Fold and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 8)

by Stella Whitelaw

  ‘I suffer from insomnia,’ he said, as if that explained everything. ‘I can’t sleep for more than three or four hours at night. Don’t ask me why.’

  Although he was still wearing a blazer and crumpled shirt, Bill looked different. He had his policeman’s face on and it was one that I had to trust. He ordered me a brandy (had he been in touch with James?) and ginger ale. It fired through my veins, instantly warming me. I needed a friend. The good doctor had deserted me, for reasons of his own.

  I told him everything that I could remember about Joanna Carter and her employment of me, except that I still didn’t want to say for how much. I did add that I was being ejected from my bedsits in Latching and needed the money for a deposit on a new home. That was enough. He asked me a lot about First Class Investigations, variety of cases, my rate of solving cases and seemed impressed.

  ‘You are obviously a good detective but you have your moments.’

  ‘My lapses.’

  ‘Apart from your lapses, what have you discovered on board?’

  I went into great detail, the key, the pills, the grape seeds. The odd feeling that I had going into the stateroom. Those times that I thought someone else had been in there. Suddenly I knew why that was.

  ‘Sometimes it smells as if someone has been smoking. Joanna doesn’t smoke. Ali wouldn’t dare. And Suna doesn’t seem to exist. I don’t smoke. Gave it up when I was eleven. I was caught smoking at a bus stop in my school uniform.’

  ‘So you think you’ve smelt cigarette smoke? And you have been through all the CCTV films?’

  ‘Yes, but I am not an expert. I could have missed something. I have spotted a sort of invisible man who keeps turning up. Do you think you could have a look? The professional eye?’

  ‘Sure. And this security officer, Geoff Berry. I gather you don’t think too much of him?’

  I stifled a groan. ‘He is a number one prat in my estimation. He let a rapist go scot-free due to slovenly paperwork and I reported it. He got transferred but I got the push.’

  Bill looked sympathetic for almost all of ten seconds. ‘That is the nature of police work. Never report someone senior to yourself.’

  I noticed he was drinking a coke. Perhaps he only drank whisky when he was bored and now he wasn’t bored. He had a case to solve. We had a case to solve. I wasn’t going to give it all over to him.

  Bill was as good as his word. He escorted me back to A708 and came in with me, to make sure that both staterooms were unoccupied. Joanna’s empty bed had been made by the ever vigilant Ali, and mine had been turned down. There was a wrapped chocolate on the pillow. Just what I wanted. Sweet Dreams, it said on the silver wrapper.

  ‘I can’t smell any cigarette smoke,’ he said.

  ‘Nor can I. Perhaps Ali opened the balcony door.’

  ‘Lock the door after me,’ said Bill. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. This is my cabin number. Phone if you need me.’

  He wrote it down on a pad beside the bed. It was Cl04, a couple of decks below. Not quite so posh.

  ‘Goodnight, Bill, and thank you.’ I didn’t tell him that I was terrified. So much had happened. All that blood on Joanna’s bathrobe.

  ‘Goodnight, Jordan.’

  It was still daylight outside so I drew all the curtains, wondering if I would ever get to sleep, wondering if Bill would go back to the Bridge Bar. I made sure both doors to the corridor were securely fastened. It was warm inside so I changed into my sleeping nightshirt, the one with the smiling teddy bear on the front. I thought it was funny when I bought it.

  Then the phone rang. I thought it might be Bill, checking if I was all right.

  ‘Hello?’ I said.

  ‘Max Russell. Sorry to ring so late, but I thought you ought to know. I’ve checked the blood group on the bathrobe we fished out of the sea and it’s the same as Joanna Carter’s. And there are two big rents in the front of the robe which could have been made by a knife or scissors.’

  I’d been warm moments ago but now I went quite cold. ‘What does that mean?’ I asked in a small voice I didn’t recognize. Jordan Lacey had shrunk.

  ‘I think it means that she was stabbed before she was thrown into the sea.’

  FOURTEEN

  Tromso

  I was still awake as the ship entered some stretch of sea called an unpronounceable Fugloysundet and began the approach to Tromso. Don’t ask me how I knew. If you do ask, then I’ll say Hamish told me on one of his morning runs.

  I spent half of what was left of the night thinking about James’s email. Go back to the beginning, he’d said. The clues were in that first interview. I tried to believe him. What could Joanna have possibly said that would shed any light on what had happened since?

  And now she was possibly at the bottom of some deep sea or fjord. It was an alarming thought.

  Now I had two staterooms all to myself. The space was larger than my two bedsits in Latching and I didn’t have to cook or wash up or clean. And there were two bathrooms. I could take my choice. I was trying not to be frivolous about the situation but I couldn’t stop my scatterbrain from gaining points.

  I must have fallen into some sort of sleep eventually and woke very late, the duvet on the floor, my nightshirt round my waist. Almost too late for breakfast. I made some tea, showered and scrambled into warm clothes. The snow on the distant mountains round Tromso, called the Paris of the North by enthusiasts, reminded me that it was still barely above freezing. It looked a large, prosperous town. It had a university and an institute studying the aurora borealis, whatever that was when you are at home. Northern Lights, for those who can’t pronounce it.

  It is some sort of high altitude luminosity that occurs lots of degrees north of the equator. Bright lights in the sky flashing about. An endless Guy Fawkes night without explosions, damp bonfires and petrified animals.

  Phoebe Brown was still in the cupboard and she would have to stay there for the time being. I could hardly enlist Bill’s help and deceive him at the same time and I hadn’t done my homework on her character. She had to have some history. I wondered if Bill knew what Dr Russell had told me. Surely this was not a murder enquiry now?

  I felt too sick to eat but I needed some food to exist. I took a tray in the lido cafe and put three slices of melon on a plate. Nothing else appealed to me. There were trays and trays of hot and cold food on display, fried everything and toast, rolls, croissants, Danish pastries, cheese, cold meats, yogurts, and I couldn’t face any of them.

  ‘That’s not enough for a growing girl,’ said Hamish, using the tongs and adding a slice of pineapple to my plate. ‘Can’t have you fainting on deck.’

  ‘Have you heard?’

  He nodded solemnly. ‘I have. It’s not good news. Sorry, Jordan, and all that. Are you very upset?’ He added a yogurt to my tray like a doting dad. Strawberry flavour. I bet it had never seen a strawberry.

  ‘In a way. I was responsible for her safety and somehow this has happened. Two dreadful accidents and one of them fatal. She’d probably sue me for negligence if she was alive. I know that sounds flippant, but that’s the sort of person she was.’

  ‘Remember that fuss at the captain’s cocktail party when she lost her diamond necklace? Did she ever find it?’

  ‘Yes, it was found in a towel bin on deck. I’d forgotten all about that. She said nothing more about her diamonds so it must be somewhere in the stateroom. Still in the safe perhaps.’

  ‘Do you know the code she used for her safe?’

  ‘No. She never told me. Why should she? She had no reason to. I know my code but then there’s very little in my safe. Passport and some UK currency for tips.’

  ‘I’m not sure of the protocol about opening safes belonging to a person who has disappeared or is presumed drowned. I expect the purser has some master code which opens them all. Passengers often lose their keys.’

  ‘Nothing is safe,’ I said, not realizing it sounded a pathetic joke.

  ‘It’s too cold to sit outside
. Ah, there’s a couple just leaving. Let’s grab their table.’ He wove an expert path towards the couple gathering their belongings.

  ‘I thought it was always passengers first.’

  ‘You’re a passenger aren’t you? You grab it.’

  Hamish had a healthy breakfast on his tray. Hot porridge, scrambled eggs, toast and marmalade and a large coffee. Very Scottish.

  ‘Where’s your home?’ I asked. ‘Somewhere in the Highlands?’

  ‘Even further north. I was born in Aberdeen, took to the sea as soon as I was old enough, and have been sailing ever since. I’ve done it all. The Navy, merchant navy and now cruise ships.’

  ‘You’ll be a captain one day with your own ship,’ I prophesied, chasing a melon slice round the plate. Melon is sweet to eat but it does not exactly have an exciting aroma. ‘You’ll be the youngest captain of the line.’

  ‘I’ll make sure you get invited to all my parties,’ he said. ‘And you’ll be placed on the captain’s table for dinner. My favourite guest.’

  ‘I doubt if I’ll overcome on another cruise,’ I said, glumly. ‘I’m a working girl. It’s not my style. Oh yes, it is marvellous and fun and very luxurious, but every penny I earn will have to go on my new home.’

  I told Hamish about my landlord’s ultimatum and my urgent need for new accommodation, and that it was time I became a first buyer.

  ‘Not easy in today’s volatile housing market,’ said Hamish, as if he knew all about it. He read the ship’s newspaper, all UK and international news cut down into bite-size chunks. He didn’t say if he had a home or commitments.

  ‘I might be able to pick up a bargain,’ I said hopefully.

  Hamish buttered some toast and added marmalade. He pushed half a slice over to me. ‘You’ll need stamina when you’re house-hunting,’ he said. ‘Eat this.’

  A glimmer of appetite was returning. I ate a lot of toast and fruit at Latching. Cooking was not my scene. Salads and soups were my main meals. Everything a la carte, as long as the main ingredients were vegetarian.

  ‘I’m not very hungry.’

  ‘Dr Russell has a charming bedside manner but the medical centre is full at the moment. He may not have room for you.’

  ‘I’m not ill.’

  ‘You’re not eating.’ Hamish looked concerned.

  ‘I often don’t eat. It’s a habit. It’s me. I don’t eat when I’m worried or working.’

  Hamish leaned across the table and tapped my plate. For a second he sounded like James although the resemblance was minimal. ‘Then stop worrying. Three slices of melon do not a meal make. Will you have supper with me tonight, after we have safely left Tromso?’

  This spate of invitations was becoming a problem, first Francis, now Hamish. I hoped Bill wouldn’t join the queue.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Hamish. That would be nice. But is it allowed? An officer fraternizing with a passenger? Heaven knows what will happen today. I’m beginning to dread every day. I don’t want anything more to happen.’

  Hamish finished his breakfast briskly. He only had so much time. ‘Of course it’s allowed. We’ll eat in the grill, not the dining room, and I’ll reserve a table. Any problem and you phone me right away, Jordan. Understand? Right away, no hanging about.’

  ‘OK, thank you.’

  He was away with a brief nod. He had not been gone more than a minute when Bill Quentin arrived at the table, holding a tray with two coffees. There was no cravat today, instead he was wearing a roll-neck sweater and a fleece jerkin.

  ‘We’ve a busy morning ahead, Jordan,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Hope you slept well?’

  I shook my head. ‘Hardly. I couldn’t sleep. Kept dozing off and then waking up in a fright. No sweet dreams.’

  ‘Not surprising. It’s how our body deals with nightmares. We’ve got to track down all the passengers who came to the quoits tournament, check if they saw anything. Someone must have seen something.’

  ‘They were all too busy cheering on their teams.’

  ‘Not all of them. There was one couple who were rather more interested in each other. They were sheltering from the wind in the lea of a lifeboat. But they might not want to come forward. The girl was slim and tiny. I think they were both crew, not passengers. Maybe she was Thai.’

  Once a policeman, always a policeman.

  ‘I noticed she was pretty and had very beautiful hands. Those extended chalky white nails that women seem to like these days. Glad you don’t have them. Can’t stand the look. Nails should be pink.’

  I drank the coffee he had brought me. There must be a secret league on board bent on getting food down me. The Feed Jordan Fast group, before she fades away. Shopping list: chewing gum. Then they might think I was busy eating.

  ‘I might know who she is,’ I said.

  *

  The Beauty Box salon was full of clients having facials, hairdos, manicures. It smelt, as before, of some light sweet floral perfume and everywhere was clean and softly lit. The girls were like butterflies in their pastel tunic and trousers, fluttering about between clients, their own appearances the perfect advertisement for constant attention.

  Leila was massaging the hands of an elderly woman with a look of concentration. There was a bowl of soapy water on the table next to rows of mysterious bottles and a selection of nail varnishes. The woman was clearly enjoying the attention, eyes half closed. I could guess it was very soothing.

  ‘Hi, Leila,’ I said. ‘Could I have a word with you sometime?’

  She recognized me. It was amazing how the stewards and stewardesses even remembered your name when making out a receipt for drinks. They must go on a course. I wish I had the same memory tricks.

  ‘Sure, Miss Lacey,’ she said. ‘In a moment. If you would kindly wait. Please take a seat.’

  She smothered the aged and blue-veined hands in some thick cream and put the hands in the soapy water. There were rose petals floating on the top. ‘Please relax, Mrs Katz. Let the cream soak in. It will nourish the skin. Shall I fetch you a cup of tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee, please, dear. Two sugars.’

  Leila went away to some secret kitchen to fetch the coffee for Mrs Katz.

  ‘Did you stay up late last night?’ I asked, making conversation.

  ‘No, dear. I went to my bed as usual. It makes no difference to me whether it’s night or day. I can always sleep,’ she said. ‘My grandchildren call me The Sleeper.’ ‘Children can be cruel.’

  ‘At least mine talk to me.’

  Leila returned with two trays each with a cup of coffee and a tiny square of flapjack. One cup was for me. Obviously word had got around. Feed Jordan Fast was global.

  ‘I have only a few minutes,’ said Leila. ‘I expect you want to talk to me about last night. I was on deck when poor Mrs Carter fell overboard.’

  Thank goodness that Leila was admitting her presence instantly. I would not ask what she was doing on deck or with whom. Cruising incubates romance. It must be the sea air.

  ‘Yes, if you don’t mind. Can you tell me what you saw? Every little detail could be important. Thank you for the coffee. It’s lovely. And the flapjack.’

  Leila looked down at her long white nail extensions as if churning over the images in her mind and wondering what she should say and what she should leave out. It was not easy for her when she had probably been on deck with a member of the officered crew. It might be against rules, something in her contract.

  ‘It looked as if she was all floppy. As if she was thrown over. She did not jump or fall. It was different kind of fall.’

  ‘Where were you, to see all this? Was your view clear?’ Leila hesitated again. She did not want to say where they were, she and her boyfriend. But I knew.

  ‘Yes, it was very clear. I was by the rail, watching all the fun. The midnight sun and everything.’ Not completely true. She was not by the rail, she was in the lea of a lifeboat, canoodling.

  ‘Can you describe what you saw? Did Mrs Carter fall from the pr
omenade deck where we were playing quoits?’ ‘Oh no, she fell from the deck above us, I think. She seemed to fall from up somewhere and fell right past. All floppy and like a doll, right past me.’

  ‘Did you hear anything? Was she screaming or anything?’ Leila shook her head. ‘No, I heard nothing. She was not calling out or crying or anything. No sound.’

  ‘Was there anything on her hair, a band or scarf or anything? Was she wearing anything else?’

  ‘I didn’t see,’ said Leila. ‘I think her hair was loose. I didn’t notice any other clothes.’

  ‘Was she wearing a dark track suit?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Only a white bathrobe.’

  ‘Thank you, Leila. I’ll let you get back to your client now. You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘I’m glad to help,’ she said. ‘Mrs Carter was a very nice lady.’ She hesitated, then went on. ‘Does this have to be reported anywhere, please? I am worried for my friend, not for myself.’

  I remembered my mental promise to Leila, a million years ago. ‘No, of course not. I won’t mention that you were with anyone. No one need know. Your friend won’t get into trouble.’

  She smiled, looking relieved, and went back to Mrs Katz, who was half asleep over the bowl of sweet smelling suds. ‘Thank you.’

  I hurried back to A710 to collect some extra layers. The beauty salon had been overheated and the outside decks would be chilly. I wanted to check the deck overhead, to find exactly the place where Joanna might have gone over. But I kept remembering what James had emailed, about going through our first meeting. To shift through the content to find some clue, some signpost to these unsettling events, if I could recall everything Joanna had said. I wished James was here with me. Couldn’t he take some leave?

  I stopped outside the door to A710. It was slightly ajar. Ali usually closed the door while he was servicing the cabins. Part of the privacy attitude so no nosey-parkers could check out what you got for your money.

  But it wasn’t Ali in his smart white uniform. It was a man in another uniform, pressed khaki with bits of braid and loads of pockets. It was Geoff Berry, the security officer. He looked up from an open drawer.