by Kim Ekemar
The captain looked at him suspiciously while making a grimace of disbelief.
“Not a suicide?” he replied. “Now, what on earth makes you say a thing like that, Inspector?”
“Quite a number of things”, Ricardo answered. “For starters, Cohen was left-handed, wasn’t he?”
Captain Abasolo narrowed his eyes as if trying to recall the fact, and finally nodded his assent.
“How do you know that, and why does it matter? I don’t believe you ever met Ari to begin with.”
“No, I didn’t know him, but what I do know is that someone was very determined to kill him.”
“How can you be so sure about that?”
“Because when we found him, Ari was grasping the gun that shot him with his right hand. Who would shoot himself with his least strong hand? And there are other curious things about his death. The gun is a forty-five-calibre pistol, which is a very heavy and powerful weapon if you want to kill yourself.”
“That doesn’t prove anything. Perhaps he wasn’t able to procure a different one.”
“You're right, it doesn’t, but it’s one of several awkward circumstances that reinforces the argument that he was indeed murdered.”
“As I see it, it’s obvious the bullet went through his head and then went through the windscreen”, the captain argued.
“I’m sorry that I must contradict you, but the bullet didn’t shatter the windscreen. It ricocheted and hit the ceiling.”
“Your whole theory sounds more than beyond far-fetched to me”, the captain retorted. “All the doors were locked from the inside, and there’s no other way out.”
“Who commits suicide by putting the muzzle of a gun against their forehead?” Ricardo challenged him. “Wouldn’t it be more logical to aim it against your temple, or put it under your chin or in your mouth?”
“This is grisly stuff that you’re talking about”, the captain said with a sigh.
“It is, indeed. Still more convincing, though, is this mark from a hand that I found on the window.” Ricardo showed the captain the picture he had taken with his mobile.
“Couldn’t it have been placed there on a previous occasion?”
“It could, but –”
Ricardo was interrupted by the telephone ringing. The captain picked it up. It was Vicente calling from the engine room.
“We have inspected all sectors of the hull on the port side. No other sector except for number three has been damaged. We’ve got the leak under control by using two pumps.”
“I’m relieved to hear that. Keep up the good work.”
The captain dialled the bridge.
“The leak is contained, Ernesto, with no further damage detected. What’s the present speed?”
“I’m maintaining it at three knots, since I’m greatly concerned about the leak in the hull. I am, however, confident that we’ll return to the Beagle Channel in less than an hour.”
The captain hung up and looked at Ricardo.
“So, you suspect murder, but if that’s the case, I can’t for the life of me understand how the killer got away”, he reflected and let out a sigh. “However, you’re the expert on these things. What do you suggest we do?”
“We have a long night ahead of us”, Ricardo replied. “If I’m right about Cohen being killed, then obviously the murderer must still be on the ship. As soon as you’re able to drop anchor, I suggest we submit everyone to a simple test. And meanwhile”, he added as an afterthought, “I think we should stick to the story that what happened on the bridge was an accident and give no other details concerning Ari Cohen’s death.”
He rose and prepared to leave, then turned around with his hand on the cabin door’s handle.
“By the way, make sure to seal off the part of the bridge where the death occurred and instruct your crew not to touch the broken window. Obviously, it’s also imperative that no one who is under suspicion should be permitted entrance to the bridge.”
“And who precisely are these suspects?”
“That’s something I’m about to determine within short. Meanwhile, let’s assume that everyone on board is a suspect.”
CHAPTER 8
Narrowing Down the List of Suspects
“Captain, there’s a sudden increase of water flowing into sector three”, an alarmed Vicente told Captain Abasolo over the phone that connected him to the bridge. “If we’re now in waters shallow enough to cast anchor, I request that we immediately stop the engines to enable us to assess the increased damage.”
Worried, Captain Abasolo cast a quick glance at the instrument that showed the ship’s distance to the seafloor.
“I agree”, he ordered. “Francisco, cast anchor. Vicente, stop the engines and report back to me about any changing development in sector three.”
The almost imperceptible vibration of the engines ceased. The ship stopped moving still halfway away from the Pia Glacier after its turnaround at sea. The Gordon Island cliffs loomed starboard, and scattered islets surrounded the ship on its port side. Captain Abasolo waited impatiently for Vicente to report back with news about the growing leak.
“A part of the hull broke off, making the aperture larger”, Vicente finally informed him over the phone. “We have been able to counter this by using an additional two bilge pumps. As far as I can assess at this early stage, we’re managing to pump out the sea water at the same rate it’s coming in.”
“Good, Vicente”, the captain praised him. “I don’t see any reason to continue to the glacier at present.”
“What about the passengers that are still by the glacier?” Vicente inquired. “How will we pick them up?”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it”, Captain Abasolo replied grimly. “We won’t be able to receive the Zodiacs before daylight, anyway. Instead, we’ll stay put for the night and re-evaluate the situation in the morning.”
“Roger that.”
*
Once again within communication range by radio, Captain Abasolo contacted Mateo. He briefly explained the situation.
“Weather permitting, at first light we will receive you at the rendezvous location we previously agreed on. Meanwhile, please continue to do your utmost to keep the passengers calm and use your creativity to find them and yourself shelter.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Captain. I certainly hope that you’ll be able to pick us up early tomorrow morning, because that’s what I’m going to tell them. If you don’t, they’ll lose confidence in me.”
“Rely on it, Mateo.”
“Also, I have a person with medical issues who needs his insulin that he left on board.”
“I understand, but there’s nothing I can do at this moment to improve our current situation.”
Mateo did his best to sound like a cheerful bearer of good news when he addressed the stranded passengers in his charge.
“I’ve just received confirmation from our captain that the ship is now anchored in the Beagle Channel close by. However, due to bad weather and darkness, we won’t be able to safely drive the Zodiacs to the ship because of the wind and the ice in the bay. We need to stay here overnight and make the best of our situation. I know it’s not ideal, but at dawn we’ll be going back to the ship.”
There was a collective outburst of indignation, followed by protests about being hungry. Mateo ignored the response.
“We need to stay as warm as possible, and with the snowfall and the wind picking up, the fires won’t be sufficient. I want everyone to break off branches from the pine trees, as many as you can. Deliver them to the guide in charge of your group. As for you guides – select some passengers, equip them with your pocket knives and instruct them to cut down two dozen poles at least three metres long. When you’ve done that, go down to the Zodiacs and bring back all the ropes you can find.”
Soon, the place was humming with activity, and even the most reluctant passenger, old or young, participated to his or her best ability. An hour later, five large wind shelters cove
red with branches had been built to protect them from the wind blowing from the northeast. Again, they started fires, this time in front of the wind shelters. Some of the women thought of gathering snow, which they stuffed into the water flasks that they had been given courtesy of the shipping line. After being heated, the flasks were passed around and refilled when empty.
Resignation ruled the improvised camp as they all searched for a comfortable position and a few hours of sleep with their noses filled with the aroma from freshly cut pine branches.
*
The mood on Stella Australis was gloomy during dinner, which the chef at the captain’s request had prepared as a buffet. All crew had been given permission by Captain Abasolo to share the meal with the eight passengers who had remained on board. Questions and speculations about what had taken place abounded, and a worried exchange begun about the passengers who, it was assumed, must be freezing and hungry on the glacier while those on the ship were sharing a hot meal.
Ricardo sat down at a table for eight as the last among the passengers. Soon thereafter, the captain arrived together with some of the missing members among the crew. He went over to Berenice, the ship’s hostess, and gave her instructions in a low voice. She left the dining room while the captain and the newly arrived crew served themselves from the buffet. When he was accosted by a curious passenger with a question, the captain merely muttered that everyone should be patient because within short they would get all the answers they wanted.
Berenice returned with a stack of papers and assorted pens and pencils just as the captain finished his quick meal. He rose and slowly looked around. Expectantly, everyone waited for him to speak.
“The good news is that we now have reached the Beagle Channel with waters shallow enough to cast anchor. We have carefully inspected the damage the ship’s hull has suffered, and I can assure you that the leak is completely under control. As for the rest of what you’ve been clamouring to hear, I will leave the floor to Detective Inspector Ricardo Arriaga from the Buenos Aires police department.”
There were some audible gasps from those who hadn’t yet realised that Ricardo was a policeman. He stood up, thanked the captain and placed himself so that everyone could see him.
“I’m on this cruise not as a policeman, but because I’m on vacation”, he began. “Since then, an unfortunate incident has turned this trip into work for me. Now that Captain Abasolo and his team has got us safely moored, the time has come to let you know the details of what took place earlier today.”
He looked around at his attentive crowd, counting them. Seven passengers and twenty-two crew, including the captain.
“As most of you probably heard, a gun went off today a few minutes after three o’clock. One of the crew members, Ari Cohen, died from the gunshot, and his death looks to be either suicide or, perhaps, accidental. Berenice, please pass around a pen or pencil to everyone along with a sheet of paper.”
Berenice obeyed him and began distributing the writing material.
“As a law enforcement officer, I’m obliged to present an exhaustive report to the authorities when we get to Ushuaia”, Ricardo continued, “and that’s why I want each one of you to write down today’s date, your full name, where you were exactly twelve minutes past three this afternoon when the gun went off and, most importantly, who else was in your presence at that time. Add as much information as you like. Please be as detailed as you possibly can.”
There was an ominous silence as the information sunk in. Without offering any protest, one by one his audience began to write down the requested information. Ricardo studied everyone in the room carefully, convinced that one of them had killed Ari Cohen in cold blood. At Ricardo’s request, Captain Abasolo was also completing the task of writing down his whereabouts, although he knew the captain must be innocent since Ricardo had seen him rushing up the stairs moments after the murder had been committed. Besides, if he would have wanted Ari Cohen dead, Ricardo knew that the captain was intelligent enough to find a different way to accomplish it. No, the murderer among these men and women is anybody except for the captain, he thought.
Some of them quickly wrote down the requested information, while many others hesitated. Among the latter, Ricardo noticed that Segundo, the engine operator who he recognised as the one who had been threatened in a quarrel with Ari Cohen, had a difficult time deciding what to write. The Middle Eastern pair discussed loudly in a foreign language before eventually beginning their task. The Englishman sucked on his pencil with a dreamy look on his face, as if he were about to write a poem. The two housekeepers wrote with slow, precise movements, one of them left-handed. Of those who had begun writing, five more shared this characteristic, Ricardo observed: the elderly Frenchman who had fallen sick the previous evening, the Turkish woman who went by the name Ferah, the engineer Segundo whose blond hair was tied in a topknot, the American Charlie Bright and Captain Abasolo.
Berenice went from table to table to collect the papers before handing them over to Ricardo. Three of those present kept struggling with the task. Segundo, the engine operator, finally wrote down a quick note and personally delivered his paper to the detective inspector. One of the housekeepers seemed to have difficulty in expressing her thoughts, but eventually gave her paper to Berenice, as did the Englishman, who was the last to finish.
“Thank you, all”, Ricardo announced in a loud voice, “now you may return to your cabins. Captain Abasolo will keep you updated of any news.”
*
At the captain’s petition, Ricardo joined him in his cabin half an hour later.
“So, tell me, what did you learn from this evening’s exercise, Inspector?”
“I glanced at the statements only briefly, if that’s what you’re asking me, Captain.”
“Only briefly? Why is that?” Captain Abasolo inquired, surprised.
“Because whatever they wrote down wasn’t the main purpose of the exercise, and anyway, I’m certain that everyone made sure their version put them in the best of light.”
“In the best of light? What do you mean?”
“With a murder as calculated as I perceive this one to have been”, Ricardo explained, “obviously the killer would think about having an alibi for when the gun went off.”
CHAPTER 9
The Detective Inspector’s First Round of Interviews
At Ricardo’s request, the captain announced over the PA system that all passengers and crew who hadn’t remained seated in the Patagonia dining room should immediately join those who were. Since the ship was safely moored, all crew members were once again required to attend. Ricardo and Captain Abasolo were among those last to enter the dining room, along with some stragglers amid the crew. Like everybody already present, the crew sat down at different tables in small groups of people they were acquainted with.
When everyone was seated, Ricardo stood up and looked around at the audience he had assembled.
“As you were told an hour ago, a tragic accident occurred on the commanding bridge this afternoon”, he began. “Although I boarded this cruise as a private citizen, it’s my duty to now – as diligently as possible – conduct a formal interview with each one of you, as witnesses on board Stella Australis the moment the death took place. After reading through your statements, I need to ask you some additional questions to establish the circumstances as accurately as possible. The results will be presented to the authorities once we get to Ushuaia. My interviews are intended to be a pre-emptive course of action to erase any doubts and thus avoid the need for a future investigation. I will proceed by going from table to table to ask all of you a few basic questions.”
*
Ricardo retired to his cabin to be alone with his thoughts. He had taken ample notes as he had gone around the dining room to individually interview the passengers and the crew. After studying what he had written down – that is, after weeding out the unimportant details – he summarised the essence of what he had learnt from their testimonies.
The moment the shot went off, Pierre Mohraki had been asleep in his cabin, still weak after his bout of food poisoning the previous night. His granddaughter Leila and Miguel, the bartender, had been alone in the Darwin Lounge. Five to fifteen minutes before the shot had been fired, the remaining five passengers on board had left the lounge one by one. The two housekeepers had been chatting while cleaning the Yamana Lounge when Brent Crenshaw entered to take pictures of the glacier from the exterior balcony. They had left five minutes before the shot rang out. A quarter of an hour later, when they thought Crenshaw had left, they returned to the lounge.
Antanias Murad had gone looking for his companion Ferah Tayran, not finding her until several minutes after the shot was heard – a sound he only vaguely remembered having registered despite at the time being outside their cabin close to the bridge. Ferah Tayran claimed to have gone to the ship’s shop on the Magallanes deck, where no one else was present. Crenshaw, the photographer, stated that he had gone to his cabin after a brief visit to the balcony outside the Yamana Lounge. He confirmed that he had noticed the two housekeepers in the lounge upon his arrival.
As for the crew, Miguel had left the bar in the Darwin Lounge when he heard the shot and had gone down to the deck below, where he found Officer Ernesto pounding on the door to the bridge. The chef and three of his helpers vouched for each other, asserting that they had all been in the kitchen on the Patagonia deck preparing dinner, and none had heard the shot fired on the bridge located at a considerable distance from where they had been working. The four crew members who worked a different shift were all asleep in a cabin they shared. The four waiters had been playing bridge in a cabin not far from the kitchen, where the sound from the shot had been so muted and distant that none among them had reacted. When one of them, Patricio, became the dummy during a rubber, he had decided to go to his cabin, which he shared with assistant engine operator Segundo, for more chewing tobacco. Segundo, who was on standby for the twelve-hour night shift, was not asleep in their cabin, as he earlier had let on that he would be. While he was still in their cabin, Patricio had heard the shot being fired.
