Murder on the Orient (SS): The Agatha Christie Book Club 2

by C. A. Larmer

  “Exactly, sir,” said Packer. “Groot says he also knew the gym wasn’t open because he uses the library every morning, it’s his daily ritual, and had never once seen anyone go into the gym that early. Eventually, after another ten minutes or so, Groot decided to go and check on her himself. And that’s when he discovered the body here… just like this.”

  “And he touched nothing?” said Anders.

  “Not even the corpse.”

  “Good,” said Jackson now. “I’ll go and question him further, but while I do that, can you make sure you seal this crime scene? Oh and get some of your lads up to Smith’s room for a bit of a rummage, then seal that off too.”

  Packer nodded, then waved to a security man who had been hovering in the passageway just outside the glass gymnasium door.

  “What will I tell the passengers?” Van Tussi said, staring beseechingly at Jackson now.

  “As little as possible I’d suggest, sir, at least until we know more. We’ll do what we can, but if my estimations are correct, we’re now in New Zealand waters, which makes it their crime scene, not ours. I know the South African police were happy to hand over authority for the thefts to me, but I can’t speak for the Kiwis. They may want to bring their own team on board when we get to Auckland. It’s anyone’s guess.”

  Captain Van Tussi was clearly thinking along the same lines and was shaking his head firmly. “No, no. We cannot have them come on board and assume control. They will traipse all over my ship, they will have none of the delicacy we require.”

  He stepped towards Jackson. “You have to get the answers and fast. I cannot have all these questions, all these accusations flying around my beautiful boat. The New Zealand police may not have your discretion, they may put the fear of God into my passengers, and I cannot have that. We might as well sink the ship now. It will be the end of the SS Orient as we know it. Please, gentlemen.” He looked from Jackson to Packer then Anders and back. “You must try to solve this thing before we get to land.”

  “That doesn’t give us much time, sir,” said Packer, glancing at his watch.

  “That gives you exactly thirty-two and a half hours,” the captain replied, not needing to consult his own watch. “I know you can do it. Please, I am counting on you.”

  Anders, who’d been inspecting the stab wound, had a sudden rush of déjà vu as a scene from a book flashed through his memory. He recalled a luxury train caught in a snowstorm and the train line’s director pleading for help from the portly little detective with the elaborate moustache and the egg-shaped head.

  Before any of them could respond, a kerfuffle was heard outside, then a woman’s shrill voice, and a deeper tone asking her to calm down.

  “I will not calm down!” she screeched again, the voice getting louder. “I need to see—”

  Anita Monage appeared at the doorway, her face stricken, a hand at her throat.

  “Oh God!” she said, staring past the men towards the body on the bike. She gasped, a hand to her lips. “It’s my fault! It’s all my fault!”

  Then, as if she were a character in the aforementioned Agatha Christie novel, she slumped onto the floor in a faint.

  Chapter 3

  By the time Anita came to, she had been carried into the library next door and placed in the recovery position on one of the leather lounges, a soft pillow under her head. The place had been cleared out immediately after Dame Dinnegan’s body had been found, and Jackson had decided to keep it that way. Now that he was no longer undercover, he needed a command post, and this was a damn site more comfortable than Packer’s poky little office on the bridge.

  Anita was now stirring, attempting to sit up, and Dr Anders stepped forward to check her pulse again.

  “What… what happened?” she asked.

  “You passed out,” Anders explained. “You’re in the library.”

  She managed to sit up, and he handed her a small bottle of water, which she gulped before frantically looking around. Spotting Jackson, she frowned. What was the barman doing here?

  He stepped forward. “I’m Detective Liam Jackson. How are you feeling, Ms Monage?”

  Her eyes squinted at him suspiciously. After a few moments she said, “Fine.”

  “Good, then can I ask you a few questions, please?”

  She said nothing, and Dr Anders looked worried.

  He said, “You’ve sustained a slight blow to the back of your head—”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped back.

  Jackson coughed, indicating for Anders to move aside, which he did, a small bead of worry on his brow. “Ms Monage, you made a comment before you passed out in the gym just now. You said, ‘It’s all my fault’. Could you explain what you meant by that?”

  Her lips curled up just slightly. “I didn’t mean I killed her if that’s what’s got you excited.”

  He tried not to show his disappointment. “Do you have any information regarding the murder of Dame Dinnegan? If so, I’d like to hear it, please.”

  She took another swig of water and looked around anxiously. “Where’s Tonio?”

  “He’s back on the bridge I believe,” Jackson said. “And we have Cheyne Smith in custody. Why?”

  She looked almost relieved. “Did Cheyne do…” Her eyes fluttered towards the passageway. “… that?”

  “We suspect so. I’m about to question him now, but first, Ms Monage, I’d really like to know what you meant by what you said.”

  She shuddered and looked away.

  “Ms Monage?”

  “Nothing! I didn’t mean anything by it. Just forget I said it.”

  “But…” This was Anders now. “But you said…”

  “I was hysterical. Maybe I’ve got amnesia. I can’t remember what I said or why. I have nothing further to say.”

  Then she put the bottle on the table, crossed her arms and looked away.

  Jackson tried to contain his annoyance as he glanced at his watch and back at the woman on the lounge. Then he nodded to Anders, and they both stepped out into the passage.

  “What do you think?” he asked the doctor.

  “I think she’s lying. There’s barely a lump. I doubt she’s got amnesia.”

  “Bugger it! I haven’t got time for this nonsense. Why the hell won’t she talk to me?” He had a thought. “I think we need to get the captain back.”

  Jackson returned to the library and said to Anita, “I know you’re good friends with Captain Van Tussi. Maybe if he were here you might feel more comfortable?”

  “God no!” She looked mortified. “He’s the last person I want to speak to.” She shoved a hand to her throat and looked away again.

  Anders signalled for him to return outside again. “I know someone she might open up to.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Alicia Finlay. They’ve already connected, I believe, several times.”

  Jackson looked dubious, but a quick glance at his watch was all the impetus he needed. “Fine, get her in here and see if she can get the woman to talk.”

  “I’ll try,” Anders said, frowning a little. “I’m just not sure she’s talking to me, that’s the problem.”

  *********

  You could have knocked Alicia over with a feather.

  No sooner had Dermott announced the incredible news that Dame Dinnegan had been found murdered in the gymnasium—with the dagger, no less—but now Anders was standing before her up on deck, cap in hand, begging for her help.

  She decided to milk it for all it was worth.

  “So let me get this straight,” she said, the rest of the book club smirking beside her. “After everything you said, after all the warnings to stay out of it, to mind my own business, suddenly you need my help with your little investigation do you?”

  He cowered beneath her sarcasm. “It’s not such a little investigation anymore.”

  “So I hear. We have another dead body on our hands. I guess the dodgy barman’s not such a hot detective either.”

  “What�
��s it all got to do with Alicia anyway?” Lynette wanted to know, feeling suddenly protective.

  Anders glanced at her and back to Alicia. “We’ve got Anita Monage in the library. She has some information about the murder, but for some strange reason she’s refusing to talk. I know she’s opened up to you in the past. I just wonder whether she might open up to you again.”

  “Oh really,” said Alicia, still in the milking process, “and what makes you think I even want to help you now? Hm?”

  It was a stupid question, of course, and he looked more confident now. “Because I know you, Alicia, and you couldn’t stay out of it if you tried.”

  He had her there, but she was determined to stay on the front foot, so she said, “Well, I’m not doing it without the rest of the book club. It’s all or none.”

  His frown returned, but Lynette was now shaking her head. “That’s very considerate of you, ’Lis, and I admire your loyalty.” She flashed Anders a dark look. “But you’ll get more out of Anita without all of us crowding you in.”

  “She’s right,” said Perry. “But thanks for trusting us!” He, too, slapped the doctor with a narky glare.

  Alicia sighed. “Fine.” Her curiosity had won out as Anders knew it would. She stood up. “Okay then, lead the way.”

  By the time Anders and Alicia reached the library, however, Anita had vanished.

  “Damn it!” Anders swept out and down to the gym where Packer’s officer was standing guard. “Where did the woman go?” he demanded. “Anita Monage. Did you see where she went?”

  The officer shrugged. “Sorry.”

  He growled but Alicia placed a hand on Anders’s arm. “Leave it with me. I think I know where to find her.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “Wherever there’s a bar and a bottle of red.”

  Chapter 4

  Cheyne Smith’s charisma had vanished. His thick brown hair now just looked dirty and dishevelled, his eyes like a caged animal, flickering frantically from Jackson’s face to Packer’s and back. He had a crumpled tracksuit on and was chewing mercilessly at his top lip.

  “I didn’t do it!” he kept saying. “I didn’t do it, I promise you!”

  “You were the last one to see her alive, Mr Smith,” Jackson replied, a picture of calm across from him. “You were there at the exact time she was murdered.”

  “It’s total crap. I wasn’t there! Well… I mean, I dropped her there at seven, on the dot like she said, but then I went straight to the library. I have an alibi! You ask that guy, that Donald Trump look-alike. I was in the library the whole time!”

  “I have asked Gunter Groot, Mr Smith,” said Jackson. “He tells me you came into the library at exactly 7:05 a.m. looking… what was the word he used? Anxious, that’s right. Said you were full of beans, couldn’t focus on a thing. He wondered what you were doing there, and so he asked about your wife. You told him to—”

  He paused to consult his notes.

  “‘—mind your own f’ing business’. That’s when he began to get concerned. That’s when he decided to investigate. He discovered your wife’s body at 7:35 a.m.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t in the gym, right? I didn’t move! I couldn’t have—”

  “Is there a question in here, Detective, because I’m not hearing one?” came the squeaky voice of a tiny woman sitting on Cheyne Smith’s side of the table.

  It was Brenda Williams, a South African solicitor who also happened to be a passenger, and a very bored one at that. No sooner had she got wind of the “incident” on the lower deck, she raced to the bridge to offer her services to the accused. Not because she cared one iota for the man beside her, had never even met Cheyne Smith, but because she was looking for a distraction. Any distraction would do.

  This was the last time she was going to let her mother drag her on a cruise ship. There were four single women to every single man, and most of those were more ancient than her mother.

  Great place to meet Mr Right my foot!

  Jackson frowned back. He’d been equally as happy when the lawyer had come forward—it meant he could start the official questioning process—but now he wondered if it was more of a curse. Things would have flown a lot faster without Brenda in the room.

  They were seated back in the library, where an interrogation desk had been set up with Packer and Jackson on one side and Cheyne and Brenda on the other. The suspect had been brought in from the brig in handcuffs, but these had swiftly been removed after Ms Williams had snidely pointed out that, unless the suspect was Jesus—and she sincerely doubted that—there was nowhere for the man to run.

  “My question,” said Jackson now, flashing Brenda a smirk, “is: did you kill your wife, Mr Smith?”

  “Of course not! I’m telling you, I was in the library the whole time!”

  “Ah, yes, but you could easily have killed her in that five minutes you were in the gym. It wouldn’t take long to overpower and stab an old lady.”

  “Especially when you stab her in the back,” added Packer, his voice filled with disgust.

  “But I would never! I wouldn’t harm Dorothy! I couldn’t have. You don’t get it! There’s no way!”

  Brenda placed a hand on Cheyne’s arm, giving him the “take a chill pill” sign. He looked at her, gulped, then back at Jackson.

  “What I want to know,” said Packer, his tone now droll, “is why your wife, an elderly woman in a wheelchair no less, would want to visit the gym in the first place. What do you think, Detective Jackson? Does that seem like a strange thing to you?”

  Jackson smiled. “I was thinking the same thing myself, Mr Packer. The gym is a very odd place, indeed, for a lady in a wheelchair to hang out.”

  Even Brenda appeared interested in this answer, and all three of them stared at Cheyne who paled further under their gaze.

  “It was her idea!” he spat. “Dorothy… she… she told me to take her there. I was just following her orders.”

  Packer snorted, and Jackson shook his head.

  “And why would she order you to take her there?”

  “I don’t know… she… she said she had an appointment and I was to drop her there at seven and come back for her in about half an hour.”

  “An appointment? Really? Are you aware,” said Packer, “that the gym is not manned at that hour? That our gym instructor, Steve Owens, does all the morning classes up on the main deck before ten? There would be no reason for your wife to be in the gym even if she had wanted to work out.” And he snorted at that idea.

  “She wasn’t there to work out,” said Cheyne.

  “Well that’s a surprise,” he shot back. “So why was she there?”

  He flinched. “I… I don’t know.”

  “Who was this supposed ‘appointment’ with?”

  “I don’t know!”

  He was hiding something, Jackson could tell, he just couldn’t get a handle on what.

  “I believe my client has answered your question,” said Brenda. “Have you got another?”

  Jackson bowed his head and said, “If what you say is true, Mr Smith, then can you at least tell me who might have wanted your wife dead?”

  “That’s the thing! I don’t know, but somebody clearly did! I’m telling you, I never would have killed Dorothy! We were partners! If she was around she’d tell you that.”

  He started chewing on his lip again then had a sudden thought and said, “The captain! It had to be him!”

  Both Jackson and Packer looked amused this time, and even Brenda was trying not to scoff.

  “Why would you say that?” said Packer, but Cheyne was back to chewing his lip and didn’t answer.

  Jackson exhaled loudly just as a knock came at the door. It was one of Packer’s men, and he had several plastic bags in his hand. From inside the office, Jackson could just make out what looked like a packet of cigarettes.

  ********

  Anita Monage was dragging on her cigarette like it was attached to an oxygen tank. Not yet lunchtim
e, she was perched at the smoking bar, a glass of red wine also on hand. She glanced up as Alicia sat down but said nothing, just exhaled a thin plume of smoke and took a good, long gulp of wine.

  The barman appeared, and Alicia ordered a soda squash, then sat back and waited. Anita was wearing a grey T-shirt and black pleated shorts, which revealed her pale, freckled legs. They were perfectly still. Not a twitch in sight, and Alicia took that as a good sign.

  Eventually after another puff of her cigarette, Anita said, “Everything’s screwed up.”

  Alicia flashed her room key at the barman, who’d just placed her drink down on a coaster on the bar, then took her own sip before saying, “What is, Anita?”

  “This whole cruise, everything, it’s all just a bloody nightmare.”

  “You heard about Dame Dinnegan then?”

  Alicia knew the answer to that but decided to play dumb, and the other woman nodded, sweeping her eyes to Alicia. “It’s my fault, you know.”

  Alicia gave herself a silent high five. “Why on earth would you say that?”

  “Because the woman would be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Anita’s right knee had begun to twitch, and Alicia decided it was time to stop pussyfooting around. “This isn’t about the Dame is it? It’s about Corrie?”

  She glanced at her, the twitching subsiding a little.

  Alicia said, “You told me she was using you.”

  “Well she was!”

  “How?”

  She exhaled again. “Okay, so here’s the thing. Coz told me she was desperate for my company, right? She always said stuff like that, made you feel like the most important person in the world, but I knew. Even before I got on in Sydney, I knew she was full of shit. I knew it’d turn out the same as it always turned out.”

  “And how was that?”

  “She didn’t want me, she wanted my room key.” Her leg began twitching even more wildly.