“So, Boss, what a nice surprise to see you here,” Samantha began the investigation. She almost used the word, “ shocked”. “You never mentioned that you would ever want to join in with us on the cruise. Just the opposite, I got the impression that you weren’t really too keen on the whole venture. So, why the clandestine boarding? Care to let us in on the little secret?”
Dabbing his mouth with his serviette, Wilbur displayed a rather cunning looking facial façade as he responded, “All in due course, my very trusty reporter; all in due course. You know, you’re not the only one with a mission on your cruise to critique.” With that cryptic reply, the diners continued to work away at their meal.
The appetites of the Captain’s guests were far from stunted as they proved by fully ingesting the starter, soup, salad and entrée in due order. Without anticipating her next move, the Captain suggested that they retire to her private dining room in a room off to the side of the main dining area. After they settled once again at the new-found table, the waiter presented the dessert menu and took down their selections.
The tone at this smaller, more intimate table became decidedly somber. The presented desserts didn’t seem to be as appealing to the palate as they might have been before this disturbing aberration from the earlier more relaxed dining. The Captain, after a mouthful of sherbert, set down her dessert spoon, cleared her throat, and began.
“Obviously, with my requested change of venue, you may have suspected that I had something of a very grave nature to discuss with you...in private. It involves the alleged murder of our guest, Miss Marsha Stewart, of course, but, alas a much more startling matter. We’ve been made aware,” Captain Hurley nodded to the Chief Inspector, “ that the matter involves an affair with a far wider reach than any of us could have ever imagined.” The silence of the moment was interrupted by the clatter of the dessert silver being placed on the dishes. The meal was over.
“If I may, Captain,” the Chief Inspector continued, “I’d like to begin my remarks by emphasizing how absolutely necessary that the following information be held in the strictest secrecy; meant for members in this room only. This can’t be stressed strongly enough.” Each listener froze in place with an expression on their face like they had been zapped with a stun gun.
“During the preliminary investigation of Miss Stewart’s apparent murder, a motive behind the killing began to come to light. This afternoon, two agents from the CIA, the Central Intelligence Agency, arrived in George Town. They didn’t come here because of the murder. They were not aware of that sad incident until shortly before we met with them at the Constabulary.” Mehta was interrupted.
“So, why did they come here, Chief Inspector,” Samantha asked like any inquisitive reporter would who was worth her salt.
“I’m getting to that, Miss Simmons, if you would kindly give me a moment,” Sanjay was mildly annoyed, but understood the presence of high anxiety among the people in the room.
“The two agents briefed the local police, myself included, since I was a witness at the murder scene as well as the fact that Miss Stewart is...or was, one of our cruise guests. They flew to Grand Cayman as part of a two year investigation of a smuggling ring operating here on the island. I am not at liberty to go into the full details of just what is being smuggled, but suffice it to say that it falls far beyond amateur smuggling. What we are dealing with more precisely fits into the realm of intellectual espionage; the matter is at the highest level of security which begs the reason for my admonition forbidding any divulging of this matter even in the slightest detail.”
The Chief Inspector took a deep breath and appeared to continue his lengthy preamble to any real revelation when the door was abruptly swung open exposing a defiant ship’s Maitre ‘d being bullied. Over the admonitions of the Maitre ‘d, two men barged into the room, flashing badges in a gawdy manner, which, indeed, generated an intimidating ambiance to the post prandial briefing.
“Mr. Cromwell?...Mr. George Cromwell? One of the intruders shouted.”
“Yes,” Cromwell nervously responded.
“Sir, you need to come with us.”
“Why? What’s going on?” George demanded.
“Sir, please don’t resist. I placing you under formal arrest.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Needless to say, the Captain’s dinner ended rather unceremoniously. Reacting to her objections, the CIA agents took Captain Peggy Hurley aside and carried on a three way face off. The CIA agents apparently won this one as they carted George Cromwell both out of the room, off the ship and back to the island. None of this made any sense to the startled bystanders who all had various degrees of astonishment written on their faces.
The Captain approached Sanjay Mehta, turned cheek to cheek and supposedly whispered a plan of action into his ear. He looked at her with an unspoken questioning reply. Then, without any spoken objection, he, too, exited the room and headed down the three decks to the tender loading area. Apparently, there was to be some high level confab back at the Constabulary in George Town. Anyone on the ship could have proffered a guess as well as the on-site witnesses of the proceedings about the nature of these past few minutes.
“Captain, could you explain what’s going on?” Led was brave, or foolish, enough to break the heavy silence and inquire.
“Led, everyone, I wish I could. Right now all I can say is that this is a terrible mess that continues to have a multitude of moving parts: an alleged murder, smuggling, possible espionage and now the arrest of Mr. Cromwell. Thank goodness I don’t have a ship underway to deal with along with all the rest of this unsavory business.” Peggy Hurley appeared visibly upset which didn’t help one iota to calm anyone’s nerves. With nothing to be accomplished, they vacated the dining room each making their retreat to a favorite nook or cranny on the ship for further dialogue concerning the inscrutable affair laid in their laps.
“Let’s go up to the Clouds buffet. They’re still open and we can get some decent desserts,” Led suggest allowing his stomach to make the decision.
“Food to quiet the savage beast, hey my friend?”
“I’m not feeling the best about this afternoon, Lucky. I keep thinking that I could have done something, anything to save Marsha.” The elevator arrived with the glass at the back allowing a view of the bay with George Town in the background. Led pointed, “There’s where it all happened. Hard to forget when it’s staring you in the face.”
They quietly walked into the buffet and found a table in the near empty restaurant. Lucky sat down at the table as he was too stuffed to eat another bite while Led wandered off to the dessert section. A few minutes later Led returned with a plate heaping full of rich delights promising a catastrophic expansion of the waistline. Sitting across from Lucky, Led began devouring the mountain of sugar disguised as innocent palliatives.
“Led, I realize that this all just happened a few hours ago. Your guilt is eating you up right now. It’s not fair of you to allow that. You are what you do, Led. Your EMT skills have come to the rescue of dozens of people. You always do your best; you’re the finest of the Finest, as all first responders are. But, unfortunately, no one can reverse the forces of nature. That bullet through Marsha’s head was a mortal wound. Neither you nor anyone else on God’s green earth could have saved her life.”
“Thanks, Lucky. I know that’s right and I need to hear it, but I keep bouncing off my guilt from that accident with my brother. How I felt so helpless just kneeling at his side and not being able to do one damn thing to help him.”
“Led, you were young; you didn’t possess any lifesaving skills. You hadn’t any professional training in treating severe injuries. Awful things happen in our lives which we don’t have much say over. You took the high road and actually did something positive in spite of the devastating loss of your brother. I’m sure he’s proud of you, my friend.”
“Yeah, well, I’d like to go back over to the island. The tender boats are running all night and I need to work off
some of this anxiety or else I’ll default into full depression.” Led scooped up the last mouthful of the crème brulee as he and Lucky headed back to their room and then to the tender boat shuttle over to George Town.
Samantha and Rex, the dynamic duo reporters of the Deco Weekly Reporter, allowed the lure of alcohol as ameliorative to decide their next course of action. They found their way to the Sand Bar lounge. After ordering drinks, they huddled together in an intense discussion as if they were two, close, long lost relatives, having found each other. Of course, they were neither: related or close. But, like all tragedies in life, the treacherous fallout of the disaster draws disparate entities together for survival, whether physical or mental. So, true to form, the rule was playing out here in a semi-deserted cruise ship bar.
“What the hell is going on, Samantha? This is beyond preposterous. I say!” Rex raised the tumbler with his third Grand Marnier and sipped in the anesthetizing liquid. “I’ve known our Chief for over two sh-ecades and he never even got as much as a tiny shi-shing boat.” Rex began to slur his syllables. Alcohol, the age old pacifier, was working it’s chemical magic on Rex’s motor skills.
“It’s crazy. He was against the whole idea of a cruise review; even more to the point, he didn’t want to spend the money. Then, out of the blue, he shows up on the very cruise that he didn’t want me...or you...to come on. I really, really don’t get it.” Samantha kept jabbing her straw at the ice in her lemonade. “And, you, Riddle, need to stop drinking! We’ve got to pull our wits together on this one. No more competing. If we’re ever going to figure this out, it will require two clear thinking heads.” They continued in this vein intensely absorbed in each other’s tete-a-tete.
For her part, Captain Peggy Hurley, requesting not to be disturbed, sat ensconced in her office on the phone in heavy conversation with Agent Cartwright. Not all was at it would have appeared with the earlier scene which had taken place between the CIA agents and the dining room crowd. The “scene” could more truthfully be described as a charade.
“I think it all went over quite convincingly, Captain,” Cartwright remarked.
“It would seem so. I’m more than happy to cooperate with you and Agent Carrington in your investigation. Your arresting George Cromwell might very well throw off the real culprits in the case, don’t you think? Maybe even let their defenses down?”
“That’s the plan. Confuse with subterfuge, we always say in the trade,” the agent responded cockily. “Now, we’ll play out the rest of the pretense and hopefully the scumbags will walk right into our waiting handcuffs.”
“So, are we still on for our setting sail at noon tomorrow?”
“That remains on the agenda as it is playing out now. We’ll have everyone involved here on the island in jail cells and be with you for the ride back to Miami and the on board grand finale. It’s been two years in the making and I can’t wait ‘till it’s finished. I haven’t had a vacation since this operation began and I am so ready.”
“Well, don’t forget, Agent Cartwright, Royal Danish cruise lines offers fabulous cruise vacations on beautiful ships. You’ll be able to sit back and forget all about this affair.”
“You are something else, Captain. Always plugging for the company. I assure you that we will take you up on that offer, but first things first,” Cartwright laughed as he and Captain Hurley hung up their phones.
At the same time as the phone conversation ensued, lo and behold, it appeared that Led’s long missing diving companion sauntered into the Sand Bar lounge, dressed to kill, an appropriate phrase in the context of what had just happened earlier that afternoon. Sitting on a bar stool partially facing the ocean view, she didn’t notice Samantha and Rex on the other side of the circular bar; nor they her. The massive centerpiece cluttering up the inner bar between them quite effectively hindered the view with its display of liquor bottles and the oversized bunches of long stem faux tropical flowers.
Not missing the opportunity to wait for a hot looking lady, the bartender ratcheted up his charm and asked if the lady would like anything to drink. With a shallow smile, she took a quick visual inventory of the plethora of liquor bottles and quietly ordered a gin fizz. As he left her to fix the drink, she opened her purse. Fishing out her compact mirror and lipstick, the lady in waiting dabbed a fresh layer of the grease, a shade of red called “Tantalizing”, onto her already heavily painted lips.
“Will someone be joining you this evening, Miss?” The bartender had returned with her gin fizz. “I could have one of our waiters take your drink to a table with a more private view of the bay,” the overly anxious-to-please bar waiter suggested with an accommodating tone in his voice.
“Why, yes, that’s a splendid idea, Mario,” she replied, using his first name, having eyed his name tag.
“And, how about a bowl of peanuts or pretzels to go along with the drink?” About the time Mario set the peanuts in front of her, she sensed someone approaching from behind.
“And, what might the lovely lady be drinking tonight?” Already displaying a plastered grin on her face, twisted around on the stool and extended her hand. The gentleman, in chivalrous form, bent over and kissed it.
“Well, don’t you look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” purred her pursuer.
Our lady, no longer in waiting, made a peeping sound mimicking a bird.
The Constabulary in downtown George Town was abuzz with disorganized activity. Everyone was scurrying around without any real destination; an overload of stress and anxiety over the highly unusual case being pursued. A bar fight, occasional drowning or some petty shoplifting was the usual day’s demands for the local bobby on the beat, not an international case of espionage piled on top of a murder. The presence of the CIA agents kept the small island uniformed cops as well as their superiors keenly on edge.
“Right this way, Chief Inspector. Thanks for getting over here so quickly. I realize the scene in the ship’s dining room was a bit unnerving to all present.” Carrington, the junior CIA agent led Mehta into the crowded briefing room. Sanjay noticed Constable Brookstone standing with his back up against the back wall, directly behind a sheepish looking George Cromwell.
“Let’s go over this again, Mr. Cromwell. We know from our undercover agent that you were seen entering the back door of the warehouse along with another person who appeared to be of Asian descent. Shortly after you entered, two more men were spotted going through that same door. So, far have I got it correct?” Senior agent Cartwright was leading the inquiry.
“I was only doing some grocery shopping,” George responded.
“Of course, grocery shopping. As you say. It was noted that you were carrying a paper sack containing some items of an unknown nature.”
“I had two paper sacks, as you call them, filled with everyday groceries. You know, those things of a nature that one eats for meals,” George said rather testily.
“Yes, and we will be searching them as well as your entire house before the night is over. Now, you could make it go easier on yourself and, by the way, for your wife if you’d cooperate. We have you dead to rights so why don’t you come clean. Our agent has been watching you for months. You’ll never wiggle out of this, Cromwell. But, it might help your cause in front of the judge if you assist in the investigation.” Cartwright leaned into George’s face and stared intently while using a dramatic pause. Then, very slowly, syllable by syllable he stage whispered, “And it might very well just save your neck from the hangman’s noose.”
George Cromwell, Esquire saw his entire life flash before his eyes: son of an aristocrat; educated at Cambridge; successful lawyer; married to a beautiful woman; fabulous home; world traveler; and, years of carefree retirement ahead of him on a Caribbean paradise island...all gone...unless...
“Yes, I’ll come clean! But, I don’t think you’ll be happy with my confession.”
“That’s more like it, old chap. But, let us be the judge of how we’ll be with whatever you tell us,” Senior Ag
ent Cartwright smugly replied.
Chief Inspector Mehta sat back taking it all down in his notebook. He had little to do or have much of any say up to this point. Now, though, the island portion of the investigation appeared to be wrapping up, he had an empty feeling in his gut. There remained a lot more to unravel about this case, but it would most likely take place on the Caribbean Star, his ship, with your’s truly in the lead position as investigator since all the others involved with these crimes would be guests on the cruise, albeit official guests. The CIA agents might not have any formal jurisdiction while sailing in international waters, but Chief Inspector Sanjay Mehta and Captain Peggy Hurley, Master of the Caribbean Star certainly did.
After he paid his farewell courtesies to the other law enforcement personnel, Sanjay stepped out into the warm balmy night air and paced slowly. He stopped, turned around and looked back as if peering through the walls into the just vacated interrogation room. Professionally, he knew better than to question the agents in charge. CIA always knew more than they let on or shared even with other law enforcement agencies.
He couldn’t stop his mind from churning; Sanjay wrestled with some glaring questions: What and when, if ever, would be revealed by the CIA? How about the local George Town resident, Mr. George Cromwell? Now, quicker than a magician's illusion, George Cromwell went from a chair at the Captain's table to find himself seated in a chair intended for the third degree. And what did Cromwell mean when he stated that the agents wouldn’t be happy with his confession?
Burdened with these unanswered questions, Sanjay decided to head back to the Caribbean Star and update Captain Peggy Hurley of these latest developments. There was, after all, only a precious few hours left before the ship would get underway at noon tomorrow. Chief Inspector Mehta hoped that the pieces of this puzzle would begin to fall into place quickly, but with all his years’ experience, he had his doubts. There were simply too many moving and perplexing pieces to this puzzle.
Cruise to Critique (Lucky & Led Cruise Ship Mystery Series Book 5) Page 10
