Deadly Cruise

by Dawn Brookes

  “Not a word to anyone outside the medical team – except to your friend, Sarah. This is not getting out, at least not until I’ve discussed it with the captain and the chief of security. We’ll keep it from the new girl, too – we don’t know yet whether she can be discreet enough to keep this under wraps. I would prefer to keep it as quiet as possible.”

  Graham marched out of the room with Gwen hot on his heels. Sarah stayed behind to close the drawer containing the late Erik.

  “Sorry, Erik, we didn’t realise, but we know what happened now. I’m positive security will find who did this to you.”

  Sarah had a sinking feeling that something awful had also happened to Jefgeny – unless, of course, he had committed the murder, which might also explain his disappearance. She couldn’t believe he would have harmed his friend, though; they had seemed close.

  Perhaps he suspects it was murder, or worse still, perhaps he knows who the murderer is. He’s got to be hiding somewhere. Surely this is not going to be like Rachel’s first cruise.

  She determined to fill her friend in later this evening. Right now, she needed to do her job and perform the act of her life in front of Lauren.

  Chapter 11

  “Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen, the problem is now resolved and we will start up the engines within the next ten minutes. Our course continues in a north-westerly direction towards New York and we will make up speed during the night. Please enjoy the rest of your day and take advantage of the exceptional facilities aboard the Coral Queen.”

  The captain’s voice reverberated throughout the ship. Rachel wondered if this unscheduled stop had involved the search for the missing crewman.

  As she entered the STARS Ballroom on deck five, she saw it was crowded with a lot more people than just the Russian party. Rachel spotted Thomas clutching his trusty clipboard, ticking off names, and his face lit up when he saw her.

  “Rachel, I’m pleased you decided to come. One of the ladies has gone to bed with a headache and we have a male without a dance partner. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all. I’d be happy to help, seeing as you’ve been so kind to me, as long as it’s not Nikolai,” she whispered.

  “No problem. He’s been ordered to stay behind and do some work for Boris.”

  A man walked over to them. Rachel recognised him as the person who had walked slowly in front of her on the tour earlier in the day.

  “Rachel— sorry, I don’t know your surname?”

  “Prince,” she replied. “Rachel Prince.”

  “Rachel Prince, allow me to introduce you to Mr Asimov. Mr Asimov, Rachel will be your dance partner.”

  “Charmed I’m sure,” he sneered, holding out his hand.

  Rachel disliked the abrupt man immediately, but smiled and offered her hand. She scowled back at Thomas, but he was already dealing with the next couple on his list. Mr Asimov didn’t speak as they moved on to the dance floor and his penetrating gaze made her feel uncomfortable. He clearly wasn’t happy about something and made no attempt to engage in conversation.

  Asimov was smaller than her at around five feet eight inches. Middle-aged and grossly overweight for his height, he had wavy shoulder-length fair hair, was clean shaven, and wouldn’t have been bad looking if he’d only lose the sullen look. He wore a loud Caribbean-type short-sleeved shirt with khaki knee-length shorts, the clothing completely out of synch with his dour demeanour. Through gold rimmed designer glasses, bloodshot grey eyes stared at her. A drinker, she mused.

  “Are you enjoying your holiday so far, Mr Asimov?”

  “It is satisfactory. I will be happier in New York,” he replied in sharp, punctuated tones, raising his rather large nose at her, which made her want to burst out laughing.

  Still no first name! This is going to be hard work.

  Rachel had difficulty imagining dancing the salsa, a happy dance, with this miserable man. Thankfully, the Cruise Director arrived at that moment and took the microphone, introducing their dance instructors: a South American couple, dressed suitably for the part with bright, heavily sequined, happy clothing.

  The class began with an introduction to a few basic steps where couples had to dance side by side while moving their hips rhythmically to the music. Rachel heard people laughing and having fun, but not Asimov. His moves weren’t that bad, but the scowl never left his face.

  “Do you like Latin dancing?” she asked.

  “It’s okay. I’m good, no?”

  “You’re good, yes,” she said. “Did you enjoy the engine room tour this morning?”

  “It was okay, I have background in engineering and have been on big ships in Russian navy, but I served in army.”

  Now we are getting somewhere. “Oh, how interesting. So how did the engine rooms compare?”

  “All engine rooms alike on board ships. They may be different vessels, but they all work the same.”

  Pulling teeth came to mind. “Really? One thing I did notice was just how enclosed the corridors seemed, all a bit too cramped down there for me – that crew member struggled to get past us. Did you notice?”

  “No, I didn’t notice, I was concentrating on where we were going.”

  Rachel wasn’t sure if he was lying, but she didn’t get the chance to continue the conversation as the music stopped. The instructor paused to show them some new moves.

  “Excuse me, I have to go and check how my woman is.” Asimov spoke abruptly, turned and left.

  Well I never! Rude man. Rachel moved away from the dance floor and went to join Thomas, who sat writing notes at a table to one side of the room.

  “Did you realise he had the personality of a squid when you asked me to partner him? No wonder his woman, as he calls her, has a headache!”

  Thomas laughed. “Sorry, Rachel, I didn’t. I’m only just getting to grips with each of them myself. Don’t you know who he is?”

  “No – should I?”

  “He’s the oligarch. He’s a billionaire and has a business empire spanning three continents, from what I can gather. I don’t think any of the others like him very much – they seem frightened of him – but, according to Nikolai, he has a lot of influence in Russia.”

  “Blow me down with a feather! He didn’t look like an oligarch – not that I have any idea what one should look like. But it doesn’t excuse his blatantly rude behaviour. I never did get his first name.”

  “Let me see, it should be on my list – Vladimir, although he only likes to be addressed as Mr Asimov. It says here in my notes.”

  “There’s a surprise – adds to his overinflated ego, I expect. There weren’t any bodyguards with him – they seemed to be with Boris. Is he the diplomat?”

  “Yes, and I find that strange, too. Those men follow Boris everywhere.”

  Rachel couldn’t work out why this bothered her, but it did. There’s something strange going on, but I’m at a loss to know what it is.

  “Would you like to salsa with me?” asked Thomas. “I’ve finished for the next half an hour.”

  “Yes please. I must admit I enjoyed the dance, just not the partner.”

  “Come on then, let’s hit the floor.”

  For the next thirty minutes, Rachel enjoyed herself. Thomas was fun to dance with, and his exaggerated salsa moves made her laugh – definitely an exhibitionist when he got going. It was not hard to imagine that with a less serious tour group, he would be a big hit. With his current group, she was sure he would have to curb his happy-go-lucky spirit somewhat.

  A noticeable change of atmosphere had occurred as soon as Vladimir Asimov left, resulting in a considerably lighter mood. The Russians let their hair down, joining in with an American party who were happily shimmying to the music, in spite of some of the men grinding rather than rotating their hips. As soon as the class ended, Thomas was surrounded by people asking what activities they had booked for the remainder of the evening.

  “It seems most of them have left their itineraries in their stater
ooms.” Thomas rolled his eyes at Rachel once the final member had left. “Thankfully I carry spares.”

  “They seem to be relaxing a little, though, different from this morning. Did you notice how slow the tail end of the group walked on the engineering tour?” She decided she would quiz Thomas as he didn’t seem to have anything to hide – apart from being gay.

  “Yes, I did. Boris got really uptight about it, but the chief engineer wouldn’t slow down.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting.”

  “And I overheard one of the Russians talking about your crewman. Apparently, he almost spoke to Boris, but the minders shoved him away and he scuttled off.”

  “Did Boris know him after all?”

  “Unlikely, otherwise his minders wouldn’t have been so aggressive. What slowed your end down anyway?”

  “Your Mr Asimov.” Her eyebrows hit the ceiling as she continued. “He decided to walk at a snail’s pace about ten minutes into the tour, but then picked up the pace after that crew member passed by, funnily enough.”

  “Do you think there’s a link? Is there something going on?”

  Rachel decided she had already said and learned enough, so ended the conversation.

  “I doubt it. I can’t imagine an oligarch or a diplomat having anything to do with a lowly engine room worker. Anyway, Thomas, thanks for the salsa class. I’ll see you around. Can’t believe we only boarded yesterday; it seems an age ago.”

  “It’s going to seem like an eternity for me by the end of this one.” He winked. “Still, I get well paid, and am hoping for a huge bonus if all goes well.”

  Rachel found the chief of security, Waverley, waiting outside her room when she got back.

  “Chief, how nice to meet you again. I do hope you haven’t found any more murderers on board since the last time I cruised.”

  Ignoring her quip, Waverley tightened his lips. “Miss Prince, it’s a pleasure. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” He lowered his voice. “It’s regarding your tour this morning.” He coughed. Rachel had noticed on the previous cruise he had a habit of coughing when he was nervous or had something sensitive to say.

  Rachel opened the door to her suite. “Please call me Rachel, and do come in. Would you like a tea or coffee?”

  He coughed again. “No thank you, Rachel. Sorry to intrude, but Nurse Bradshaw, erm, Sarah said that you had seen a member of the crew during your engine room tour this morning who matches the description of a man who has gone missing.”

  “He’s still missing then?”

  “Afraid so – we did stop engines for a while to scour the sea, but to be honest, there was never any likelihood of spotting him if he did go overboard. He’d been missing for some time by then. We’ve alerted other ships in the area, but I fear his fate is sealed if he cannot be found on board.”

  “Let’s hope that’s not the case. The man I noticed appeared frightened so might be hiding somewhere.”

  “Would you care to expand?”

  “Well, it was the way he scurried past with his head down. His eyes were bulging and darting here and there without looking at anyone. He spoke to one of the men in the tour party in Russian, but they could have been passing the time of day for all I know. I only caught a momentary glimpse when I turned the corner of one of the corridors down near the engine room. Their tour guide said the man tried to speak to the diplomat, Boris Stanislav, but was pushed back by his minders.”

  “This chance encounter can have little bearing on his going missing, but if he’s on board, we’ll find him. There has been another unfortunate development which Sarah will fill you in on later. I understand you are meeting her this evening.”

  “Yes, I am, but what is it?”

  “Sarah will tell you, but it must be kept completely confidential, and if I were you, I would stay out of the matter. You’re a passenger and a guest while on board this ship. Not an investigator.” A twinkle in his eye could have been interpreted as meaning the opposite. “Unless you want to take me up on that job offer?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Have a pleasant evening, Rachel.”

  Rachel was left gawping.

  Chapter 12

  Eager to find out what Sarah had to tell her, Rachel found time dragging, so decided to take in a show. Waverley had well and truly sucked her in, giving her half a story.

  I bet it was deliberate.

  He still wanted her to join his security team after having offered her a job last year and been disappointed by her refusal. A frown attached itself to her forehead, annoyed at Waverley for playing her.

  With the benefit of hindsight, she wondered if it might have been better to accept his offer. Following the stabbing in Leeds, and having suffered the fallout, she had regretted her decision to return to the police force, but reason told her it would have been career suicide to leave straight after qualifying. Every new police officer needed experience.

  Well, I certainly got that!

  She took a seat in the main theatre and ordered a cocktail, still frowning.

  The lively show provided a welcome distraction from the thoughts whirring round in her head, both past and present. The main act, a comedian, had the audience in stitches, and it felt good to laugh. She guffawed along with everyone else and, not for the first time, admired the unbelievable talent that had chosen to work on board this exemplary floating hotel.

  As the resident band and dance act finished the show, she saw Thomas sitting near the front of the stage along with around twenty of his party. Tweedledee was next to Thomas and Boris, with Tweedledum squeezed into a seat on the other side of Boris. Nikolai was there next to the man who had spoken to the crewman in the morning. Tall with silver-grey hair, a white beard and moustache, he wore silver-rimmed square glasses. Sitting to his right was the austere Vladimir Asimov. Next to Asimov was a woman with red hair tied up in a bun.

  That must be ‘his woman’. Rachel remembered how Asimov had referred to her. Deciding to move before they turned around and spotted her, Rachel headed out to make her way to the jazz bar to meet Sarah.

  A crowd of people had the same idea and slowed her progress by milling around outside the entrance. Women were dressed up for the night, wearing evening gowns, and the men wore dinner suits. Trying to negotiate her way through another crowd waiting outside the public conveniences, she heard Russian voices behind her so picked up the pace. There was no point spending any more time with the arrogant Mr Asimov.

  As she approached the jazz bar, she could hear ragtime music filtering out into the corridor, and when she entered, it was even more packed than it had been the previous night. Loud voices, raucous laughter along with saxophone music filled the air, and many of the passengers already looked worse for wear.

  Rachel spotted Sarah at the table where they had met the night before, and Sarah waved her over. There was another woman with her who Rachel assumed must be the new nurse, Lauren, and Bernard, who she recognised from the last cruise, was there too. They were impossible to miss in their pristine white officers’ uniforms, which Rachel knew was compulsory attire in public areas.

  Bernard let out a wolf-whistle as Rachel approached and stood to hug her.

  “Only you would do that in this day and age,” scolded Sarah.

  “What?” Bernard replied.

  Rachel hugged him. “It’s okay, Sarah, I’ll let him off this once.”

  Bernard looked rebuked and feigned offence.

  “It’s a good job Brigitte isn’t here otherwise he’d get one of her French lectures. I’m afraid feminism and political correctness haven’t caught up with our Bernard yet.”

  “Well I think he’s the perfect gentleman.” The woman with them spoke up in a solemn tone, fracturing the light banter and mood of the moment.

  “See?” said Bernard. “Someone appreciates me. This is Lauren, our new nurse. Lauren, this is Rachel, Sarah’s friend.”

  Rachel put her hand out in greeting. “Hello, Lauren.”

  Lauren shook Rachel’s hand,
but quickly let go as if it was contaminated. Odd girl.

  “What would you like to drink, Rachel?” asked Bernard. “I’m buying.”

  “Martini and lemonade – but I’ve got an all in drinks package so don’t pay for it. Here, take my card.”

  Bernard walked through the crowd to the bar, and Rachel sat down. She found conversation with Lauren stilted and unnatural. The woman was at least ten years older than Sarah and Rachel, and clearly didn’t want to be in their company, but she wouldn’t go away. Sarah looked apologetically at Rachel, who was persevering in her attempt to make polite conversation with the American nurse.

  “How are you finding life on board a cruise ship?”

  “Alright.”

  “Have you nursed on a ship before?”

  “No.”

  “Is it very different to working in hospitals?”

  “No.”

  She’s worse than Asimov!

  Rachel gave up. Lauren’s monosyllabic answers, along with the odd grunt, made her feel like she was interrogating a suspect who was taking the ‘no comment’ line. As soon as Bernard returned, however, Lauren’s eyes lit up. Rachel couldn’t help thinking this woman was immature at best, and odd at worst.

  “You are more radiantly beautiful than ever, Rachel. How can that be?” Bernard continued in his usual teasing and flirtatious vein that Rachel laughed off, knowing he was happily married, but Lauren was giving her daggers.

  “How’s your wife?” deflected Rachel. This did the trick. Bernard was a devoted family man who loved his wife and children in Manila. He was a faithful husband who had not strayed during his three years intermittently working on cruise ships.

  “She’s doing very well. I have a four-month break after this cruise and fly home to Manila before rejoining the ship in Australia in the New Year. Milo is five years old, Janet is three and Mikey has just had his first birthday.” Bernard took out his phone and waxed lyrical over the latest photos of his children sent by his wife. He had not seen his family in almost nine months, but sent most of his salary and tips home to support their keep. Nurse pay on board a cruise ship was good, Sarah said, and he earned far more than he could earn back home. This was one of the reasons that he, and many other members of crew from poorer countries, worked away from home.