Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates

by Phil Kingsman

  Simpers closed the door behind the steward, then inspected his suit to check it had been hung correctly. He pulled on one arm of the jacket as if to give it his own seal of approval. Satisfied, he turned to his open suitcase and began the task of emptying its contents in strict order. Trousers, shirts, ties then underwear. Each allocated to its own specific location.

  Games

  Simpers thought he ought to spend some time getting to know the ship 'above stairs', so set off for the sun deck. He determined he would work his way from top to bottom of the floating pleasure palace. Simpers scrutinised a plan of the ship on the lobby wall. He discovered to his dismay that his cabin was as far forward as it was possible to go without sharing a bed with the anchor.

  His research confirmed being lower and towards the centre of the vessel minimised movement. He now knew his forward position would do the opposite in rough weather.

  He also realised his cabin was on a much higher deck than he was comfortable with. Simpers could not understand why passengers seemed to pay more for their cabins the higher up they were. He considered this a triumph of vanity over common sense. For all the Deputy Captain had droned on about the ship having stabilisers, he didn't believe it for a minute.

  Turning to his right, Simpers viewed the corridor as it stretched out before him to a vanishing point that seemed miles away. He noticed how polite staff were. Cabin staff would invariable welcome him with a broad smile and, for the most part, impeccable English. One thing was for certain, he had enjoyed the address of 'sir' more times since embarking, than he had in the previous couple of weeks at work.

  Other passengers also smiled and gave a slight nod of the head, while maintaining eye contact and offering the greeting of the day. Perhaps, he thought, the things he had read about cruising were true. He began to relax.

  Exiting the lift on deck fourteen, Simpers strolled into the Bridge lounge. This was a huge space that spanned the entire width of the ship and was the highest point that passengers could access. Bar staff milled about serving coffee and soft drinks to passengers who had slipped into 'cruise mode'.

  A Grand Piano graced one end of the room, though despite its size, it looked like a toy when compared to the dimensions of the space it stood in. A long sweeping bar hugged an entire width of the room, save for a set of solid cherry-wood doors on either side. A small gaggle of male passengers stared with gravitas at the beer pumps. They were waiting for the ship to slip its mooring in order to make the transition from soft drinks to alcohol. As he took in all that the room had to offer, Simpers marvelled at the expanse of glass that curtained the front face of the lounge. Although more seasoned cruisers had taken the chairs offering the best views, he could still look down on the bow of the immense ship. Raising his sights, he looked into the middle-distance to glimpse the mouth of Westbay Sound. He preferred the calm of the sound, rather than what he remembered lay ahead once the ship reached the open sea.

  'I thought you said everything was free on this ship.' Simpers turned to see a middle-aged man whose specially bought for the cruise T-shirt failed to cover the full extent of his ample midriff.

  'No, I said that the coffee machine in the Sea View Bistro was free,' his female companion retorted. She conveyed more than a whiff of disdain in her reply.

  'It's getting worse, you know. My mate, Clive, told me that you have to pay for more and more things on these things. I can see what he meant.'

  The woman had determined that her man would not spoil her enjoyment. Or, for that matter, curtail her use of his cruise card to pay for purchases.

  'Stop being a misery and drink your cappuccino. As for Clive, isn't he the tight bugger who moaned about the cost of gas to the undertaker when they cremated his father?' she said.

  'That was a stupid rumour put about by his in-laws. He doesn't get on with them. Anyway he got twenty pounds back from the undertaker, so there must have been something in it,' he replied.

  The man, aware of the 'Medusa stare' his wife specialised in, averted his gaze and lowered his eyes to the contents of his cup. He grunted in an attempt to assert his masculinity. The woman paid no attention; instead, she sighed, rolled her eyes and went back to reading her copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.

  Consulting his ships guide, Simpers made his way to the Bistro he had just heard so much about to pick up a free coffee. It was full of passengers jostling for position as they awaited their turn at the buffet counter. He wondered where the good manners he had experienced earlier had disappeared to.

  Simpers had noted the cruise line boasted of their twenty-four-hour service. It seemed some passengers had made a good start on testing the claim. He gave up on the idea of getting a free coffee anytime soon and exited the Bistro. Seconds later he descended an ornate staircase onto the promenade deck. Simpers paused for a moment, stunned by its length as it stretched into the distance.

  He enjoyed his stroll down the endless thoroughfare. That was until his quiet contemplation ended with the rhythmic farting of an elderly man. A dozen or so paces in front of Simpers, the man's eruptions induced a cathartic effect on Simpers. He watched as the old man took one step, then another, each accompanied by a ripping trump. So that's what I can look forward to in my dotage, he thought.

  Simpers' eye caught a discreet sign to his right indicating the ship's library lay beyond. This provided, he thought, the perfect excuse to escape the man sounding off to his front. Entering the exquisite space, Simpers felt transported to an English country house. At any moment, the butler would appear to enquire after Simpers' business. The library split into two intimate spaces. The larger contained all manner of reading materials, stored in stylish mahogany bookcases. In the middle of the room stood a magnificent table. Across one corner rested an immense bound atlas. It lay open at a double-page copperplate of the route the ship would take over the days ahead. A red line traced its path from Westbay, south to Madeira. It then turned north again to Gibraltar before crossing the Mediterranean to Port Said, then northward to Istanbul, before making its return journey.

  Simpers marvelled at the quality of the illustrations, then let out a quite 'tut'. Someone had defaced the map by writing 'H2Vn' in tiny, but immaculate handwriting on the page. Moving his attention to the rest of the table, he noticed two jigsaws that required finishing. A small note rested next to the puzzles. This invited passengers to help in their completion. Simpers didn't have the patience for such things – but smiled to himself when he spotted a piece he was confident he could find a home for. Picking up his selection, he pushed it in to its assigned position, except it didn't fit.

  Simpers pressed harder, in the end, turning up one corner of the offending piece so that it was now not going to fit anywhere. He frowned, scanned the rest of the puzzle to see if he could find another home for the wretched thing. He gave up and flung the crumpled piece of cardboard back onto the table.

  'I know just how you feel – aren't they the most frustrating things one can imagine,' said the female voice from behind the detective.

  Simpers gave out a grunt. He hunched his shoulders in an automatic, trained response to danger. He turned to see a woman he immediately found attractive.

  'Sorry if I startled you. Jigsaws, you know,' the woman continued. She pointed a delicate index finger to the source of Simpers' frustration.

  'Er… yes, you could say that,' Simpers replied in an embarrassed tone.

  Gathering his composure, he surveyed the sight before him. She was about forty. Blond hair, well dressed in a white trouser suit and matching shoes. Simpers was no expert in ladies’ couture, but even he could see this was a woman who knew how to dress to impress.

  'Pippa Wright-Morton.'

  'Simpers.'

  Each extended their right arm until hands touched; the woman's the more confident of the two. It wasn't that Simpers was shy at meeting the opposite sex. But, he always felt intimidated socialising with people he thought more educated than himself.

  'Is that it – Simpers. Don
't you have a first name?'

  'Yes, but people just call me Simpers.'

  'How strange, men who go by their surname are a product of the public school system, or they are policemen – which are you?'

  Simpers, startled at the woman's assessment, struggled to respond.

  'You are a policeman, aren't you. Go on, you can tell me,' she said with a schoolgirl giggle and wide smile.

  'How do you know I didn't go to public school?' Simpers responded, stung into a rapid response by what he thought was the woman's attempt to belittle him.

  'Mr Simpers, forgive me. I don't mean to be rude, but public school chaps do not wear suede shoes to that suit – or any other cut of suit that I'm aware of.'

  Simpers knew that he ought to take offence at her remarks. Not least since they were his favourite shoes. The truth was her manner disarmed him and, Simpers suspected, every other man that came across her.

  'And besides,' she continued, 'you're wearing a police benevolent fund pin in your button hole.'

  'Let's just say I have a nodding acquaintance with the service,' Simpers responded, trying to gain a semblance of control over events. He unclasped the pin and slid it into his breast pocket.

  'I compliment you on your observational skills.'

  'Oh, it is just a silly party trick that I wheel out once in a while,' she replied. 'And don't worry, I won't tell anyone who you are if you don't want me to.'

  'Some party trick, and please, do keep it to yourself. After all, I'm on holiday,' Simpers responded, knowing he wasn't even close to understanding what the woman was about.

  Keen to extradite himself from the situation so he could lick his wounds in the privacy of his cabin, Simpers made his excuses.

  'Well, it's time I unpacked, so if you'll forgive me…'

  'Of course, Policeman Simpers, I'm sure we'll be seeing much more of one another around the ship. After all, you are on holiday, aren't you.' Her response sounded more of a question than statement to Simpers, which did nothing for his mood. Pippa giggled the sort of giggle that left men unsure whether to preen their feathers, or run for cover.

  Deciding the latter was the best course of action, Simpers left the library. As he did so, he glanced over his shoulder to take a last look at the woman. He thought it curious that she was looking at the atlas page he had recently admired. Tracing a line across the page, she paused at a point that he couldn't see from where he was standing. With a flick of her wrist she removed a small pad from her expensive bag, before realising that Simpers was watching her. The two exchanged awkward smiles.

  Over and Out

  Simpers emptied his pockets of their contents as was his custom when changing his clothes,

  A mix of items, including his antiquated dictaphone and a few of his favourite pineapple chunk boiled sweets fell onto the dressing table.

  Simpers' attention focused on a piece of paper amongst the mix. About to discard the scrap, he remembered the note that the Commodore's steward had slipped him. Retrieving it, he smoothed out the crumpled note, which the steward had folded with such care. The text, written in the neatest copperplate handwriting he had seen in years, revealed itself.

  Sir, some people are trying to make us pay money to keep our jobs. If we do not do this thing, they say they will hurt us. Please can you meet us and do the needful?

  Intrigued by the reference to 'us', Simpers grabbed his dictaphone. He pressed the 'record' button and spoke into the machine:

  'Arrange to meet Commodore's steward – need to find out how to contact in confidence.'

  As Simpers clicked the 'off' button, the ship's emergency signal rang to confirm that the evacuation drill would shortly start. After grabbing a life jacket from the wardrobe, he made his way across a landing and down the wide carpeted stairway. Members of the ship's crew were already at their appointed stations.

  Taking his seat in the Ocean Lounge, Simpers noted the number of passengers who already had their lifejackets on. This, despite advice to the contrary by the crew. Simpers thought it a calculated action to show others that these folk often cruised, and had no need of instruction. 'Tut tuts' abounded from the more compliant passengers. They showed their displeasure in the English manner. This involved muttering to themselves, while avoiding eye contact with transgressors at all costs.

  At the other end of the scale were first timers, often of advancing years. They somehow managed to put their lifesaver on in the strangest parts of their bodies. Some managing to wear the contraption back to front. One or two succeeded in the difficult feat of strapping it to their thigh. Others managed to perch their jacket on top of their head like some insane creation of an eccentric Edwardian milliner.

  Thirty minutes later the sound of the ship's engines resonating through the ship grew more intense. At the same time, the smooth tone of the Commodore's voice permeated every corner of the vessel.

  'Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I'm pleased to say that all our pre-departure checks are now complete. We are about to set sail. Don't forget that our wonderful sail-away party is about to start on deck seven, stern. For those new to cruising, that's the back of the ship. Once again, good afternoon and we do hope that you enjoy your cruise with us.'

  ***

  Joining hundreds of others, Simpers made his way to the port side railing. He remembered this meant that he was on the left side of the ship as he looked to the pointy end. He observed with some frustration that not a single space was to be had. The seasoned travellers had once more won out by bagging their spot first.

  Just then he felt a tap on his left shoulder.

  'Policeman Simpers, so here you are.'

  Simpers turned to observe the smiling face of Pippa, eyes wide and teeth on show that could blind a snowman in a blizzard.

  'Ah, Miss Wright-Morton, it's you.' Twice in one day, what will people say?' responded Simpers, keen not to revert to the schoolboy awkwardness he had demonstrated in the library.

  'Pippa, please; and are you bothered what people might say, my little bobby.'

  'Not at all.' Simpers replied in an over-compensating tone. His instincts told him he ought to take offence at her over familiar tone. But once again she had managed to completely disarm him. He didn't feel at all comfortable with the state of affairs, but for now, he lacked any strategy to deal with the situation. Then something dawned on him.

  'Earlier today,' he said.

  Pippa tilted her head, at the same time throwing Simpers a quizzical look.

  'Earlier today – in the atrium – it was you looking over at me.'

  'My dear Simpers, don't you like people looking at you? You are a most handsome man you know.'

  She gave a throaty laugh that seemed at odds with her demure posture.

  'Miss Wright-Morton…' Simpers was now on the back foot, a crimson tide advanced from his neck line to completely take in both cheeks.

  'Oh, Mr Simpers, don't be so stuffy. And don't worry, you are quite safe, I have had my fill of you chaps for the time being. You're all too much trouble.'

  Pippa's smile widened as she responded to Simpers, waving her hand as she spoke as if to waft away the man-breed.

  'And I insist that you call me Pippa, or I shan't speak to you again.'

  'Er… Pippa. I'm sorry if I've offended you – but it was you earlier today, wasn't it?'

  'I admit it! Now, am I under arrest? Are you going to handcuff me? I must say, it sounds delicious… I've never worn hand restraints before.' Pippa's eyes sparkled as she played with Simpers.

  'Please, Pippa, I'm on holiday just as much as you are, and I don't know what you're talking about with all this handcuff nonsense.'

  'If you say so, Mr Simpers.' Pippa shot the detective her little girl look that she now realised he couldn't deal with. Before he could respond, she clasped his hand and began pulling him to the ship's railing.

  'Now, let's look at where that wonderful music is coming from. Excuse me, may I slip into that tiny little gap, please.' Her assertiv
eness, and looks, ensured the men on either side of her chosen spot gave way like the parting of the Rea Sea. She had picked her targets to perfection. The two elderly men that she had touched on their collarbones reacted with delight. Lucky were they that such a beautiful woman was lavishing her attention on them.

  Simpers was dumbstruck at the woman's confidence. The deck was busier than ever with passengers milling about. Waiters tried to sell 'sail-away' cocktails, while children chased one another to the mental distraction of their parents.

  'Of course, young lady, why don't you squeeze in here, next to me,' responded the bloke to Pippa's left. He didn't realise that Simpers came as part of the package.

  Observing events from just behind Pippa was the man's wife. She had, until that moment, been enjoying getting stuck into her cocktail.

  Simpers' noticed the woman flourishing her best Medusa stare. He knew woman had the trick of deploying this look to deadly effect. The elderly man shrank into his fragile frame as he caught sight of his wife's withering look. The man also removed his hand from Pippa's hip with the speed of a gun's recoil as he realised that his opportunity to flirt had vaporised. His life-companion's well-practised glare had triumphed once more.

  Pippa threw the old man a mischievous smile as compensation. This seemed to cheer him up for the fleeting moment he allowed himself to look at Pippa. Taking advantage of the elderly man's misfortune, Pippa slid into the space that he had been occupying. She prised Simpers into the gap made available by the other elderly chap. Having seen what had just happened to his fellow passenger, he averted his gaze from Pippa. In so doing, he hoped to avoid the clairvoyant-like attention of his own wife.

  'Look,' Pippa squealed. 'There they are. Don't they sound divine – it's so romantic, don't you think?'

  Simpers looked down to where she was pointing. Under a small canopy stood about twenty musicians. They wore bright red military uniform and stood in a horseshoe shape around their conductor.