Killer Aboard: A John Otter Novel

by Sean Blaise

  “Why not? I assume it was consensual sex with a person of legal age. You didn’t rape her, did you?”

  “Dear God, no! Why would you say that?”

  “Then I don’t understand why you wouldn’t feel OK saying you were on shore having sex. It’s perfectly natural for someone your age.”

  “Wayland, we’re getting off-topic. Please, can we restart? I have told you why I was on the island, can you tell me if you were that morning?”

  Wayland thought about it. “Yes, we were coming back from the island. We took a bike ride.”

  John felt relief, finally, he was getting somewhere.

  “A ride where?”

  “To Napoleon's tomb.”

  “Why did you go back there?”

  “We wanted to see it again.”

  “That’s odd don’t you think.”

  “I have heard that term my entire life, Captain.”

  John cursed himself internally for his terrible choice of words. He felt Wayland slipping backward. Time to change tactics again.

  “How long have you known Jennifer?”

  “Seven years. She was a good friend to me.”

  “And Jack?”

  “Four years. And Greg just a little over a year. I understand where you are going with this Captain, but I did not kill Jennifer.”

  “I don’t think you did Wayland; I’m just trying to figure out who did.”

  “Your most likely suspects would be Jack and Greg, followed by me.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Spouses and lovers, statistically speaking are responsible for a large portion of murders of their loved ones. Love drives murder more often than not. Ironic if you ask me. Greg was Jennifer’s lover, so he would be the first suspect. Unless of course, she had another lover that we did not know about.”

  “What do you mean another lover?”

  “Nothing,” Wayland said.

  “Wayland, do you think either Jack or Greg would be capable of killing her?”

  “She’s dead, isn’t she? Therefore, someone on this ship is capable of murder.”

  “Not you, I’m sure.”

  “When I was five years old, a neighbor’s cat scratched me. I grabbed it by the tail and swung it into my mom’s driveway so it could never scratch me again. I don’t think we really ever know what people are capable of.”

  John swallowed hard at Wayland’s story. The boy was so placid when he said it, like smashing a cat to death was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Wayland, why did you tell me that?”

  “To make the point that anyone is capable of murder, if you scratch them the right way.”

  “That’s a terrifying thought. Wayland did anything happen on St. Helena that I need to know about? Jennifer changed after that island.”

  “There was no lover’s quarrel that I am aware of. I believe Greg and Jennifer had a lot of sex on St. Helena. I didn’t see anything that would.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “In a minute,” John said exasperated at being interrupted.

  The knocking continued until John pulled the door open and saw Jack. Jack looked at Wayland before looking back at John.

  “What is it, Jack?”

  “Should you be alone in a room with a student?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Captain, Wayland has a special condition. I was appointed his guardian for this trip. I should have been notified that you were questioning him.”

  “I’m just asking how a student is doing.”

  “He is asking me about Jennifer’s murder,” Wayland interjected without emotion.

  Jack made a tsking sound with his tongue that made John want to rip it out.

  “I’m afraid, captain, you can’t question Wayland. You are neither a cop nor legal authority and I have not given you permission as his guardian.”

  “Permission? Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Smith, tell him.”

  John could now see Smith standing behind Jack. The look on her face told John in one second that Jack wasn’t lying.

  “Smith, use your damn words what is he talking about?”

  “Due to his condition, Wayland’s parents made Jack his guardian for the voyage. He can say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to this questioning.”

  John didn’t want to push the issue until he knew more about the legal ramifications. The last thing he needed was to get strung up for violating someones rights.

  “Fine. Wayland, you’re free to go.”

  Wayland got up and made his way through the door.

  “Jack, I just wanted you to know, that you just became suspect number one.”

  Jack smirked. “I didn’t kill the bitch.”

  Before he could stop himself, John had grabbed Jack’s shirt and had his fist balled up as if to punch him. Smith looked on in horror before John let go.

  “I was hoping you’d do it,” Jack responded, disappointed.

  “She wasn’t a bitch. And I will find her killer.”

  “Good luck with that. It seems that this entire ship is out of control, just like its Captain.”

  Chapter 73

  Back in the galley, Jack slammed Wayland up against the wall.

  “Wayland, what did you say to the Captain?”

  “Nothing, I swear.”

  “Why didn’t you stop yourself from talking?”

  “He was asking about St. Helena. I didn’t tell him about what we did there.”

  “I hope not. Wayland, listen to me; you can’t speak to anyone again without me or a lawyer from now on, is that clear? We have to figure out a way through this and you need me, looking out for you to do that, don’t you?”

  Wayland's whimpering slowed, and he bobbed his head in agreement.

  “Did you kill Jennifer?” Wayland asked.

  Jack looked surprised. “No, I didn’t kill her. Why would you ask me that?”

  “Did Greg kill her?”

  “It has to be him. Killed his fricking meal ticket, if you ask me. But he always was a fool. We just have to make sure everything goes on Greg, do you understand? St. Helena especially. When the real police get here, it has to be ironclad. You and I have to say the exact same things, remember. Greg hangs for it all. Tell me you understand!”

  “Mr. Police officer, I saw Greg and Jennifer fighting on St. Helena, it looked so violent,” Wayland said, practicing already.

  Jack smiled.

  “See, that’s better. Build up that story. And if it ever comes up, or we are mentioned as suspects, say that Greg forced us to clean up his mess on St. Helena too. You and I stick together, and we will get through this.”

  Wayland signaled that he understood. Then his eyes shifted behind Jack to Greg who just walked into the Galley.

  Chapter 74

  Greg moved towards Jack and Wayland quickly. It was the first time Greg and Jack had been in a room together since Greg’s attack. It was his one chance to get answers.

  Jack looked around desperately for someone, anyone else to come into the galley, but it was empty save for the three of them.

  “Where the fuck is it?” Greg asked.

  “Now Greg, calm down. You know you can’t touch me again.”

  Greg stepped close to Jack.

  “Where the hell is the treasure map?”

  It was Jack’s turn to look confused. “What? You don’t have it?”

  “Jack, stop lying. Where is the map?”

  “I assumed you took it, when you took care of Jennifer.”

  “I didn’t kill her!” Greg shouted.

  “Greg, Jennifer had the map. I told you to get the map back from her and calm her down. Then you acted like a goddamn madman when Captain told us she was dead, making us the number one suspects. You stupid fool, I don’t have the map!”

  Greg felt his blood boil. Jennifer was dead. And it was all for nothing. He had held out hope that he could at least salvage something from this awful adventure. He could st
ill make something out of himself. He could find the treasure and change his life. Now that dream was shattered.

  Jack had to have the map, and he was keeping it for himself. Greg had tossed Jennifer’s room and found nothing. Jack must have taken it when he killed her. That was the only thing that made sense.

  Amanda walked into the galley and looked at the trio wearily. Greg stepped back from Jack and whispered.

  “Jack, this isn’t over.”

  Chapter 75

  It was hard to see in the darkness of the Galley, but he could just make out Jack’s frame, asleep in the corner of the room. He crept slowly, stepping over Rosie’s snoring form and moved his way forward. Nothing was visible from the watertight door to the ship's helm.

  He knew at this time Captain John would be up on watch with Hanz, Monica, and Rick, and although Charlie was now assigned to sleep in the Galley, he wasn’t there yet. The window of time was closing before Charlie would return. Then it would be too late.

  The revolver felt heavy in his hand, its cold metal was somehow burning his palm. He felt a hitch in his heart, but he reminded himself that he had no intention of using it. He just needed Jack to take him seriously and do what he was told.

  *************************************************************************

  Back on deck, John couldn’t believe the storm had not abated. He stood watch on the helm, trying to focus on the task at hand. He had gotten nowhere on the murder. He had no idea how he would face Jennifer’s parents. He couldn’t fathom the sheer volume of their loss; he had let them down.

  The raindrops slid down his cheeks, mixed with what he knew were his tears. He thanked God that it was dark and none of the students sitting around the helm on his watch could see his face.

  The burden of his command had begun to crush him. He had no idea what to do. The destroyer was probably 8 to 10 hours away he just had to hold out a little bit longer.

  A sharp crack of lighting brought John back to reality. The resounding boom of thunder rattled his eardrums not a few seconds behind the flash, which meant it was a close strike.

  A second strike took place almost instantaneously.

  John knew the likelihood of his ship getting struck was high, mid-ocean. Like a golfer, standing in the middle of the green holding up a club in a lightening storm, Beagle’s masts were massive grounding rods for electricity.

  “Rick, go below. In the chart room underneath the table there are grounding chains. Bring them to me.”

  Rick did as he was told. Although Beagle itself was grounded well and wired to withstand a bolt of lightning, John hated taking chances with millions of volts of electricity.

  Even the most well-planned ships could have systems destroyed by a massive electrical strike. Most of his communications were already destroyed by the saboteur and he couldn’t afford to lose anything else. Not to mention that he was standing in knee-high water in the cockpit, while holding a metal steering wheel.

  Rick came back, holding the large chains. At the end of each chain was a carabiner clip, the type that rock climbers use. John handed the helm off to Monica and motioned for Rick to follow him.

  Beagle was still flying at over ten knots. She had finally gotten a steady wind out of the storm and was pegged on a hard starboard tack with her leeward rail almost burying itself beneath the waves.

  John normally would have been thrilled at the speed she was making. When he raced sailboats in college, John loved to shout, “if you’re not railing, you’re not sailing.” But gone were those carefree days. Instead, he was just focused on getting to the destroyer, the faster the better.

  John and Rick walked carefully forward along the leeward deck toward the mainmast, watching their footing in the ankle-deep water. Without even looking, John suddenly felt that Beagle falling off her course. He turned to shout back at Monica to watch her compass when Beagle took a hard gust and buried her port rail.

  The wall of water hit John’s legs like an NFL linebacker. He felt himself lose his footing. The water carried him back, smashing him into Rick. Monica had fallen off her course without easing the sails. That maneuver, coupled with a lucky gust, caused Beagle to heel hard over.

  “God damn it, Monica head up!” John watched as confusion and terror crept over her face. Monica while the nicest looking girl on the ship, was a hopeless cliché, as she was also not the brightest. John pointed his hand to the right and Monica swung the wheel. With Beagle’s nose coming back up into the wind the ship righted herself quickly. John rose to his feet and helped Rick up.

  “Rick, take the helm, give me the chains. Get Beagle on a heading of 295 degrees and keep her there, please.”

  Rick was his best watchkeeper and had a natural knack for it. Another lightning strike hit close at hand and John began heading back forward to the mainmast.

  The idea of the grounding chains was simple, clip them into the metal stays running up the mast and drop them into the water on the leeward or low side. The chains would drag in the water, creating a more direct path for a lightning strike.

  Electricity would always follow the shortest path. Rather than the lightning hitting the mast and going down the mast through Beagle’s keel, the strike would follow its way down the stays and through the chains and discharge harmlessly into the ocean.

  John clipped the first chain into the leeward stays and dropped it into the water below. Then he made his way forward and repeated the process on his foremast.

  The lightning was all around Beagle now, like a strange nightclub, flashing strobes followed by billowing booms of thunder. The conditions were miserable and not letting up.

  John made his way back to the helm and took over for Rick. He looked at the compass, spot on 295 degrees.

  “Good job Rick.”

  Chapter 76

  “B..e..a.g.gle, this is destroyer, Defensora, copy,” John’s handheld VHF radio crackled.

  John couldn’t believe his ears. He brought the radio up and depressed the mic button while trying to contain the tremble in his voice. “Defensora, this is Beagle over.”

  There was nothing but static and silence. The lightning kept crackling above him. John remembered enough from his college days that VHF signals could be absorbed by heavy rain. Without the more powerful ships radio and the high antenna on the mast, the handheld VHF had little range.

  He also knew that most military services had ways of reaching a much further radio range than civilians had access to. For all he knew, the destroyer could be communicating via a drone.

  “Denfensora, this is Beagle over,” John responded again.

  Nothing.

  John kept trying for another half hour, to no avail. He wished he had his single-sideband radio at this point Its frequency would bounce off the Ionosphere and travel much further than the VHF’s line of sight.

  “Denfensora, this is Beagle over.”

  “Beagle, this is Denfensora do you copy?”

  “Denfensora, this is Beagle I copy loud and clear over.”

  John couldn’t help but look around for the ship, the radio was now crystal clear which could only mean the ship was within a few miles.

  “Beagle, it is nice to make your direct contact. We have been searching for days. This is the destroyer Denfensora, please stand by for our latest position.”

  “Rick go get a pen!”

  John wrote down the latitude and longitude of the destroyer. He could tell immediately from the coordinates that they weren’t as close as he had hoped. Which didn’t make sense considering how clear the radio was.

  “Defensora, I think I misheard you. How many miles away are you from us? Do you see us on radar?”

  “Beagle, we have you locked into an intercept path. We are bouncing the VHF signal off reconnaissance aircraft overhead. We have the closest point of approach in three hours.”

  John looked at his Omega Seamaster, that put them on course to meet at daybreak. His nightmare was finally over.

  “What will be
the procedure when you arrive?”

  “Captain, we will place a marine security team onboard your vessel to secure the crime scene. Will remove the body to our ship and remove all students. You and your crew will then proceed to port with our escort.”

  John didn’t mind the idea of having armed marines watching the crime scene at all.

  “The storm is still high; will we be able to make the transfer of students?”

  “Yes, our boarding party can board in current conditions. If we cannot safely offload your students, we will wait until conditions improve. Wind forecast to abate at 0500 to 20-25 knots.”

  John again looked at his watch. The Brazilian commander was claiming the wind would drop by a little less than half in just over two hours. Looking around at the boiling caldron of angry ocean surrounding him, he somewhat doubted it.

  “OK, look forward to seeing your ship.”

  “Captain wait, I have a call from your school, patching through now.”

  The connection was clunky. Satellite phone to one-way VHF radio made for very broken communications.

  “Captain Otter, this is President Reed of the Ocean Exploration School, do you copy?”

  John had never spoken to the President during his hiring process. There was no doubt that murder on a school ship with a new hire made top billing on his desk.

  “President, I am receiving you.”

  Chapter 77

  “John, I know this has been a nightmare for you. The whole school has you in our prayers,” President Reed said.

  John waited for more but there was nothing but static. He looked around at the tossing ocean thinking prayers weren’t doing much good at the moment.

  “Thank you, President Reed. I will be relieved when we are in the hands of the Brazilian Navy.”

  More static rained through the radio mic. John couldn’t tell if the President had been cut off or if he was formulating what he was going to say next. A palpable feeling of dread crept over John as he waited.

  “John, I know you are focused on the safety of the ship and crew and that is paramount. As President I also have to focus on the school, and this whole incident is a huge legal issue. I have legal counsel drawing up the next steps for you in the case of lawsuits.”