by Kim Ekemar
“Well, then”, Berenice said with a sigh, looking somewhat relieved. “As I told you before, I was in my cabin when someone shot Ari. But … I wasn’t alone.”
Ricardo immediately understood but didn’t say anything.
“We’re not supposed to … fraternise with other crew members during the cruises”, she continued. “At twelve past three, I was with Segundo. We both heard the shot. He told me that something ominous must have occurred. We quickly got dressed and went outside. We agreed that I should go upstairs to find out more. Meanwhile, Segundo, who was on standby duty, got very nervous and wanted to return to the engine room.”
“How long have you been lovers?” Ricardo wanted to know.
“We began seeing each other shortly after he rescued me from Ari”, Berenice replied. “By that I mean that Segundo and I didn’t become involved with one another until after the end of the old contract.”
“In what way did Segundo rescue you from Ari Cohen?” Ricardo insisted.
“Well, during the previous season, Ari tried to bump into me as often as he could, looking for female company. After a couple of months, when the cruises became increasingly predictable and monotonous, I … I sort of … went along with his proposal.”
“Meaning you broke the rule of not getting involved with other crew members while on board.”
“I sincerely regret it, I assure you”, Berenice said. “Ari soon turned out to be another man in my life who likes to rough up a woman. He is … was both a very violent and a very jealous man. When I didn’t comply with his wishes, he beat me up.”
“Then along came Segundo?”
“Yes, he found out about Ari’s mistreatment of me, and on the last cruise for the season, Segundo one night surprised him with a beating that blow by blow matched every bruise I had received during the previous three months.”
“Didn’t the captain react when he noticed Ari’s bruises?”
“I don’t know the details, only that Ari told everyone that he had fallen down some stairs in the engine room.”
“How long have you been working on Stella Australis?”
“This is my second season. As you may know, there are no cruises during the winter months – that is, from the end of March until the end of September. It’s not that Segundo and I got together on this cruise; we became a couple in Santiago after the previous season ended. It’s just that we decided to … to be discreet about it, to not provoke any unnecessary attention to the fact.”
“All right, that will be all for now. I’ll call you if and when we need additional information.”
*
As the second to last among the suspects to be interviewed, Segundo entered the lounge. A tall, well-built man in his late twenties, Villaverde observed, with a cheeky, self-assured smile and his blond hair tied up in a topknot. He fits the assassin’s profile insofar that his height would have allowed him to place the pistol on the victim’s forehead. He also knows the ship inside out, having worked here the previous season.
“Let’s begin”, Ricardo opened the interview. “I will put it to you bluntly – your shipmate Ari Cohen was murdered on the bridge yesterday.”
He paused for Segundo’s reaction.
“Murdered?” Segundo looked genuinely surprised.
“Someone killed him, and I need to tell you that you are one among the suspects.”
“I’m suspected of killing Ari?!” Segundo looked more worried by the second. “Just because he tried to …”
At this point, he stopped talking, apparently realising that he could be hurting his own case.
“Let’s go back a bit, shall we?” Ricardo said. “How long have you worked on board Stella Australis?”
“One full season; the year before”, Segundo replied, rubbing his face with his left hand, “and this season – this cruise being the second one.”
“Ari Cohen also worked on Stella Australis the previous season. What was your relationship with him?”
Segundo buried his face in his hands, as if to be able to think more clearly. When he raised his head again, Ricardo watched how the muscles around his eye kept twitching.
“He was a lowlife who got pleasure out of beating women, that’s who he was!” Segundo ferociously lashed out.
“You were in a fight with him, something I personally saw. You previously told me that it was about a card game debt, which I know isn’t true. Now, explain in detail why you had this fight.”
Segundo took his time before he reluctantly spoke.
“He had beaten up Berenice on several occasions, and she complained to me about it. I decided he needed some of his own medicine and, at the end of our last season, I gave him a beating I hoped he’d never forget. Then, when we all got back for this season, he apparently wanted to settle his grudge with me, and that’s when you walked into the engine room.”
“You previously told me that you were smoking outside the Sky Lounge when the gun on the bridge was fired. Why would you climb the stairs three decks to smoke a cigarette? Besides, on the authority of several other witnesses, I know for a fact that you didn’t leave and return to your cabin at all … would you like to comment on that?”
Throughout the interview, Ricardo noticed how Segundo’s cheek and left eye twitched whenever he became uncertain about how to answer a question – or perhaps because he was lying. It made Ricardo again briefly reflect on the nervous behaviour of the other suspects, before realising that many of them had in some way or other revealed their insecurity with some kind of tic or erratic behaviour when under interrogation.
“I’m in a jam here, Inspector, because I was doing something the crew aren’t allowed to – I was in Berenice’s cabin when we heard the shot.”
“What was your relationship with the victim?”
“He was just another shipmate, I guess, until we fell out with each other. In the past he had a relationship with Berenice. Our problems began when she told Ari she wouldn’t see him anymore because she preferred to be with me. That’s when he sought me out to threaten me. That led me to give him his well-deserved beating on our last day of the previous season.”
“Obviously your relationship soured after that, and when you returned to Stella Australis this season …?”
“Yes, that’s when he cornered me a couple of days ago”, Segundo responded, “with the intention of returning the favour I had done Berenice, with interest.”
“Is that what I saw when visiting the engine room?”
“Yes, but please understand my situation when I say that I don’t want to burn my bridges as an employee here.”
“All right, you can go now”, Ricardo told him. “If we find it necessary, I will send for you again.”
*
Charlie was last among the suspects on Ricardo’s list to sit down with the policemen in the Yamana Lounge.
“What do you need to know now, officers?” Charlie asked in an even voice, while leaning his thick arms against his thighs. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt, slacks and a pair of running shoes that had seen better days. “Please make it as brief as possible. You know I’m worried about my wife, who hasn’t been seen since she was interviewed by you last night.”
“Are you implying that I have something to do with her disappearance?” Ricardo asked him, sharply.
“There’s really nothing more that can be done on part of the authorities”, Villaverde interjected as if making an intent to calm the waters. “As you know, the disappearance has now been reported to the coastguard, and I’ve instructed their command to inform me the moment there’s any news.”
“Now, turning to the investigation at hand here”, Ricardo said, his voice hard. “When I interviewed you earlier, you bragged that you were a successful salesman. However, I’ve instead come to learn that you had a long career working for the CIA … any comment?”
Charlie looked startled, as if he hadn’t expected this question from a policeman who was far away from his home territory on board a s
hip that only minutes earlier had reached Ushuaia.
“I did work for the Company for some time, you’re right”, he reluctantly admitted. “But, what does that –”
“I’ll pose the questions, if you don’t mind”, Ricardo curtly interrupted him. “Now, tell me, after working for the CIA while stationed in the Middle East, you got decommissioned. Fired, to put it more bluntly. Why was that?”
“I’m not here to answer impertinent questions about my workplace past”, Charlie, red-faced, heatedly argued and rose from his seat.
“You are, if those questions can shed light on the murder that took place on board this ship yesterday”, Ricardo observed.
“Murder?” Suddenly Charlie looked worried. “What do you mean?”
“That’s right – murder. What I’m interested in is how a CIA operative working in the Middle East might have become acquainted with a Syrian naval officer, and both end up on the same cruise halfway around the world, many years later.”
To Ricardo and Villaverde’s surprise, Charlie looked relieved. He sat down again.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about!” Charlie shouted, pounding his fist on the armchair for emphasis.
“Have you ever been to Syria?”
“Once or twice.”
“Did you ever meet Adnan Shadid?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Did you recognise him under his taken name, Ari Cohen?”
“Never heard of him, either.”
“Do you recognise the man in this photo?”
Ricardo handed him a photocopy of Ari Cohen’s enlarged passport picture. Charlie barely glanced at the picture.
“Never seen the man.”
Ricardo sighed. Charlie wanted to be a difficult witness. But, all in good time, there were ways to handle unwilling witnesses.
“I suspect that you may still be working for the CIA, and that the Interpol report I have received is merely a cover for whatever you’re up to here.”
“You may be right”, Charlie replied with a faint smile that was infuriating. “But that’s something I can neither confirm nor deny. To me, it sounds like you have a bridge to sell – but I’m not buying.”
“I didn’t expect you to”, Ricardo said, and rose to show that the interview had ended.
After Charlie had left, the chief of police remained seated in silence and started reading through the notes his assistant had taken. Ricardo took the opportunity to think through whether the disappearance of Evelyn Bright was in any way connected to the murder of the Syrian war criminal Shadid. Could it be a coincidence that she disappeared only hours after he was killed? She can’t have vanished into thin air. Why is it that I don’t trust her husband’s reactions? He doesn’t seem overly worried that his wife is no longer here. And, the big question, of course, is where she has gone … Overboard? Where else? Had she somehow been disposed of after being an accomplice in the murder of Ari Cohen?
At that moment, it dawned on Ricardo how the murder must have been done.
“We need to conduct one more interrogation”, he told Villaverde. “If my hunch is right, I think I’ve discovered how Shadid’s killer escaped from the bridge in spite of the doors having been locked from the inside.”
CHAPTER 23
A Murderer’s Confession
Over the radio, Ricardo requested Ernesto to find Leila Mohraki, who should immediately make herself present at the Yamana Lounge, where the police were waiting. Although she had been given her passport and was permitted to go ashore, Leila had remained on board since her grandfather hadn’t been allowed to leave.
Leila entered the lounge slowly, chewing gum and watching the policemen – two of them in uniform, one in civilian clothing – with resentful eyes.
“Please sit down, Leila”, Ricardo asked her in a pleasant voice.
Reluctantly, she obeyed him.
“You are surely aware by now that a murder was committed on the ship’s bridge”, Ricardo began. “As you probably also know, the Ushuaia police, with my assistance, are interviewing everybody who was on board at the time. So, I’m going to ask you the same basic questions that I have asked all the other passengers and crew. Is that all right with you?”
“Sure.”
“Where were you at twelve minutes past three yesterday?”
“In the Darwin Lounge.”
“What were you doing at this precise moment?”
“I was listening to music and playing a game on my tablet.”
“Did you hear the shot, or were you told about it afterwards?”
For the first time, she hesitated.
“Can’t say I noticed it.”
“So, you learnt about it later? When? From whom?
His barrage of questions made her visibly uncomfortable.
“I don’t know, maybe a couple of hours later, when the captain told us at dinner that there had been an accident, or perhaps from the guessing and rumours among the passengers. I didn’t pay much attention.”
“How do you explain, then, that according to your grandfather, you went to his cabin half an hour after the shot was fired and told him what had happened?”
A dark blush came over Leila’s cheeks.
“I … I told you … I can’t recall the exact time for everything.”
“Another curious detail, you said that you were playing with your tablet when the shot went off – how do you know this, if you didn’t hear the shot?”
“I … I was using it all the time while I was sitting in the lounge.”
“However, I have a witness saying that he observed that you put your tablet away when he was leaving the lounge some eight minutes earlier.”
“I don’t know about that.” She was beginning to heat up to challenge him, he noticed. “Everyone knows I was playing games on my tablet, why don’t you ask around?! Perhaps I put it away for a couple of minutes to go to the lavatory – I don’t remember petty details like that.”
“One curious thing is that the bartender, Miguel, reacted to the shot you tell us you didn’t notice. He immediately went downstairs, leaving you alone in the lounge.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
Ricardo noticed the backpack she had slumped next to the armchair.
“Tell me”, Ricardo asked, using his softest and most confidential voice, “why are you using such a big backpack when you only carry around a tablet?”
“Personal stuff! And I don’t think that’s any of your business!” she said angrily, and stood up. “Is there anything else you need to know about me and my life, or can I go?”
“You may leave”, Ricardo responded with a sigh. As soon as she had left the lounge, he informed Ernesto over the radio that they needed to interview Pierre Mohraki again.
*
Before the return of Pierre Mohraki, who Ernesto revealed had retired to his cabin after his previous interview with the police, Captain Abasolo entered the Yamana Lounge in the company of Ernesto. The insurance inspector and the company lawyers had left but would return the next day for further investigation. In Ricardo’s eyes, the captain’s face had taken on an ashen look. Neither he nor the captain had slept a wink in nearly thirty-five hours. It made Ricardo suspect that he appeared equally as exhausted to others.
That moment, Pierre Mohraki walked in, with some difficulty supporting himself on his cane. He took one of the generous easy chairs facing Ricardo and the chief of police.
“To not waste our time, I’ve decided to come straight to the point”, Ricardo challenged him, “I’m going to explain how you managed to assassinate the official on the bridge.”
He spoke uninterrupted for ten minutes. In apparent acceptance, Mohraki reluctantly conceded that Ricardo’s conclusion was correct. He did so by nodding and occasionally accompany his agreement with a faint smile.
However, all that the detective inspector is alleging is speculation without any of the hard evidence needed to convict a murderer, Villaverde reflec
ted.
Sitting in the easy chair, clutching his cane, Mohraki looked remarkably composed after having been confronted with Ricardo’s overwhelming accusation that he was the assassin.
“Why don’t you start with telling us your motive for killing Adnan Shadid?” Ricardo asked.
Mohraki looked surprised when he heard that Ricardo knew the true identity of the victim.
“To do that, I must go back many years”, Mohraki began, after a long pause.
“We are all ears. Take your time.”
“My real name is Majdi Asghar”, he said in a weary voice. “I used to be an army intelligence officer in Syria before certain events made me realise the full extent of the war, which to this day is going on in my country, and to see it for what it is – an atrocity. I made contact with a French intelligence agency, and for services rendered, I and my granddaughter were allowed to take on a new life and new identities in France.
“I will refuse to get into more details about this part of my life, because I’ve been sworn to secrecy about it, and, besides, it has nothing to do with Shadid’s death. I’ve only telling you this to give you some general background. Now, Adnan Shadid was a high-ranking naval officer who did the bidding of Bashar al-Assad’s military command. In June two thousand and eleven, he was ordered to bomb a rebel hold from the vessel he then commanded. It’s not clear to me whether the order was to use conventional bombs or chemical ones, but the important thing is that he didn’t refuse the order and that he chose to launch one with sarin gas.”
He paused for a moment and his eyes filled with sadness.
“It landed exactly in the middle of a bridge over the Nahr-el-Kabir River in Latakia, just as my thirty-two-year-old daughter Nayila was crossing it. She died shortly afterwards in horrible agony from the effects of the gas. Perhaps you gentlemen are aware of the properties of sarin gas?”
“I can’t say I am”, Ricardo replied.
