Murder on Board

by Mark Rice

  “Really!” Frank added. “C’mon – I mean give me a break! It’s just expecting too much for pensioners, which I must remind you Roger we both are, to recall activities on specific days when they have been onboard a ship as long as we have.”

  “Aye,” said Craig. “But he’s a job to do and he needs answers so I’ll have to put my thinking cap on and remember my movements.”

  “Listen to him,” uttered a female voice from the other end of the table.

  “More likely I’ll be doing the remembering,” added Mary, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “This lad would forget his trousers if I didn’t lay them out on the bed each morning!”

  The table erupted in laughter and Craig looked suitably chastened.

  Frank then sparked up, leaning forward conspiratorially to whisper across the table “He did ask if I’d seen anyone acting suspiciously or acting out of character.” He paused the bastard, shamelessly milking the drama of the moment, for what seemed an eternity, before adding. “...but I couldn’t think of anyone and I said so.”

  “How long did the interview last?” Margaret asked him.

  “About fifteen minutes max,” said Roger.

  Frank nodded in confirmation. “He gave me his ship phone number and asked me, to contact him if I remembered anything.”

  “What’s the detective’s name and what does he look like?” I asked. I realised that my question may be showing a tad too much interest but I felt an urgent need to know who to look out for around the ship or loitering behind me, I needed to put a face to this man.

  “You’ll be seeing him soon enough,” laughed Roger impishly.

  “It’s telling, isn’t it that no further deaths through poisoning have occurred since that day?” Frank threw this out as an after-thought and it hung there in the ether for a while but no one responded, least of all me.

  It was 20:30 and we arrived with minutes to spare at the Gaiety Theatre and took seats in the front row. Tonight, Roger Bever, a comedian, was the act scheduled to perform but before he started, we had a parade of representative staff from each of the departments on the ship. Deputations from the cooks, the waiters, the cabin cleaners, the restaurants, the entertainment team, the administration and the money earners (photography, excursions, cruise reservations, reception) filled the stage. In all, about sixty of the circa nine hundred staff accepted the applause from passengers, no doubt hoping the goodwill would be reflected in the gratuities left by the parting guests.

  Then Roger Bever appeared and from the start, it was clear he was a joke comic armed with quick one-liners and some quirky eccentric humour thrown in. He thrived in thinking on his feet and worked his way along the front row of the audience asking what their names were, where they were from and what they used to work at? He’d craft jokes based around the answers he got.

  We were sat in the front row and inevitably he reached me and I gave my career as an accountant. Next to me sat Margaret and she also admitted to being an accountant and then he came to Roger who identified himself a retired copper.

  “Christ, lads, have I interrupted a raid?” he asked.

  The crew talent competition is on again tonight in the Pacific Lounge but we chose a different location on the ship to spend the latter part of the evening.

  Back in our cabin, at midnight the banging and crashing is both audible and vibratory but also a distant distraction.

  Day 48.

  Sunday 19th February.

  At sea, off the coast of Africa.

  We woke and checked the information channel. We were sailing at 18 knots in rough seas and the temperature was 16 degrees centigrade. The ship’s heaving and throwing motion could unbalance all but the fittest and most agile.

  By 08:30 we’re dressed for the day. We exited the cabin and stepped into the empty lift when its doors slid open on deck 8. Inside I selected deck 12 but instead of displaying our requested stop, the button lit up bright red and the lift panel then went blank. I tried to press it again but the power was cut to the panel. Suddenly with a jolt, the lift began to rise, swiftly. It rose past deck 9, deck 10 and deck 11 and came to a halt on deck 12 but the door wouldn’t open. We pressed and pressed the panel’s buttons but got no joy.

  Just when I began to panic, the lift took off again and rose to deck 13 and then, deck 14. I knew there was no deck 15 so I was bloody pleased when it stopped. Then, without any instruction from us, the lift set off at pace downwards. It hurtled down past the floors, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6 and was heading for 5. I suspected 5 was the lowest it could go, and it was. It duly reached it with a shudder and we came to a sudden stop. We were both sent sprawling across the floor. Margaret cried out “Luke you have to do something!”

  Before I could stand up, the lift had set off again. This time we travelled upwards. For the next few minute’s we sailed up and then down the lift shaft, passing floors without stopping and then reversing the journey. All the time the ship was rocking and heaving from side to side. I was terrified.

  Once I had time to assess what was happening, I flipped open the metal cover and pressed the alarm button hidden inside. I could hear the shrill bell going off outside the lift but nothing else occurred and our terror ride continued.

  Then I pressed small patterns of morse code—dit, dit, dit, pause, dit, dit, dit, pause dit dit dit, on the alarm button. This is the morse code entry for SOS – emergency but no one reacted. No call from a control centre or the ships bridge. The loudspeaker within the lift remained stubbornly silent.

  As the minutes passed and the violent lift movements up and down past the floors continued, our anxiety grew. I increased the frequency of alarm button pressing until finally, my finger was permanently on the button.

  Margaret was in a panic. Eyes wide, mouth open in a silent scream, she stood ramrod straight upright jammed into the far corner to support herself. She felt around the smooth silver metallic wall for a handrail or something to grip but found nothing to cling onto.

  Eventually, the lift stopped moving but we were still trapped inside it. I heard a voice from above shouting something to us but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. The lift remained static at deck level 5. A short while later, that seemed to us an age, a technician opened the lift doors. We stepped out shaken but okay.

  "All out?" the man asked from somewhere above us.

  “Yes. It’s just the two of us.”

  The green jump-suited technician jumped down from the lift ceiling and joined us in the lobby.

  He smiled and said "I was walking past when I heard your alarm bell and I've been chasing the lift up and down the floors for the past five minutes or more."

  It didn't inspire confidence. What if he hadn't been passing? What then I thought?

  "There are loads of safety features on this lift," he informed us. "You would never have fallen to the foot of the shaft."

  I wasn’t so sure.

  We walked up the stairs to deck 12 and sat in the restaurant. Neither of us felt like eating so we settled for two cups of steaming hot tea. Upon leaving half an hour later we walked past the lift and I didn't see any, Out of Order signs. Not only that, the lift appeared to be continuously in use. I went to reception and made a formal report of the incident, verbally to an officer.

  "Yes, we had reports from passengers of a lift sailing past floors without stopping," he confirmed.

  I said “I would have been reassured if, upon my pressing of the alarm button, someone in the ship’s crew had made contact with me via the PA system or from outside the lift as we have just spent a considerable period of time yo-yo’ing between seven decks unaware that anyone knew we were trapped.”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I can do no more than register your comments, sir.”

  “Well don’t say I didn’t try to warn you – that lift is a death trap!” I said loudly and I turned on my heels and left, fuming.

  It’s a sea day so the Beginner’s Bridge class resumes today, and Shirley has again made up ou
r four. The session was uneventful save that I played out two contracts losing both, one quite convincingly by -3 tricks. Brendan again conducts the class and seems subdued but able to park his problems and deliver a good lesson.

  Too soon, I had to leave for the Choir practice and, lo and behold, the return of the prodigal daughter! Aoife the Topstars Irish vocalist attended the first session in over a week so maybe she really was ill. She picked up where she left off and revisited her three songs, accepting that there is now no time to change or correct. One practice class remains.

  The men give their song a blast and Geoff performs his solo line much better. Overall I thought the performance today compared to previous efforts had slipped again. We were asked by a woman’s representative to run the idea of men wearing Caribbean shirts to add colour on the day. David, the musical director will put it to the men tomorrow.

  David also confirmed rumours that the French half of the International Piano Duo, Robin Essen had been left on the dockside at Tenerife when his bag was stolen. He was actually left stranded at the foot of a volcano by his taxi driver who took off and he missed the ship sailing by the matter of a few feet. With the SS Azara having sailed without him, he'd rejoin it in Southampton.

  I caught up with Margaret in the Palace and we decided to take in a movie, Inferno, starring Tom Hanks which was showing at in the Chaplin cinema. I am ashamed to say I slept through ninety-nine per cent of the movie. I’m a bit stressed and haven’t slept well these last few days. This morning lift ride of terror just about put the cap on my day.

  We made our way to the Imperial restaurant for dinner and found all the team in good form and chatty. Obviously, I shared our news. “I’ve started writing a new book called, Trapped in a Lift on a Sinking Ship, and of course my new song, I Left My Pianist in Tenerife, is due out next week!

  Frank reported that International Piano Duo, remained a duo, for this afternoon’s concert because the multi-talented ships music director David had taken over the empty seat of the unfortunate Frenchman and performed an exciting selection of Hungarian dances, some pieces by Eric Satie and Ravel's masterpiece La Valse.

  We strolled up to the Gaiety Theatre for the first show by the Magpies, a group of four men in their thirties who play rock n roll hits from the 1950s. They put on a brilliant show with Vinny the singer/guitarist fronting the group and showing off his powerful voice and slick guitar work. The lad on the lead guitar replicated some of the greatest guitar licks of Chuck Berry, Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly and Hank Marvin. The drummer and bass player provided a steady tight rhythm for the others to shine. For forty-five minutes they stood playing some of the best songs ever written and were true to the original recorded versions.

  We met Bill and Joan after the show and chatted for a while before taking a stroll outside on the Promenade deck, the dark sea looked menacing and the wind blew a gale. We were returning to winter in the UK and Ireland.

  We sat down in Andersons Bar with them and another older couple Roger and May. Bill has a huge personality and a wicked sense of humour and he is deliberately un-PC and calls things as he sees them. He's the granddad kid’s love but parents are fearful of. Leaving the kids with Bill and Joan for a week probably meant they'll see the inside of every pub in the area and quite possibly would taste some alcohol along the way. I even bet that when the parents came home Bill showed them pictures of the kids. "Here's one of Gilbert, asleep in the Frog ‘n’ Toad, there's one of Alex eating crisps in the Bulls Head, there's another of Gilbert in the Duke of York."

  Bill said that Joan had a letter from his hospital consultant that detailed what treatment Bill must get immediately if he falls ill on the cruise.

  "No, I ain't got it," said Joan. "It's in the cabin".

  "That’s just great," said Bill. "Thing is if I fall ill this letter needs to be produced. I read it yesterday and noticed someone had written in pen, in big letters: DO NOT RESUSCITATE!”

  We left them bickering pleasantly and turned in for the night.

  Day 49

  Monday 20th February.

  At sea, halfway up the coast of Portugal.

  Last night’s sailing was through choppy waters and the Captain said he expected a calmer day today. This morning we were travelling at 18 knots, experiencing temperatures of 15 degrees centigrade and the upper decks are off limits. The sunbathing days have gone for good. Those lingering Bermuda shorts would soon disappear from around the ship and long trousers and jumpers will become the order of the day. The upper decks are off limits all day which means no quoits and no tennis or cricket.

  Last night, along with the Skyline newsletter, was an invitation to a Captains Farewell party and an Octavian Cruises Customer Questionnaire in our cabins mailbox. The returned forms for this cruise will not make easy reading in headquarters.

  We ate breakfast and Margaret then tackled the launderette, a sure fire way to ruin her day.

  The Beginner’s Bridge class members were gathered around a large screen watching Brendan demonstrate a computer-based program that can help sharpen your skills, and which he, by good chance sells. We settled for a few more hands of cards with Shirley again explaining and tutoring us.

  Coffee with Jennifer revealed she had booked next year’s cruise yesterday as it gives her something to look forward to. Her home life, as a retired worker and now widow, sounds a rather empty affair and I do feel for her.

  The final choir practice was with David. He was alone as his Topstars assistants were in rehearsal for this afternoons show. The choir were in mixed form, some sung better, some sung worse. He dropped complicated harmonies and dropped a song he'd failed to get to, off the running order. I feel right now he is just eager to get it done. The ambition to make us the best choir ever had retreated as the hours passed and reality had begun to kick in. Geoff nailed his solo but the song America was a minefield of uneven lines and breathing patterns.

  We ate lunch and practised bridge in Lawton’s with twenty plus tables of experienced players quietly competing in the vast carpeted and dimly lit room.

  That afternoon in the Gaiety Theatre the Topstars presented, We'll Meet Again, a nostalgic show that featured over a hundred songs from the WW2 period. Remember the majority of this audience were in their twenties when WW2 occurred. These songs were their pop music of the time. The dancers and singers began the show with a ten minute medley of songs most of which I knew but a significant number I'd never heard of. First up was Aoife, our Irish blonde who sang The White Cliffs of Dover, made famous by Vera Lyn, who is still alive as I write and is over one hundred years of age. Then on came the other singers and dancers who rattled through so many songs, with their timing being just perfect and their energy levels high. The elderly man sat next to me knew most of the songs and sang along with them. The show finished with the rousing Rule Britannia and Land of Hope and Glory at which point, we all stood up and waved our Union Jack flags. All except Brian, our fellow Irishman, who sat next to Margaret and not only didn't wave a flag but chastised Margaret for joining in! What a sour puss he’d turned out to be. When in Rome do as the Romans!

  Up in the restaurant a short while later Roger pronounced it the best performance of that type of show that he'd ever seen and he's a veteran of many such shows.

  We visited our cabin and donning the suit one more time, we left to visit the Captains Farewell drinks party in the lounge. We queued to have a photograph taken with him and Margaret thanked him for safely guiding us over the last forty-nine days. Passing down into the lounge, I took a gin and tonic and Margaret settled for a glass of white wine from the waiter's tray. Arthur and Jean beckoned us over and we sat chatting until Captain Peter Cox made a brief speech and we all trotted off to our usual first sitting meal. There Ali and Hamoud stood waiting to greet us and, at the end of the meal, they passed over to us forty-eight days worth of menu's, the top one signed by both of them and wishing us well. Unfortunately, the sheer weight of the menus means all but two of them will end up in our
cabin bin.

  At the Gaiety Theatre, Roger Bever, comedian, was back for a second bite at the audience. It was really just more of the same. He interrogated the front row seeking out their basic details, names and previous careers. For such basic information, he found it remarkably difficult to come by. Several audience members either froze or deliberately avoided giving him a direct answer. He fished in the same pools as last time. Hasn't the world gone mad? Didn't we have a tough childhood? What do you think of the Middle East?

  We cut the night short at this point and headed back to our cabin.

  Day 50

  Tuesday 21st February.

  At sea, halfway across the Bay of Biscay.

  The wind force had dropped to a northerly force 4 so the upper decks and all the pools were open. The temperature was a mere 10 degrees centigrade and the SS Azara was sailing at nineteen knots. The ships own movement was rhythmic and gentle. Long may it stay so! We were due to clear the Bay of Biscay by 14:30 so one known area of rough sea was safely behind us..

  We took breakfast in the Palace restaurant and I managed to play some tennis but had to cut it short as Roger Bever the comedian, was lecturing on the 1942 assassination of Rheinhart Heidrich, thus showing he had a second string to his bow. A packed theatre hung on his every word and he took questions from the audience at the end.

  We attended the final Beginner’s Bridge class and exchanged hugs and thanks to Shirley and Brendan Flood for their twenty plus classes and handouts. I felt certain that Brendan’s good wishes would be swiftly withdrawn if he knew how I had framed him for the deaths.

  Coffee with Jennifer was a nice affair as we three relaxed and discussed life while the blue sea rushed past the window. We checked in with reception who claimed no interest or obligation to assist us with a train strike in England. You’re on your own son, I was effectively told. I asked if they could find out the current status on the strike and they promised, with poor grace, they would do that.