by Mark McCrum
‘Yeah, right,’ said Francis. ‘Bringing with them a crack detective squad from the Bahamas and a couple of DCIs on secondment from the London Met. Pull the other one.’
‘It’s true,’ Carmen replied, but she wasn’t convincing.
‘This is why I decided to seize the moment and talk to you now,’ Francis continued. ‘Away from the ship. Because we can still be discreet. It may very well be that this is a puzzle that gets left to other authorities. Or, more likely, glossed over and forgotten, as has happened who knows how many times on cruise ships before. The bodies will be repatriated, as per international medical protocol, and life will go on.’
‘Will it?’ said Carmen; for a moment she looked relieved, as if she wanted to believe him; and in that relief Francis knew for sure that she was guilty.
‘But if that is to happen,’ Francis continued, ‘I need to understand your motivation. Both of you. Because as far as I can see, your actions were never particularly selfish. In fact, it strikes me that they were imaginatively, even daringly unselfish.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Dr Lagip, leaning forward towards him. Her hands were shaking, but there was hunger in her eyes.
‘Alyssa,’ said Carmen, but her warning note had barely impinged.
‘Shall we sit?’ said Francis.
It said something, he thought, that the two of them immediately did as he suggested, and in a moment they were all three cross-legged on the dry brown leaves, the dappled shade all around them. He took them through the reasoning that had led to his conclusion. How, as Carmen knew, he had initially thought that it was Gregoire who was Eve’s murderer; that he was some kind of Harold Shipman figure, getting wealthy passengers to alter their wills, then quietly bumping them off.
‘It was only later,’ he went on, ‘that I realized I had the right story, but the wrong protagonists. It was you, Alyssa, who was grooming these old and vulnerable people. It was all quite an art, because among the many wealthy guests on each cruise, you had to pick singles, obviously, and also, ideally, those who had no immediate relatives who might kick up a fuss or contest the altered provision of the will. Eve totally fitted the bill. Her husband Alfred was dead. Because she had cared for her mother for all those years, she had never had children. So who had she planned to leave her fortune to? The donkey sanctuary down the road. Poor, mangy, mistreated animals, yes, doubtless, but compared to many of the human horrors you’ve seen around the world, laughable, not even on the scale. And the sanctuary wasn’t likely to question things when the bequest was changed.’
Francis could tell from Alyssa’s face that his words were hitting home but she wasn’t as yet ready to crack. Neither of them were.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ she said primly.
‘I was initially confused, of course,’ Francis went on, ‘just as the captain was, just as you meant him to be. Because you had been very clever, drawing attention to any suspicions around the first murder, just to put him and the rest of us off the scent. Of course the lab at Takoradi – of all places – wasn’t going to find anything untoward in the autopsy. You knew that. That’s why you insisted on it. And once you’d put your foot down about that – and so publicly, and in such a principled way – it was going to be clear to everyone that you also had nothing to do with the other deaths that had taken place on previous cruises. Poor Mr Krugbender in the Antarctic at Christmas. Old Mrs Drew-Huggins on the Ecuador to Chile leg in October. Major Fisher in Longyearbyen last summer.’
‘How on earth …?’ said Dr Lagip with a gasp.
‘There’s a useful website that has all these deaths registered. Marikit Wyldestone is also there, though that was on a different ship, as you know, Alyssa. But four deaths on the Golden Adventurer in just under a year, no wonder the captain was concerned. More significantly, so was Security Officer Alexei. So you decided to call their bluff. Which you did brilliantly.’
‘You are one hell of a funny guy, mate,’ Carmen said, with a laugh. ‘Deaths occur all the time on these ships. The morgue has room for three bodies, d’you want to know why? Sometimes it’s not just three a year, but three a cruise.’
‘Alyssa has already told me there isn’t a morgue,’ Francis said.
Carmen looked over at her partner, and then shrugged. ‘Whatever. It doesn’t affect the numbers. So let me try and get my head around this mad little theory of yours,’ she continued. ‘Alyssa was “calling the captain’s bluff”. So she sent out a corpse she had been responsible for murdering herself for post-mortem. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘You know that’s what I’m saying.’
‘But in that case what exactly did she do to poor Eve? The old lady was lying there intact in bed. She wasn’t shot, stabbed, strangled or even, as far as I’m aware, suffocated. There aren’t many poisons that escape the analysis of a modern autopsy. There were no marks of an injection there, as I recall. So what did she use? Something by mouth? Some rare African plant that European forensics has yet to be aware of?’
‘Good question,’ said Francis. ‘And one that kept me guessing for a while. I’d actually worked out the method before I realized it was you who’d used it. I thought Gregoire was responsible. But it all ties in. Because you had to come up with something completely undetectable. You needed Eve to have “died of old age”.
‘Now as the ship’s doctor you had all the means at your disposal to quietly do away with someone. A lethal dose of an anaesthaetic like pentobarbitol, perhaps, or an overdose of diamorphine. But painless and easy as both of those would have been, for respectively the patient and you, they would have been picked up, as you say, by a post-mortem. And though that might have worked in the past, when only you were certifying the deaths, that was no good this time, was it?’
‘OK, so how did I achieve my perfect murder?’ The doctor asked this wryly, joining Carmen in the idea that Francis’s whole thesis was a huge joke. But beneath that brave facade, Francis could hear the controlled breathlessness of her delivery. She was desperate to know how much Francis had worked out, and if so what evidence he had.
‘When we were standing in Eve’s cabin,’ Francis went on, ‘looking at her body laid out on the bed, there was one odd detail that puzzled me. The champagne bucket on the side, which is not standard issue. Your butler only brings you one if you ask for it. But Eve didn’t drink. More than that, she had once been an alcoholic. There’s no way she would have wanted any alcohol in her room – so why the bucket?
‘It wasn’t on the floor, which is probably where it would have been earlier. You’d had time to clear up. You just hadn’t seen fit to remove this anomaly. So what, I asked myself, might a champagne bucket have been used for? As I thought about it, and also about other possibilities any murderer might have had at their disposal, it suddenly dawned on me where I’d seen such a container before. Gregoire had used one to pour out the dry ice during the Togoan dance show. Now these solid blocks of carbon dioxide are harmless, of course, in a well-ventilated room. They’re used all the time on stage, in the theatre, at rock concerts and so on. And on the night, for this performance, the gas just produced a little coughing among our elderly guests. However. In a sealed room, such as a cabin, with no windows open or able to be open, and the doors airtight also, you would have been able to build up enough carbon dioxide to suffocate poor Eve. And this would have no after effects other than a high level of carbon dioxide in the blood. Which might lead to bloodshot eyes, but is not in itself suspicious.’
‘You can’t poison someone with carbon dioxide,’ said Alyssa. ‘You’re thinking of carbon monoxide.’
‘Good try. But I’m aware of the distinction. Also that carbon dioxide can be a killer too.’
‘Let’s humour him for a minute, darling,’ Carmen said. ‘So Alyssa poisoned Eve, just as she had done away with others, you say, on previous cruises. But how on earth did she persuade her to change her will? And what possible proof can you have that she did, given that she’s onl
y been dead for four days? Have you been in touch with her solicitors in Malmesbury?’
‘In Malmesbury,’ repeated Francis. ‘Interesting that you knew where Eve lived.’
‘Everyone knew she lived in Malmesbury. She was always talking about it.’
‘But not to you,’ said Francis. ‘Because it wasn’t you who was Eve’s friend, was it? In fact, she barely knew you. Because that was another part of your strategy. Work separately. Your plan would have been altogether too obvious if anyone had realized you were operating together. Or if anyone had picked up on your relationship. Even I hadn’t understood that until this morning, when I was told about it by somebody who’d seen you together last night during the storm.’
‘Who?’ Alyssa cried. Then, as if to cover that half-admission up, she asked, ‘What do you mean, “during the storm”?’
‘What I say,’ said Francis. ‘During the storm. You were observed on deck seven together.’
‘But it was wild up there,’ said Alyssa. ‘Who could have wanted to go—?’
‘Well, you two, I think, since you knew it was wild up there. I promised not to reveal my source. But when I saw you today, leaving the celebration, Alyssa first, and then, a discreet ten minutes later, you, Carmen, I knew I had to tie everything up by confirming what I’d been told. And here you are. Very much together. I don’t think there’s any denying that now.’
‘We may be dykes,’ said Carmen bluntly, ‘but we’re not murderers. Give us a break.’
‘To go back to your earlier question,’ Francis said. ‘How did I know what was in Eve’s will? I didn’t. Even if I had known the name of the Malmesbury solicitor, this wasn’t information I could get at from here. Until a will is proved, it remains confidential – even the most expert hacker would find it hard to access. However, the completed wills of Mr Krugbender and Marikit Wyldestone were easy to find online. Ditto that of Major Fisher, though even with the fast-track service I haven’t had any luck yet with Mrs Drew-Huggins. Not that that matters. Because in among the beneficiaries of these three very different people, from very different parts of the world, was a common one: the Rising Star Trust.’
There was a gasp from Alyssa. Carmen’s features didn’t move.
‘And what or who,’ Francis went on, ‘was behind this interestingly named charitable foundation? Ten years ago, I would have had to travel to Grand Cayman, where the trust is incorporated, to find out. Now that information is also online. Among the four trustees I discovered this morning is one Dr A. Lagip.’
Alyssa was shaking her head, slowly, from side to side; why, wasn’t clear, as it was too late for denial now.
‘So what does this Rising Star Trust do?’ Francis continued. ‘Is it for the personal benefit of Dr A. Lagip, Dr E. Ongongo, Paula Cordoba and Rachel White? Apparently not. Because the credentials of Dr E. Ongongo, for example, are impeccable. He turns out to be an extraordinary character, well-known in central Africa for distributing funds to NGOs and other charitable causes. He has worked not just with Rising Star, but with Bill Gates, Bono, Bob Geldof and Madonna, among others. Paula Cordoba, it appears, has a similar role in Central and South America. And it turns out that one of her Facebook friends is Carmen Contreras, Australian anthropologist, lecturer and expedition leader on cruise ships.
Carmen’s face was a picture. A picture, it had to be said, of one whose back was now against the wall.
‘How on earth did you discover that?’ she breathed.
‘All too easy,’ said Francis. ‘Facebook is hardly a heavily encrypted department of the US military. Completing the team,’ he continued, ‘is another of Carmen’s Facebook pals. Rachel White. Who is, despite her name, a native Australian who works, she tells us on her much-liked page, on projects with Aboriginals in the Northern Territory of Australia, mainly to do with getting them off alcohol and into productive work. Indeed, it appears that she is directly responsible for two model settlements in the Tanami desert, one of which produced Australia’s first Paralympic one-legged long jump champion, Bambam Badjalang.’
There was no mistaking the rapid look that passed between Alyssa and Carmen. Francis had them bang to rights.
‘So Rising Star is, it seems,’ he continued, ‘a thoroughly noble enterprise, funding a string of carefully researched charitable projects across the globe. Is that why it’s called Rising Star, Alyssa? Because it is leading the way in the fight against international social injustice? Or is there a darker reason? That Operation Rising Star is the code for a dead body on a ship. Or is it both? That here we have a remarkable charity, apparently dedicated to doing good, but funded by the unfortunate victims of a cruise ship doctor who is also a murderer. Is that about the size of it, Alyssa? The ends justify the means?’
Both the doctor and her girlfriend said nothing. From the village came the sound of renewed drumbeats, mixed now with a wonderful wailing African chant.
‘Sounds like the ceremony is reaching its climax, doesn’t it?’ Francis said. ‘We’d better get a move on.’
‘So how does Lauren fit into your little theory?’ Carmen asked. Her brave face had crumbled totally now.
‘That was another ongoing puzzle for me, as you knew. Who would want to kill that poor boozy little rich girl Lauren, and why? It didn’t seem as if it was your strategy to pick on more than one victim per cruise. Eve had gone off nicely. So it could only be that Lauren had somehow worked out what you were up to. And why would she have done that? Had one of you been trying to recruit her to the trust, perhaps to persuade her to set up a legacy? She had a big heart, Lauren, and a history of helping charities. You, Carmen, had become quite matey with her and Don, both in the Antarctic and on this cruise. I saw you dine with them – one night I even saw you dancing with her. So had you been unable to resist telling her about the trust, and then been caught out when she realized exactly how the trust worked? She was, by Don’s account, a canny operator. She liked to scrutinize every charity she helped. So had she double-checked Rising Star and worked out, as I did, that Mr Krugbender, who had died on the Christmas Antarctic cruise, was a benefactor? Had she added to that Marakit Wyldestone, from the Kimberley cruise she had also been on? I doubt she would have found Major Fisher, because she and Don never went to Longyearbyen, nor were they with Mrs Drew-Huggins in Ecuador. To be honest, I was surprised that you let all these people be named.’
Alyssa shrugged and looked over at Carmen. ‘We had to,’ she admitted after a moment. ‘It was what they wanted.’
Inside Francis let out a private whoop. ‘You never imagined,’ he said, ‘that anyone would cross-reference them with a list of cruise ship deaths?’
‘Of course I didn’t,’ the doctor replied. ‘Who looks at lists of benefactors? Anyway, not all of them wanted recognition. Major Fisher, for example – how did you find out about him?’
‘It’s all there,’ said Francis. ‘If you know where to look. Ralph Walden Fisher is hardly a common name. And he did leave a lot of money.’
‘I know he did,’ Carmen said.
‘His fortune was inherited,’ Alyssa added, ‘from a cousin, and he always felt a bit guilty about it. It came to him late, so he’d lived an ordinary life in the real world; he’d travelled extensively, so knew what suffering could be, and how money could help alleviate it. He was a sweet guy.’
‘Until he was murdered,’ said Francis briskly. ‘So if Lauren had found at least some of these things out, had she challenged you, Carmen? And had you realized that, although you had never been involved in the killing side of things before, now was the time, it had to be done? For the very best reasons: to protect your lover and her wonderful idea. For what really was the ending of the life of one unhappy alcoholic compared to the salvation of large numbers of Aboriginal, African and South American children? Weren’t their young lives worth more than hers? Not to mention all those other rich old people who were sooner or later going to die anyway? And what a nice way to go, Alyssa. On a cruise. Falling asleep after a pleasant
dinner with friends, with a view of the sea. What could you fault about that? Or about taking the money that was only going to go to greedy relatives or pointless First World charities and spending it where it would really count. A donkey sanctuary! I mean, I ask you.’
‘How did you know about the donkey sanctuary?’ asked Carmen. ‘That stuff’s not online, surely.’
‘Eve told me.’
Suddenly, the doctor was crying. Great sobs shook her tiny frame.
‘Alyssa,’ Carmen said, holding her. ‘Stop it, darling. Please. Get a grip.’
‘No!’ she cried, and the strangled noise that emerged from her was like a dog’s yelp. ‘You’re right, Francis. You have worked it all out. It was so stupid to call the trust Rising Star. We were going to call it Better World, but then, I don’t know …’
‘Better World seemed so naff,’ Carmen cut in. ‘Sounds like a health club. And I’m a sucker for black humour.’
Alyssa was laughing through her tears, her eyes affectionately on her lover. She wiped her cheeks with the handkerchief that Carmen passed her.
‘It didn’t start like that,’ she said. ‘I never planned to hurt anyone, let alone kill them. I trained as a doctor, for goodness’ sake! But I got into it in stages. It began when I persuaded this one guest, a beautiful old Canadian lady who came on a trip around the South Sea Islands, to support a charity that I know about back home in the Philippines. It’s an amazing operation. They take foundlings and orphans and look after them, then place them with stable families. There are so many children that are helped by that. You see them coming into the charity, sad and lonely and frightened, and then a year later, screaming around happily in their new homes. How can you deny them that? So I was so thrilled when Julia agreed to give us some money. She had been British, originally, but she was evacuated to Canada in the war. And then her father had died, and her mother had been on a ship that had been torpedoed crossing the Atlantic, so she had lost them both and grown up in care. She had been luckier later in life and ended up married to a rich and successful businessman, but she’d never forgotten the difficulties of her childhood, so she was more than happy to help. She left us pretty much everything. She must have known she was dying, because she only lasted a couple of months after we docked. We got the money quite promptly and it made such a huge difference.
