Except that it was about the most beautiful sight she'd ever beheld.
It could have been any seascape, but it was far more vivid, seemed somehow in tighter focus than anything in life – more like an artist's notion of nature.
“Must be the Dramamine,” she murmured.
“Or was there something in the soup?”
“Clean air,” said Steve. “I guess we've never really looked through it before.”
Except for one freezing morning at a place ironically named ParadiseBay, the weather held for the entire five days they sailed the Southern Ocean.
Their first landing was at a place called Bailey's Head, which housed a rookery comprised of anywhere from 80,000 to a million penguins, depending on who you believed. Waiting excitedly to board the dinghy, in two sets of expedition–weight underwear under waterproof trousers, Skip and Steve reacquainted themselves with their fellow passengers. Some they hadn't yet met. One or two they avoided.
Like the red–faced man who kept making dumb jokes. “You think I'm getting in that thing?” he yelled as the guide lowered the first dinghy. “What if we get a flat?”
His wife was much younger, as slender and polished as he was sloppy and rough. “Oh, Hal,” she said, obviously embarrassed. Skip thought she'd said it before. Hal turned to her, annoyance all over his face, but caught sight of Skip, who was six feet tall. “Well, good morning. How's the weather up there?” It was a phrase she hadn't heard in so long she thought it had disappeared from the language.
“Hal!” said his wife.
He ignored her, extending his hand. “Hal Travis. Norman, Oklahoma. This is my wife, Anna. Haven't seen you two.”
“Little mal de mer.”
He nodded. “Gets 'em every time. See my daughter over there? Dale the Whale? Wouldn't you know she had it too? The bigger they are, the harder they fall, I always say.” He turned back toward the water. “Hey, Toby, you got that inner tube going yet?”
“You're in Andre's boat. Dale, come on. You're with me.”
Hal said, “Good thing. She'll probably sink it.”
“Hal, please,” said Anna. “She'll hear you.”
“Oh, come on. I've been kidding her all her life. She loves it.”
Hundreds of penguins were lined up on the shore, four or five deep, each awaiting its turn to dive in. Not only were they patiently permitting the ones in front to go first, their progress was hampered by the returning ones, for whom they also waited. At one end of the beach was a veritable penguin highway, the wet black backs of the birds coming home on the right, the dry white fronts of the ones going to sea on the left.
The bustle was continual, deadly serious intent apparent in every sure–footed step. Though Skip had been too sick to make it to the penguin lecture, Andre had filled her in. She knew that both mates sat on the nests, taking turns going to sea. In the crowded rookery, where each penguin looked exactly like each other one, mates found each other by the sounds of each other's voices. After a curious recognition dance, involving much bowing and bobbing, the sitting mate would stand by while the returning one fed the chick regurgitated fish or squid.
The other animals, the more shabbily dressed ones, trudged up a steep hill to the rookery, keeping the mandated fifteen feet away from the birds. On top, they had both a stunning panorama and a bird's–eye view of bird life – birds with other birds, birds feeding their young, and birds waddling, ever waddling.
“Hey, look. There's an egg hatching. Look – little pecker's coming out now.”
Hal edged in front of everyone else, camera clicking, about a foot from the hatching chick.
“So much,” said Skip, “for the fifteen–foot rule. Who is that asshole, anyway?”
“He has the suite,” said a woman named Carol, a Texan with a brisk climbing style.
“Wouldn't you know.” There was only one suite aboard the ship, and it was nearly double the cost of a cabin.
“He's my dad,” said Toby.
A day later Toby was dead.
Andre found him lying on deck, his head caved in as if he had fallen while running, smashing his skull on the steel – a daredevil laid low by the most prosaic of accidents. The deck had been wet, and a rope had been carelessly left out of place. He could have tripped or slipped – perhaps both.
Or so it seemed until the ship's doctor came forward. Skip had thought the man was a senior sailor of some sort, the first mate perhaps, by the elegant way he looked and the casual way he behaved. He was the very personification of “Nordic,” a man so white he resembled a statue. He'd probably started life as a towhead and turned golden blond. Now his hair was once again the color of a sail. He had surgeons' hands – lovely ones with prominent veins and knuckles. Skip had noticed him often, noticed that he never missed a landing and always carried a backpack. Some detective, she thought, that she hadn't put it together. She watched as he heaved himself to his feet after examining the body, and conferred with the captain. There was a lot of head–shaking and gesturing. And then, to her surprise, the Nordic man approached her. “Please, the captain would like to see you.”
The captain wore blue. She wondered if it was a rule. He had a craggy face and an air of such authority that if she'd seen him on the street she'd have known he was used to being obeyed. Now he did his best to seem her supplicant.
“Miss Langdon. That is, Detective Langdon. We have a small problem. The doctor here says our late friend Toby has more than one injury, inconsistent with slipping and falling. We have reason to believe there has been foul play. And frankly, we don't know what to do. ... We wonder if you would be kind enough to help us?”
“Of course. Let's get everyone off the deck and rope it off. Wake up everyone who isn't here and have them go to the conference room – sailors, staff, passengers, everybody. I'll have to question each person separately. Don't give anyone time alone – or alone with a friend or spouse. Get them all in there together except the people absolutely necessary to sailing the ship.”
“Yes, of course,” said the captain. He looked taken aback, as if he hadn't expected quite such decisiveness.
She wasn't at all sure what laws were eventually going to apply – Estonian, possibly, since the ship was Estonian – but then Toby was American and who knew what nationality the murderer was. All she could do was gather and preserve what evidence she could – in other words, follow the only procedure she knew. She turned to the doctor. “What have we got?”
“There seem to be a number of head injuries.” He shrugged. “Does one's head bounce when one falls? And if so, how many times? Anyway, he was young, he had good balance – and so there is common sense as well. Most people who fall down get up and walk away.”
“But the medical sticking point is multiple injuries?” “Yes.”
“Time of death?”
“Very recently. Within the hour.”
It was after one A.M., but nowhere near dark – in the South, the season of the midnight sun is reversed. Steve and Skip had gone for a stroll in the eerie light, but most people were probably in bed. Someone up to no good would have the run of the ship.
Skip said to the captain, “What about the wet deck and the rope? That doesn't seem exactly ship shape.”
“It happens.”
She thought it was awfully convenient.
“What about the family?” asked the captain.
“What indeed. I wonder what Dale the Whale's story is? While you're getting people organized, may I have permission to search the ship?”
“Of course, but – I don't know about people's cabins.”
Skip knew nothing about maritime law, but she wasn't prepared to go any further than she normally would – just in case.
She nodded. “I'll stay out of them. Steve, could you go? I need to get started with the interviews.”
“Sure. One murder weapon coming up.”
She talked to Andre first. He was officially a sort of liaison between the crew and the passengers, his title being
“Passenger Mate.” Toby had told Skip all about it – it was more or less a made–up position meant simply to give him a job. He knew everything there was to know about the ship and was considered far too valuable to be permitted to slip away.
She knew the rest of his story too. He'd once been at a research station, when the power source had been lost. He and his fellow scientists had been forced to spend the Antarctic winter with neither heat nor light. Survival would have seemed a full–time job – Skip couldn't even imagine it – but every day Andre had gone to his lab, and had worked. “He was the one who got the group through. He won't admit it,” Toby had said, “because he hates the Communists so much – but he was awarded the Order of Lenin for what he did.”
He was obviously no ordinary man. He was very handsome, yet awkward, both socially and in the way he moved, as if he were made of some durable substance that simply wasn't pliable. There was something heroic about him, yet it was something more dogged than swashbuckling. Hercules he wasn't; he was more like the Little Engine That Could.
“If I'd gotten there earlier,” he was saying. “If only I'd gotten there earlier.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Maybe I could have helped him.”
“How did you happen to find him?”
“I have a lecture tomorrow – you remember? `My Twenty Years in the Antarctic.` I was up, preparing for it. I was nervous – I went outside for a smoke.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “I found him. It was too late.”
His English was minimal, but he had little to say, anyway – he hadn't heard or seen anything. All he had done was find the body. He seemed distraught and also nervous, writhing underneath, as if being deprived of heroism this time was eating him up.
“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill Toby?”
“He was ...” He shook his head. “No. No. Toby. No.”
He and Toby, she thought, had been close. Toby had spoken of him often and always with admiration. I'll try him again, she decided, and moved on to Dale the Whale. Dale wasn't really fat, but she was no lithe, perfect Anna. Since Skip herself was six feet tall and overweight by some standards, she had sympathy for the Dales of the world. Also, she didn't get along that great with her own dad.
Dale kept her brown hair short and wore no makeup, almost as if she didn't much care what anyone thought, but since her skin was smooth and her color good, it merely looked casual rather than careless. At the moment, her face was puffy from crying.
“He was twenty–nine – tomorrow would have been his thirtieth birthday.”
“You were close to your brother?”
Dale nodded.
“How did your family happen to be traveling together?”
“We weren't supposed to be. Dad and Anna were coming to be with Toby on his birthday. And he called up and said – well, frankly ...” She hesitated. “I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but he said he was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Dad. He has ...” Again she stopped, apparently unsure what to say. Or play–acting. “He has a history of violence.”
“What sort?”
“Oh, just with us. He used to beat us when we were kids.”
Skip was puzzled. Toby had been well over six feet tall – surely he could protect himself. “There must be more.”
“Yeah. Mom – he used to knock her around as well. One day she took some pills.”
“Are you saying your mother killed herself?”
Dale nodded. “Oh, yes. And Dad was married again six months later.” She had that defiant look people get when they're trying to cover up something that hurts.
“Still, I don't see why Toby was afraid of him.”
“Well, it's this way. Granddaddy McAvoy, my mom's dad, made a fortune in bottle caps – do you love it? Somebody's gotta make them. Dad married Mom and took over the company, and Granddad, in his infinite wisdom, didn't leave Mom any money. And didn't leave me any. On the McAvoy side, the money is passed strictly to the male heirs. Toby gets his on his thirtieth birthday, but only if he's working for the company – and on that date, the same amount goes to the company.”
“Matching funds, you might say.”
“Granddad was a piece of work. But, anyhow, you've probably guessed it – Toby had absolutely no interest in bottle caps, and Dad wanted the money. So, if you want to know the truth, he really came to the end of the earth to persuade Toby to come to work for the company. Toby was afraid there'd be trouble, so he made me promise I'd never leave him alone with Dad – and then he made Dad pay for my ticket.”
“Are you saying he was physically afraid of your dad?”
She looked confused. “I don't know. I honestly don't know. All I know is he didn't want to be alone with him.”
“Did you see Toby earlier tonight?”
“Oh, yes. He came to my cabin a little before ... I guess, before he was killed.” She snapped her fingers. “Shorty! Damn, I forgot about that.”
“Back up a little – you lost me.”
“He was upset. He came to tell me she broke up with him. They had a huge fight because he turned Dad down – in other words, because he wasn't going to be a rich American. Naturally he thought she'd just been using him, and that made him feel bad. He'd lost girlfriends before, but he just rode with it, you know what I mean? All smiles, there'll–be–another–one–soon kind of thing. Last night he seemed really depressed – it wasn't like Toby, but –he could get that way around Dad.”
“What time did he leave?”
“About an hour and a half ago.” Her eyes brimmed, as the reality of it hit her. Skip called in the girlfriend. “I understand you were involved with Toby.”
And then she burst into tears.
“You must have been in love with him.”
“Oh, yes. Oh, yes, I am in love with him.”
“So why did you dump him, Shorty?”
“How you know about that?”
“You want to tell me about it?”
She seemed almost relieved. “Yes. Yes, I tell you about it. You never know it to look at me, but I am a responsible woman. I have a daughter in kindergarten and a son in diapers and I love my children. I care about my children. Toby have a very wonderful opportunity to make a lot of money and he turn it down. Like he don't care about me, he don't care about my children.” The woman spoke angrily, apparently forgetting her grief. “He turn it down and we have a big fight – huge fight.”
“When?”
“Tonight. Right after dinner.”
“I tell him my children come first, and I'm sorry I must move on, and he beg me not to, but that is the way it is. My children must come first.”
“Tell me about the offer.”
“His father – you know? The man in the suite – his father ask him to come to work for a huge bonus. Toby is afraid of his father, you know that? He is an angry man – a nasty man – Toby said he does not know what will happen if he turn his father down.” She squinched up her eyes, but Skip couldn't tell if real tears came out or not. “And now his father kill him. What a waste! He could have made me so happy.”
“Why do you say his father killed him?”
She look surprised. “Who else would do that?”
“You, maybe. If you were very angry.”
“Hey, wait a minute. I dump him. I told you that. I am a responsible woman. I don't need to kill nobody. I just move on, that's all.”
Skip could believe that. Probably, she thought, two or three times a trip.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“When he leave my cabin. I sob myself to sleep, then I find out he is dead.”
There were no witnesses to the fight, and Shorty had no alibi for the ensuing hours. That's two votes for Dad, Skip thought, I wonder if I should just get his side of the story.
She looked at her watch. It had been an hour and still no word from Steve. She went out and gestured for the captain
. “Is Steve back yet? From searching?”
Confused, he surveyed the crowded room. “I don't think so.”
Odd, she thought, but since everyone was in the room, she wasn't particularly worried. “Has anyone left the room at all?”
“Only to go to the lavatory – and we've been careful to watch. Only one at a time, and for only a few moments.”
“Okay. Send in the father next.” In grief, Hal Travis esembled a child for whom things have gone wrong – more sullen than
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