[Scarlet Wilson 05] - Miz Scarlet and the Perplexed Passenger

by Sara M. Barton

  “I mean it!” she hissed menacingly. “Stay the hell away from me!”

  The slap-slap-slap of her sandals faded just as the amateur detective retrieved his cell phone and raised it above his head, still filming. And that’s when it happened. A large man stepped in front of George. In his hand was a gigantic cup with the distinctive Johnny Rockets logo. Distracted by a movement to the left, he collided head on with the frustrated funeral director, sending the ice cubes and cola flying.

  “Are you okay?” the man asked solicitously. “Boy, did you get a soaking!”

  “No, I’m fine. It’s just soda. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Aw, I feel so bad. At least let me get that cleaned for you.”

  “Forget it. I...I’ve got to go. Excuse me.” George sounded more than a little desperate.

  “That’s why George changed his clothes!” I whispered to Kenny. With his eyes riveted on the screen, he barely acknowledged my comment.

  The camera was still trained on the crowd as George took off after the angry woman. In between wild swings, the lens occasionally had enough time to focus.

  “There!” Marley sat up. “Go back and freeze it! Did you see it?”

  “I did.” It took a few seconds for me to realize he was talking to Kenny, who was now leaning forward. It was as if a bolt of lightning had zapped through several members of the security team, but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell what had them all so excited.

  “Do we only have the one view?” Eleanor asked.

  “It looks like it,” said a rather rotund man, whose name tag identified him as Sorensen. “Too bad.”

  “Go through it frame by frame,” Marley instructed his tech specialist.

  “What are they looking for?” I pressed my mouth against Kenny’s ear, not because I wanted to get cozy, but because I didn’t want the rest of the group to know I was clueless.

  “I’ll tell you later,” he promised, sotto voce.

  “But....”

  “Trust me,” he whispered back, eyes still glued to the TV monitor. With a frustrated shrug, I forced myself to concentrate on everything on the screen. By now, Harkin had slowed the action down to a crawl. Over and over again, the video played. I was about to suggest that I was ready to call it a night when something caught my eye.

  “Hey, stop the video!” I stood on my feet. “Go back, go back!”

  “Scarlet, I don’t know what you think you saw....”

  “Back, back, back!” Now I was tingling with electricity. How could I be the only one who saw it?

  “Say when,” Harkin called out. Frame by frame, he reversed direction, until he came to a shot where the lady with the golden brown hair was trying to give George the slip.

  “There!” I cried, pointing to the screen.

  “We know. We got that already. It’s not enough of her face for identification purposes. Even if the FBI runs it through their facial recognition program....”

  “Not her,” I crowed. “Him!”

  “Him?” This time it was Marley who was clueless.

  “Right there, on your left.”

  “Who are we looking at?” he demanded.

  “The guy in the dark shirt. That’s him!”

  “Son of a....” Even Kenny was surprised. “Well, what do you know?”

  “Damn! All this time, we’ve been trying to catch glimpse of her reflection in a store window and he’s right there in plain sight?”

  Sure enough, it was the man from the pool, walking toward the camera. He wore a pair of tinted glasses, obscuring his face, and there was an Atlanta Hawks cap on his head, but the clothing was the same, right down to the plaid shorts.

  “Amazing,” one of the other security officers admitted. “Get a gander at intensity of that guy’s stare and tell me that he doesn’t recognize our victim.”

  The man in the dark shirt appeared in only twelve seconds of the video, but it was obvious that George Delaney had his full and complete attention.

  “Oh, he’s definitely aware of him. Maybe his accomplice was deliberately leading our victim into a trap.”

  “Well, we may not be able to identify him yet, but at least we know the pair was in cahoots.”

  “Poor George,” I sighed. “He never even saw it coming, did he?”

  “He must have known something was wrong,” Kenny contradicted me. “Why else would he have hidden the mini SD card?”

  “Oh, of course!” I nodded. “Still, I don’t think he expected to be stabbed to death. Surely he would have told someone.”

  “That is rather odd, isn’t it?” Sorensen agreed. “The guy went to a lot of trouble trying to get information on them. And he took the time to hide the evidence.”

  “Maybe there just wasn’t time to do anything else,” Deputy Security Officer Schmidt suggested. “If this creep was following him, Delaney might have been waylaid.”

  “But where and when?”

  “How easy is it to get into a stateroom that’s not your own?” I wanted to know.

  “Not that easy.” Marley looked me right in the eye when he said that.

  “Ah,” Sorensen hesitated, always a dead giveaway.

  “Unless....” I turned to the man with a girth the size of Cincinnati.

  “Well, for the average person, it can be difficult. You have to be able to avoid the security cameras, open the locks, and....”

  “Does that mean the suspects are professionals?” I wanted to know. Suddenly, there was a lengthy lull in the conversation as I waited patiently for a response. “Anyone?”

  “Well, anything’s possible.” Schmidt told me, not really wanting to commit to an answer. “You’d expect that they’d have gotten into the Delaney stateroom and found the hidden items if they were.”

  “Yes, but maybe they didn’t know who they killed until you guys pointed the finger at Kathleen. You led them straight to her cabin, which is why it was tossed after she and I left to go down to mine. Maybe they didn’t have time to go through the things in the bathroom.”

  “Maybe.” Marley entertained the possibility with all the enthusiasm of a man in the dentist chair, with his mouth open for root canal surgery. He knew he had to get it done, but he wasn’t about to enjoy the experience. “Once they knew we recovered a body, they had to know that we were aware that this was a stabbing, not a drowning. In some ways, that does suggest that they might have criminal backgrounds.”

  “Either that or they have a real need to commit the next murder, and they’re desperate enough to take the risks and do the dirty work,” Schmidt suggested.

  “So, they came on the ship with the intention to commit a crime, as evidenced by their conversation on Deck 11. They plan to kill someone and we don’t know who.” Eleanor reminded us. “How are we going to find out who the next victim is?”

  Chapter Eleven --

  “And how are we going to prevent another murder?” The deputy security officer turned to his immediate superior, the man I met back at our original stateroom. Diego Garcia ran a hand through the salt-and-pepper curls atop his head.

  “That seems to be the question of the hour. Listen, I know this sounds absolutely brutal, but is there anyway you two can keep a secret?”

  “What kind of secret?” I wanted to know. I snuck a quick glance at Kenny and I could see he was more than a little skeptical. He had his “convince me you’re right” face on.

  “If, as you have suggested, the suspects are watching the widow and we encourage the FBI to remove her from the ship, will they try to carry out their plan in Bermuda?”

  “Probably, but that doesn’t mean we have the ability to stop them from carrying it out. And we sure as hell don’t want a second murder associated with the Liberty of the Seas,” Marley growled, definitely displeased by the concept. “There’s far too much risk involved, Dee.”

  “Yes, but we’re between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, they’re plotting to kill an unidentified passenger named Vicky. Unless we can find her on th
e ship’s manifest, we have no way of protecting her. On the other hand, if they think they’ve gotten away with killing George Delaney, they might relax their guard, giving us time to hunt them down.”

  “Why not set a trap?” I spoke up, unexpectedly feeling bold. “They don’t know you’re onto them and they’re still looking for the evidence George left behind. Couldn’t we lure them in with a staged scene of some kind?”

  “She’s done this before, hasn’t she?” Schmidt directed his comment to Kenny, who chortled.

  “Oh, yeah! And trust me when I say this -- she’s very good at it.”

  “Is she good enough to not alert the widow as to what we’re trying to do?” demanded the big boss of security for Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines.

  “The widow has a name,” I reminded Marley, watching him roll his eyes towards the ceiling. “But to answer your question, yes, I think we could do it without informing Kathleen.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to the FBI agent supervising the case and we’ll set it up, probably over breakfast. Hopefully, we’ll get a nibble on the first try. In the meantime, I’m going to have Harkin email copies of the videos to the FBI and we’ll start our search for the woman named Vicky.”

  “How many women named Vicky can there be on this ship?”

  “More than you might imagine,” Garcia grimaced. “Victoria’s still a fairly popular name for a girl.”

  “Of course we still don’t know what relation these two suspects are to Vicky.” Schmidt reminded us. “She could be a mother, a wife, an aunt, a cousin....”

  “Or she could be someone who needs a caregiver,” I added.

  “What?”

  “Well, they talked about how Vicky got the bruises when she fought back the last time they tried this scheme. The sister was the one who expressed concern about them. Doesn’t that sound like a woman who needs help? She could be elderly or handicapped in some way, because they seemed more worried about the sister’s reaction than Vicky’s.”

  “Interesting theory,” Garcia decided.

  “If they’ve tried this before with Vicky,” said the man from Mercer Security, “it’s possible there was an incident report.”

  Eleanor let out a small, involuntary gasp. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Maybe the reason they’re not worried about Vicky being credible is because she abuses alcohol or drugs,” Schmidt tossed into the mix. I had to admit it was possible.

  “But why do they want to kill her? Is the guy married to her? Or does one of them stand to inherit her estate?” Garcia looked at the rest of us, expecting answers.

  “Aren’t you assuming there’s some kind of romantic relationship between the man and the woman?” I wanted to know. “They could be brother and sister. Or employer and employee. Or....”

  “Or hired to do the job,” someone in the back of the pack added.

  “All this speculation isn’t going to get us anywhere without some solid facts, people. Let’s focus on identifying them first.” Marley was making notes on the yellow legal pad in front of him.

  “If Vicky’s been their target before, maybe this isn’t their first cruise. We can cross-check the names on the manifests of previous sailings. I’ll get that search started now, boss,” Schmidt promised Marley. “Eleanor, I’m pairing you with Oates for A through L. Horlick and Litman can team up for M through Z.”

  “Even if we can’t do facial recognition, can we pull the photos of all the female passengers between the ages of 30 and 45? At the very least, we know we’re looking for a woman with brown hair.” The young man who made the suggestion offered to get started on that.

  “Where are you going to start, Vivec?” Garcia pressed him for details. “It’s got to be a smart search. We can’t afford to waste time and we can’t afford to miss spotting that one important photo.”

  “I’ll run a filter on the women by age first and then go through the ship ID photos manually.”

  “No. Start with passport information -- age, hair, height,” Marley insisted. “There’s more consistency in passport photos. We know she’s probably mid-to-late-thirties. We know she has brown hair and that it’s probably her natural color. We know she’s fairly tall, probably in the range of five foot eight or so. Those three points will probably spit out a couple of hundred possibilities; we can narrow it down from there. Harkin can help you set it up on your computer. We have to keep as many people as possible on regular surveillances, just in case we catch something, so you folks are the case team. Share your information and keep at it. Back to work, people. Tolliver, why don’t you and your sidekick take off? We’ll reconnect in a few hours.”

  “Did you just call me a sidekick?” I demanded.

  “Did I? That must have been a slip of the tongue.” I caught a sly smile as it passed across his face. Marley was yanking my chain.

  Kenny took my hand and pulled me towards the door. “That’s it for us. Good night, all.”

  “What happens now?” I inquired, as soon as we were in the elevator. I lifted his wrist to get a look at his watch. “It’s almost three.”

  “We get some rest, love. The ship’s due to dock in King’s Wharf at nine.”

  “At least we know the FBI won’t seriously consider Kathleen a suspect.”

  “Just remember that we can’t tell her any of this. We need her reactions to seem natural, Scarlet.”

  “I hate having to deceive her, especially after she’s been through so much. It just doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It’s not fair, honey. But focus on the fact that we’re trying to prevent another murder. If we can’t lure George’s killers out of hiding, Vicky’s in danger. Surely from what we’ve seen of Kathleen, she’d forgive us, especially if it means we catch them before there’s another victim.”

  Quietly entering Kenny’s stateroom, we tiptoed past the sleeping woman in the far bed. I paused briefly to check on Laurel and Thaddeus through the connecting door. In the faint glow of the bathroom light, I could see my mother resting comfortably on one bed, her companion sprawled across the other bed on his back, snoring lightly.

  “Hey,” I whispered, “let me take the sofa.”

  “No, no. I’ve got it,” he held up a hand, resisting the offer.

  “But what if someone tries to get in? Don’t you want to be able to jump off the bed and save us?”

  “Oh,” he chuckled softly. “Now I get it. You’re not trying to make me more comfortable, are you?”

  “Heavens no! I expect you to throw yourself on the killer, should he break in here!”

  “Well, in that case, I accept your cheesy offer. I shall protect the lady fair.”

  “Thank you.” I pulled the bedspread off the bed and gave him a kiss. “Sweet dreams.”

  “You too, love.”

  I padded over to the sofa by the bow window and settled myself down to sleep. A soft, pretty pink-and-blue glow from the lights along the Royal Promenade crept in through the gaps in the curtains and painted the room in magical swirls of color. I found myself feeling like a kid at a carnival, anticipating a ride on the merry-go-round and wondering if I could have some cotton candy while I waited for my turn. For the first time since poor George Delaney plummeted past our balcony, I felt this trip wasn’t going to be a total bust. The FBI would show up in the morning and we’d get the murder sorted out early in the day. There’d be plenty of time to explore the Royal Naval Dockyard and take a minibus tour of Bermuda. We’d be back to enjoying the trip soon enough.

  It seemed like only a couple of hours after I lay my head down for a dreamless sleep that I was rudely awakened by a loud commotion out in the corridor. Voices were raised as people argued about a delay in being able to leave the ship.

  “This is all because some idiot decided to jump off the ship! How fair is that?” a man bellowed.

  “Maybe they’ll refund our money for the excursion. After all, it’s not our fault we can’t get off the ship. Or maybe they’ll arrange for us to take the tour later.�
�� His female companion tried to soothe his frayed temper, to no avail.

  “That ruins everything! I have other plans....”

  I sat up on the sofa, wondering what was going on. Looking across the room, I saw Kathleen and Kenny quietly talking on their respective beds. They noticed me immediately.

  “Good morning, sleepy head,” he greeted me.

  “What’s going on? It sounds like people are upset.”

  “Yes, well...the captain just announced that when we arrive in port, the FBI will be boarding the ship and no one is going to leave until they give the okay.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. There must be some development in the case.”

  I looked from Kenny to Kathleen. She looked stricken. “What kind of development?”

  “We don’t know. The FBI apparently began investigating as soon as they received notice from Marley’s people,” he informed me.

  “Scarlet, what am I going to do? The captain told Kenny they want me to leave the ship.”

  “They’re just worried about liability,” he cut in, trying to explain. That seemed rather unfair.

  “You’ve got to tell them the truth.”

  “What if they don’t believe me?”

  “Kenny?” I turned to him expectantly. “Maybe she needs a lawyer to advise her.”

  “I have a buddy who practices law in Hamilton. Let me ask him off the record what we’re looking at.” He stood up, still wearing the clothes from last night. “I might be able to get him to represent you, Kathleen, at least during your initial interview with the FBI.”

  “But what happens if the FBI takes her back to the States? Maybe she needs an American lawyer.”

  “Actually, Barney is an American lawyer, but he’s also qualified to practice in Bermuda, the Bahamas, Turks and Caicos....” He was still listing all the British territories when I cried “uncle”.

  “He hasn’t done criminal law in a while, but he’s a good guy. He works for an American reinsurance company that’s based here. I’ll have to go down to the security office to make the call, so I won’t pay an arm and a leg. I won’t be long. Why don’t we plan on having breakfast together in the main dining room in, say,” he glanced down at his watch, “forty minutes?”