by Sarah Lotz
‘She died early in the morning?’ Ram asked.
Jesse shrugged. ‘Ja. I would say so. But again, I can’t be sure.’
‘Could the body have been moved?’
‘Doubtful. The signs indicate that she has been here for a while. Why didn’t the steward discover her hours ago?’ Paulo, Jesse’s steward, serviced his cabin twice a day.
‘We will be looking into that,’ Ram said. ‘We will be talking to the girl’s steward and the others in her group.’
‘Group?’
‘She was part of a singles group on board,’ Devi said. ‘We will also need to—’
‘The covering that was on top of her,’ Ram interrupted. ‘Could she have pulled it on top of her when she rolled off the bed?’
‘No, sir,’ Devi said, before Jesse could answer. ‘I took photographs of the scene after I checked her condition. It was obvious that someone wanted to hide her.’
‘We cannot say that for sure,’ Ram said.
Jesse noticed Devi’s lips tightening, but he didn’t contradict his superior.
‘Who found her?’ Jesse asked.
Devi glanced at Ram, and then said: ‘A steward and I discovered her when we were checking that the cabins were unoccupied.’
‘Is there any sign of interference?’ Ram asked.
‘Sexual assault?’
‘Yes.’
‘Her top is pushed up, but otherwise her clothes are intact. There are no obvious injuries. We won’t know until an autopsy is done.’ Which wouldn’t be his problem, thank God. ‘She’ll have to be taken to the morgue. We can’t leave her here in this heat.’ He ran through the procedure in his mind, grateful that he’d bothered to study the agency guidelines. The captain would need to be apprised of the situation, and he’d have to instruct the engineering department to freeze the morgue, if that was even possible with the power outage. Christ. Security would get hold of the authorities in Miami and the Bahamas, where the ship was registered, but it would be up to him to inform the insurance company, head office, the agency, and the passenger’s family, although how he’d achieve all that seeing as the entire satellite and radio system were down was beyond him. He’d discovered this new twist on the shit-storm that was rapidly becoming his night after he’d tried to contact Ground Support to inform them about the casualties of the fire.
He wiped his face; the anxiety was coming off him in waves. Never – not even when he’d come within a hair’s breadth of being struck off – had he felt so overwhelmed. He wasn’t good with stress. He knew what it could lead to.
‘And you cannot speculate on the cause of death?’ Devi asked.
‘I can speculate all you like,’ Jesse said, earning himself a frown from Ram. Nervousness was making him flippant. ‘It could be that vomit obstructed her airways. It’s possible that this killed her.’
‘Do you think there were drugs involved?’
‘Without blood work being done, I couldn’t say.’
‘Perhaps one of her friends tried to conceal her,’ Ram said, staring at him with a worrying intensity. ‘Perhaps they had all been drinking together, perhaps the girl was taken ill, and they were concerned that they would find themselves in trouble. Is that possible?’
‘I’m not a detective.’
‘But it is possible that she died from drinking too much alcohol, perhaps taking some drugs?’
‘It’s possible. But that doesn’t explain who put the duvet on top—’
‘Thank you, doctor,’ Ram cut him off.
‘I’ll make sure the body is removed to the morgue.’
‘Yes. It will be best to do this before the passengers are given the go-ahead to return to their cabins. We will secure the scene.’
‘Do you need anything else from me?’
‘That is all for now.’
‘Should I inform the captain?’
‘That has already been done.’
‘Right. I’ll . . . I’ll be on my way then.’
Jesse squeezed out past the guards. He ducked through the service door, paused, and slammed his fists on his thighs. Breathe. You can handle this. He wasn’t alone, he had to remember that. Bin and Martha would have his back. He could depend on them. They’d warned him that the New Year’s cruises could be rough, but they weren’t expecting anything more serious than alcohol-related issues and the usual spate of food allergies – he’d quickly learned that his most valuable piece of equipment on the ship was an EpiPen.
He clanged down the steps towards the I-95, the air becoming increasingly fetid as he went lower. Day or night, the service corridor that stretched the length of the ship buzzed with activity, but tonight, apart from a couple of exhausted waiters puffing on vaporisers in an alcove next to the purser’s office, it was deserted, the emergency lights masking the dullness of the scuffed floors. The floor seemed to undulate under his feet, although whether this was from the stabilisers not being operational (he had a weak grasp of the ship’s mechanics) or because he was exhausted, he couldn’t be certain. And there was little chance of a break anytime soon – Bin had brought him a bowl of vegetable curry earlier, but it had ended up congealing on his desk. His fingers itched. Don’t let it in, don’t give into it. Because he knew how it went: Hey, Jesse. C’mon, bru. Just one more time. No one has to know. Take the edge off, you deserve it.
No.
They won’t miss it. They’ll never know.
No.
He forced himself to think about the casualties from the fire. The assistant purser and mechanic who were suffering from smoke inhalation were stable, but he was still concerned about Alfonso, the engineer with the second-degree burn. He’d treated it with a burn pad, but the guy had been listless, like he’d gone into shock, which had surprised Jesse. He didn’t know Alfonso well – the engineer tended to fraternise with the other Italian officers – but he’d treated him for a nasty ear infection a fortnight ago, and Alfonso had taken that in his stride, acting tough and making jokes. Then there were two cases of vomiting and diarrhoea – one a passenger, the other a steward. He prayed they weren’t looking at the beginnings of a virus. Outbreaks on cruise liners always hit the news, and coupled with the fire, this could mean the end of what little reputation Foveros still had.
He pushed the medical bay door open with his shoulder, receiving identical frayed smiles from Bin and Martha, who were slumped on the waiting-room couch. He dumped his bag on the desk, and Bin immediately got up to sterilise the equipment.
‘How are they?’ he asked Martha, nodding at the door that led to the treatment room.
‘Sleeping. I thought it best to keep them here for the rest of the night.’
‘The burn as well?’
‘Yeah. I gave him something to calm him down and he went out like a light.’
‘Good.’ That was something, at least.
‘And the girl?’ Martha asked.
‘Dead. Looks like she’s been that way for a while.’
‘Ach, no. How long?’
‘Twelve, eighteen hours?’
Martha cursed, and even the usually unshakable Bin stopped what he was doing, sucked air through his teeth, and asked: ‘She was in her stateroom?’
‘Ja. She was found at the side of the bed.’
‘That is strange. The steward should have discovered her hours ago.’
‘I know. It’s a fuck-up. Looks like foul play might be involved.’
Martha swore again. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m not sure. Could be a sexual assault gone wrong.’
‘She was raped?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.’
‘Poor girl.’ Martha had told him that over the years she’d had to deal with several cases of suspected rape on board – there were rape kits in the supplies – but as far as she knew, none of the cases had resulted in a conviction.
‘Christ. I hope I did everything right. Ram seemed quite keen for me to say that it was death by misadventure.’
‘I’m still not sure I did everything I could have done. I’m not exactly a pathologist or crime scene technician.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up.’ Martha patted his hand. ‘You’re doing grand. We’ll be back in port tomorrow.’
‘You reckon? I’ve got to call this in. Is the Wi-Fi up yet?’
‘Nope.’
Christ. ‘Nothing? What about the radio?’
‘All dead.’
‘What does the IT guy say?’
‘Everyone is flummoxed,’ Bin said.
Flummoxed. A typical Bin word. ‘So we’re cut off from civilisation?’
‘For now. But don’t worry,’ Martha said without much conviction. ‘They’ll sort it out, so they will.’
‘I hope so. And the girl – she’ll have to be removed to the morgue.’
‘That’s going to be fun without the lifts working,’ Martha sighed. ‘Bin and I can do it. We know the drill.’
Jesse shot her a grateful smile. ‘Anything else I should know about? How are the two passengers who were complaining of vomiting?’
‘They are the same,’ Bin said. ‘And I went to see the suspected stroke—’
‘The what? Why didn’t I know about this?’ Bin flinched, and Jesse held up a hand. ‘Sorry, Bin.’
‘Don’t be blaming Bin, now. It’s my fault,’ Martha said. ‘I didn’t tell you because you had so much on your plate. It’s the psychic.’
‘The what?’
‘The fly-in. One of the special groups on board.’
‘And?’ he asked Bin.
‘All I saw were signs that she was intoxicated.’
‘No FAST signs?’
‘I know what to look for, Jesse,’ Bin said, without sounding defensive. ‘There was no drooping of the face or loss of sensation, and her pupils were normal. She smelled very strongly of alcohol. I gave her two aspirin.’
‘Which will help with her hangover,’ Martha sighed.
Jesse swiped a hand over his face. ‘What a fucking night.’
‘Relax, Jesse. Really, you’re doing grand.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks.’ He didn’t know what he’d do without Martha. She’d had his back from the second he came on board, patiently showing him the ropes, the slang, the shortcuts, the ship culture. Bin had been equally kind to him, but tended to keep himself at a slight distance, and Jesse found the man’s work ethic a little intimidating. He knew both nurses were curious as to why a doctor from a thriving private practice had chosen to work for Foveros – the bottom of the cruise industry barrel – and once or twice he’d almost confided in Martha. Blurted out the whole sorry saga. She liked a drink; he doubted she would judge him. And everyone made mistakes, didn’t they? It could’ve happened to anyone. Occasionally he found himself fantasising about what it would be like being married to someone like her – solid, dependable, warm, funny, non-judgemental. But she had a husband back in Ireland, two grown-up sons, and was hardly his type (if he even had a type these days). She was always encouraging him to hook up with one of the British dancers or the statuesque Eastern European human resources staff. He got the impression she’d had a fling or three over the years – casual hook-ups were, after all, one of the perks of ship life.
But sex was the last thing on his mind. All he cared about was keeping his nose clean. One step at a time. ‘I’d better get started on the paperwork.’
The door opened and a tall, skinny woman with a mass of black hair burst in. She jabbed a finger at him. ‘You the doctor?’ Before he could respond she continued: ‘Don’t you give a shit about your passengers? I’ve been waiting for you to come and see my boss for two hours now!’
At a loss, he took a step back from her. ‘I—’
‘The suspected stroke, doc,’ Bin said.
‘Calm down,’ Martha said, stepping between Jesse and the woman. ‘The doctor will come when he’s ready.’
‘When he’s ready? Are you kidding me?’
There would be a world of kak if Bin was wrong about the patient being intoxicated. They weren’t set up to deal with a major cerebral event – a distress signal for off-ship support would usually be sent for anything that serious – but he wasn’t about to share that information. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll come now.’
‘Well . . . good,’ the woman said, swiping her hair away from her face. Striking rather than pretty – not dissimilar in looks to Farouka. Don’t go there.
He turned to Martha and Bin. ‘Can you deal with the other matter?’
Bin nodded.
‘Can you give me the patient’s details Ms . . .?’
‘Maddie. My name’s Maddie.’ She glared at Bin. ‘That nurse has got all her details.’
Martha mouthed ‘sorry’ at him as he grabbed his bag and followed Maddie out of the medical centre. She strode ahead and steamed up the stairs, forcing him to run to catch up with her. He kept meaning to use the gym on the ship, but hadn’t yet bothered. Now that he was off the pethidine diet, he was running to fat; he could feel the waistband of his ridiculous white trousers biting into his gut. If only Farouka could see me now. She’d be back like a shot. He wondered what she was doing this evening. Laughing it up in Kalk Bay, maybe. A party with friends. Her friends, who used to be their friends.
The faint sound of a cheer echoed through the ship.
‘Happy New Year,’ he muttered.
Maddie paused at the top of the third flight and looked over her shoulder. ‘Is it?’ She waited for him to puff his way up to her.
‘Not really, no. It’s been a hell of a night. How old is the patient?’
‘Celine tells everyone she’s sixty-five, but her passport says she’s ten years older.’ She gave him a fleeting smile.
‘And any history of illness? Strokes, heart attack, anything like that?’
‘No. She has bad hips, so she tends to use a wheelchair to get around. She can walk, but not far.’
‘Drinking, smoking?’
‘She likes a drink.’
Maddie bounded up the next flight, and he followed her down the corridor towards one of the VIP suites. She unlocked the door and impatiently waved him inside.
He was greeted by two elderly women, one skinny, one obese (Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker, he thought uncharitably) who were sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching empty whiskey tumblers. Another woman – who had to be the patient – sat in a wheelchair next to the television, her eyes closed.
‘Is she okay?’ Maddie asked the women anxiously.
‘She seems fine,’ Aunt Spiker said in a crisp British voice. He put her at seventy, skin browned from an outdoorsy life. ‘She was sluggish when you first left, but she’s talking now.’
‘Oh my, is she talking,’ the other woman said – American, about the same age. Kind eyes, the flushed face of the hypertensive. ‘She’s been saying some really screwy things.’
‘Like what?’
‘For one, she said that she wasn’t sure if it would work.’
‘If what would work?’
‘It. That’s all she said.’
‘Celine?’ Maddie said. ‘The doctor is here.’
‘Hello, Celine,’ Jesse said. ‘I’m going to examine you, make sure you’re all shipshape.’
Celine made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. He extracted his penlight, and examined her irises. Both normal. Next, he reached into his bag for his sphyg and attached the cuff to her upper arm. ‘I’m just going to take your blood pressure, Celine.’
‘You don’t need to talk to me like I’m retarded, doc.’
‘Celine! You’re talking,’ Maddie breathed.
Celine chuckled. ‘Why wouldn’t I be talking?’
‘You’ve been . . . a bit out of it for a while. I’ve been worried about you.’
‘No need to worry.’ She waggled her fingers at the two older women. ‘I’ve been
hanging out with my new friends, isn’t that right? Just us girls, getting to know each other.’
‘Any headache, weakness or numbness in your limbs, Celine?’ Jesse asked.
‘Nope. All shipshape, doc.’
He pumped up the cuff. ‘I’m just going to ask you a few questions, that okay? Let’s start with an easy one. What is your full name?’
She gave him a wide, toothy grin. ‘Celine del Ray, medium to the stars. What’s your name?’
‘Dr Zimri.’
‘Zimri. Unusual. King of Israel, am I right? And your first name, doc?’
‘Jesse.’
‘Jesse. After the outlaw?’
‘Ja. My father was big on Westerns.’
‘That so.’
She certainly appeared to be on the ball. ‘Can you tell me today’s date, Celine?’
‘Depends what time zone you’re in, doc.’
‘Who is the president of the United States?’
‘What’s with all the questions?’ Celine pressed her fingertips to her forehead. ‘Wait . . . I’m getting . . . Someone’s stepping forward from the other side. Who’s the young woman in your life who’s crossed over, doc? There’s a sadness about her. A betrayal of some sort. And pain. Physical pain.’
Jesse blinked, the sensation of icy breath tickling the back of his neck. ‘I’m not sure what—’
‘She’s a medium,’ Maddie said.
‘I see dead people,’ Celine said with an exaggerated wink. ‘Only, as I always say, there is no death. Isn’t that right, Maddie?’
Jesse cleared his throat. ‘Any pain in your head or neck, Celine?’
She cackled. ‘No pain, no gain. You know, doc, I’ve always wanted to die holding the hand of a handsome ship’s doctor, after eating a poisoned grape.’
The British woman gasped.
‘That mean something to you?’ Jesse asked her.
‘It’s a quote. Blanche Dubois. From A Streetcar Named Desire.’
‘Helen sure knows her shit, don’t she?’ Celine howled in an exaggerated Uncle Tom voice that made them all wince. ‘Oh lawdy, yes she does!’
‘Celine!’ Maddie glanced at Jesse apologetically.
‘I think it’s time we left,’ Aunt Spiker – Helen – said. The two women got to their feet.
