by Joe Conlan
That happened at around two o’clock in the morning on an overcast and rainy night.
Setting out on his endeavor, he wasn’t concerned he would be identified by any surveillance video. He had studied the ship’s placement of cameras and become adept at avoiding them. With no moon to provide natural light, the sea and the pitch black sky in the distance couldn’t be differentiated. In certain areas of the ship, where human traffic was sparse at that hour, the shadows cast by the cruise liners own lighting created some eerily dark spaces. One of those places was the children’s playground located at the bow on Deck 16, where teenagers up to no good had a tendency to gather. That night, he waited at the playground on the port side of the ship in a corner hidden by silhouettes created by the playground equipment. At the time he arrived, there was no activity, a situation he had been waiting on for several nights. When she walked through the automatic glass doors onto the playground alone, stumbling and staggering from too much to drink, the stir in his loins told him it was time to act.
Disappointed to find the boy she hoped would be there was not, she made her way to the port side of the ship to gain access to the walkway which led toward the stern and Jacuzzi. As she passed into the dark area, he grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her to the deck. In the shadows of the playground, he sat on top of her chest, placed his hands firmly around her neck and began to squeeze in a downward motion. The gesture completely cut off her air supply preventing her from screaming or calling for help. He applied all of his weight and formidable strength against her throat. The increased pressure he exerted allowed him to feel the blood coursing through her carotid artery, until the flow was ultimately completely obstructed. Initially, the pulse was strong and it gave him an erection. As it weakened, so did his sexual response. Disappointed about his inability to climax, he dragged her to an area of the ship where he knew there were no surveillance cameras and tossed her over the side. Her body quickly disappeared into the warm, dark water of the Caribbean Sea.
On subsequent cruises, he murdered an eighteen-year-old American and a nineteen- year-old Brazilian girl in similar fashion. Each time, when he returned to his cabin to masturbate, he failed to reach orgasm. It soon became obvious to him it wasn’t easy prey he was after. In order to receive complete sexual satisfaction from the kill, there had to be blood. To feel intellectually fulfilled, he needed a challenge. The time had come to progress to a new phase of killing. His job as a security officer qualified him to leave the ship on most port days. During the winter months, the Diamond sailed the Caribbean. From mid-May to early September, it repositioned to Europe and sailed the Mediterranean. It was the perfect chance to become an international murderer.
Getting a job required a name. He chose Damien Drysdale for his employment with King Cruise Line. Having changed his name on countless occasions, he was an expert at obtaining falsified identification. He had fourteen fake passports with corresponding driver's licenses, seven of which bestowed him with American citizenship; the balance from several different foreign countries. He prided himself as a master of accents, English being one of his favorites. In his estimation, it gave one an air of sophistication. The name he chose for himself when not conducting official business was Shem Chassar. He believed Israel was the epicenter and origin of the most prevalent religions in the world, where good and evil was born, and therefore its language would provide him with his identity. He elected to embrace his mother’s failure to recognize him as a human being rather than allow it to defile him. It’s translation, “without a name.”
Shem Chassar would not leave the ship on one of his deadly shore excursions unless he was sure to have a twelve hour window before the Diamond was scheduled to leave a particular harbor city. At most major ports, the ship remained docked long enough to allow passengers to spend the entire day and evening visiting its tourist attractions and enjoying its night life. Extended port stays were also typical when the city of interest was a significant distance from the port. There was no lack of opportunity to get the job done.
Planning and executing a kill in a foreign country was much more gratifying than the murders he committed on the ship. It gave him the freedom to kill in a manner he chose, not to mention, it actually required some thought. He calculated he could travel up to five-hundred miles roundtrip and return to the ship with time to spare. Approximately five months before he slit Paul Anderson’s throat and threw him overboard, the Diamond was moored in Venice, Italy. It arrived at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning and wasn’t scheduled to set sail until five o’clock the following evening. Just after his shift ended that Saturday afternoon, he rented a Fiat Grande Punto van from Venezia Autonoleggio and set off on the 215 kilometer trip to Innsbruck, Austria. Before hopping on the autostrada, he stopped at a department store to purchase some necessary provisions for his trip. Two and a half hours later, he lured Christina Becker from an Innsbruck brothel then raped and murdered her by decapitation. He sliced through his victim’s neck with a razor sharp butcher’s knife, achieving orgasm as her blood spewed with great force on his face and neck. Hearing the crack of the vertebrae as he severed the spine with a hammer and chisel was music to his ears. For good measure, he sliced off both her nipples and stuffed them in the mouth of her detached head. He was back onboard the Diamond before midnight.
Chassar would add to his body count in Karpenisi, Greece, Karabuk, Turkey, Frosinone, Italy and Aix-en-Provence, France before the Anderson murder. His shore excursion homicides were a step above his previous killings. Still, they weren’t the challenge to his genius he had hoped. Up to that point, all his victims were women. It was time to change things up. He wanted to try something riskier, a mystery that would keep the authorities on their toes. To create such a scenario, he would have to be sure to involve the FBI and truly baffle the company’s supposed cracker-jack investigative team.
The hand of fate can sometimes flex its dexterous fingers to deposit its chosen subject in a given place at a specific time changing the course of his or her life forever. At times, fate’s tricks are very generous. It can also be the diametric opposite. Such was the case for Paul Anderson on the second evening of his Caribbean cruise. Shem Chassar was on the surveillance monitors that evening. He decided to allow his next victim to seal his own fate. Camera 127 was trained on the entrance to the gym located on Deck 14 aft. The security guard fixed his gaze on the screen of the monitor reflecting that scene. The next man who walked into the gym would die before the end of the cruise.
The security guard followed his chosen victim and the woman accompanying him to their cabin the first day he was off duty. He wanted their cabin number so he could look up their information on the Diamond’s computer data base. Sound preparation was essential. Any information he could gather about the Andersons could be helpful in planning a successful murder. The Diamond kept a virtual file on each of its passengers, with information that could assist them to lure customers back for future cruises. It was in this file where Shem Chassar found what he needed. Three days into the cruise, Paul Anderson and his wife visited the purser’s desk to inquire about prices for Mediterranean cruises. It was noted in the file by the Assistant Purser who fielded their questions that he recommended some great coupon offers coming out in the Diamond Daily on the last night of the cruise.
While the Andersons were off on a shore excursion the following day, Chassar thoroughly searched their cabin. There was no chance he would be seen on any of the ship’s surveillance cameras because he conducted the search while he was on monitor duty. He simply shut the monitors off and locked the door behind him. It wasn’t unusual for the monitors to be left unmanned for short periods of time. A cruise ship wasn’t exactly breeding grounds for high crime. Leaving the surveillance center for something to eat or drink was typical. In the Anderson’s bathroom, he found a pair of scissors in an overnight toiletry bag. When he returned to the surveillance center, he found it as he had left it. His mission was a success. He had located his murde
r weapon.
In order for the FBI to have jurisdiction over the crime he planned to commit, it would have to be done while the ship was bound for a U.S. port. The only opportunity to meet that condition would occur on the last day of the cruise. The night before the final sea day, while Shem was staking out the Andersons and their friends at the piano bar, he overheard their plans for their end of vacation celebration. His shift at the surveillance monitors would end just before their scheduled meeting. He would be waiting for them in the Seafarer’s Lounge.
The lounge was designed in the shape of a half-moon, with an entrance that gave direct access to the Promenade deck. On the far side of the bar, there was a Filipino band performing fifties music. Shem chose a seat at a table near the entrance so that he had a view of the entire lounge and the people approaching from both ends of the promenade. He was wearing a baseball cap with its brim pulled low over his forehead and eyes. He didn’t like large crowds- they made him tense. Avoiding attracting attention helped him relax. The feeling of being inconspicuous was his comfort zone. It would be better if he could just focus his thoughts on the matter at hand. The notion that he was planning to brutally murder a human being in cold blood usually had the calming effect he was seeking.
He timed his arrival so he didn’t have to waste much time before the Andersons’ scheduled meeting. Within minutes, he saw them approaching from the bow of the ship. Their friends came stumbling into the lounge as the Andersons were choosing a table halfway between the entrance and the stage. It was obvious the entire group, except for Paul Anderson, had been drinking heavily. Paul seemed to be the only member of the party in control of his faculties. That was fine by Shem. Anderson would be more aware of what was about to happen to him.
The drinking continued throughout the evening and into the early morning hours. By 1:30am, it appeared to Shem that the festivities were winding down. Everyone in the party, save Paul, was in danger of passing out at their table if they didn’t return to their cabins in the very near future. Anticipating their departure was imminent, Shem purchased two sodas from the bar and headed to the monitor control room.
Before entering the surveillance center, he ducked into the crew quarters section of the ship in an area where he knew there were no cameras. On one of his more recent shore excursions, he had purchased the liquid tranquilizer, Restalex. He poured an exact dose into one of the colas, having previously tested the drug on himself on his day off. It took five minutes to render him unconscious for a period of one hour and twenty minutes, more than a sufficient amount of time for what he had in mind.
Chassar entered the control room and as expected, his colleague, Ken O’Brien was seated at the desk in front of the monitors. In preparation for this evening, so that his gesture wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary, Shem had stopped by the office twice that week during his co-worker’s shift with two Cokes in hand. O’Brien was addicted to the beverage, and known to drink at least a twelve pack a day. Shem expected his effort would be interpreted as a proffer of friendship. O’Brien wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. His ploy had worked, perhaps too well. Over the past few days, O’Brien had become a little bit too chummy for Shem’s liking.
Shem offered his colleague the drugged soda which O’Brien accepted gratefully. O’Brien invited him to sit and chat a while, but Shem made his excuses, graciously declined and left the room. He returned five minutes later to find O’Brien slumped over his desk. Being of similar height and weight, Shem figured the unconscious man would be that way for a while. Glancing at the monitors, he saw Paul Anderson was just leaving the lounge. The wife could barely stand on her feet. Just before he left the control room, he planted a virus in the surveillance system computer that would stop the recording of the cameras for the remainder of the shift.
On every cruise ship, there is a crew area with restricted admittance to paying passengers. Employees of the cruise line had their own elevators, staircases, and hallways where they could access each deck without having to walk through territory reserved for passengers. The control room was located on Deck 5. The Andersons were staying on Deck 14. Shem entered the crew area at Deck 5 and slipped into the elevator. Five minutes later, he was peering out of one of the circular windows of the double doors that led to a passenger hallway on the Lido Deck. The Anderson cabin was across the hall and approximately thirty feet to the left, clearly within his field of view when standing in the right position. Seeing no one, he stepped away from the doors and stood in the corner to wait.
For him, the anticipation of the moments before the kill was one of the best parts of the experience. It invariably caused him to have an erection. Beneath his uniform, he was wearing a full body rubber suit with a buttoned fly. To pass the time until the Andersons arrived, he unzipped his pants, unbuttoned the fly and began to stroke his penis. He wouldn’t allow himself to climax, however. That would be saved for when he felt his victim’s warm blood against his naked skin.
As soon as he was through pleasuring himself, he removed his outer clothing and placed them in a neat pile on the floor. In his jacket pocket, he had a rubber mask with holes for his eyes, nose and mouth, and a pair of rubber gloves. After donning the mask and slipping his fingers into the rubber gloves, he heard the bell signaling the approach of a passenger elevator. Several seconds later, he peeked out the circular window and saw Paul Anderson practically dragging his wife down the corridor. When they finally made it to their cabin, Anderson propped her against the wall, holding her up with one hand and unlocking the door with the other. He then picked her up and carried her into the room.
With the Andersons safely behind their closed door, Shem looked through the circular window directing his gaze to either side of the hallway as far as his vantage point would allow. It appeared to be vacant. He picked up his clothing, exited the crew area through the double doors and walked the short distance to their cabin. Due to the late hour, he was fairly certain he wouldn’t run into any passengers or crew members though he never let down his guard. He placed his ear up against the door and heard the sounds of someone rummaging about the room, assuming it was the husband. Approximately five minutes elapsed before the lights of the cabin were extinguished. Shem expected the wife would pass out immediately. He went back to his corner on the crew area side of the double doors and waited an additional fifteen minutes for the husband to fall asleep. When the time expired, he returned to the cabin and placed his master key in the lock.
From the days he lived with his noise-hating mother, Shem had learned to be very light on his feet. Without making a sound, he entered the room and immediately turned left into the space between the closet and the bathroom. The sliding glass doors were partially open and the roar of the ocean drowned out the creaking of the bathroom door as Shem opened it. He stepped up into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The toiletry bag was hanging on a hook on the back of the door. He reached into the compartment where he had previously found the scissors, removed them then placed his clothing on top of the toilet seat.
With his murder weapon in hand, he proceeded into the bedroom, where he took note that Paul Anderson was sleeping on the side of the bed nearest the balcony. The wife was lying on her back, snoring thunderously at his side. Shem silently crept to Paul’s side of the bed and stood over him, watching the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest as he drew in his last breaths. In one swift, sudden motion, he shoved Anderson facedown onto the floor. Dazed and disoriented, Paul looked back to see the tall, muscle-bound man in a black rubber body suit standing over him with a pair of scissors raised high over his head. In the split second before Chassar jumped on his back, his mind had not yet registered that he was in grave danger. With no time to react in self-defense, he was helpless to avoid the stab of the sharp point of the scissors. It penetrated through his Adam’s apple and into the carotid artery. Shem then savagely dragged the scissors through flesh, tearing across the throat to puncture the jugular vein. Paul’s entire body convulsed, reacting
to the searing heat where the scissors ripped through muscle and tendons. It felt as though his neck were being shredded by a white hot poker. He tried to scream. Instead, he exhaled a barely audible squeak no louder than a whimper. The scissors had punctured through the neck deeply enough to sever his vocal chords. Warm, thick blood gushed from the open wound. The blood loss was quick and unrelenting. Within seconds, Paul lost all strength and power to fight for his life. As he faded into oblivion, his blood saturated his assailant’s hands.
The orgasm that sent spasms through Shem’s upper torso made his head spin. Through a cloud of disoriented ecstasy, he could hear his victim making a bizarre gurgling sound. As he recovered from the intense climax and the blood flow slowed, Shem pulled Anderson’s head up by the hair to allow the crimson fountain to spew more freely. Meanwhile, the wife continued to sleep soundly without the least bit of a stir. Shem rolled the body on its side so that a pool could collect and absorb into the carpet. Satisfied with the large puddle that had accumulated, he wiped the scissors clean of any fingerprints with a bathroom towel. He placed them carefully in Anderson’s hand, making sure to apply pressure on the circled grips and the upper parts of the blade with the tips of the corpse’s fingers. Then, setting the scissors aside, he picked up the body as if it were the weight of an infant, carried it to the balcony and tossed it over the railing. Before it crashed into the water, he had already turned to reenter the room. He would have watched but time was short.
