by Jean Chapman
He took the opportunity to make a phone call to Toby, who said everything was ‘very quiet with even the dog gone’.
Then Cannon found himself asking something of Toby he had certainly not planned, but that suddenly made so much sense to him.
‘Toby,’ he began, ‘you know I am here with your father and your sister …’
‘Yes, of course …’ His voice was suddenly wary, as if aware he was about to be asked to do something he probably would not find easy.
‘Could you leave your bus to be loaded by someone else?’ Cannon asked.
‘Well …’ Toby sounded doubtful. ‘The museum people have a list of what I wish to take but … what do you want me to do?’
‘Fly over and find out all you can about your old professor. You could start with your college porter.’
‘Old Weaver,’ Toby said automatically.
‘I need to know all about Michael Heaven’s childhood, his family, his younger brother who died while he was a professor.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ Toby interrupted.
‘Perhaps after your time but the porter remembers it vividly,’ Cannon said. ‘You said you talked to this professor?’
‘To be honest, he became almost a soul-mate,’ Toby said frankly. ‘I talked to him an awful lot. He was always ready to listen.’
‘Did you talk to him about anything in particular?’
‘I usually found myself having a rant when I’d been home.’
‘A rant?’
‘As I said, it was just the way my father was. He thought he was being kind, but he was keeping my sister a kind of intellectual cripple when she was certainly not!’
‘No,’ Cannon agreed, ‘and that’s the reason she is in Norway now, to give her this chance of blossoming, but …’
‘But?’ Toby questioned. ‘There is a but?’
‘I believe that the man who disfigured the painting at your museum is the professor calling himself Bliss who keeps an antique shop near my public house. I also think he is the Professor Heaven who you complained to so bitterly about your father.’
There was silence as Toby absorbed this. ‘You believe because of what I said, he …’ He gave an astonished and disbelieving laugh. ‘Surely it makes no sense or …’ And now he sounded distressed. ‘I hope it doesn’t.’
‘From the beginning,’ Cannon went on, ‘there has been the involvement of a disabled child, the punishment of the father and the murder of anyone who has got in the way of this unstable man’s intentions.’
‘Unstable,’ Toby repeated. ‘So did the road accident affect his brain? You say Professor Heaven never went back to tutoring.’
‘No,’ Cannon confirmed and waited.
‘You think I should fly back to the UK?’ Toby asked.
‘I feel this man is not going to give up, he has sacrificed too much, so it’s urgent. I believe your father’s life is becoming increasingly at risk.’
‘But the police …’
‘Yes, DI Betterson is doing his best, being hampered probably by a press demanding he find Spier, by his expenses for so much overtime and all the red tape of police work. The Norwegian police are – well, in Norway …’
‘So?’
‘I want you to fly back to the UK and find out all you can about Professor Heaven’s background. Did he have a disabled sibling? When did this car accident happen? Are any of his family still alive?’
‘You really think it is because I complained about my father that this whole … bloody trail of tricks and …’ Words failed him.
‘Yes,’ Cannon said sharply, ‘I do, and if we find out the facts of Heaven’s background we might at least begin to understand, if murder is ever understandable.’
‘OK. I’ll do it,’ Toby agreed.
Cannon made private thanks, feeling he had recruited a man who would give his entire time, limited as it was, to this one object.
‘I’ll see you in Kirkenes,’ Toby said, adding, ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘So will I,’ Cannon endorsed.
He was to remember his promise when they reached Trondheim, the capital of Norway at one time. This surely would be a far more likely place for Bliss to come aboard. There was a much larger airport, more frequent services, and the Nordsol was docked from 8.30 until midday.
They would all have liked to have stretched their legs ashore, seen the cathedral, browsed the shops, but knew the wisdom of staying together on board. Cathy shrugged and said ‘another time’ as they watched the majority of the cruising passengers leave the ship, while others had obviously reached their final destination. Leaving empty cabins to be filled, Cannon thought.
He stayed on the deck immediately overlooking the loading areas and watched for the whole three-and-a-half hours. He saw new passengers, singly or in little groups, two in wheelchairs, came aboard, but no one resembling Bliss. Once they were underway again, he rejoined the others in the lounge.
Higham put down his iPad. ‘So?’ he asked. ‘Do you still think this was a wise move, this cruise?’.
‘I think so,’ Cannon answered, seeing the pleasure leave Cathy’s face as her father once more questioned the wisdom of this journey. ‘Comings and goings are strictly monitored.’
‘Come on, Cathy, let us go to the dining room, get a table,’ Liz suggested. ‘The men can follow.’
‘It’s a bit like being in an old walled city,’ Cannon told Higham as he watched them go. ‘Well, in a way it should be much safer. When we’re at sea no one can come and go, and when we dock the gangways and loading ramps are like gates, watched over and controlled.’
After lunch Higham went to the ship’s library, a quiet place to work on his laptop. He kept in touch with his son, Jacob, and a close eye on his businesses. Cannon held the door for one of the wheelchair users who followed them in, a benevolent-looking old boy with a mass of grey hair and beard. He was thanked with a nod of the head and a wave. Cannon always doffed a proverbial cap to the disabled who travelled; this ship was well equipped with ramps and lifts but he still reckoned it took some courage.
When they all re-met in the evening, Higham told Cannon he had received a call from Toby. Cannon waited for some impassioned outburst, but Toby had obviously not revealed his new mission.
‘Karen and Trude are safely settled in Finland so I feel happy about that,’ Higham said, ‘but there seems some change of plans about his bus. He has some other work to do, so he’s doing that first, then flying up to Kirkenes and leaving another member of the museum staff to come up with the driver.’ Higham drew in a deep breath and exhaled in a mighty sigh. ‘He also says the Oslo police department are keeping watch on airports, and he’s informed them this maniac, who they obviously now believe has followed us from England, may have changed his name again?’ Higham looked at Cannon as if for some enlightenment, but none came.
‘I’ll not be at ease until he’s caught, whatever he’s calling himself,’ Higham added.
The next morning, while passengers were assembling for the crossing-the-line ceremony, Cannon was delighted to receive a text message from Toby in the UK. saying, ‘Contacted Weaver. Taking him for lunchtime drink. Be in touch.’
Cannon followed the others to the rear upper deck, feeling that with Higham in his sights, Cathy holding her father’s hand and Liz holding on to his arm, in a ridiculous state of excitement, he could really relax a little and enjoy the fun.
He had vague recollections of pictures showing liners crossing the equator and people in bathing costumes being well and truly doused by Father Neptune, not a practice they could follow crossing the Arctic Circle. The laughing crowd on this deck were well muffled in anoraks with fur-lined hoods, scarves and gloves.
He could see a long table had been set up, then there was much speculation and laughter as two of the crew came carrying a large covered pan and the captain himself followed brandishing a large ladle.
There was a keen wind blowing but they gathered from what the captain was announcing t
hat Father Neptune might come aboard any moment and they were all to keep a sharp lookout for him. People looked in all directions. Liz thought he might come up the side on ‘one of those hoist things they use to paint ships’. Cannon kept his eyes more or less fixed on a set of steps which came up from a working area just to the right of where the captain was standing. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself holding the ladle in the air, then looking beneath the cloth into the contents of the pan with pretended horror.
Then Cannon nudged Liz and drew her attention to the steps, up which came Father Neptune complete with crown and trident, long tangled hair and beard, dark green robes well draped in seaweed, with water dripping from his green gloves.
‘Didn’t know you could get green Marigolds,’ Cannon said, near enough to both the captain and Neptune for them to hear him.
Now the captain invited all who had never crossed the line of the Arctic Circle before to come forward and ‘be properly initiated’ – with this he revealed the contents of the pan. Piles of ice cubes. ‘There is a reward for all who come,’ he promised and indicated trays of glasses with good measures of spirits ready poured being brought to the table. ‘And we have one brave gentleman here –’ he waved Cannon forward ‘– who can’t wait to be first.’
Liz urged him forward and the captain invited him to kneel before the table. Cannon knelt, felt his collar pulled away from the back of his neck and a large ladle of ice cubes went down his back, followed quickly by another.
‘We always give our first initiate special treatment,’ the captain informed him.
The crowd roared with laughter as Cannon shuddered and urged Liz to scoop some of the ice out.
The captain beckoned Cathy forward. ‘We are very lenient with lovely young ladies,’ he said and as she went forward she received just one ladleful, but still squealed and shuddered. The laughing crowd pressed forward to see the fun, some urging others on while others definitely stood their ground or moved to safety. Neptune was being photographed by and with all and sundry. Cannon saw Liz taking pictures of Higham and Cathy on either side of the man from the deep, Higham actually laughing and Cathy proclaiming that this and to go to see the husky puppies in Kirkenes – ‘photograph them … then sketch them …’ – were the things she wanted to do most.
Cannon realized he had never actually seen Higham laugh properly before and he hoped it would not be the last time. He also thought Neptune’s costume might have been ‘tailored’ for a bigger man but everyone was in such good humour nothing mattered. Hunching his shoulders, he felt that his remaining dose of ice had melted and soaked well down to his underpants. He did wonder if the captain was not enjoying putting ice down his passengers’ backs a little too much!
Then slightly to his surprise he saw Cathy urging her father towards the table, and though Higham was protesting, he was laughing, shaking his head but still allowing himself to be taken to the table. Relaxed and happy, Cannon saw how very much alike father and son were. He must do all in his power to help the whole family. The torment had gone on long enough.
The last of the stragglers were being urged forward and for a moment Cannon lost sight of Cathy and her father. A movement near the steps caught his eye again and he saw Father Neptune was leaving the scene; one or two had also noticed he was departing and gave him a cheer. In return he waved his trident before disappearing.
Then Cannon saw Higham, instead of rising from the kneeling position, had fallen sideways and was supporting himself on one hand. Cannon, heedless of those in between, was by his side in seconds, kneeling by him, as was one of the crew members ordered rapidly in by the captain from the far side of the long table.
‘No, no,’ Higham protested, ‘I think someone bumped into me. I lost my balance.’
Cannon had his hand on his shoulder, then as Higham rose patted him on the back in reassurance, only to find a paper under his hand, a kind of post-it stuck to Higham’s back.
‘What was that?’ a woman asked.
Cannon glanced at it, shook his head, then pushed it into his pocket.
‘What happened, sir?’ the captain was now hurrying to enquire.
‘Well, your Father Neptune was nearby, I know. I think he touched my shoulder. I looked up at him and sort of toppled over,’ he said apologetically, but then as he stood straight felt the ice run down his back and shuddered.
The captain picked up two glasses, tipped one measure of spirits into the other and handed the double measure to Higham. ‘Your health,’ he proposed.
Higham tipped the glass back and choked. ‘Fugh!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ice outside, fire inside.’
Like the rest of the ceremony, all was good humour again. Liz came to Cannon’s side and whispered, ‘What’s happened? What did you take off Higham’s back?’
‘Later,’ he said.
Higham insisted they all had what was termed ‘drink of the day’, a different cocktail of amazing colours the bar mixed every day. The drinks that day were a brilliant green, and were consumed among a guessing game as to what was in them. Then Higham and Cathy both decided they must go back to their cabins to change various items of clothing.
‘So?’ Liz questioned as the other two left the lounge.
Cannon put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a yellow post-it; on it were written the same words as had been tied to Munch in the vault. Dod homme.
Neither of them translated the words aloud.
Chapter 19
‘The only person who was near enough to put a note on Higham’s back was Neptune – Father Neptune – and—’ he broke off and was on his feet.
‘John?’
He indicated one of the stewards who had just come into the lounge, a man who had helped serve the trays of drinks on deck at the ceremony.
‘I wonder if you’d mind me asking you something,’ Cannon said as the man busied himself restacking glasses behind his bar.
‘Ask away.’ He was a short, sturdy, middle-aged man and reminded Cannon of their laconic postman back home: steady, reliable, not given to idle chatter.
‘Who plays the part of King Neptune?’
He gave a short laugh as the question surprised him, then said, ‘Oh! Henrick, he enjoys coming up from below.’
‘Below?’ Cannon queried.
‘Yes, he’s second engineer. He comes from the engine room, on to the rope deck, then up the steps to surprise you all.’
‘So have you seen Henrick since this morning’s ceremony?’
The steward shook his head. ‘But then I wouldn’t,’ he said.
‘Could you contact him for me?’ Cannon asked.
The man shook his head. ‘The captain really is the only one directly in contact with his engine room. You’d have to go to the bridge and have a word up there.’
‘Thanks.’ Cannon nodded acknowledgment. ‘I’ll do that.’
The steward cleared his throat. ‘I wouldn’t unless …’
‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ Cannon suggested but turned away immediately, his hand going to his pocket for his mobile. Before he was back by Liz’s side, he was through to Toby.
‘There’s been a small, significant incident which I’ll ring you about more fully later,’ Cannon said, ‘but right now I need the name of the most senior police officer in Oslo who knows all about your father—’
‘My father?’ Toby interrupted. ‘Is he…?’
‘He’s fine. In fact at the moment he knows nothing about the incident,’ Cannon told him.
‘This “significant” incident?’ Toby questioned.
‘Just give me a name, Toby, I’ll ring you again later.’
The name – two names – were finally given and written down. Cannon rang off, then turned to Liz. ‘I’m going to see Captain Anders but I want you to go to Cathy’s cabin, find some excuse for you both to go to her father, and all stay together until I come.’
‘What shall I tell Higham?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, but perhaps you should
tell Cathy what’s happened. She’s a sensible lass and she’d be more help to you if she knows,’ he decided.
Cannon had a good idea where the approach to the bridge was; he had seen specially privileged passengers who had been invited to the bridge queuing in a corridor. He made his way there. The only notices he could see were Prohibited Area and Crew Only. He knocked at the first and got no answer, the second and it was jerked open so quickly it made him jump. A senior and unsmiling officer confronted him.
‘I would like to speak to your captain,’ Cannon said, ‘about the safety of his second engineer.’
The senior and distinguished-looking officer, who was obviously far older than the captain he had seen dispensing ice cubes down the backs of his passengers, looked him up and down and asked, ‘And you are?’
‘My name’s John Cannon, former London Metropolitan detective inspector, aboard as extra security to other passengers.’
‘Passengers on this ship?’ the officer questioned, ‘needing extra security?’
It was obviously a completely unheard-of occurrence. Though the man only used his finger as an indicator, Cannon felt metaphorically hoisted by his collar to stand just inside the bridge door. ‘Wait there,’ he was told, ‘don’t move.’
Several other officers in white shirts, black ties and trousers turned to look at him as the first officer went to his captain, who was standing in front of a bank of television scenes. He was at the elbow of a man watching a screen with a red line, which Cannon presumed showed their course through a particularly complicated group of islands and coastline. What was interesting was that the height and depth of the mountains both above and below sea level were shown. The valleys looked as deep, or deeper, under the sea as the peaks rose above.
Captain Bernt Anders listened, then turned to look at Cannon, who thought the young impish face of the man with the ladle had been replaced by a sterner disciplinarian who ran a tight ship. He spoke to the senior officer, indicated one or two things on screens then came towards Cannon.
‘I am concerned about the safety of your second engineer,’ Cannon told him
