by Mark McCrum
‘No. We did one earlier in December. Just the basic round trip from Ushuaia. None of that Falklands nonsense; we’re not interested in that. But it wasn’t last winter anyway. We did it the year before. It was spectacular, though. These icy white coasts which dwarf the ship. You should do it sometime.’
‘And nobody died?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ Damian said, with a puzzled look. ‘No. Not that we heard about.’
NINE
Francis and Carmen weren’t yet ready to go back to the captain and Viktor. At Carmen’s suggestion they retreated to Francis’s cabin and ordered tea to calm the nerves and get them thinking constructively. Hentie the butler appeared like a squat genie. She hurried off and returned with a white china pot on a tray containing yet more unasked-for treats.
‘You could get seriously overweight if you stayed on this ship too long,’ said Francis, reaching out for one of the home-made ginger biscuits, which was embedded with tasty chunks of the crystallized root.
‘They do, they do,’ said Hentie, laughing as she backed out.
‘She seems like quite a character,’ said Carmen, as the door clicked shut.
‘You don’t know her?’
‘No. Why would I?’
‘I thought you might have met in the crew bar or something?’
‘Contrary to your fantasies, Francis, there isn’t some swinging scene going on below the waterline. We expedition lot tend to hang out together in the passenger areas anyway, since we’re allowed to and they’re nicer spaces. The rest of it is frankly quite hierarchical. The officers do their own thing in their mess. The Filipinos work so hard they only have time to sleep and Skype their relatives. Ditto the Bangladeshi types you never see, who work in the engine room. And the Chinese in the laundry. As for the butlers and receptionists, I’m only on nodding terms with most of them.’
‘And yet, a handsome officer like Gregoire might have a “house mouse”?’
Carmen laughed. ‘Where did Damian get that idea? I’ve never even heard that expression. Maybe he’s been having fantasies about Gregoire he can’t share with his fiancé.’
Francis laughed and poured himself a cup of tea; then one for Carmen too.
‘So where are we?’ he asked.
‘Getting nowhere fast,’ Carmen replied, with a smile.
‘Did you ever read Agatha Christie’s Death on the Nile?’
‘I’m sorry to say this, mate. To you of all people, but I’ve never read a single one of these murder mysteries you like so much.’
‘I write. Don’t necessarily like. Anyway, in that story, a beautiful heiress is murdered on a ship – albeit a ship that people can get off. There are twenty or so other passengers. And pretty much all of them has a good reason to kill her. Our problem here is the opposite. We’ve got two dead bodies, but there’s no one on board with any obvious motive at all, as far as I can see.’
‘Apart from Don.’
‘So it has to be him, then? Desperate to get control of Lauren’s inheritance, and/or jealous of her flirtation with Gregoire, which he thought was something more.’
‘It might well have been something more.’
‘It might,’ Francis agreed. ‘OK, imagine this: some time ago, Don got Lauren to leave him some, if not all, of her money, which he badly needs to prop up his ailing magazine empire or whatever. In return, maybe she gets a say in how things are done. Which would explain why they were arguing about financial decisions. And why he made that emotive little speech about not letting a woman into your business life. But he would never have thought of laying a finger on her; despite their up and down relationship, as everyone keeps telling us, he loved her. But then here, back on this ship with Gregoire again, suspecting or maybe even knowing something has gone on, Don flies into a fit of jealous rage and pushes her over. He doesn’t mean to. But they’re out on deck, late at night, trying to sort it out. She’s drunk. She insults him. Compares him to her other lover. He flips.’
‘OK, but the bloke on the lifeboat didn’t see anyone push her off.’
‘From what the captain said, the bloke on the lifeboat hardly saw anything anyway. Just a body flying down. But do we believe that? The lifeboats are on the top deck. There’s nowhere higher than that. Is it possible he saw more?’
‘What are you saying?’ said Carmen slowly. ‘The captain misreported him?’
‘Or he misreported himself.’
‘You think this guy might have seen … what, Don …?’
‘Pushing her off? Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t Don.’
‘Who then?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Francis said. ‘But we’ll find out shortly.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Ten to three. The captain said we could talk to him at three thirty. We need to be on the bridge promptly. I don’t want him making any more difficulties about this interview.’
‘You think he’s deliberately making difficulties?’
‘He’s not making it easy, is he?’
‘Fair enough to let the guy get his sleep.’
‘Is it? When he’s the most important witness. We must also keep asking, what link might there have been between Eve and Lauren?’
‘There’s nothing obvious.’
‘Except the one very obvious thing. Which links so many of the other guests on board too. Daphne and Henry Forbes-Harley, Marion and Sadie …’
She met his eye. ‘I guess …’
Francis was rubbing his thumb against his forefinger.
‘Money?’
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘And plenty of it. Because you don’t choose to go on several high-end cruises a year like Eve did if you’re not seriously loaded. And I can hardly bear to think how much “Chumba Chumba Cha-Cha” might have made over the years. What else?’
‘That they might have in common? They were women?’
‘That’s of relevance too. But something else. Specifically to do with this ship.’
‘To do with this ship? I really don’t know.’
‘Who were they both good friends with?’
‘The big English lady and her hubby?’
‘No.’
‘Sebastian and Kurt?’
‘I don’t think Eve even spoke to them. No, you’re not thinking in quite the right place. Step down a deck or two. Think perfect profile and gorgeous wavy blond hair.’
‘Gregoire.’
‘Gregoire, exactly. Both were wealthy ladies we know he was friendly with. But how friendly? Friendly enough to get them to leave a little something for him in their wills? Or more than a little something. And then, once that’s been discreetly arranged, a gentle helping hand to go to the place they’re all going to go one day in any case.’
Carmen’s mouth had dropped open. ‘What are you saying? That Gregoire is some sort of swindler-cum-serial-killer?’
‘It’s a thought, isn’t it? And the only one I’ve had so far that gets anywhere near fitting the circumstances. We had a famous doctor in England a few years back who liked to bump off old ladies in his care. Harold Shipman. You may remember the case.’
‘I’m sorry, mate, I don’t.’
‘He was quite a celebrity in a macabre sort of way. He murdered scores of old people – and he wasn’t even taking their money. As far as anyone could work out, his motive seemed to have something to do with the fact that they were a burden on society, so why not help them on their way? If you add money to that mix, you get a double “why not?”. And Gregoire is in the ideal position to do this. Make friends with these old dears. Flatter them. Listen to stories of how wonderful their dead husbands were. Make himself out to be, perhaps, a little similar, but oh dear, not so fortunate financially. Bingo. He’s hit the jackpot. Especially if they have no living dependents. And that’s something else that Eve and Lauren had in common.’
‘It’s perfectly logical,’ Carmen said. ‘But wouldn’t it be too much of a risk? These ships are small places. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. And if this really was what Grego
ire was doing, would he attempt two in one cruise? Within a couple of nights of each other?’
‘Maybe he was getting greedy. Murderers do – especially when they think they’re getting away with it. Or maybe, more likely, Lauren realized what he was up to. If he made an unsubtle attempt to get her to leave him something, maybe, being close to him, she realized what had happened to Eve. It’s a terrible cliché, but a second murder often has to do with someone finding out about the first one.’
‘So what d’you want to do?’ asked Carmen. ‘Tell Alexei and the captain your suspicions? Go and give Gregoire the third degree?’
‘Please, neither of those, not yet. I’m not saying that this is the answer to our puzzle, just that it might be. If it is, it’s crucial that Gregoire has no inkling of any suspicion at all. Not even a look from the captain or a raised eyebrow from Alexei. Otherwise we could all be putting ourselves in danger. So let’s keep schtoom for the time being, while we see if my theory has any legs.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘I guess it would be worth discreetly finding out about any deaths on previous cruises he’s been on.’ Francis pulled out his notebook. ‘Before this Cape Town to Dakar leg, the Golden Adventurer did Ushuaia, Argentina, Cape Town via the Falklands, Tristan da Cuhna and St Helena. And before that a string of round trips from Ushuaia to the Antarctic peninsula and back again, including one special cruise over Christmas and the New Year. Before that, a stately progress down the west coast of South America from Colon, Panama, to Guayaquil, Ecuador; then on to Valparaiso, Chile, and finally round the Cape to Ushuaia. Did anyone pop their clogs on any of those trips?’
‘Francis, mate! You’re on a mission here.’
He shrugged. ‘When we were looking at Eve’s body in her cabin the captain said something which made me wonder. Something about, “We’re not having much luck, are we?” And then: “So what happened with this one?” As if there had been others. Have there?’
‘Not that I ever heard of,’ Carmen replied. But watching her face closely, Francis wasn’t entirely convinced. Were the expedition staff under instructions not to talk about any guest deaths? It was understandable if so, though frustrating, given that Carmen and he were supposed to be working together. His instinct was not to push it. Just yet.
‘So, besides the Christmas one, which of those cruises might Gregoire have worked on?’ he asked. ‘How often do the staff have leave?’
‘More than the crew. But less than us lazy expedition staff, who might just do one cruise – and then be off.’
‘OK. If we could find a pattern, we’d be halfway there.’
‘I guess so,’ said Carmen. Then, after a few moments: ‘I wonder …’
‘What?’
‘Blue-sky thinking, but … is there any way of discovering whether Gregoire has ever received money from a passenger’s will?’
‘If you have a name and a date you can check a will online,’ Francis said. ‘As long as the person is dead and the will is proved, the beneficiaries are listed. But you’d need a name. And an idea of where the will was registered. Then you’d generally have to wait a day or two to see it, so it’s not something we could do right this minute.’
‘OK,’ said Carmen. ‘It’s kind of the wrong way round, isn’t it? For our purposes.’
‘Then again, if there was sufficient suspicion by the time we got to Dakar I suppose Gregoire’s bank accounts could be accessed by the police. That is, if we can find a police force interested in following any of this up.’
‘If Gregoire was really doing this sort of thing, do you imagine for one moment he’d be stashing the cash in his own account anyway? Surely he’d be hiding it somewhere.’
‘True,’ Francis agreed. ‘Oh, well, perhaps I’m barking up completely the wrong tree.’
Carmen smiled. ‘Perhaps you are. But it’s an interesting idea. Maybe we can catch Gregoire out some other way.’
‘Maybe,’ Francis said, glancing at his watch. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I ought to go and find Sadie and see what she was so eager to tell me. Shall we meet up on the bridge in half an hour? Keep the captain to his word?’
Francis hurried up to the Whirlpool Bar at the back of deck six. But if Sadie had been waiting for him earlier, she wasn’t there now. He ran up the curving metal stairway to the back of deck seven, where assorted guests were still basting quietly in the powerful afternoon sunshine. No joy there either. He was just heading back through the bar area and into the cool interior when he heard a familiar voice.
‘I vas looking for you,’ said Klaus, approaching with a tall glass of some swanky pale beer. ‘Vundering where you’d got to. But perhaps they have hoisted you into the inside track.’
Francis smiled. ‘By which you mean …?’
‘Vat I say. The captain is employing your investigative powers to try and solve a double mystery before either a) something else bad happens or b) we dock at the next port and the Golden Adventurer’s guests are free to leave the ship. Because if Goldencruise does not stick to the itinerary as described, people will be asking questions. Even more questions than they are asking already.’
Francis smiled at the German doctor’s amusing ability to get to the nub of things.
‘What questions are they asking?’
‘You would like me to be your sidekick? The Vatson to your Holmes. The … what was that stupid one in the Poirot books called?
‘Captain Hastings.’
‘Very good. Yes, the Hastings to your Poirot?’
He really was absurd. ‘No,’ said Francis. ‘I was just asking.’
‘Of course you were. So, to answer your question, in a nutshell, naturally people are very concerned about the poor young, or maybe not quite so young, lady who went overboard. Everyone has their own theory, which is dependent on how little or how much they know. Some of them think she was thirty-something and unmarried, a penniless companion to an older man, with no influence over him other than her how-to-say sex appeal. Some think she was forty-something and married, altogether more of a problem. Some think she was older than that. Some even think that she was the one with the money.’
‘And you?’
‘I have my own ideas.’ Klaus gave Francis a flat smile and took a hearty gulp of his beer. ‘And then,’ he added, ‘you should also know that these guests are running more than a little scared. Some of them have wild thoughts about a murderer stalking the corridors. I even heard one lady advance the theory that a stowaway was responsible for pushing Lauren over. Though, as I said to her, I’m not quite sure what would be the advantage for a stowaway of killing passengers. Unless he wanted to take over their cabins. In which case, presumably, he would target the singles. Like me and you. But no, I expect we will find more than one trying to leave the cruise at the next port.’
‘Passenger?’
‘Yes.’
‘Leaving at Freetown?’
‘If we stop there.’
‘We are stopping there. It’s on the itinerary.’
‘Let us wait and see.’ Klaus raised an eyebrow. ‘So. Will you join me for a refreshing beer?’
‘I would love to, Klaus. But I promised to talk to Sadie.’
‘Ah yes, Sadie. She was up here earlier. Drinking coffee. Not quite her usual lively persona, I have to say.’
TEN
But Francis never got to Sadie’s cabin. As he turned into the central staircase and headed down towards the lower decks he met Carmen coming up.
‘There you are!’ She seemed breathless, excited. ‘Come quickly, mate.’
On the blue-carpeted landing of deck five, she took his arm and pulled him towards the wall.
‘Another Operation Rising Star,’ she whispered, as a doddery couple proceeded slowly past them towards the Panorama Lounge. God help him, it was Henry and Daphne Forbes-Harley.
‘Good after-no-o-on,’ fluted Henry, with his usual beatific grin.
‘You’re not serious,’ Francis mutter
ed to Carmen. ‘Who?’
‘Come,’ she said urgently.
But Henry had paused in his tracks. ‘How are you, Tom?’ he asked.
‘Very well,’ Francis replied, edging away. But Henry had moved closer, placing his hand on his arm.
‘I always enjoy a day at sea,’ he said. ‘Lectures, quizzes, relaxing with a book …’
‘Me too.’
‘We’ll see you at cocktail time, Fran-ciss,’ said Daphne, pulling her husband off. She raised her eyebrows a flicker and gave Francis a flash of that ever-determined smile. ‘We’re just going to have some tea.’
‘Three tiers,’ said Henry, emphatically.
‘I’m sorry?’ said Francis.
‘They have three tiers of cake. And sandwiches. Finger ones, my favourite. Imagine that. When I was a child I was lucky to get a blasted cookie.’
‘Come on, Henry, dear.’
‘We have it so good these days. Nobody understands.’
‘Lovely to see you both,’ said Daphne.
‘Lovely,’ Carmen agreed, taking Francis’s arm and leading him firmly down the stairs to deck three. Next to the door to the medical centre was another marked Staff Only. Carmen pushed it open and ushered him through.
They were immediately in a different world. Talk about the green baize door. Instead of plush blue carpet on the floor there was worn grey lino. Instead of gold-framed pictures of Antarctic icebergs and colourful indigenous people in remote landscapes there was nothing but scuffed white plastic walls. Wires and pipes ran uncovered along the ceiling. As they were now below the waterline, there were no portholes and no natural light; the place was lit with bare bulbs. Also, at frequent intervals, there were watertight doors, with a lip six inches off the floor. The steps were steep, metal, without railings. They rattled down a couple more decks and along a corridor to find Viktor and Dr Lagip outside a much narrower door than Francis had ever seen upstairs. Leo was also there, but an anxious frown had replaced his usual broad smile.
