The email was from James.
Jordan. I am coming. Taking some leave. See you in Norway. James.
SIXTEEN
Lofoten Islands
We were late arriving at Lofoten Islands because of taking the long way round and not the direct route. Captain’s decision for navigational safety reasons and he knew best. Apparently the islands were three and a half million years old and still growing. They went back to the Stone Age, Vikings and all that jazz.
Everyone crowded on deck to see our first view of the islands. They were rugged and snow-capped. We were not surprised. The ship was anchored out at sea. The starboard anchor was let go after lunch, later than expected, and the tenders lowered to ferry passengers ashore. Ashore looked like a few huts and a couple of flags streaming in a stiff breeze. But it was sunny and fine.
‘Have they got an airfield?’ I asked a member of the crew.
‘I doubt it,’ he said, not really interested in the confused old lady beside him. Miss Phoebe Brown was done up in a long skirt, shawl, scarves and woolly hat. I wondered if the show girls had missed anything vital from their costumes rail yet. I think this outfit was from a Mary Poppins revival. ‘Unless they land on a beach. They have lots of big beaches.’ How was James going to get to me? I had every confidence in his ingenuity but he was not exactly James Bond and had no MI5 resources. I had slept reasonably well, after locking A708 from the inside. No intruders welcome. Breakfast had been coffee and a banana. Back to Latching days. I was a bit worried about collecting a cruise tummy and nothing fitting when I got home.
‘Thank you, young man,’ I said.
‘Any time, ma’am,’ he said, moving away fast.
‘So you have materialized today as a cross between Miss Marple and Elizabeth the First,’ said Bill, sidling up to my rail perch.
‘Does it suit me?’
‘I miss the red hair.’
‘It’s not red, it’s tawny. How did you recognize me?’
‘The eyes, as always.’
‘I don’t think Phoebe Brown should be seen with you.’
‘Exactly, I agree. Let us part our ways.’
‘But keep in touch?’ I was suddenly nervous.
‘Of course,’ Bill said. ‘We’ve work to do.’
‘And I have bars to check. You remember Natasha telling us she saw Joanna in a bar moments before she fell. That needs checking.’
‘It sounds fishy, but yes, it needs checking. How about dinner tonight?’
‘Are you asking me or Miss Brown? Neither of them eat very much.’
‘I want to see you in that beautiful black chiffon dress again, the fishtail one. It’s formal tonight, so glad rags.’
‘I don’t see how I can arrive at the dining room without shaking off the security officer. He came by this morning and spoke to me through the locked door.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said: please let me out, please let me out in a pathetic little voice. He was suitably impressed and told me to stay where I was.’
My laugh was very un-Miss Brown. Maybe she was having a junior moment. It took ages for the tenders to get everyone ashore. Anyone on a tour went first, their coaches waiting to take them round a breathtaking but limited scenario. Islands were islands, even if they had long, untrodden beaches of near white sand. They also had tunnels. One kilometre-long tunnel was blasted through rock so that the school bus could take a shorter route.
Some of the passengers had not gone ashore. They had excursion fatigue. They were happy to sit on deck and order something hot. I got quite a few smiles although I was not sure why. Maybe it was the flowing skirt and thick glasses.
I eventually found the bar where Joanna had spent her last few moments. It was a side bar called Mainspring, for no good reason. The barman was helpful. Yes, he remembered Joanna Carter. Very good-looking lady. She had been generous in her ordering. She seemed to be having a good time.
‘She paid for drinks?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Quite a few double brandies. She signed receipts and paid for the drinks.’
That would be on record in the accounts office. Signing for drink purchases on your cruise card was computer generated. It was solid evidence that she had emerged from her shocked state and had been circulating normally.
‘Do you remember what she was wearing?’
He looked blank. ‘Black, I think,’ he said. Good guess.
‘And who was with her? Did she have some pleasant company?’
The barman almost winked at me. It was certainly an eye flutter. ‘She seemed to like drinking on her own.’
‘What time did she leave?’
He shook his head. ‘Midnight perhaps? I don’t really know. It was very busy time with the midnight sun and all the parties going on. Sorry. You are friend of Mrs Carter?’ he asked curiously, eyeing the outlandish outfit.
‘Actually I am doing some research for the ship’s newspaper,’ I said. ‘You know, a sort of roving reporter, writing up an account of all the things that happened last night during the midnight sun.’
It was a long story. I’m not sure that he believed me.
‘And Mrs Carter falling overboard was very sad happening.’
‘Very sad,’ I agreed. ‘Thank you for your help.’
‘Any time.’ I got another conspiratorial grin from the barman. He had clocked me up as today’s most eccentric passenger. Another story for below decks in the crew bar. I’m sure they talked about us. We were daily fuel for gossip.
The sun was brilliant. I wanted to go ashore but surely my swipe card would have been cancelled by now. I didn’t want Berry to know that there was a way out of the cabins. Apparently the Lofoten Islands had electricity before Oslo or New York, way back in time. Now isn’t that an amazing fact? My magpie mind collected all sorts of useless information on its travels.
I watched the tenders returning with passengers from their shortened excursions. The Double O still had a scheduled departure time. The tenders were being secured on deck as they returned. It was quite a strong north-easterly wind and some of the passengers had difficulty stepping off the tenders on to the ship’s gangway platform. There were a lot of video owners, leaning over the rails, recording the small dramas and near disasters. No one had to be fished out.
I kept well out of everyone’s way.
I learned that there was only one apple tree on the islands. I was not surprised. More useless knowledge. No vandals around with an axe.
Where was James? I knew his email by heart. He said he was coming. And the man would if he could. Perhaps he didn’t know where the Orpheus Odyssey was anchored now. It would keep moving about.
I reckoned it was a strong force six to seven and it was blowing sideways to the ship. They were having trouble weighing the anchor and swinging the ship round so that she could sail away from the islands. There was a lot of tonnage to turn. I stayed on deck, fascinated by the manoeuvres involved, none of which seemed to work. I bet there was some frantic thinking on the bridge.
There was a long lull when nothing happened. We were at a standstill if you could call the rocking decks as being at a standstill. The engines were silent and the Double O simply swung on the anchor, buffeted by the gale force. Supposing we were marooned here and had to stay until the wind died down?
I was missing my dinner date with Bill but I didn’t worry. He’d understand. This instant melodrama was far more interesting than guinea fowl terrine with Cumberland sauce and toasted pistachio brioche, whatever that was. Some poor little bird who would much rather have been flying about instead of being on a dish.
I took shelter in an alcove between stored and strapped down deckchairs and some deck equipment. The wind took my breath away. A few passengers in dinner jackets had wandered back on to the deck, curious about the delay.
‘The wind is too strong, gale force,’ I said. ‘They can’t turn her around.’
They looked at me as if I was talking a foreign language.
; ‘They ought to get a tug,’ someone said, who clearly had no idea that we were miles from anywhere.
‘Where from?’ I muttered. ‘Newcastle?’
Somehow, using both the engines and the thrusters, the ship turned into the wind, and once on a steady heading into the wind, began to negotiate the many dangerous shoals that lined the passage. The pilot was in charge. It was already almost eight o’clock but it was still light. It had taken over an hour and a half to turn the ship. A clever piece of seamanship. I hope the captain ordered extra rum.
By this time Miss Brown was chilled to the bone and went stiffly back to A708, longing for a hot shower. As I went in, I knew someone had been there. I had perfect recall of where everything should be, where I had left things. Ali might have been in and replaced the towels, but he was not likely to open drawers, disturb items on a bedside table, half close curtains.
Geoff Berry? Didn’t he notice that I was not in the stateroom? My clothes had been disarranged. What had he been searching for? There was nothing around that was incriminating. I had done nothing, except carry out my job as bodyguard companion to Joanna. And I hadn’t done that too well.
I put all of Miss Brown back in her carrier bag at the back of the wardrobe and stood under the shower, letting the warmth rain over me, bringing some vigour back into my limbs. The ship was moving steadily so it seemed we were safely on our way again.
I came out wrapped in the white towelling robe provided and drew back the curtains. We were passing more magnificent scenery on our way to the open sea. Along the edge of the fjord were small clusters of red-roofed houses and I wondered how they could live in such isolation. There did not seem to be any connecting roads. These days everyone had a boat and the Internet. They could email their friends or call them on their mobiles. Norway had not left technology behind.
My phone rang and I could almost tell by the shrill sound that it was the last person I wanted to talk to.
‘Jordan. I’m outside and I am coming in. Don’t try to rush past me.’
‘As if.’ I couldn’t be bothered to answer the man. I tightened the belt on the robe and went to sit on the sofa. I picked up a magazine illustrating the highlights of next year’s cruises.
‘Ah, so you are out of the bath at last,’ said Berry, striding in and slamming the door shut. He locked it. ‘Ali told me you were in the bathroom. You took your time.’
‘A nasty case of the runs,’ I said, knowing the hot shower had left me with a flushed face. ‘You know, the kind of infection that spreads round a ship like wildfire, mainly from people not washing their hands properly. I hope you brought a disinfectant spray with you when you went through all my possessions.’
‘I didn’t know you were ill,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Have you spoken to the doctor? It’s very infectious.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Easily passed on through contact, especially the food and drink type of contact.’
If he had helped himself to a drink or some of my fruit, he might be feeling a little worried. He cleared his throat.
‘Just to let you know that you are to be confined to your cabin until we reach Bergen. We shall make different arrangements for you there. You may be flown back to Southampton under police escort.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘On the charge that you did maliciously and with intent push Mrs Joanna Carter overboard to her death, and that you did firstly stab her with a pair of scissors.’
‘This is all rubbish,’ I said hotly. ‘I have witnesses that I was on deck. You have no proof. And you have no motive.’ A flash of triumph crossed his face. ‘But we do have a motive. You really were very careless, Jordan. I found it straight away. I suppose you thought you would get away with it, that no one would suspect you.’
‘I really don’t know what you are talking about,’ I said wearily.
‘It was in your make-up bag.’
Now my make-up bag consists of a tube of moisturizer, black mascara, black eye liner and some very old lipsticks. I am not a make-up person. The only item I use regularly is mascara and that dries up faster than I can put the cap back on.
‘Your searching of my possessions is clearly unprofessional,’ I said. ‘Where’s your search warrant?’
‘Such things are not required at sea. The law is different here.’
‘So what? My make-up bag is not exactly a cavern of mystery. No stolen testers or borrowed baby wipes.’
‘Don’t try to be funny, Jordan. It’s deposited now in the purser’s safe and will be used as evidence.’
‘I still don’t know what you are talking about.’
The triumph flowed over him like a waterfall of vintage whisky. His eyes sharpened. ‘Mrs Carter’s diamond necklace. The one she thought she lost at the captain’s cocktail party. The necklace you told me had been found in a towel bin on deck. A diamond necklace worth well over a hundred thousand pounds. I found it in your make-up bag, wrapped up in one of your little scarves.’
It was no use protesting that I had no idea how it got there. I didn’t know anyway. I didn’t know anything about Joanna’s diamond necklace except that she had made a fuss about losing it at the party. She said it had been found in a towel bin and I believed her.
Security officer Berry hung about no longer, obviously worried about the dreaded scourge. As soon as he had gone, locking the door as usual, I went to the top drawer where I kept a small assortment of scarves. I often wear a black T-shirt with a neck scarf. A blue chiffon square had gone. It was one of my favourites.
I put on a track suit, anorak and tucked my hair under my baker’s boy cap and went on deck. It was cold. I needed to talk to someone, to anyone who did not think that I had murdered Joanna for a diamond necklace. Strangely, apart from Bill Quentin, I did not know anyone I could trust. The doctor was an unknown factor. I hadn’t seen Hamish for days. Francis was laid low with some illness. My table companions were passing acquaintances. Who could I trust?
The cafeteria was still open but only just. It was on the point of closing. But the staff could see the desperation on my face and after the hand squirt I was escorted to the counters which had some food on them. The hot dishes had already been cleared and the shutters were down.
There was still a selection of salads. I piled on a mixed salad fast and some shreds of salmon flakes and prawns, all that was left of the fish platter. It was the leftovers. But I was used to eating leftovers. Story of my life. One of the stewards brought me a glass of house red and put it on my table.
‘On the house,’ he said, with a slight bow.
‘On the ship,’ I grinned. ‘Thank you.’
They cleared up around me, putting out the signs for wet floors and beginning to mop the floors. I was the only diner left. I had the place to myself. The same steward brought me a dish of fruit salad and ice cream.
‘That is all that is left,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. But there will be sandwiches and pastries when the midnight buffet opens.’
‘This is perfect,’ I said. ‘Nothing more, thank you.’
They closed the cafeteria when I had finished. It gave them time to clear everything and prepare for the midnight buffet. Feeding us was never ending. I went out on deck, refreshed by the frugal meal and the glass of wine. It was half past ten and still light. We were leaving the mountains of the fjords and heading towards the sea. I leaned over the rail and watched the pilot’s launch coming alongside to take off the pilot.
It was always such a smooth operation, looking so easy. The pilot stepped across from a lower deck of the Double O on to the deck of his launch, as casually as if he was getting on a bus.
Another figure was standing on the deck of the pilot’s launch, huddled in an anorak, waiting for the right moment. He was carrying a zipped travel bag. He was obviously not used to timing the right moment to step across the water.
My throat caught on a gasp. I knew that figure, even from a deck so far above. I knew the tilt of his cropped dark head. I knew the way he stoo
d.
‘James,’ I breathed.
It was James.
SEVENTEEN
At Sea
James had arrived. He had found me. I knew that he would, my heart beating rapidly. The world steadied as he stepped across the watery void and came aboard the Orpheus Odyssey. He would help me. The man would believe what I said.
I could not go searching for him in case I bumped into Berry. I wondered if James would remember him. It was before his time at Latching CID, but he might have heard the sorry story.
I did not have long to wait on deck. He was still carrying his zipper travel bag. I knew he was there even before he touched me.
He put his arms round me and the quick hug said all I needed to know. James was not exactly Shakespeare with the sugar touch. He looked the same as always. Yorkshire air had not changed him. He was still tall, craggy, with piercing blue eyes that matched the ocean. And the dark crew cut? Did I detect a few grey hairs? I felt the roughness of his cheek. He had been travelling without shaving.
‘So what have you been up to?’ he asked, going straight to the point.
‘I don’t know where to start. I’ve been charged with the murder of Joanna Carter, the woman I was working for.’
‘A bit careless, eh? Working as her bodyguard?’
‘She believed her life was being threatened. Odd things have happened. I had no reason to think otherwise.’
‘And her body?’
‘It’s gone. Lost at sea. She fell overboard. They say I did it, pushed her over. They say I stabbed her in the chest with my scissors. And all for a diamond necklace worth over a hundred thousand pounds. That’s apparently the motive, I’m told.’
‘You wouldn’t know what to do with a diamond necklace,’ he said, slamming that theory instantly.
‘They know I need money for the down payment on somewhere to live,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how they know that, but they seem to.’
‘You’ve lost your two bedsits?’ James looked genuinely sorry. He’d had many a bowl of home-made soup in the front room, sitting on the floor. No proper chairs. Sometimes it had been the only home he knew.
Fold and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 8) Page 14
