Richard Norton walked briskly up to me. He had his official face on. A man on a mission.
‘A word, Miss Jones.’
‘Certainly, Mr Norton,’ I said. ‘Which word would you like? A word sounds serious.’
‘It is serious,’ he said, drawing me aside out of hearing of the curious few. He ducked his head from a low-hung beam. ‘We have a shoplifter aboard. Items are disappearing from the Bond Street salon. I need your help.’
‘Are you sure? Passengers sometimes forget to pay and go back later with their cruise card. It happens.’
This was a no-money ship. All purchases and bar transactions went on a computerized account and were paid for at the end of the cruise. Passengers signed for every transaction. It was foolproof.
‘I wish it was as simple as that,’ said Richard. ‘I’ve had the manager, that damned Derek Ripon, on my back for two days. They’ve lost clothes — small things like scarves and tights — some fake jewellery that was on display, cosmetics and creams and stuff. Last night a bottle of expensive perfume vanished off a shelf. Some fancy name. Dior’s Poison, I think.’
‘Why does he think it’s the same person? It could be six different people.’
‘Gut instinct, he says. Quoted his years in the retail trade. He doesn’t really know, of course. These people like to think they know.’
‘Proof would be better.’
‘I’ve asked his staff to report any suspicious behaviour, loitering and so on.’
‘Perhaps a professional shoplifter doesn’t loiter. Maybe they are in and out in the flash and they wouldn’t even be noticed.’
‘Will you keep an eye open?’
‘Sure. What for? Someone wearing lots of scarves, fake jewellery and smelling to high heaven?’
‘Please take this seriously, Casey. We can’t have a shoplifter on board the Countess. It’s bad for our image.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Are you going ashore? Are you going to visit some of your posh friends?’
Oh dear, our towering security officer was having a fit of the grumps. He had clearly not forgiven me for my current coolness but I was not interested in any on-board romance with a hormonal husband on the loose. It was a pity he felt he had to take it out on me every time we met. If he was trying to worm his way back into my affections, he was going about it the wrong way.
‘The Grimaldi family keep phoning and saying we must catch up, but I’m not sure if I’ll have time. There’s shopping to do, as always.’
‘What it is to be so popular,’ he said. Sarcasm didn’t become six foot three of rejected manhood either. He shrugged and made to turn away.
‘Why don’t you go to see the village of Eze,’ I said, trying to smooth over the broken glass of his fragile ego. ‘Apparently it’s a spectacular village, hanging right over the sea — a sheer drop, medieval buildings, magnificent views. And no traffic allowed inside which seems a seriously sensible policy.’
‘Sounds perfect.’ He was interested, despite his resentment.
‘A village for pedestrians only.’
‘If I get a car to the outskirts, would you like to visit the village? A short visit, a walk around, nothing heavy.’ He was melting like a sorbet in the sun.
Richard had shrunk to small boy stature, was asking for a treat. I didn’t want to encourage him. If I gave him an inch, he’d take five and a half yards. But I did want to see the village. Hardly ethical. My curiosity was threatening to overtake good sense.
‘Sure, I’ll give you a buzz. It’s a time factor. Busy, you know.’
‘OK. Phone if you want to go ashore. You know my number.’ That’s how it was left. I wasn’t lying. I did have a lot to do.
Lee had asked if he could go ashore here. He’d never seen Monte Carlo and had volunteered to escort an excursion. Crew were always welcome as extra headcounters. All the excursions employed a local guide who were the walking guide books. They were OK as long as you didn’t ask any awkward questions.
‘You’ll enjoy Monte Carlo, rising from the sea, a whole town perched on a huge rock, everything dramatic. There’s the fairy-tale palace, home of the Rainiers, full of priceless furniture and magnificent frescoes,’ I said. ‘You must go to the Grand Casino. It’s fabulous. Go and lose a few euros for me. And don’t forget to look at the ceiling of the Salon Rose.’
‘A ceiling. Why?’
‘It’s famed for the naked nymphs smoking cigarillos.’
‘Am I old enough for all this decadence?’ he asked, grinning.
‘It’s fun spotting the celebrities. I saw Sam Neill, the actor, the last time I was here.’
‘I won’t have time or energy for all this,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Naked women, film stars, and royal palaces. I’d better take plenty of water.’
‘Please be back early. It’s the fabulous Judie Garllund this evening and I’m getting this uneasy feeling.’
Judie Garllund was due on stage for her solo spot tonight. She was heralded in the ship’s newspaper as a rising star, singing songs from shows. That’s how she finally stipulated the blurb should run, though I did point out that it didn’t say much.
‘Can’t we jazz it up a bit?’ I’d asked on the phone a few days back. It was the only way I could contact her. She never seemed to be around anywhere, only in her cabin.
‘I don’t need to be jazzed up,’ she said.
‘How about “Straight from the London stage” or “Television’s newest star”?’
‘I don’t want any of that tabloid baloney,’ she said in a muffled voice as if she was eating a bun. The cafe and the dining room were awash with food and yet she was eating in her cabin. I looked at my watch. This was between meals.
‘All right,’ I said, capitulating. ‘Perhaps when you give your second show, we’ll think up something a little more snazzy.’
There was a gulp and a choking cough the other end of the line. ‘I have to do a s-second show?’
‘Didn’t you read your contract? Two solo shows and a couple of odd spots in spectaculars. It’s not exactly a lot of work.’
There was no reply. I think she had fainted.
Now I had to check that she was fully recovered from her earlier indisposition and ready to go on stage this evening. It was like having a root canal. Although I have dealt with dozens of tricky situations, it’s not something I enjoy.
Courage Casey, I said to myself. She’s only a rather nervous singer. She got her Juliet balcony, didn’t she? So she should be grateful to me and full of welcoming smiles. I’d even forgiven her for the nails on my face.
There were no welcoming smiles. I knocked on her cabin door several times. Her steward was hovering with his trolley load of clean towels.
‘Have you seen Miss Garllund?’
‘No, I have not seen Miss Garllund,’ he said helpfully.
‘When did you last see her?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Yesterday, perhaps.’
Yesterday? It would be my luck if she was lying on the floor after taking an overdose of ten mg Valium, washed down with neat brandy. I hoped Dr Mallory was on-board. But he would still be busy from yesterday’s shoal of casualties.
‘Would you please unlock the door?’ I asked. ‘I am worried that Miss Garllund may be ill and in need of a doctor.’
‘Yes, of course, Miss Jones.’
Doctor was the magic word. All the crew adored Dr Mallory. He treated them for nothing and with as much care as if they were the wealthiest passenger aboard in an expensive suite with a balcony and a butler.
The cabin was in chaos. There was stuff everywhere. Music scores lying open on the floor, clothes on the rumpled bed, the bathroom a clutter of cosmetics and screwed-up tissues. Half-eaten food lay on plates, with open bottles of fizzy drinks.
‘I am coming to do the cabin now,’ said the steward, half-heartedly.
‘A bit of a mess,’ I said. I always kept my cabin neat. The stewards were not employed to clear up personal debris.
‘Very messy
,’ he agreed.
‘Is it always like this?’
He sighed with resignation. ‘It is always like this.’
I gathered up the clothes and put them on a chair, so that he could at least make the bed. There were a couple of T-shirts with the Conway Blue Line logo. She’d bought herself some souvenirs.
The music scores were of quite old shows. Singers usually brought sheet music, not whole scores which are heavy to carry around. The Sound of Music, Oklahoma, Annie Get Your Gun? Not exactly inspiring. I couldn’t imagine Annie Oakley singing from Juliet’s balcony. I hadn’t seen any of her rehearsals but it was time I found out exactly what she was singing. When and if I could find her.
‘Miss Garllund has gone ashore,’ I was told at the gangway. They checked on the computer where cruise cards were swiped. ‘Yes, she has gone ashore today.’
A fine sweat broke out on my forehead. This was unheard of behaviour. Most entertainers stayed on-board if they had a solo spot that evening. They wanted to relax, rehearse, conserve their strength, wash their hair, check all the last-minute details.
But all thoughts of the extraordinary straying vocalist vanished in the next few minutes. There was the most almighty row going on near the end of the line waiting to board the tender. The voices were loud and angry. It was a husband and wife, or partners, or whatever their current battle status. But they were going at each other, hammer and curling tongs.
‘It’s your own fault. I told you to pack them. Why blame it on me that you haven’t got them? You’re always blaming me. I already wait on you hand and foot, why should I do any more? It’s your own stupid fault.’ The woman’s face was flushed, her voice rising like a force ten gale. The man beside her was tight-mouthed, tight-fisted. They were both in their fifties, well dressed, preserved in Botox and Dewars.
‘You fat-faced, stupid old cow. I can’t rely on you for anything. Nothing to do all day except play bridge with your crow-faced cronies and microwave a few Tesco dinners. You can’t even be bothered to cook these days, not even a boiled egg. All I asked you to do was check my case, my packing. It wasn’t much to ask. You’d got all day.’
‘Do this, do that, ordering me about like an unpaid servant. That’s all I ever hear from you,’ she spat at him, eyes narrowed and glinting. I noticed she was wearing a lot of unsuitable shimmering mauve eye shadow. ‘Orders, orders, orders.’
‘Who’s paying for this cruise, I ask you? Who has worked hard all year to pay for this?’
‘Oh, don’t give me that crap. All this crap talk about hard work. Your hardest work is under your secretary’s desk.’
There was a gasp and stunned silence among the other passengers in line for the tenders, and then a few embarrassed titters. I’d heard enough. This was getting vicious and below anyone’s belt. Not exactly my job but it was not my style to walk away from disruption of any kind. I wasn’t called Cacoethes Casey for nothing. Not many people called me that. Not many people know what it means.
‘Hello,’ I said calmly. ‘I’m Casey Jones. Would you mind coming with me? There’s a quiet room off here where we could talk.’
They were highly agitated, moron faces set in fury, eyes like daggers. They looked as if they would refuse, both determined to carry on their row in public, as if it was cathartic. The woman wasn’t ageing well, looked old and bitter, carrying a magisterial bosom which gravity was defying. I wasn’t happy about leaving either of them.
‘I may be able to help,’ I said, a right little agony aunt in the making. ‘It’ll only take a few minutes and then you can go ashore on the next tender. Monte Carlo is such an interesting place. You’ll enjoy your visit.’
It was pat, like a tour guide. Any minute now I’d be showing them on to a coach and counting heads.
‘This bloody man is impossible,’ the woman shouted. ‘I can’t do anything right. God knows why I’m here on this bloody ship.’
‘You’ve said it,’ he grunted. ‘Get off if you don’t like it. The sooner you pack the better. Why don’t you jump overboard? Bloody big splash. I’d be glad to get rid of you. Suit me.’
‘This way please,’ I said, insisting that they follow me. ‘I don’t know your names. Is it Mr and Mrs …?’
‘Belcher,’ he said. ‘Mr and Mrs Greg Belcher. Not for much longer, I hope. I’m up to here with this woman. I’m going straight to my lawyer as soon as we get home.’
‘And good riddance to you,’ said Mrs Belcher. ‘The sooner you piss off, the better. Then I can get on with my life without you cluttering up the house with dirty pants and smelly socks.’
‘You won’t get the house,’ he roared. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’
‘Oh yes, I will. Ten years’ hard labour won’t count for nothing.’
‘I didn’t want to come on this bloody cruise in the first place,’ he grumbled.
‘Oh no, you’d rather play golf, day in, day out, propping up the nineteenth hole with your cronies. Some handicap, you’ve got. Your main handicap is too many pints and whiskey chasers.’
Quite a few of the passengers were distinctly uncomfortable by now. I needed to move Mr and Mrs Belcher before they came to blows.
‘Would you mind coming with me?’ I tried again, more firmly. ‘This way, please. There’s a room at the side where you can continue your argument in private.’
‘It’s none of your business, young woman,’ the woman spat at me. ‘Keep out of it. Leave us alone. Go away. Clear off.’
It was a small inside room, no window, where we took passengers who had brought aboard something illegal or not allowed. Sometimes purchases had to be searched. One passenger tried to smuggle aboard a monkey from Gibraltar. The unfortunate animal gave away his own presence. A zipped holdall that jabbered was not a normal souvenir.
‘You can’t treat me like this,’ said Mrs Belcher, bosom heaving, clearly on the point of losing control. ‘I won’t have it.’
‘What are you trying to do with us?’ Mr Belcher spluttered. ‘I won’t stand being hustled about like this by a nobody.’
‘It’s merely a small room where you may feel more comfortable. I could bring you some coffee while you wait for the next tender. One has unfortunately just left.’
Somehow the nobody got the reluctant couple into the interview room. It was more like an office with a desk and filing cabinet. Mrs Belcher went straight to the filing cabinet and started drumming her fingers on the top.
‘Whatever you’ve forgotten to pack you’ll be able to buy in Monte Carlo,’ I said. ‘There are wonderful shops. They stock everything.’
‘That’ll suit her,’ said Mr Belcher, glaring. ‘Dora was bom with a credit card in her mouth.’
‘I’ll get you some coffee,’ I said, escaping. I thought they both needed it. I needed it.
I hurried to the nearest bar and got a stewardess to bring a tray with a pot of coffee to the room. The Belchers were sitting in stony silence. I was going to leave them to sort it out, hoping they wouldn’t hurl the coffee at each other.
‘You’ll really enjoy Monte Carlo,’ I said cheerfully, ignoring the ice forming into glacial peaks.
‘Really?’ Dora Belcher was determined not to give an inch. ‘I won’t enjoy anything with this bastard,’ she snarled.
I was about to suggest that maybe it would be a good idea if they went their separate ways for the day, giving both of them a chance to cool down, when my mobile phone rang.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, going outside.
‘Casey? Can you come to the medical centre?’ It was Dr Mallory’s soothing voice. ‘There’s something you ought to see.’
I’d look at anything to get away from the brawling Belchers. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes. I’m with two passengers at the moment.’
The Belchers were calming down. Mrs Belcher was pouring out some coffee. She didn’t pour one for her husband. No more waiting on him hand and foot. For a moment I felt sorry for her. It’s no fun when your looks start to go and I
could see that once she had been an attractive woman.
‘Now you enjoy your coffee,’ I said. ‘Then go ashore on the next tender. Monte Carlo is really worth a visit.’
Afterwards I wished I hadn’t gone to the medical centre. Maybe I’d been hypnotized by that lovely deep voice or the thought of drowning myself in those light grey eyes, so full of amusement.
Whatever it was about Sam that always worked its magic on me, it wasn’t there today.
Twelve
Monte Carlo
Samuel had completed some preliminary tests on blood samples taken from the body of Theo Papados. He’d not had time before with the rush of casualties from St Tropez.
‘There are traces of some foreign substance in the blood,’ he said, clearly not happy with his findings. ‘It’s not something I can identify, working with this basic equipment. I’d need a laboratory. I’ve a friend at Guy’s who may be able to help out. Maybe it’s the reason why the professor so suddenly died. Whatever this substance is, it kicked in and that was the end of our lecturer.’
‘It’s all Greek to me.’ The graphs on the screen meant nothing.
‘Not funny, Casey. Not one of your best.’
‘Sorry, it wasn’t meant to be a joke. I’m a fraction shattered, off balance. I’ve been dealing with a married couple almost coming to blows in public.’
‘The Belchers?’
This was a surprise. My eyebrows shot up. Had I missed a warning notice in the ship’s newspaper under the flash line ‘Port Hazards’?
‘Mrs Belcher came aboard with a black eye,’ he said, scrolling through notes on his computer screen. ‘Mrs Dora Belcher, aged 53, from Kensington. She said she walked into a door. The door being an upright Mr Belcher in my opinion.’
‘She was wearing a lot of make-up, now you mention it, probably to cover the bruising. They both have pretty volatile tempers. Perhaps they need watching.’
‘Monitoring. We don’t want any domestic violence on board. So how is our songbird, the legendary Judie Garllund? I’ve seen her quite a few times in the last couple of days. She is suffering from a variety of ailments including palpitations, sore throat, headaches, nausea and dizziness.’
Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2) Page 10
