Nameless

by Joe Conlan

  The penultimate day of the cruise began quite normally. Paul and Alyssa enjoyed breakfast on their cabin balcony. An ocean spray, the cloudless sky, and the fresh fragrance of the sea air were the perfect romantic setting for the beginning of their final full day of the vacation. Paul fed Alyssa a strawberry. One thing led to another and before they made it halfway through the meal, they ended up making love on the floor of the cabin beside the open sliding glass doors of the balcony. Afterwards, they made a bee-line to the Polynesian spa and spent the remainder of the day at the pool, perfecting their tans.

  Having plans to join their friends for drinks later that evening, they decided to have the last dinner on their own. Before the first course was served, Alyssa was on her third cocktail, counting the one she had in the cabin as they prepared for their evening meal. The drink tally didn’t include the two Manhattans she downed at the pool earlier in the afternoon. Paul knew his wife well. Based on numerous prior experiences, he figured the odds were great she would drink heavily that night, so he thought it best to limit his consumption of alcohol. By the time they joined their friends at the Seafarer’s lounge at 10:30pm, Alyssa was on her way to a major bender.

  Their friends weren’t in much better shape. Consequently, when the ship personnel and FBI agents interviewed them after Paul’s disappearance, they couldn’t contribute much helpful information. By two o’clock in the morning, Paul was the only member of the group capable of walking a straight line. He suggested to everyone that they retire to their respective cabins for the night and meet in the morning in the atrium to say their goodbyes. They wished each other goodnight and went their separate ways.

  Alyssa was so completely snockered that Paul had to assist her to their cabin. Since the halls were essentially deserted at that time of the morning, there were no witnesses who reported seeing them after they left the lounge. In fact, neither of them was seen until five hours later when deckhand, James Price, found Alyssa passed out on a lounge chair at poolside. There was blood in her hair and on the right sleeve of her blouse. James attempted to arouse her several times without success. Following ship protocol, he immediately called security on his portable phone.

  Chief of Security, Landon Jenkins, arrived at the scene within minutes, accompanied by the ship physician, Dr. Frank Gunther, who did a precursory examination of her body, finding no obvious anomaly. As he was calling for a stretcher, Alyssa began to stir. When she was awake enough to speak, the doctor asked her several questions about her condition. Based on her responses, he concluded that she hadn’t suffered physical injury. She had no memory beyond leaving the Seafarer’s Lounge earlier that morning and couldn’t explain the presence of the blood. Worried for her husband, Alyssa asked the doctor and Chief of Security to escort her to her cabin. There was no reasonable explanation she could fathom for why her husband would have abandoned her at the pool, alone and unconscious.

  The cabin was on the same level as the pool. In less than five minutes, the group had arrived at its door. Alyssa unlocked it with her key card, allowing Chief Jenkins to enter first and then Dr. Gunther. She followed closely behind. There was a bathroom and closet area to the immediate left. The bathroom door was ajar. Chief Jenkins poked his head inside and found no one and nothing unusual or out of place. Beyond the closet, two twin beds were set side by side to create one queen-size. It appeared as if no one had slept in it that night, although the bedspread was somewhat ruffled. On the far side of the bed, there was a night stand and desk, and then sliding glass doors leading to the balcony. As Chief Jenkins proceeded through the room toward the balcony, he noticed the carpet in front of the desk was soaked through with a dark red, liquid substance. He held his hand up to stop Dr. Gunther and Alyssa from moving forward. The coppery odor that had just assaulted his sense of smell instantly convinced him it was blood. The sliding glass doors were open and a blood trail lead from the carpet to the edge of the balcony. From where he stood, he could see four bloody footprints on the blue rubberized carpet of the balcony, advancing from the cabin to the rail’s edge. His first instinct was to order Dr. Gunther to remove Alyssa from the room and secure a crime scene. Alyssa refused to leave the cabin and demanded an explanation. The doctor placed an arm around her waist to assist her out the door, but she released herself from his grip, ran to the other side of the bed and caught sight of the gory spectacle. She promptly passed out in a heap into Chief Jenkins’ arms.

  Dr. Gunther would need that stretcher after all. He called his medical staff and Alyssa was transported to the infirmary. By that time, the hallway had drawn a crowd of onlookers. Chief Jenkins called his people for back-up and announced to those gathered that the area was being evacuated. The curious spectators reluctantly dispersed, while Jenkins closed the door to the cabin and placed two strips of quarantine tape across the threshold, diagonally from top to bottom to form an X.

  Since they were currently in United States’ waters, the FBI would have jurisdiction over any potential capital crimes committed onboard the vessel. Before he made a single report to a governmental agency, pursuant to company protocol, he’d conduct a thorough search for Paul Anderson and call Annie Bryan at headquarters.

  Annie finally arrived at the office just five minutes before her scheduled meeting with Agent Leland. Paul Anderson’s parents were making a lot of noise and on the edge of accusing King of failure to provide proper security. This incident had to be put to rest and classified as a tragic accident over which the ship’s staff had no control. Her argument to Leland needed to be convincing.

  Knowledge of the file wasn’t the problem. Annie had read it more times than she cared to remember and knew exactly how she would structure her presentation. She had assigned her best security personnel to investigate the Anderson incident and neither they nor the FBI could come to any reasonably solid conclusions as to what took place the night Paul Anderson disappeared. There were several alternative theories, none of which could be substantiated by hard evidence. Unfortunately for the investigation, but perhaps best for the cruise line, the body was never recovered, meaning no autopsy results were available.

  Entering her building, Annie was able to catch an elevator at the normally busy 110 Tower with relative ease. She took it to the 17th floor, where her office was located. As she passed her secretary’s desk, Rachel notified Annie that Special Agent Leland was already waiting for her in the 15th floor reception area. Annie instructed Rachel to have Leland escorted to the conference room, where she would meet him in five minutes. She hurried into her office and checked herself quickly in her private restroom mirror to make sure everything was in place. She was an impeccable dresser. This morning, she was wearing a Cavalli tuxedo-inspired black pant suit with Prada black patent leather pumps. She was stunningly beautiful and the suit accentuated the curves of her tightly muscled body in a very tasteful way. Satisfied with her appearance, she returned to her office, grabbed the Anderson file from her custom-made Huntington exotic wood desk, and headed straight to the conference room.

  When Annie opened the double doors, Agent Leland was staring out the wall of windows on the far side of the rectangular-shaped room, with his back to her. His broad shoulders covering the width of one of the large glass panes and his short stature gave him a Boris Badenov look. The only items missing were a pencil-thin moustache, a fedora and a tall, slender sidekick named Natasha. Leland was in his late forties, yet his full head of hair was devoid of gray. Annie was pretty sure he dyed it. She was of the opinion that the man suffered from a Napoleon complex. His ego was twice the size he was and he paid great attention to his appearance. For a man, he was a good dresser and rarely did one find a hair on his head out of place. The sound of the doors opening alerted him to Annie’s presence.

  “Good morning, Ms. Bryan. It’s good to see you again.” They shook hands. Leland was always surprised by the strength of her grip. He could tell she was in excellent shape and most likely exercised regularly. Still, she couldn’t be more than 5’5”
and one-hundred ten pounds soaking wet. He fantasized about what a tiger she would be in bed. With Annie, that could be a mistake, especially if she had something that he wanted.

  Though Annie had every intention of taking advantage of this meeting to pursue her company’s agenda, it was Leland who requested they get together. “Good morning Agent Leland, have a seat. How can I help you?” Annie sat in the chair at the head of the table and motioned for Leland to take the seat to her right.

  “I was wondering if your investigative team has come up with anything new. I have to tell you, I’m not comfortable closing this case. I was also hoping I could get a copy of your file.”

  Annie had to be careful about the way she responded to Leland’s request. As a matter of official Bureau procedure, it was the investigating agent’s ultimate decision to close a homicide investigation when there was a lack of evidence to prove a crime was committed. She didn’t want to risk pissing Leland off by refusing to turn over King’s file. He was enough of an egomaniacal ass to let such a thing affect his judgment. On the other hand, there was no way she was going to allow him access to private corporate records. She hoped the firm but pleasant approach might help. She wanted to maintain a good relationship with Leland since she had a feeling he was going places at the FBI. Annie had many connections in the political world, including the Director of the FBI himself. She had already attempted to apply some pressure on the powers that be within the Bureau to wind up the Anderson case. The easiest and most convenient way to get what she wanted was to just persuade Leland to drop the investigation.

  “Agent Leland, if I could I would hand over everything we have, but my hands are tied. I’m sure you know our corporate file is protected by the work product privilege. I’d be unemployed if I gave it to you but I will answer any questions you might have. As far as updates, we have nothing new. We’ve concluded this was a tragic accident and I think we’ve provided your office with a summary of our report.”

  “You’re an intelligent woman, Ms. Bryan. There’s no way in hell you can convince me you’re completely at peace with the accident theory. The amount of blood in that cabin was consistent with an injury to the jugular vein or carotid artery. It’s a humungous stretch to believe he accidentally slit his throat. It’s ridiculous, actually. And there’s no way it’s just a coincidence that the surveillance tapes on the ship malfunctioned right at the time we believe the incident happened.”

  “What I believe or am at peace with is irrelevant. I’m sticking with the law and the facts. And neither one is on your side if you’re trying to prove Paul Anderson was murdered.” Annie decided it was time to apply some of the skills she’d learned in law school to bring her argument home. This was when two years on Harvard Law School’s moot court came in handy. Cite the facts and apply them to the law, employing a clear and concise line of reasoning. Taking advantage of the sentiments of the victim’s family could also be useful.

  She continued. “Both your experts and ours agree it was entirely possible the amount of blood was also consistent with an injury to the radial or ulnar artery of the arm. We know Mr. Anderson and his party were drinking heavily that evening. There’s strong evidence he was using a pair of scissors to cut one of our coupons from the “Diamond Daily” when the accident occurred. His blood was found on the scissors and the coupon, which was partially cut. We know Mr. Anderson fell based on the analysis of our forensic experts. It just takes common sense to come up with the rest. In his inebriated state, he fell on those scissors and lacerated either the radial or ulnar artery at the inside of the elbow.”

  Annie wasn’t citing any facts Leland didn’t already know. She was hoping that hammering on the weaknesses of the case one after another would have its desired effect. There was no question she had his full attention. She could almost detect a defeated look in his eyes. It was time to close. “The bloody footprints on the balcony were Mr. Anderson’s. Considering the major blood loss and the effects of the alcohol, he had to be delirious. He staggered onto the balcony, lost his balance, and fell over the railing. We haven’t found any suspicious fingerprints in his cabin, nor have we identified any particular motive why anyone would want to murder him. As far as the surveillance tapes, the security officer manning the control room admitted it was possible he accidentally shut the recorder off. The FBI and the King team conducted an exhaustive investigation. These were some of the most talented forensics experts in the world. Regardless of how you or I feel, it’s time to put this case to rest. The family deserves closure.”

  “I don’t agree. I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling we’re missing something. We know Mr. Anderson wasn’t much of a drinker. Records from the ship and witness statements confirm that every other day of the cruise he was the only one in his group who controlled his alcohol intake. Unfortunately, we have no idea how much he drank on the night he disappeared, since his wife and friends were all too wasted to remember. And we’re still missing a statement from one of the crew members of the Diamond who seems to have conveniently disappeared. Have you been able to locate him?”

  “I get what you’re saying, Agent Leland, but that doesn’t make a case for murder. No, we haven’t found Damien Drysdale, but crew members disappear every day. He’s not a United States citizen, so the chances of finding him decrease significantly. We gave you his HR file. You guys have much better resources for finding him. In the end, I don’t think it matters. We can’t legally prove a crime was committed.”

  Leland wasn’t about to give up on getting the corporate file that easily. His gut was telling him there was foul play. He knew the cruise line conducted extensive interviews with all employees on the ship. He had done the same, but sometimes employees were more willing to give up information to their employer than a law enforcement agent investigating a murder. He said, “I’d still like to get a hold of that file. You never know. It could help both of us. If you guys are so sure this was an accident, maybe there’ll be something in there that’ll convince me to close the case.”

  “I’m sorry Agent Leland, but there’s no way I can release the file. Again, I’m willing to answer any questions you have and produce any witnesses we have control over. Beyond that, I can’t help you.”

  “I would’ve hoped for a little bit more cooperation from you people. We’re talking about a devastated young widow and a mother and father who lost their only son. I think they deserve justice.”

  “I don’t disagree with you. But both our organizations have been over this with a fine tooth comb. There comes a time when you have to realize the evidence isn’t there to prove your case in a court of law. What the family really needs is to be able to move on. If you keep this file open, it’ll just prevent them from being able to work through their grief.”

  “I see I’m getting nowhere here. I have to say I’m disappointed. I’m on the fence about this. I’m gonna take my time. When we make a decision, I’ll have the squad secretary contact you.”

  Annie didn’t believe him for a second. She had a special knack for reading body language. She was fairly certain he was just being stubborn and had every intention of closing the case sometime in the near future. Out of spite, he could delay it a week or two. That was all fine and good. In the end, her company would be satisfied with the result. Besides, she knew the people above him would be pushing for a quick resolution. She thought it best to change the subject at that point. “By the way, how’s Daniel Falcone? It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to him. I’m sure I told you we went to college together.”

  “Daniel is actually doing great. Just yesterday he was promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the North Miami office.”

  The jealousy in Leland’s voice was palpable. Evidently, she’d chosen the wrong subject. She’d leave that one alone. “I hope Special Agent in Charge Suarez is ok?”

  “He’s doing fine. From what I understand, he’s cancer-free. He decided to spend more time with the family.”

  “Well good for him. Give him my
regards, if you will.”

  “I’ll do that. Since there’s nothing else I can do here, I should be on my way.”

  Leland rejected Annie’s offer to walk him to the elevators and made his way out of the office.

  During his return trip to North Miami, Leland couldn’t stop rehashing thoughts of his most recent conversations with Alyssa Anderson. He’d deliberately left out the content of those talks at the meeting. It made no sense to him that Alyssa was found at poolside with bloodstains in her hair and on her clothes. It would follow that she was in the cabin when her husband was injured. The cruise line’s theory purported that Paul was cut by the scissors then Alyssa, in her drunken stupor, went to get help, got lost and never made it to the purser’s desk. That argument didn’t compute. Common sense told Leland that Alyssa’s first instinct would have been to pick up the phone to call for assistance. Yet, he had to admit to himself that drunk people didn’t exercise the best of judgment and perhaps initially neither she nor Paul were aware of the gravity of the injury.

  Alyssa had related to him a recurring nightmare she was having several times a night. She dreamed she was being carried through the hallways of the ship by a man dressed in a King Cruise Line uniform. Robert asked her if she had any conscious recollection of such an event. Alyssa was forced to confess she still had no memory of anything that happened that evening, past their time at the Seafarer’s Lounge. Without invitation, the words of Annie Bryan invaded his contemplation as if responding to the dream. But that didn’t make a case for murder.

  As soon as she sat down behind her desk, Annie picked up the phone and dialed Daniel’s cellular number. He answered on the second ring.

  “Annie Bryan. To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I think you know exactly why I’m calling. You’re not a Special Agent in Charge of a major FBI field office for nothing. Congratulations, Daniel. I have to say, I’m not surprised.”