34 - The Queen's Jewels

by Fletcher, Jessica

  “Which is?”

  “That Ms. Kahn and Mr. Kim are linked.”

  “Well!” I said, sitting back. “This trip gets more and more intriguing.”

  “‘Intrigue’ is the word. You already knew that the late Walter Soon Yang was suspected of funding terrorist organizations. He got a steal on the Heart of India when certain other buyers and their representatives were unable to attend the sale, a nifty bit of maneuvering if I do say so. Yang and his investors—we know of Kim, but there may be others—were merely waiting for the diamond to increase in value before putting it back on the market. Those who’d been squeezed out of the first opportunity to buy it would likely bid up the price a considerable amount. The resulting auction would allow the sellers to net a tidy profit to share, with enough left over to pour into whatever nefarious activities they’d taken a liking to.”

  “Is Jennifer Kahn also suspected of aiding terrorists?”

  He shrugged. “Hard to say. But she is believed to have begun fencing some of her stolen jewelry through a certain businessman in London.”

  “Kim Chin-Hwa?”

  “We don’t have names yet. But if it is Kim, that would explain her sudden presence on the ship.”

  “Sudden?”

  “A last-minute decision on her part. She’d had plans for last weekend to visit with friends in Bath. But I’d heard she’d canceled those plans at the last minute. Now I know why. She booked passage on this ship, where Mr. Kim and party also happen to be passengers. Intriguing coincidence, wouldn’t you say, Jessica?”

  I sipped my champagne and gazed through the large window at the ocean illuminated by a full moon.

  Had I made a mistake in accepting the offer to lecture on the Queen Mary 2? I certainly couldn’t be accused of having instigated any of the mounting mystery that had swirled around me ever since leaving Southampton on Saturday. Nor could I have anticipated that the theft of a famous diamond in London, and the three break-ins of London jewelry shops, would have followed me on board.

  All these coincidences!

  I hadn’t seen Michael Haggerty in years, yet there he was at the dinner party, and here he was on the ship. And Dennis Stanton, my reformed jewel thief friend, also showed up after years of no contact.

  Had Kim Chin-Hwa murdered his partner, Walter Soon Yang, in order to take possession of the Heart of India? If so, had he brought it with him with the intent of selling it in New York, and using those funds to aid terrorist activities around the world?

  Jennifer Kahn was the mastermind of an international jewel theft gang? Was Dennis correct in suspecting that she’d begun fencing the jewels stolen by her gang through Yang and Kim? Had she booked last-minute passage on the ship because Kim and his entourage would be on board? What would she gain by that? Was she there to keep an eye on him? I certainly hadn’t witnessed any connection between them, no conversation, no meetings. Of course, it was also possible that any fencing of her stolen gems through Yang or Kim might have been executed by a middleman, and that neither Yang nor Kim knew who she was or that she was involved. I doubted that, but it was a possibility. So many possibilities.

  But there had been that clandestine nighttime exchange between an unknown person and Kahn’s assistant, Kiki Largent. Whom had she met, and why?

  Michael Haggerty was aboard because of allegations that Kim funded terrorists. Perhaps Uri, the Israeli intelligence agent, booked the crossing for the same reason. Aside from when I’d seen him tailing Kiki Largent, he’d been invisible. Was he working hand in hand with Haggerty? It would be just like Michael not to mention that.

  Dennis intruded on my silent introspection. “Tell me more about this Kensington chap, the honeymooner,” he said.

  “Oh, yes. I looked for him at dinner tonight, but he and his wife weren’t at their usual table. They probably decided on room service—they are on their honeymoon after all—or ate in the Kings Court.” But are they really on their honeymoon? I silently wondered. “Frankly,” I said, “I can’t help but wonder whether he has some connection with the Kensington insurance firm.”

  “I don’t blame you for wondering that, Jessica. I’ve been working with a British freelance agent who’s been assigned to the case. I’ll call or e-mail him and see what I can find out.”

  Without waiting to be served again, Dennis lifted the champagne bottle from the bucket and poured himself a second glass. I waved my hand over mine. I was tempted to reveal that he wasn’t the only person on the crossing using an alias, and that there was another undercover agent interested in stolen jewelry—Michael Haggerty. Their motives for being passengers were different, however. Haggerty was tracking the terrorist aspect of the case, while Stanton wanted to save his insurance company a large payout. It might prove beneficial for them to join forces, or at least compare notes. But to raise that would be to expose both men for who they really were, and I’d promised each not to betray the other.

  “You keep drifting off to another planet,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. There’s a lot to digest in what you’ve said.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry to burden you with all this when you were expecting simply to have a pleasant voyage. But your connections with these individuals could prove very beneficial for me, and I’m eager to hear your thoughts.”

  What I’d actually been thinking was how much I wished I could talk to George Sutherland. He would be able to sort it all out for me. He’s one of the most clearheaded, rational, and insightful men I’ve ever known, and to be able to analyze the various scenarios with him would have been wonderful.

  “I think a good night’s sleep will aid my weary brain immensely,” I said. “I’m going to go back to my cabin.”

  “But you’ve barely touched your champagne.”

  “It was wonderful, Dennis, but I’ve had enough to drink for tonight.”

  “Hope my laying this out hasn’t upset you.”

  “Upset me? Not at all. But I do have some thinking to do.”

  “Lecturing tomorrow?”

  “Yes, in the evening.”

  “See you at breakfast?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “You don’t mind my sharing your table again?”

  “To stay close to Jennifer? Of course not. You’ve been a big hit with everyone.”

  “Except that Jones fellow.”

  I smiled. “I think he considers you a competitor for Jennifer’s affections. He doesn’t know that she steals jewels for a living.”

  Dennis laughed. “I promise not to disillusion him.”

  As I prepared to leave, I thought of one more question. “What about Jennifer’s assistant?” I asked. “Do you know anything about Kiki Largent?”

  Dennis’s smile was rueful. “From what I hear, she’s Jennifer’s muscle.”

  “Muscle?”

  “Kiki does the dirty work when someone in Jennifer’s gang gets out of line. She can turn quite nasty, they say.”

  “That means she’s probably Jennifer’s bodyguard, too,” I said. “If I were you, I would step carefully around that one.”

  “I’ve got a pretty good uppercut, but I’ve never used it on a woman.”

  “Let’s hope you never have to.”

  With that last bit of scuttlebutt in mind—I thought of Harry Flynn and wondered how he’d done in the casino—I made my way back to Deck Eleven and my stateroom. When I turned the corner from the elevator lobby, I saw a pair of uniformed crew members standing in front of Kim’s open door. As I passed by, I paused and peered between them. One of them politely asked me to move on, but just then my steward, Rupesh, emerged from the cabin, followed by another crewman. Although I couldn’t be sure, it appeared to me as though he was being escorted from the room.

  “Good evening, Rupesh,” I said. “Is everything all right?”

  He looked at me, said nothing, his face devoid of expression, and walked away swiftly, preceded and followed by members of the QM2 staff.

  “What’s going on?” I asked
the remaining crewman as he closed the door and took up his position in front of it.

  He nodded curtly.

  “Is something wrong in Mr. Kim’s cabin?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Why was my cabin steward being led away?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am.”

  “Has something happened to Mr. Kim or his companion?”

  “There’s been an accident, ma’am. That’s all I know.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  My mind was bombarded with conflicting, confusing thoughts as I entered my cabin. An accident? Who’d been hurt? Had Rupesh suffered some sort of injury? He looked healthy enough to me, albeit grim-faced. The more I thought about it, the more it became clear that he’d been escorted from Kim’s stateroom by uniformed staff the way criminals are led from a scene, although I hadn’t seen any handcuffs. What had he done, or what was he accused of doing?

  I thought back to seeing Betty in tears, and Rupesh telling me that something, or someone, was missing from her cabin. What was that all about? It seemed I was missing too many pieces to fit the clues together.

  I opened my door a few times and saw that the crew member was still standing guard outside Kim’s stateroom. I smiled at him each time but received only a blank stare in return.

  I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. A movie that held no interest for me was playing. Other channels didn’t offer a respite from my cluttered mind, nor did sitting on the balcony. Rupesh had already prepared the room for the night, turning down the bedspread and placing a small square of chocolate on my pillow. He had also carefully hung my robe on a hook in the bathroom. I debated changing into my nightclothes, and decided against it. I’d been tired before, but I was now wide-awake.

  I ended up pacing the room, going from the door to the balcony and back again, over and over, until I decided that I simply could not stay there any longer. I hung up my long gown, changed into a more comfortable pair of mauve slacks, simple white shirt, and sandals, grabbed my purse from where I’d dropped it on the bed, and stepped into the hallway. Another stern look from the uniform in front of Kim’s door said loud and clear that to ask questions would be futile.

  I set off without a destination in mind. I suppose I was hoping to run into Haggerty, or Stanton, but I didn’t count on it.

  Harry Flynn. Would he still be in the casino?

  He was, standing at the craps table surrounded by a half dozen other players. From the pile of chips in front of him, I concluded he was having another good night. He spotted me and waved me to his side. “Now,” he said into my ear, “I’ll really get on a roll.”

  I stood next to Harry while he continued to throw the dice. Each time he did, a whoop and a holler came from others at the table. My knowledge of how craps is played is sketchy at best, but even to a novice like me it was plain that each time he rolled, the numbers on the two dice combined to match numbers on the table on which chips were piled. And each time a cheer went up, the crew chief, a tuxedoed lady flanked by two others, stacked chips in the front of the winners.

  It took another three rolls before there was a collective groan, followed by applause and shouts of “Nice roll, man,” and “Way to go.”

  Harry bade everyone farewell, tossed a handful of chips on the table as a tip for the crew, took my elbow, and headed for the cashier, where he deposited his large stack of chips. The cashier counted out bills in return: twelve hundred dollars.

  “You did really well tonight,” I said.

  “Lady Luck was by my side in the person of Jessica Fletcher,” he said. “What brings you to the casino?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Something bothering you?”

  “Actually—have you heard anything about an accident on board?”

  “No. An accident with the ship?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s find a quiet place to talk,” he said.

  We went up one deck to the Chart Room, where we found a table for two far from the jazz trio that was into its last set of the evening.

  “Tell me more about this accident,” he said as a waitress approached. He ordered rum, neat. I asked for a cup of chamomile tea.

  “I don’t know any more.” I was filling him in on what I’d seen—Rupesh being taken away, the guard at Kim’s door—when two couples approached us.

  “Jessica Fletcher,” one of the women said, “I’ve been dying to tell you in person how much we love your lectures, and your books, of course.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you—”

  “Your talks lift the spirits,” one of the men said, interrupting me. “Good thing, too, after what’s happened tonight.”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I said.

  The other woman leaned close and said in a low voice, “We thought you would surely know. They say he was murdered.”

  “Who was murdered?” I asked.

  “We don’t know,” her husband said. “Other people we were with said that one of the bartenders told them a body was found.”

  “Are you sure it was murder?” Harry asked.

  The second woman shrugged. “We only know what we were told. We’ll probably learn a lot more in the morning. You know how rumors fly around a ship. Well, thanks again. We love your books and we can’t wait for your next lecture. Maybe you’ll be able to tell us about a real live murder then.”

  “I wonder if they’ll mention it in the Daily Programme,” I heard her friend say as they moved off.

  “Kim,” I said absently after they’d gone.

  “Pardon?”

  “Mr. Kim. I’m afraid he may be the victim.”

  “Now, now, Jessica, this is all just a rumor.”

  “I know,” I said, “but it adds up to me. I wonder if there’s someone I can speak with about it, someone in an official capacity.”

  “They’re likely to be pretty tight-lipped, if I know the rules of the sea,” Harry said.

  Harry’s drink and my tea were delivered. “Ah,” Harry said, “just what the doctor ordered, a taste of Nelson’s blood.” He took a long sip and coughed.

  “Nelson’s blood?”

  He cleared his throat. “When Admiral Lord Nelson died in the Battle of Trafalgar, the crew preserved his body in a keg of rum for the long trip back to England. You don’t hear the term used anymore, not with today’s younger sailors. But, of course, I’m not one of those younger types.”

  I sat silently, my mind racing.

  “Sorry if my injecting trivia into the serious topic of murder offended you,” he said.

  “Oh, no, that’s all right,” I said, absently stirring my tea to cool it. “I wonder if the staff captain would be forthcoming with me if I tell him that I’m a friend of the family. Rupesh, my cabin steward, has cousins in Cabot Cove.”

  “Worth a try, I suppose. I’ll come with you.”

  “No need to do that, Harry.”

  “Nonsense.” He finished his rum, waved over the waitress, signed the tab with his room number, and we left the Chart Room and headed down to the purser’s office. I had no idea where the staff officer’s base of operation was, but hoped that the purser would be able, and willing, to tell me.

  There was no one in line that time of night, and a lovely young lady greeted me by name and asked if she could help me.

  “I hope so,” I said. “The cousin of very dear friends of mine back home—that’s Cabot Cove, Maine—is my cabin steward. I’m afraid something might have happened to him and I’d like to speak to the staff captain about it.”

  She pondered the request for a moment before saying, “I don’t believe it’s a matter for the staff captain, Mrs. Fletcher. Perhaps the hotel manager, or someone in human resources, can help you tomorrow.”

  “Probably so,” I said, “but the staff captain had been very gracious when we met. I really would prefer a word with him. I won’t take up too much of his time.”

  “Let me see
if I can raise him,” she said, disappearing into an area out of my view.

  Harry, who stood with me, asked quietly, “Why him specifically?”

  I responded in an equally low voice. “I have a suspicion that my cabin steward’s troubles are more of a criminal nature, and it’s the staff captain who oversees the security force on board. When a crime occurs at sea, they act as a police force until reaching port.”

  Harry didn’t respond. As a former seaman, a captain, himself, he’d likely known the answer, but I could see that he was mulling over what I’d said.

  The crew member returned and said, “He’s tied up right now, but said he’d be happy to meet with you in a half hour in the officers’ wardroom.” She gave me directions, and Harry and I went to find it. When we reached the wardroom, a crew member asked us to wait in a small anteroom until the staff captain was available. “He’s in a meeting at the moment,” the young officer said in a clipped British accent.

  We took chairs and waited in silence until Harry said, “Perhaps I should leave. He might not appreciate two people taking up his valuable time, double-teaming him, so to speak.”

  “I don’t think that would be a problem, but it’s late, I know. You probably want to get back to your cabin. I don’t mind waiting alone.”

  “No, no. I just thought you might want to do this by yourself. I’m happy to stay. Kind of curious to know what’s happened.”

  “And I’m happy for the company, but I have to tell you I’m not certain he’ll talk to me at all. We may be on a fool’s errand.”

  Twenty minutes later, a female officer in her sparkling white uniform came from the wardroom. “The staff captain is still occupied,” she said, and left the area.

  A minute later, the door opened wide. I expected to see the staff captain emerge.

  It wasn’t the staff captain.

  It was Michael Haggerty!

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hello, Wendell,” Harry Flynn said cheerily. “What are you doing here?”