seen her. If she had, maybe she’d have apologized in person.

  The captain continued, “Of course I’m sure the earlier incident was in no way connected with what happened more recently.”

  London couldn’t help groaning aloud.

  “I wish that were true, sir,” she said. “The man who spoke to us rudely at the Rijksmuseum was the murder victim.”

  “Really!” the captain said, his bushy eyebrows rising with surprise. “That does rather complicate matters, doesn’t it? I suppose it has something to do with why the Hoofdinspecteur told me he’ll come aboard tomorrow to interview Mr. Cyrus Bannister.”

  “Yes, sir. It was really Cyrus who started the argument.”

  “Whatever were they arguing over?”

  “I think it was about whether or not restoring paintings was an art.”

  “Hmm. It sounds like a rather thin reason to suspect anybody of murder. But I suppose the Hoofdinspecteur has to cover all leads.”

  The captain stared at London curiously for a moment, as if he had a rather sensitive question to ask.

  “You found a body in the red-light district, eh?”

  “That’s right,” London said.

  “Hmm. Well, I won’t ask what you happened to be doing there. You’re a grown-up adult, and lots of interesting vices are perfectly legal here in Amsterdam. It’s really none of my business.”

  London felt herself blush deeply. She wished she could explain that she’d wound up in the Rosse Buurt by mistake in a futile effort to look for her mother. But no
w wasn’t the time or place to get into all that.

  London said, “I gather you made an announcement over the PA about our delay.”

  “I did.”

  “But you haven’t told anybody the reason for the delay—not yet, anyway?”

  The captain tilted his head.

  “That’s not quite the case,” he said. “No sooner had I made the announcement than Amy Blassingame came right here to my quarters demanding to know more about what had happened. Well, I couldn’t very well keep the truth from a staff member. So I told her what little I knew at the time. I did ask her to be discreet about it for the time being.”

  London fought down another groan of despair.

  The idea of Amy being discreet about anything struck her as highly unlikely.

  Captain Hays added, “I also had to tell Mr. Bannister to expect a visit from the Hoofdinspecteur tomorrow, although I didn’t go into any details about why. I can’t say he was very pleased. However, the Hoofdinspecteur isn’t demanding that anyone else stay aboard the Nachtmusik. As for yourself, he expects you to stay in Amsterdam and be available for questioning at a moment’s notice.”

  “I’ll certainly do that, sir. As long as the Nachtmusik stays.”

  Captain Hays leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

  “Meanwhile, I have to figure out how to break the news to our CEO. I tried to call Mr. Lapham before you arrived, but he wasn’t available. I left a message that I needed to talk to him about something urgent. I imagine he’ll be calling back shortly. It’s five hours earlier where he is in New York, so I’m sure he’s wide awake. Don’t be surprised if he wants to talk to you in the near future.”

  “I understand, sir,” London said.

  Her heart sank at the thought of how Jeremy Lapham was going to take the news. She’d spoken to the mysterious CEO of Epoch World Cruise Lines on several occasions, including about the previous three murders. He’d struck her as an eccentric man, but also as kind-hearted and nothing if not patient.

  She hated the thought of how he might take this awful news. She hoped he wouldn’t make any drastic decisions, like canceling the rest of the cruise. That would surely be ruinous to Epoch World Cruise Lines, which she understood to be in precarious financial straits already.