by Cathy Ace
I pounced. “How do you know he was a thief, Nigel?”
Rearranging his shoulders, Nigel replied quickly, “Well, you yourself said he stole money from Laurie through cheating at cards. That’s theft.” Almost a good catch.
“True,” I replied, “and you’re right. We found evidence in Tommy’s stateroom that he was more than a cardsharp; he was, in fact, a pickpocket.”
Amazement. Shock. Dismay. Judgment.
I waited a beat, then continued. “And he stole something from you, didn’t he, Nigel?” I stopped the man from blustering by holding up my hand. “There’s no point denying it: we have you on camera in the store in Maui buying three pairs of diamond earrings. I dare say a pair just like those that Janet wore at dinner last night will end up gracing the ears of a woman who lives near Birmingham, and another pair will be worn by a woman who lives just outside Sandwich, in Kent.” I can see you collapsing internally, Nigel. Terror will set in any moment.
“Janet, look at me,” I said firmly. Janet eventually turned her face toward me. She looked frightened. “You need to open your eyes, Janet. The man you are married to lives a life you know nothing about. He’s likely to be taken into custody by the British police very shortly, for having stolen millions of dollars’ worth of pills from his ex-employer. He was fired four years ago, he owns at least two other homes with families in them—his—and he’s lied to you for pretty much your whole married life.” I knew I was being tough on the woman, but I also knew, from experience, that when you’ve got a bad ‘un, someone else has to save you from them.
Janet stared at me round-eyed. She didn’t blink. Not once. I knew in that instant that she was allowing herself to believe, for the first time, that all the signs she’d seen and all the instincts she’d ignored over decades were, in fact, credible.
“But why?” she said quietly. I knew she was asking Nigel, as well as me, but I was also equally sure he wouldn’t answer her.
“Because he’s a sociopath with narcissistic tendencies who loves the thrill of living on the edge. He adores the attention he gets at events like weddings, so why not have a lot of them? He enjoys the company of a woman who knows her place, owes him everything, and becomes accustomed to doing his bidding, allowing him to live his exciting life.” I could see that Nigel Knicely was, quite literally, getting hot under the collar; his neck was pulsating red, and he was seething with anger.
“Look at him now, Janet. Look at the man who calmly told you twenty-dollar pearls from the ABC Store were good enough for your daughters-in-law, but bought three pairs of diamond earrings, one for each of his wives. This isn’t a man who is sorry for what he’s done—he’s angry that he’s been found out! And who found him out? Tommy Trussler, who picked his pocket, and realized how very odd it was that a man would buy three pairs of earrings, and give only one set to his wife. Tommy Trussler, a cheat, a thief, and a chancer who confronted him about it in the line-up for the tender boats in Kona. Tommy Trussler, with whom he had a very public argument in the Games Room because he was being goaded, and with whom he had a rendezvous when he told you he was going to the Internet café. I reckon Tommy was blackmailing him. His scribbled note said ‘K—⅓=$?’ referring to you wearing one of three pairs of earrings. I think we can all guess that ‘K’ is Nigel. And by the way, Janet—your special red bracelet is made of highly toxic seeds. They are seeds he could easily—if carefully—have used to poison the poi he knew Tommy carried with him at all times.”
Janet looked at me helplessly. “He married other women?” An expected response—that’s all she’s heard.
“I can explain everything,” said Nigel, his voice shaking with anger.
“No, you can’t,” I said firmly. I turned to Frannie Lang, beside me and said, “And then there’s you, Frannie.”
The woman looked up at me with clear, dark eyes and said, “What about me?” A challenge?
“Your locket. Your dead sister. When I asked you the name of her boyfriend, the one she was with when she was killed on the road in O’ahu you spluttered B … K … Michael Craft.”
“So?” she looked puzzled.
“It’s odd, the way our minds work,” I said. “I’m a psychologist, so trust me, I know. When I asked you his name, you realized you might give yourself away, so your brain did some fast word association. You stopped yourself from saying ‘Buster,’ your mind flew to ‘Keaton,’ then to ‘Michael,’ from which it was a short hop to ‘Craft.’ Buster. Buster the Clown. Buster Keaton. Michael Keaton. Michael’s craft shops—they’re all over Canada and the USA. The scrapbookers’ Mecca. You knew your sister’s boyfriend as ‘Buster,’ and ‘Buster’ was the name of Tommy Trussler’s clown character—the one you saw at the SPAM festival in Waikiki. That was when you knew who he was. You told me your sister loved a joke and a laugh; who better to provide that for a nurse living near Virginia than a wounded soldier with a penchant for tricks?”
“I had no idea,” said Frannie quietly. “He was a thief too?”
“Bud?” I said. He deserved to shine, and I needed a break.
“Upon entering Tommy Trussler’s home in O’ahu, it was discovered that he had a large collection of drivers’ licenses, all depicting the same sort of woman—blond, dark-eyed, very similar in looks to you, Frannie—and, to be fair, to Laurie and Janet too.” All three women looked taken aback. “Tommy told Kai Pukui he’d lost the love of his life; we believe he honed his pickpocketing skills trying to ‘get her back’ in some way.”
“He was obsessed by his loss of her,” I added. “He’d been sober since the time of the accident, and he’d stayed on O’ahu to be closer to the memory of her, even though her body had been shipped back to the mainland. He suffered a serious leg injury in the car smash, and walked with a limp afterward. The lack of mobility he suffered led to him gaining a great deal of weight as time passed. He sustained himself by spending the cash from the wallets he stole, and as a large, jocular children’s entertainer, albeit one who had a clumsy moment which ended in tragedy. After that he performed under a different name, continued his thefts, but lived a different lifestyle, which involved exercise. His corpse, as well as the Pukuis, told me he’d been heavy once and lost weight. The man you met, Frannie—the man you knew to be your dead sister’s boyfriend—must have known who you were as soon as he saw you. He’d been searching for a face that looked like the one he’d lost so long ago; it must have been a shock to his system to see you. We know that you and he spent time together in Maui, and here on the ship, as well as at Hilo. You might have hated him enough to want to see him dead—I know you tackled the issue of managing your anger in counseling. With your predilection for over-the-counter pharmaceuticals—which I saw in your bathroom—and your nursing knowledge, I have no doubt you had enough toxins in your possession, and the knowledge of how to use them, to be able to kill him.”
“Well, I didn’t,” said Frannie. “What would be the point? It wouldn’t bring my sister back, would it?”
I sighed. “No, Frannie, it wouldn’t.”
Frannie looked at the table in front of her, then up at me. Her eyes were full of tears. “It didn’t feel the way I thought it would,” she said softly. The room is so quiet.
“You told me that before, when you spoke about visiting the site of the accident that killed your sister. There’s nothing sweet about it, is there?”
Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “No. Nothing. It’s just cold, and empty. Like I’ve been since Fay went away. Half of me gone. Having my boys with me helped, but they grew up, and off they went to live their lives. Then Barry left me, and then there he was: Buster. Buster Trussler. That’s what she called him in her letters to me. ‘Funny name, funny guy,’ she said. I’ll always remember that. Made her laugh, she said. Especially after her boring doctor husband. She needed something different, she said. A new start.”
Pulling a tissue from her purse, Frannie Lang composed herself. The mood in the room was somber, to say the least; everyone
was aware they were watching a tragedy play out. So much loss and grief in one room.
“He was a dreadful man, wasn’t he? So much worse than any one of us knew or suspected. Who would think a man brave enough to risk his life to save his comrades could be so awful?” she whispered.
“I believe that, for Tommy Trussler, it was his experiences in war, and then the loss of your sister Fay, that changed the way he saw risk taking. What most people would see as dangerous activities that would end badly if they were discovered—like stealing from individuals, cheating at cards, and so on—he likely didn’t see as chancy at all. I don’t believe he was living a life he knew to be wrong, but did it anyway—like some do.” I looked at Nigel, who seemed to be mentally talking his way out of his situation. “No, he was living the only way he thought he could—getting by on his skills and his wits, and hunting for the woman whose death finally broke his connection with real judgment. As I suspect your recent losses have done to you.”
Derek Cropper leapt up and shouted, “Y’all shut up!” startling everyone in the room—me included.
Having gained everyone’s attention, Derek looked down at his wife, touched her gently on the shoulder and said, “Forgive me, honey.” Laurie began to cry. He cast his gaze around the room, then looked directly at me. “You said earlier that you’re putting us through this to protect the innocent. I guess that’s because whoever killed Tommy could use what you’ve dug up about the rest of us to create reasonable doubt in the mind of a jury, right?”
I felt compelled to nod again. Rats!
Laurie’s silent crying escalated to loud sobbing. Her husband continued. “Well, then, just so everyone knows they won’t have to see their dirty laundry aired in public—except you, Nigel, and, let’s be honest, man, you deserve it—then I will confess to killing Tommy Trussler.”
“Don’t say any more Derek,” begged Laurie. “We can have a little time together yet, honey. Whatever time you have left, we can have it together.”
Derek looked at his wife and tenderly stroked her hair. “My dear, dear honey child. You are the love of my life, and I want nothing more than to spend my last weeks, maybe months, being with you. But I can do something that makes a difference. I can save innocent people, and people who might have acted out of grief, or loss, or sadness. I can take this on my shoulders. It won’t have to rest there for long. Ezra, all I ask is that you allow me this one last night with my wife, then I will surrender myself to the authorities when we dock. I won’t make a fuss. It’ll all be by the book.”
Laurie grabbed his hand and began to wail. “Oh Derek. What am I gonna do without you? I can’t go on—I won’t!”
“Oh yes you will, my dear. I’m gonna be gone very soon, but you’re still young and beautiful, and you’re well provided for.” He looked at Bud and added, “If this poor guy can lose his wife, and find himself a new life, as Bud and Cait have, then maybe you can do the same. But me going now, or in a little while, won’t make a whole heap a’difference. I’m guessing the Canadian cops’ll be gentle with an old guy who’s dying.”
“You’re dying?” said Janet, amazed. Her expression suggested she hadn’t really been taking in everything going on about her. Not surprising.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Derek. “Inoperable cancer, and I don’t want them doin’ nothin’ to me. Gonna go on my own terms.”
“There’s no such thing with cancer,” said Frannie Lang bleakly. “It always gets you exactly the way it wants to.” Inexcusably cruel.
Laurie gasped and sobbed, grabbing at her husband’s hand. Ezra looked confused, to say the least. He remained in his seat, but was on full alert.
“Now hang on a minute, Derek,” I said. “No one’s accused you of anything here.”
“I know it,” said the man in his gentle drawl. He sounded completely calm, totally in control of himself and the situation. “Look here, if I put my hands up to it, none of these folks will have to have their lives ripped apart in court. I can save them from that.”
“You’d be saving a killer from facing justice,” I said. “That’s not right. This is about justice, Derek, not sacrifice. You didn’t kill Tommy, nor did Laurie. Why should either of you suffer because someone chose to take his life? You deserve to spend your last months on this earth together, not with you stuck in a cell somewhere.”
Laurie grabbed at her husband’s arm. “She’s right, Derek Cropper. We have our own battles to fight. Don’t waste time trying to fight someone else’s. Besides, if someone in this room has killed once, what’s to stop them from doing it again? You could be covering for someone who’ll take it into their head that there’s someone else walking God’s good earth that they prefer didn’t, and then you’d be responsible for another life, or lives, taken. Like Cait said, it’s not right. I’m not just saying this for myself, honey—I’m saying it because it’s true.”
Derek took his seat beside his wife and they hugged. He looked completely deflated. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “I thought I could, you know, protect people. Innocent people. I’ve never done anything for anyone my whole life. Just me. Us. I always put the business first. Looked for the angle, the profit. And now, at the end of it all? I thought—oh, I don’t know what I thought. I guess maybe that I could be a bit of a hero, not just a guy with a pile of money in the bank, but no time left to spend it.”
“You’re my hero,” said Laurie, sobbing.
“So, if they didn’t do it, who did?” said Janet Knicely. She looked across the table at her husband. “Was it you?” Her tone was no longer that of a simpering acolyte. She was seething. I sensed claws hidden in her velvet paws.
Nigel looked genuinely shocked. “Me? What on earth … why would I … what would make you …” He had no way to finish any sentence. Everyone in the room clearly believed the man capable of anything, and that included his wife.
Looking directly at him, Janet said, “Is it true, what she said about you? Three families?”
Nigel didn’t say a word.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then. Did you marry either of your other wives twice, like you did with me?”
“No.”
“Good.” Oh, for heaven’s sake! Is she going to forgive him? “Then, when I confront them with the fact that they aren’t married to you at all, I’ll be able to console them with the knowledge that I was the only one stupid enough to marry you twice. Renew our vows, indeed? Renew them? They were never real, were they? You’re a complete and utter … I hate you!”
Janet Knicely wasn’t living up to her name at all. She was out of her seat, beating her husband around the head before anyone could stop her. Cursing and screaming, she had to be pulled off by the swift-footed Officer Ocampo, who managed to separate the couple. Settling Janet at the front table, away from her husband, who was crying like a little boy, Ezra moved to calm the situation as quickly as possible.
“Cait, wind it up, please. Now,” he said.
I nodded. “There’s no easy way to do this, because I’m not ‘allowed’ to accuse anyone of anything on this ship. I have no official role, nor does Bud. Ezra has the power to detain, but it’s the Canadian authorities that’ll do the charging. What I’d hoped was that the guilty party would feel enough compassion for everyone else here to confess their crime, and to understand the grief they would cause if they used the circumstantial evidence against their shipmates.” I hope this last gambit works.
“Compassion?” said Frannie Lang. “What good does compassion do? Compassion won’t bring back the Pukuis’ dead son, or my dead sister. It won’t make you feel less like a fool, Laurie, or you, Janet. That’s what we are—a ship of fools. All thinking that when Tommy Trussler was dead, we’d be safe, happy again. We’d find ourselves the way we were, not the way we are. We’d find the light that had gone out in our lives.”
Amazed faces all around, watching Frannie unravel.
“You feel no better, do you Frannie?” I whispered.
Frannie slammed the
table with her fist. “No, I don’t. And I should. I should feel better. He’s gone. But I’m still alone. All alone. He made me be different. I didn’t deserve to lose her. I needed her in my life to make me whole, and he took her away from me. I didn’t know he was as terrible as it turns out he was, but he deserved to die just because of what he did to Fay. He was the one talking about Sasana in Hilo. He was the one all for everything having a payback. Fawning all over me he was, at first, kept telling me I was beautiful. It made my skin crawl. Then I told him who I was and he went all pathetic, like it wasn’t his fault. Swore he hadn’t been drinking the day she died. Swore he begged her to wear her seat belt. I didn’t believe a word of it. He was the one to blame. She’d never have driven drunk. She would have worn her belt. She wasn’t wild and reckless, like he said she was. It wasn’t enough that he killed her, he even tried to kill my memories of her. He said they were going to get married that day. Can you imagine that? She’d have told me. I’m her sister. She wouldn’t have done that without telling me. Driving to their wedding after a toast or two? It was ridiculous. All a fantasy. And then he hit me with the pity party—how terrible it had been for him without her. How he’d spent months in the hospital, could hardly walk after the accident. How he’d wallowed, allowed himself to get all out of shape. Terrible for him? What about me? Nothing was ever the same for me after she was gone. My husband used to go on and on about how I needed to let go of her, get over her being dead. ‘Move on,’ he’d say. Move on? He didn’t get it. Never did. Why not? He knew how much she meant to me. He even got my mom and dad on his side, you know? They talked to me about counseling, so I gave in, but not even the counsellors helped. They didn’t get it either. Too stupid. Not even the one I went to after the divorce. And my boys? They don’t say anything, but I can see it in their eyes when I talk about her. They raise their glasses when I toast her at my birthday, but they don’t mean it. Grown up? Huh. See how they feel when people begin to leave them.”
