by Kim Ekemar
“To recapitulate”, Villaverde said, at the end of Ricardo’s narrative, “one of the ship’s crew was shot yesterday. According to you, it was made to look like a suicide with all doors locked from the inside. Also, the attempt would have been successful if you hadn’t noticed the mark of a hand on the blood splattered on the windscreen. If it wasn’t a suicide, then obviously it must have been done by one among the thirty persons on board at the time of the incident. The main mystery, then, revolves around how the assailant could escape. Hmm, intriguing, indeed. Then there’s the legal challenge we need to consider – the crime was committed in Chilean waters, where we obviously have no jurisdiction and, which I shudder to think about, implicates a mind-boggling amount of paperwork.”
He rose.
“While we continue to contemplate the circumstances, I think the time has come to inspect the crime scene.”
Captain Abasolo led the way up to the deck above where the bridge was located.
“I had to put the safety of the ship first when it was abandoned due to the death of the officer on the bridge. Except for cleaning the floor, we have tried to not disturb the area where we found the body – although I can’t be entirely sure that this is the case. You can image the situation with a runaway ship about to wreck on the rocks in the Beagle Channel …”
He left the words hanging in the air. The chief of police nodded sympathetically. Ricardo, his foot still hurting somewhat, moved closer to the bloodstained window.
“The murderer entered the bridge through the main door, which was left unlocked when the second-in-command officer left on an errand. The victim had been instructed by the captain to take the ship the short trip across the bay to avoid the ice floes after the wind had changed direction. From this, we can assume he was looking straight ahead when the murderer entered. There was probably some verbal exchange, considering that the victim had turned around before being shot. The murderer threatened the victim with a large-calibre pistol. That’s actually the first puzzling thing I noticed: why use an unnecessarily big weapon to kill someone close up, when the sound would immediately alert everyone?”
The officer assigned to record the information wrote this down in his notebook.
“After turning around, the victim moved to the extreme left side of the bridge”, Ricardo continued. “As you will observe when you later see the corpse, the gun was placed firmly against the victim’s forehead before the trigger was pulled. The single shot could be heard throughout most of the ship at twelve past three yesterday afternoon. With the door locked from the inside, after their arrival it took Captain Abasolo and Officer Paniagua about twenty minutes before they could enter the bridge by sliding down a rope from the deck above. As you can see, they broke the window on the side door that leads to what’s called the flying bridge to let themselves in.”
Ricardo pointed at the door in question. Duly, Villaverde took notice and silently nodded.
“Waiting by the bridge’s main door, I was then let inside. While the captain and Officer Paniagua were trying to avoid a shipwreck catastrophe in the narrow strait, I studied the crime scene. I noticed some disturbance among the droplets of blood on the windscreen. I leaned over to look at it more closely. Cold wind was blowing in through the hole in the glass that presumably had been made by the bullet after it killed the victim. It made my breath evaporate on the glass and I could clearly see the mark of a hand where the splattered blood had been disturbed. You should of course order someone from forensics to investigate it. I’m quite certain you will find traces of talcum powder that made the mark discernible. This, by logic, means the murderer had carefully planned to enter the bridge with the intention to kill the victim, wearing surgical gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. It has made me wonder if the murderer on purpose used the large-calibre pistol without a silencer.”
“Why would the murderer put his hand on the windscreen?” Villaverde asked.
“It took me a while to figure that out”, Ricardo replied. “The only answer I can come up with is that, using the forty-five, the killer miscalculated that the bullet would penetrate the victim’s head and then pass through the window. What you can see here in the ceiling is where the bullet struck after ricocheting.”
Ricardo pointed at the deep dent that could be observed above the chief of police.
“The bullet is not lodged in the ceiling, nor could it be found anywhere else on the bridge. I can only assume that the killer picked it up before he left. I did find the casing, though, which confirms the theory that the killer wanted the murder to look like a suicide while making us believe that the bullet went through the windscreen.”
“All doors to the bridge were locked from the inside, and the moving ship was surrounded by the ocean”, Villaverde mused. “Then, how did the killer leave?”
“I don’t know”, Ricardo stated simply. “Now, let me offer you some insight concerning those on board during the incident, and why I believe only nine of those persons can be the one who shot Adnan Shadid.”
“Adnan Shadid?”
“That’s his real name, according to Interpol. He was working as an officer on Stella Australis using the false name of Ari Cohen and a fake Israeli passport to support it. That’s something that in itself is a clue, because Adnan Shadid was a high-level Syrian naval officer on the run for crimes against humanity.”
“This story is getting stranger by the minute.”
“Indeed, it is”, Ricardo retorted with a wry smile.
“But there must exist some reason for killing him”, Villaverde exclaimed. “What can the motive be for someone to shoot a man while the ship is in motion and as a consequence leave everyone on board – including the killer – with the imminent danger of being shipwrecked?”
“I’ve been contemplating the case from a great many angles for the past twenty hours or so, and perhaps the killer wanted the ship to wreck. Does it mean that the motive was to hurt the owners or their shipping company? Or was it just circumstantial bad luck that Shadid was killed when he, alone, was commanding Stella Australis from the bridge as it was moving across the bay? You see, as the captain here can confirm, there’s supposed to always be at least two crew on the bridge while the ship is sailing. On this particular occasion, this wasn’t observed, since Ari Cohen, or should I say Adnan Shadid, decided to cross the bay without waiting for Officer Paniagua’s return. This fact creates more questions. Did Shadid, an experienced sailor, neglect the rules on purpose? Or did he merely consider that the short distance was something he could handle on his own once the engines had started? Did the circumstance that he started moving Stella Australis alone on the bridge have anything to do with his murder?”
“You said you received information from Interpol”, Villaverde wanted to know. “What did you learn?”
“Frankly, quite a few details of interest. As a result, I’ve asked the captain to retain the passports of the nine people without an alibi. Later, I’ll be happy to share the Interpol briefings with you. As for now, I think it’s more urgent to interview these nine suspects once more.”
“And so we shall”, Villaverde confirmed, “but first we need to inspect the victim.”
He gave the order to one of his subordinates to make the necessary forensic assessment on the bridge and secure the evidence on the murder scene.
The four policemen continued to the cabin to where Shadid’s body had been moved, with Ricardo leading the way. He opened the door with the key that Dr Bautista had given him.
“As you can see, the bullet wound is at the centre of the forehead, surrounded by gunpowder stains”, Ricardo began, after the door was shut behind them. “I left the pistol in the side drawer by the bed, but I doubt very much there will be any fingerprints besides those of the victim. On the other hand, I’m convinced that you’ll find residues of talcum powder on it that will match what you have secured on the windscreen glass.”
Again, Villaverde ordered the inspection for technical evidence, this time tel
ling his other forensic specialist to proceed with the investigation.
“Although I hesitate to exclude anyone else who was on board at the time of the murder”, Villaverde said importantly, turning to Ricardo, “I think you’ve done a meticulous job so far. So, as a first phase, we will proceed with the interviews of your nine suspects. Where can we meet with them one by one? Who can tell them when we are ready to speak to them?”
“I think the Yamana Lounge is well suited for interrogation, now that all the other passengers have disembarked”, Ricardo replied, grimly. “It has enough space, and it’s more intimate than the other lounges. Besides, we won’t be overheard there. While we talk to the suspects one at a time, those about to be interviewed should remain in their cabins. I’ll ask the captain to give us someone who can go and fetch them when the time comes for their turn.”
While the chief of police went to the Yamana Lounge accompanied by the last of his colleagues to prepare for the interviews, Ricardo hobbled down to Captain Abasolo’s cabin. After knocking and being admitted inside, he found the captain and Ernesto in a reunion with a person from the insurance company and two lawyers representing the owner company, who had arrived shortly after the passengers had disembarked. Moments earlier, the captain informed him, they had returned from inspecting the damage made to the hull. Ricardo told the captain in a few words what he had been up to so far with the Ushuaia police. To facilitate the interviews, he requested the help from someone among the ship’s crew who wasn’t Berenice, since she was one on the list of suspects. They needed someone to communicate to those to be interviewed when they should present themselves.
“I don’t see any problem in that, since we’re almost done with the insurance issue for the time being anyway”, Captain Abasolo agreed. “Ernesto, please assist the detective inspector’s request while I conclude the discussions with the other gentlemen present.”
CHAPTER 22
The Final Interrogation of the Suspects
The knock Dr Bautista made before entering was as discreet as the movement when he unobtrusively slid down onto the chair to face the policemen.
Villaverde studied the doctor while Ricardo began to question him. The doctor’s thick, curly hair – now almost completely white – was in urgent need of a trim; he sported a two-day old stubble that made him look scruffy; the brown, keen eyes that gazed back at him over the round glasses, pierced on the bridge of his nose, were apologetic; and to top it all off, Dr Bautista exuded a calm that only people secure in themselves project. There were no signs of nervousness or discomfort. Villaverde felt unsure what to make of this mixture of impressions.
“I need to tell you what really took place on the bridge when Ari Cohen was shot”, Ricardo began the interview. “It has now been established that Cohen was murdered in cold blood. The reason you are here is that we need to ask you more questions.”
“Ari Cohen was murdered? It had been my understanding that he committed suicide.”
Either Dr Bautista is an excellent actor or his surprised reaction is real, Villaverde observed.
“I’m sorry if I can’t provide you with an ironclad alibi”, the doctor continued, now aware that he had become one of the suspects, “but life tends to leave you unprepared for these unexpected situations. If that hadn’t been the case, then rest assured that I would have provided you with one.”
“Let me ask you again about your whereabouts when the shot went off at twelve minutes past three”, Ricardo began. “You told me earlier that you did hear the shot being fired at the time indicated?”
“Yes, I heard it”, the doctor replied, “although from a distance. I was in my cabin when it went off.”
“What was your immediate reaction, then? Did you leave your cabin?”
“I remember looking up from the review I was reading and wondering if it was a gunshot or something else”, the doctor replied. “I just couldn’t believe it was a gun going off, so I thought it had been some noise from the engine room. The ship was moving, you know, so I shrugged it off and went back to my reading.”
Ricardo decided to question the doctor from a different perspective.
“I’ve been informed that you worked in the Middle East for many years. The victim was a citizen from that part of the world. Did you, by any chance, know him before you accepted to be employed on Stella Australis?”
He could see how Dr Bautista wrestled with his question.
“No … I can’t say that I did”, he finally said, hesitating.
“Have you ever heard the name Adnan Shadid, wanted by the International Criminal Court in Hague for crimes against humanity?”
Dr Bautista paled visibly when he heard the name spoken by Ricardo.
“It was generally known in Syria that Shadid carried out some gruesome actions on behalf of the country’s dictator –”
“Have you been aware that the real name of the victim, known on board as Ari Cohen, was Adnan Shadid?”
Ricardo bored his eyes into the doctor’s. The doctor avoided his gaze by looking at the floor.
“Yes”, he eventually replied in a hoarse whisper.
“He was wanted by international authorities for crimes you were aware of, yet, despite working with him during the previous season, you didn’t do anything about it. Why?”
“I … I’ve seen my fair share of violence and … bloodshed and horrors in my life”, Dr Bautista responded. “I accepted this position on Stella Australis five years ago to get some peace and quiet far from the war zones where I’ve spent more time and watched more terrifying things than any human being should be allowed to do. At this stage in my life, I didn’t want to become a whistle-blower to, and a witness in, an international scandal. There was a time when I would have done it, but I wasn’t prepared to do it any longer – not at this time and age. Perhaps I’m a coward. I suppose I decided to look the other way when it came to Shadid, just to be able to maintain the inner peace I’ve had such a difficult time in finding.”
“Thank you, Doctor Bautista”, Ricardo dismissed him, “that will be all for the moment.”
*
Ricardo quickly reread Interpol’s two-page report on Pierre Mohraki before the man limped into the lounge leaning heavily on his cane. Compared to the other briefings, the contents in the one concerning Mohraki mentioned nothing beyond trivial details.
“I hope you now have recovered completely after your unpleasant stomach troubles the other night”, Ricardo offered, as Mohraki sat down.
“Yes, it was quite bad for a while”, Mohraki answered. “Without going into details, I regret to say that I continued to throw up until there was nothing left in my stomach. Fortunately, I had my granddaughter to take care of me. It was a rough night, but I was able to sleep most of the day yesterday.”
A cool, calm man in control of himself, Villaverde concluded, as he listened to and studied the Frenchman. He’s not only in command of himself, but he also gives the impression of being used to commanding others. Yet, with his disability, I wonder why the detective inspector considers him a suspect?
“You told me, during my previous interview with you, that you heard a shot go off at twelve past three yesterday afternoon. Your granddaughter was in the Darwin Lounge. For the benefit of Chief of Police Villaverde here, could you please repeat where you were at the time?”
“As I said then, I was finally asleep in my cabin after a long and sleepless night.”
“What was your reaction to hearing the shot? Your cabin is on the same floor close to the bridge where it was fired.”
“It woke me up”, Mohraki replied. “I remained in bed, however, because I still felt debilitated. Some time later, Leila arrived and confirmed that she had heard the shot, too.”
“You have a French passport, but it indicates that your birthplace was Algeria.”
“Yes, that’s correct”, Mohraki responded. “As you may recall, Algeria was a French colony for many years until my country’s independence in nineteen sixty-two.
After the Algerian Civil War started in nineteen ninety-one, I was fortunate enough to obtain a French citizenship.”
“Have you ever travelled to the Middle East?”
“Yes, maybe three or four times”, he replied coolly. “There’s a very complex situation in that region. Fortunately, I live in Marseille and not in some war zone.”
“When you travelled there, what countries did you visit?”
“I don’t see how that could be of any interest to your investigation, Inspector, but give me a second to recall … I went to Lebanon on two occasions‚ I visited Syria a couple of months before that country’s civil war began; I was in Egypt once; and also in Iraq.”
“On those travels, did you come across this man?”
Ricardo showed the passport picture of Adnan Shadid. Mohraki leaned forward and studied it carefully.
“No, I can honestly say I can’t recall ever having met or interacted with this man. Why do you ask?”
“He’s the crew member, born in the Middle East, who may have been murdered yesterday afternoon.”
“Murdered? I see.”
Ricardo could see that Mohraki was unperturbed by the news, as if it didn’t concern him or arouse any curiosity whatsoever. He looked into Mohraki’s intelligent eyes and waited for him to add something.
“So, this man, of Middle Eastern origin, was shot on the bridge around three o’clock yesterday afternoon, and now you’re interviewing everyone on board to find a killer and a motive. May I ask you how come you now think it was murder and not an accident or a suicide as you previously told us?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t go into the details of an ongoing investigation”, Ricardo explained, tartly. “Although the other options you mention are possible, the police have the obligation to investigate all credible scenarios.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you for your time, Mister Mohraki, that will be all.”
“Will you need to interview Leila again?” Mohraki asked, with a grimace of pain as he leaned on his cane to get up.
