Deception On the Danube

by D'arcy Kavanagh

  “We’re leaving Krems tomorrow morning and going onto Tulln. The day after that, it’s onto Vienna.”

  “It’s the same cycling route with the same stops, but we’ll be doing it just a couple of days later than we had originally planned,” Hable added.

  Burke asked about the police.

  “They’re still poking around,” Delisle said, “but not with as much enthusiasm as before. At least, they’re not using the same number of flics to investigate.”

  “So, no arrests?”

  “No and I’m not sure from their comments if they have any real suspects.”

  “That means the murderer is probably still on board the Sunna.”

  “Don’t forget the possibility that a Roma or even a refugee did it.”

  Burke frowned and noticed Hable and Moreau grimacing.

  Delisle shrugged. “All right, I’m like all of you. I don’t believe a Roma or a refugee killed Bennett Blake. But what else do the flics have?”

  No one spoke for a full minute and Burke sensed everyone was thinking the same thing – Blake’s murderer was close by. And if that was the case, there was the possibility the murderer might not be done yet. Burke thought that if anyone aboard the Sunna was nervous or frightened, it was for good reason. Then he recalled how the spirits of many passengers had improved during the last 24 hours. Maybe no one was scared after all.

  Delisle then discussed the evening’s activities – some dancing would follow the meal.

  “What’s the special meal that I hear is being prepared for us?” said Burke, happy to change topics.

  “Chef Claude and Chef Reinhard have created a culinary extravaganza featuring food from a dozen different countries including yours, Renata, and yours, Paul.”

  “What’s from the Netherlands?” Hable asked.

  Delisle didn’t remember so he turned to his young assistant who checked her tablet and then said slowly: “Kaassoesjes van Boerenkaas. Did I pronounce it correctly, Renata?”

  “Close enough,” said Hable with a smile. “A good choice. Kaassoesjes van Boerenkaas are cheesy pastry puffs featuring a raw milk gouda. Very tasty. Thank God they’re not doing anything with eel.”

  “You mean not all Dutch like eel?” Burke said.

  “Most do, but there are some of us who hate the idea of eating a single one of those slimy creatures.”

  Burke asked Carmen Moreau what was the Canadian dish to be served.

  “Two desserts, actually. One is sugar pie. And the other involves Nanaimo bars.”

  She mangled “Nanaimo” and Burke gently corrected her, explaining it was named after the city where it was created in British Columbia. “It’s an extremely popular treat with chocolate on the top and bottom, and vanilla custard in the middle plus special crumbs and coconut. It’s impossible to eat just one.”

  “What’s sugar pie?” Renata Hable asked.

  Burke explained it was a Québec dish usually made with butter, flour, cream and maple syrup. He knew Claude was behind the dessert since he had told his friend countless times about its unique qualities.

  “You Canadians like your sweets,” Hable said.

  “That’s true.”

  Burke was glad the discussion of the evening meal had removed some of the previous tension. The last couple of days had been exhausting and he knew the next few would probably be equally challenging.

  “Well, it looks like it’ll be an evening with all kinds of pleasant surprises,” Delisle said, closing his notepad and standing.

  “I hope you’re right,” Hable said.

  Everyone was smiling, but Burke couldn’t help wondering how long their good moods would last.

  Chapter 45

  When the kitchen staff starting bringing out the food for the dinner buffet, the passengers in the Sunna’s large dining room stopped talking and watched.

  Each tray of food looked spectacular, even better than normal which was hard to believe. And since each tray featured a dish specific to a different country, there was a small flag in a special holder indicating the nationality of the product. Attached to each tray there was also a triangle of glossy paper providing information about the dish plus a scenic photo of the country associated with the food.

  Claude, Reinhard and their staff had exceeded all expectations.

  And still the food kept coming.

  To get a better view, many in the room were standing. Burke saw all kinds of suishi on one tray; obviously it was to highlight Japan. On the Austrian tray, he saw venison covered with some kind of berries and a dark brown sauce. The English tray showcased a massive cut of roast beef with a side platter of Yorkshire pudding. The Australian selection involved green chicken curry pies. The French tray contained sole meunière, one of Burke’s favourite seafood meals. The Swiss offering was Valaisanne-style rosti, thinly grated, pan-friend potatoes roasted until golden. The American tray was Tex-Mex enchiladas. Accompanying the main-course offerings were several salads.

  Then came the trays of desserts. Burke saw the Canadian and Dutch treats he knew about. The final dish to be brought out was from Germany and contained a massive apfelstrudel that snaked its way across the surface of the tray.

  Someone started to applaud and, within seconds, the passengers were giving Claude, Reinhard and their staff a standing ovation. Thierry Delisle went into the kitchen and brought everyone out. The applause continued and Burke could see Claude was genuinely touched by the moment. His friend had come a long way since being sentenced to prison.

  Claude and Reinhard shook hands and then applauded their fellow workers.

  Burke looked around. Everyone was smiling, including Felicity Blake. She was improving by the hour.

  He thought it was remarkable how great food could improve people’s moods.

  Delisle motioned for everyone to sit and then he gave a short speech praising the kitchen staff, adding that he knew the tragedy of recent days couldn’t be forgotten but that moments such as these might ease people’s collective grief.

  He asked everyone to toast the kitchen staff and then he made a second toast to Bennett Blake and Wilson Talbot. Everyone was happy to comply.

  Minutes later, the passengers were assaulting the buffet tables. The dining room became noisier than it had been for days with conversation, laughter and background music.

  “It’s turning into a party,” Hélène told Burke.

  He agreed. The mood in the room was celebratory and Burke figured the passengers had been eager for some kind of positive distraction.

  Then he spotted Captain Keller, in his dress whites, talking at a far entrance to the dining room with two men in dark slacks and sports jackets. The two men had their backs to Blake, but they were obviously doing the talking because Burke noticed Keller was just nodding. The two men turned slightly, and Burke recognized Karl Plaschke and Christian Martin.

  It didn’t look like a friendly conversation.

  Burke glanced around the dining room, wondering if anyone else had noticed the two flics talking to the ship’s captain.

  Most hadn’t because they were still captivated by the spectacular dishes on the buffet tables.

  But Burke spotted Kendall Young watching the scene. Then he saw Dietrich Beck, a few metres away, doing the same. Burke checked the room again and noticed Roger Langford and Gert Vanderkamp were also paying attention to what was happening in the far corner.

  Then Burke saw the four men scan the room, stopping when they saw each other. They shared the same look of anxiety. Then they looked around, wondering if anyone was watching them. Burke averted his eyes.

  But he knew the truth.

  The four men shared a secret and were clearly frightened that the world would learn it.

  Chapter 46

  When Martin and Plaschke started toward the exit door, Burke excused himself from the table where he was sitting with Hélène, Carmen Moreau, Hoshiko Kimura and 1st Officer Martin Lueger.

>   “Aren’t you hungry, chéri?” Hélène asked.

  “I’ll be back in a minute. I just have to talk to someone.”

  Burke started following the two flics, not wanting to catch them until they were clear of the ship. He didn’t want any conversation overheard. As he walked, Burke tried putting together his thoughts because he wanted to be prepared when he talked to them – if they gave him the chance.

  He was confident the two policemen had been telling Keller something that related to the investigation of Bennett Blake’s death. Had they changed their minds and decided to keep the ship in Krems? Did they plan to accompany the Sunna to its next stop in Tulln? Or did they want to interview some of the passengers again?

  As he slowly closed the gap, Burke also thought the presence of the two flics indicated they didn’t suspect any Roma or refugee involvement in Blake’s murder. If they considered some Roma or refugee had killed Blake, they wouldn’t have been paying a call on the Sunna this evening. They’d have been busy elsewhere. No, the Roma and the refugees were off the hook, despite what some passengers thought. As for those passengers, Burke thought most of them were driven by a traditional distrust of the Roma and new concerns about refugees. They might be smart people, but their prejudices were dominating them, at least in this matter.

  Burke was a few metres onto the dock when the two policemen stopped and turned toward him.

  “What is it you want, Herr Burke?” asked Plaschke in German.

  Burke expected the two policemen had picked up his presence back on board the ship, but had been equally reluctant to have a conversation with so many people around. So, they had waited till this moment.

  He decided to skip any small talk. “I believe you’ve eliminated the Roma and any of the refugees in the neighbourhood as suspects in the murder of Bennett Blake.”

  Neither Martin nor Plaschke said anything, but they did exchange a glance. Burke figured that meant his statement had been accurate.

  “As a result, you still suspect someone on board the Sunna is behind Bennett Blake’s death,” Burke continued.

  “Are you sure of that?” Martin said. “We might be looking at someone not associated with the Sunna.”

  Burke recognized Martin’s mocking tone, but he wasn’t offended. “That could be true, but I don’t think that’s the case. You’re focused on the people sailing on the Sunna.”

  Once again, neither Martin nor Plaschke responded. Burke wasn’t surprised by their reticence. After all, he was just some pain-in-the-ass blogger from France. But he wasn’t giving up. “So, have you changed your minds and decided to keep the ship here in Krems while you continue your investigation or are you letting us go onto Tulln – under police supervision?”

  Burke figured his chances of getting an answer were slim, but he was curious and he did have another blog to file the next day.

  “The ship will be continuing to Tulln tomorrow as was announced earlier,” Martin said.

  “Will either of you or some other detective be along for the trip?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Burke guessed that meant they’d be making the trip.

  He knew his time was almost up. He had to take a risk. “I know the person who killed Bennett Blake is intelligent, arrogant – and doesn’t believe you’ll catch him.”

  “How do you know it was a ‘him’?” Plaschke said.

  “I saw those stab wounds. They were made with great force, more than the average woman, or man for that matter, would be able to apply.”

  “Maybe we suspect you, Herr Burke,” Plaschke said. “You’re fit and you look strong.”

  Burke shook his head. “You know it wasn’t me. I haven’t any motive. You can search all you want, but you won’t find one.”

  Burke knew he had their attention. If he could get them to consider his ideas, maybe they’d say something interesting in response. Or so he hoped.

  “The person who killed Blake used some kind of argument to get him to go unseen to that storage compartment,” Burke said. “Why did the killer select the storage compartment? He knew the rhythm of life on board the ship, where passengers went, what they did, when they did it and so on. He knew the crew’s routines, too. He picked the storage compartment because he was convinced no one would be around at that time.”

  Burke paused to see how Plaschke and Martin were digesting his theory. The flics said nothing.

  “The killer also knew how to murder Blake quickly and, this is very important, without leaving any trace of evidence,” Burke said. “If he had left some DNA, he’d be in custody right now. No, he’s very smart. And highly arrogant, too.”

  “Why do you say he’s arrogant, Herr Burke?” Martin asked.

  “Because he was able to murder Blake without leaving any evidence including DNA – you’d have found it otherwise and maybe have someone in custody as we speak. And after he killed Blake, he walked around to the other side of the ship with the murder weapon and, without anyone noticing, he dropped the weapon into the water beside the ship. He didn’t bother throwing it as far as he could into the Danube. Why not? Because he was confident that if you found the weapon, you still wouldn’t be able to connect it to him even though the weapon is not your standard knife.”

  Burke noticed Plaschke and Martin exchanging another glance.

  “Once again, why are you guessing it wasn’t a standard knife?” Martin said.

  Burke gave them his theory about the wounds being different from a standard knife attack and how the divers found something then abruptly discontinued their underwater search.

  “You’re a man of many theories, Herr Burke,” Martin said. “In fact, you have enough theories that I wonder if you aren’t keeping something from us, like maybe you saw someone acting suspiciously that evening.”

  “If that was the case, why would I keep that information from you?”

  “Maybe you want to keep it to yourself until you write about it for your newspaper chain,” Plaschke suggested. “A little self-promotion, a chance to build up your reputation. I know you’ve done that before back in France.”

  Burke bristled. “When I learned some things about those cases, I told the police. That was it. I wasn’t trying to make a name for myself.”

  Then he saw from Plaschke’s eyes that the sergeant didn’t believe his own words. He had obviously made the comment for Martin’s sake.

  But why?

  “We don’t need your help, Herr Burke,” Martin said. “In fact, you can consider this an official warning to not hinder any investigation we’re conducting. If you do get in the way, you can expect to be charged with interfering in a police investigation and that could have serious consequences.”

  Burke said nothing.

  Martin turned and moved toward a car. Plaschke waited a split second longer, nodding at Burke with some kind of non-verbal message that Burke didn’t understand. Did Plaschke want him to stop snooping or, on the contrary, was he encouraging him to keep poking around but to do so with greater care?

  Burke didn’t know. And he wasn’t sure what he should do next.

  If anything.

  Chapter 47

  Burke watched the two police officers drive off, and then he started to walk back toward the Sunna, his appetite for the dinner buffet having diminished. He glanced ahead and noticed several people standing by one of the enormous dining room windows, looking out. They seemed to be admiring the view. The setting sun was highlighting the town’s pastel-coloured buildings and, behind them, the terraced vineyards.

  Burke spotted two faces staring at him.

  Dietrich Beck and Roger Langford.

  A moment later, the two men were chatting with their neighbours. Had Burke imagined they’d been watching him? At that moment, he wasn’t sure of much. But the longer he considered the scene, the more he felt Beck and Langford had indeed been spying on him and probably while he had been talking to the two Krems flics.


  Back in the dining room, Burke saw the mood was still festive with friendly conversations and lineups at the buffet tables which were being re-stocked by the servers. He went to his table which was vacant – the others were getting their food – and took a long breath, his mind distracted. For years, he had gone through life without paying much attention to events around him, but now he was consumed by curiosity, especially when it came to unexpected deaths.

  “Aren’t you hungry, chéri?” asked Hélène when she returned with a heaping plate.

  Burke marvelled at his partner’s ability to eat vast quantities of anything and yet barely gain a gram. “I’ll get something soon. I’m just relaxing and enjoying the evening. It’s nice to see people happy again.”

  Hélène sat down, glanced around and then leaned toward him. “Everyone seems to be having a decent time except one person – you. You’ve got something on your mind and you can’t let it go. So, what’s happening, Paul?”

  Burke noticed Carmen Moreau and Hoshiko Kimura advancing. “I’ll tell you later, but it’s nothing big.”

  Hélène frowned and gave up. The timing wasn’t right to continue the conversation.

  Aware that others were probably wondering why his plate was still empty, Burke went up and got himself four suishi, a thin wedge of a green chicken curry pie, a portion of the sole meunière and a small amount of the Valaisanne-style rosti. He ignored the salads. His sweet tooth kicking in, he grabbed a dessert plate and covered it with a piece of the sugar pie, some apfelstrudel and three Nanaimo bars. As he looked at his plates, Burke realized his appetite was back.

  The conversation at the table stayed away from anything to do with Bennett Blake, Wilson Talbot and the police. Instead, it focused on the Danube with Martin Lueger discussing the great river’s idiosyncrasies, such as how it went from being a metre wide at its southwestern German end to the width of several football fields in eastern Austria. He surprised everyone, including Burke who had been largely lost to his thoughts, when he told them how the Danube disappears in Germany for 12 kilometres, going through a series of underground caverns.