Locked-Room Mystery Box Set

by Kim Ekemar

  She laughed scornfully.

  “Well, now you do. Dan’s a good man, but a less exciting person is hard to come by. Brett is funny, vivacious and carefree like us Latin Americans. Xavier was confronted with the fact and had to accept it. Of course he had to, he’s using Brett’s contacts in the port to get the merca into the country. With the cynical attitude Xavier has developed lately, you could say he sees his sister as part of the arrangement. Quite different from the Xavier I fought with in Colombia, I can tell you.”

  She fell silent and went back to her cards. My limbs ached from my awkward position on the floor. Sweat ran from every pore in my body. “Lorena, at least help me up to a sitting position”, I implored her. She ignored me completely. For all she cared I could lie on the floor tied to the chair until Xavier came back to kill me.

  Then she looked at me again. “I wonder”, she muttered, “why Inocencia is staying so long with Brett. She has remained there overnight occasionally, but she has never been away two nights in a row.”

  Lorena picked up the gun and tucked it behind her back in the waistline of her pants underneath the sweater she wore. Then, to my surprise, she came over to me and pulled my chair upright.

  “Don’t do anything foolish”, she said and went out into the hall. She cursed when she found that Xavier had locked the door to the main entrance. Without bothering to put on an overcoat she crossed the kitchen to the backdoor. Then, apparently on second thoughts, she came back and locked the living room door from the hallway. She wanted to be certain I wouldn’t leave the room. At least not alive, I couldn’t help thinking.

  I eased my chair closer to the garden window and used my teeth to pull back the curtain. Outside it was hazy with snow. I could just barely distinguish Lorena trudge through the snow in the direction of our neighbor’s house. She disappeared in the dark.

  The Ship: Chapter VIII

  THE ICE

  Because of the state I was in Porfirio had to drag me into the cabin. I didn’t resist him; how could I, after barely making it up the ladder and over the gunwale? In my miserable condition I couldn’t even bother to be afraid anymore. My fate was in the hands of the three men who remained on the ship – could it be any worse than Irving’s or Oona’s?

  Stuart lifted his head as we entered. The pale eyes in his ashen face watched me dully. Porfirio shoved me down on a chair. Wayne was unusually quiet. His gaze wandered back and forth between us.

  Porfirio walked over to the table where he had left his smoking utensils. While he studied me he screwed another cigarillo into the ivory holder. He lit it with a match that he held vertically with the sulfur up. His relentless gaze and the warmth inside the cabin revived my terror.

  Relishing the cigarillo, Porfirio took a long pull and blew three smoke rings. I was still tied by the rope. He yanked it lightly. I immediately rose, willing to follow him to the end of the world. My fear had no boundaries.

  Porfirio led me to the space adjacent to the cabin and into the same room where Oona had been murdered before our eyes. He pushed me down on the same desk where she had been raped. My brain began to scream no no no no no no no – but there was nothing I could do. I didn’t have the strength to resist him.

  Little by little I concluded that Porfirio did not intend to violate me, not yet. Instead he tied me to the desk and fastened my arms and legs to each of its legs and to some rings on the wall. He did not tether me firmly to the desktop but instead left a span that allowed me to partly raise myself into a sitting position. When he had been reassured I could not free myself of my own accord he returned to the cabin.

  Not knowing if I wanted to continue to live or slip away in delicious forgiving numbness I lay outstretched on the desk in an attempt to forget the evil that surrounded me. Voices in the cabin spat out indistinguishable words. Then the voices became louder and more aggressive. I rose on my elbow and peeked through the window dividing the rooms.

  With his usual condescending manners Porfirio was orating about how Wayne had put their future voyage at peril. Porfirio savored his sentences before he fired sarcasms loaded with sophistries with Wayne's incompetence as their target. Wayne's eyes glowed like two burning coals. What he was unable to argue with words, his eyes replied. He mumbled the excuses a subject must when he receives his superior's scorn, but also made protests to rebel against the submission Porfirio sought.

  Stuart, mouth agape and his elbows in a clutter of burnt playing cards, watched the scene with the interest of a fish. Wayne started making feeble attempts to equal Porfirio’s scorn. The exchange became more heated. Porfirio's derisive comments were beyond doubt more intelligent than those Wayne made.

  No one looked my way. I began to work at the knots of the rope that kept me captive. They were drawn so tightly I could as well have tried to skin a stone.

  “Wayne”, I heard Porfirio say, “in your case I believe the size of the brain is in inverse relation to the build. Presumably our primary goal – that is, to make the journey to my Spanish domains – is still valid. In my ignorance I thought you realized that the crew aboard my ship must fill a certain quota. Although one can never be too certain, you should be able to work out that quota on the extremities of your hands.”

  Porfirio paused and sucked smoke through his ivory holder. Wayne did not use the silence to argue. He acted as if he had not understood what Porfirio had said. Porfirio exhaled the smoke and appeared to savor Wayne's speechlessness more than the tobacco.

  “What now remains for me to solve is how we, come spring, are going to make our passage over the Atlantic with a crew of three. Well, in the best of circumstances, with a crew of four.”

  I shivered – “in the best of circumstances” made the assumption I would still remain alive when spring warmth melted the ice. Weary, I lay down to rest.

  “I am a better sailor”, Wayne snorted, “than any of those weaklings who dropped dead just because they were thumped about a bit.”

  “Wayne, it’s amazing you still have the force to beat your own chest after such a carnage as the one you just executed”, I heard Porfirio sigh with resignation. “In all friendliness you ‘thump’ the crew members on the head and right away the rest of us are kept busy burying them under the ice. Pray, spare me your thumps!”

  I imagined Wayne's face darkening in the brief silence that followed.

  “If you had known how to navigate by the compass instead of the weathervane we wouldn't have got stuck in the ice”, he countered heatedly. “You were talking oh so self-assured about the south and –’

  “Wayne, don't yak with me about things your fly brain can’t get a handle on”, Porfirio, nettled, interrupted him. “Of course I know exactly where we are sailing, but owing to how all of you lingered before we could cast off the autumn winds caught up with us …”

  “Autumn winds, what nonsense!” Wayne plucked up his courage. “If the ice hadn't stopped us we would have been north of the pole by now!”

  “There is no such phenomenon as north of the pole, but naturally an uneducated boor like yourself would not be aware of that”, Porfirio sighed sympathetically.

  “Of course there is,’ Wayne cried triumphantly, ‘otherwise we wouldn't be stuck here!”

  Porfirio let out another dramatic sigh at Wayne's way of reasoning.

  “Your power of deduction”, he replied, “is on the level of a four-year-old. Even a woman would stand out like a genius of logic compared to you.”

  Porfirio certainly knew how to needle Wayne, who responded with a howl. I could hear chairs falling over. They were much too absorbed by their quarrel to notice that I once again sat with my nose pressed against the window to the cabin.

  While the clash continued, I urgently tried to conceive of some way to escape. Through the cabin was unthinkable as long as my wardens remained in it. If I turned my head I could look out of the room's only porthole, which faced the deck. It was bolted, and it was difficult to judge if it was large enough to let me pass through. I coul
dn’t see any other exits from the room. What should I do? I decided to remain quiet and out of sight, even pretend to sleep if they later looked in to check how I behaved myself. Also these violent men had the need to sleep, and that’s when I would find a way to get off the ship.

  However exhausted, I couldn’t stop myself from watching the bout between Porfirio and Wayne. Porfirio was faster, suppler in his movements, and he lithely stepped away from Wayne's fists as they furiously pumped the air. He was not as massive as Wayne, but he was taller and more agile. I could see how his dancing around the ship's cabin made Wayne fume with rage.

  Porfirio laughed at him and kept his distance. Suddenly his fist shot out and hit Wayne hard on the chin. Wayne bawled with outrage and amazement. Forced by my uncomfortable position and the ropes cutting into my skin, I had to recline and rest again. The storm persisted with undiminished vigor and made the ship shudder. I sensed that it was becoming lighter outside. Was this eternal night finally over?

  With some effort I rose on my elbow to renew my survey of the cabin. Stuart balanced on a chair by the wall opposite me, cleaning his teeth with a sooty playing card. He watched Porfirio and Wayne wrestle on the floor in the coagulated blood, scraps of food and shards of clay. When Wayne dispatched a powerful punch that struck Porfirio beneath his left eye, he obliged Porfirio to release his grip of him. With Wayne on top, Porfirio had a hard time to fend off the shower of blows aimed at his head. He managed to free an arm and clawed desperately along the floorboards for some blunt object. His hand found one of the silver platters that Everett had brought from the kitchen the previous evening. He hit it against Wayne’s skull with such force that it made his adversary rock. Wayne, surprised, stopped his own beating to shake his head.

  Porfirio seized the opportunity and slithered away from Wayne. The next second he was kneeling, holding one of the turned over chairs in his hands. Wayne lunged towards him to regain his supremacy. Porfirio hurled the chair at his chest, and it made Wayne stumble backwards.

  They both stood staring at each other with murder in their eyes. As far as I could understand they were equal before the finishing fight. I lay down, resting, more tired than I had ever felt before. When I could muster some strength I unsuccessfully fumbled with the knots to loosen them. Faint daylight, finally returning, sought its way through the snowstorm and the porthole.

  Next time I looked Wayne had grabbed Porfirio around the waist while Porfirio held him with both hands in a merciless grip around his bull neck. Stuart had risen from his chair and was leaning against the doorpost of the revolving door. Jerking his body, Wayne threw Porfirio against the cabin door. The impact forced it wide open. He raced towards Porfirio who had landed on the threshold. Porfirio lifted both legs and kicked viciously at his aggressor. His boot heels bored Wayne’s belly and he doubled over in pain. The snow rushed in over their heads. Porfirio retreated out on deck with Wayne in hot pursuit.

  I continued to struggle with the rope that kept me lashed to the desk. The tightly drawn knots were impossible to loosen. After a short rest I stretched to look out through the porthole behind me. Pulling myself up I could see the gunwale and part of the deck outside. I glanced into the cabin just in time to see Stuart lumber out after the other two and slam the door shut behind him.

  The snow whirled around the three men on deck. Stuart stood in his undershirt and leaned on both elbows with his back to the gunwale. Porfirio and Wayne rolled among the drifts in their battle for prestige and authority. Wayne managed to raise himself on one knee. He placed his arms around Porfirio's waist and with his amazing strength heaved him upwards and backwards towards the gunwale. Porfirio's mocking laughter was barely audible through the windowpane. He grabbed Wayne and forced him to rise. Wayne responded by throwing his arms around Porfirio. Again he hurled him towards the gunwale but this time Porfirio did not let go. Wayne stumbled in the snowdrifts on deck and his weight made both tumble over the side of the ship. They plummeted out of sight.

  For a long while I could not hear anything but the wind. Stuart leaned over the gunwale and studied the ice below.

  The rope used by Porfirio to strap me went in loops around the desk's legs, then up around my arms and legs. I had the freedom to move one extremity at a time although this caused the other limbs to become immobile. In addition, I still wore the rope tied around my waist. This part of the rope ran through two iron rings on the wall, left there after once having served some unknown purpose. My attempts to get free had so far only resulted in some additional span of the rope between my arms and legs. It occurred to me that I should first try to free myself from the rings on the wall. By twisting my body as far as possible, I could get my fingers around the part of the rope that held me captive to the rings. I tensed the rope and pulled it as hard as I could.

  At the third attempt the first ring came loose; after another four the second one. In a rush of delight, I thought for a moment that I was free, but of course my arms and legs were still bound. I bent my body as far as I could and reached the rope around my waist. After plucking a good while at the knots I finally managed to untie myself sufficiently to be able to sit up. Beyond what I had so far accomplished, it was impossible to rid myself of my remaining bonds – Porfirio had tied me so skillfully that I would need some tool to cut myself free. My ability to move had by now increased to the point of making me a live puppet on a string. If I raised my right arm, I locked my left leg to the desk and vice versa.

  Outside the day was now about as light as it would become at this time of year and in this kind of weather. Stuart remained at his vantage point outside, but there was no sign of the other two. I continued working on the rope.

  The cabin door opened. I quickly lay down and pretended I was unable to move. Stuart stepped into the room where I was being kept prisoner.

  “They made their own hole, buster. The ice didn't hold.”

  That was the first time I had heard him speak up. His voice was raspy and neutral, unaffected by the dramatic events that had preceded dawn, lacking both luster and interest.

  What, in fact, was it he had said? Suddenly his words became branded into my brain and began to burn: “They made their own hole. The ice didn't hold.”

  How should I interpret the only words I had ever heard Stuart utter? Reasonably they had to mean that Wayne and Porfirio had drowned among the dead they had forced me to bury.

  “They didn't come up afterwards”, Stuart laconically confirmed my thoughts, “and I waited for a long time.”

  February 27, 1973

  Transcript from the police interrogation of Paul Crimson, taped on March 2, 1973 (cont.)

  Excerpt from Velvet Nights

  Why Xavier had locked the front door I don’t know. It would have been easy enough to escape through some window if I could get free. I worked hard at the ropes, but they didn’t budge. So instead I began to shift my body weight so I could inch my chair towards the table where Lorena had been playing solitaire. Finally, I reached the table and began to figure how to get to the burning candles. The only alternative I could think of was to rock the table until the candelabrum fell over. There were five candles lit in the holder, but three of them went out the moment they tumbled down on the tabletop. One rolled slowly out of my sight and down on the other side on the chair where Lorena had been sitting. The last candle flickered but remained lit on top of the table. I bent forward until I could clamp my teeth around the tablecloth and carefully pull it towards me. When the candle was next to me I swung the chair so I could burn the rope that tied my upper arm to the back of the chair. A black spot grew on the tablecloth.

  Smoke rose from the chair where the other burning candle had gone. I felt my muscles strain in the uncomfortable position and the heat burnt not only the rope but also my skin. Then everything seemed to happen at the same time. My pajamas caught fire and I remember crying out loud when the heat stung me. The smoke on the opposite chair turned into small flames that multiplied. Fire broke out in the upho
lstery and spread to the heavy curtains that Lorena had drawn across the window facing the street. To put out the flames in my pajama jacket, I rubbed my arm hard against the tabletop. I still wasn’t free of the rope and the burn stung terribly. My face was awash with sweat and I wished Lorena would come back before it was too late to douse the fire. Then I realized that, even if she were coming back, she wouldn’t be able to see what was taking place with the curtains facing the garden drawn.

  Of course she had to come back, I reasoned. The fact that no lights were on in Brett’s house should have told her from the beginning that nobody was home. Without her overcoat the cold would soon make her return.

  With my teeth I pulled at my pajama jacket until I had torn my right upper arm free of cloth that could catch fire. I continued the ordeal of burning the rope until it had finally burnt brittle enough to break. My skin was scorched around the marks the rope had left and it hurt like hell, but now I could at least move my upper body. I began to untie the remainder of the ropes. It was difficult; my hands were still tied in front of me. I began to work on the ropes that tied my legs to the chair. The draperies on the other side of the table burst into flames. All of a sudden everything began to catch fire. The chair, the table, the carpet, the garden window curtains, the small dolls on the fireplace, everything. It surprised me how fast the inferno reached uncontrollable proportions. And I was very much afraid because I was caught in its middle.

  Lorena had gone to Brett’s house – where was she? She had been gone for a long while, why hadn’t she come back yet? Didn’t she or Brett or Inocencia or someone realize that our house was on fire?? Desperately I kept tugging at my ropes and feared I was going to die the worst possible way – burnt alive.