Murder on Board

by Mark Rice

  We completed an employee exceptional service nomination for Ali our table waiter whom I had noticed had displayed great humanity and kindness to many of the elderly passengers he encountered around the ship.

  At noon the choir's technical run through began in the Gaiety Theatre. Getting one hundred singers on and off the stage safely is a challenge and I get a position in the front row with Geoff. The tenor rows are in front of us and the bass boys take up the last three. We commit our position to memory and will file on and off in a set sequence. David runs through the songs and draws Aoife and Tony in to take charges of their numbers. We break for lunch and promise to be back at 15:00.

  My stomach is still unsettled with the imminent performance playing on my mind and the detective onboard doesn’t help so it’s just a cup of tea for lunch for me. I heard from Margaret that Craig and Mary were interviewed by the detective this morning. He is getting close and I’m hoping my deep sleeping partner Margaret will still be a solid alibi when I get a chance to give my ha’pence worth to the curious detective.

  I still, have no idea what he looks like and I have begun to scrutinise every face that I come upon asking, is that him? Or is that person staring at me? A degree of paranoia is settling into my brain and I must get a grip on myself. One more day will see me ashore and safe. We spend an hour or more in the ship’s health club spa enjoying the hot tub, the steam room, and the sauna. It takes my mind off the show and other things.

  We men don Caribbean shirts for the show and I loan Geoff a spare one I have with me. We gather in the last three rows of seats in the theatre until it’s time to troop on stage via the dressing room.

  Unlike previous choirs where I was lost in the crowd, I this time stood in the front row of men but unfortunately behind the black piano so at best I was visible from my waist up. I spotted Margaret and Anita in row two and gave a rather limp nervous wave, which was acknowledged by smiles. Once settled on stage I have a habit of burying my head and reading the lyrics and notes. I end up singing down to my feet rather out towards the audience, at least that’s what Margaret says and I’ve no reason to doubt her.

  The theatre is about two thirds full and we get a standing ovation at the end of our ten song program. People are very generous but its just possible we sounded good. Certainly, with several songs we glided through tricky waters and I thought America was a massive hit.

  We poured out of the theatre elated, the adrenalin pumping through our veins. Margaret said, "I was so proud of you I cried."

  Elation carried us on a wave to the Palace restaurant and we were joined at our table by the two Topstars choirmasters, sincerely pleased with the outcome, which one hopes reflects on them too. Geoff, eighty-seven, was in ebullient form and had sung in the lift on the way up and showed no sign of deflating or shutting up anytime soon.

  We visited reception for an update on the strike but they hadn't kept their promise and appeared disinclined to even browse the internet to find if it was still on.

  Just before dinner the PA crackled to life in our cabin and the disembarkation timetable and actions were communicated to all:

  “Please be out of your cabin by 08:00. Breakfast is served in the Palace restaurant up to 08:30 and waiter served breakfasts will be provided at 07:00 to 08:00 in the Imperial restaurant. Self-evacuating passengers should disembark between 07:15 and 08:45. Thank you.”

  The announcement came to an end and we relaxed in the cabin, with not a stitch packed. Outside our cabin, the corridors are filled with hundreds of suitcases, locked and bedecked with cabin tags. They await the ship’s crew to move them to a central location overnight and then to carry them ashore in the morning. I can see it’s a logistical nightmare as some passengers will be retrieving cars, some will be booked on coaches or taxis and others, like us, will be starting a long journey home independent of Octavian Cruises.

  We dressed for the final dinner which carried a casual dress code. The vibrations rattled the cutlery on the table yet again and it was hard to hear conversations on the other side. Finally, the food was eaten, the coffee drunk and we had one last round of joke telling before embracing, promising to keep in touch and telling each other just how much fun we'd had sharing the table over the last fifty days.

  Postponing our case packing we attended the Magpies second show which confirmed them as the most popular entertainment act of the cruise as it was standing room only. Finally, all good things do have to end and we left the theatre.

  Grudgingly we faced up to the packing which took over an hour at the end of which we had the two large and two small cases filled plus my rucksack bulging. Our portable weighing scale certainly was a comfort.

  We set the alarm for 06:00 but neither of us expected to sleep much that night. We’d only been in bed less than an hour when I answered a knock on the cabin door. I’d almost forgotten the interview with the detective and had, as time had passed, begun to believe I might escape interview.

  A ships officer was standing in the corridor. “Please accept my apologies for disturbing you and your wife at such a late hour, Mr Granger. But can you both get dressed as quickly as possible and come with me now?”

  “It’s a bit late, officer,” I complained in a mildly irritated tone. “We have a long day of commuting ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate that and I’m sorry sir, but the detective has asked to speak with all the passengers before the ship docks and the interviews are over-running a-bit today.”

  He noted my continued resistance and confided. “There are more passengers to be seen after you tonight.”

  “I suppose it could be worse then.” I acknowledged. “Can you give us a few minutes? I’ll have to wake my wife.” I pointed to the prone body covered by blankets and still oblivious to the light beaming through the open door.

  “Certainly, sir,” he replied, “I’ll wait out here.”

  I woke Margaret gently and once she was compos mentis she slipped on a tracksuit and a pair of flip flops and was ready. I wore similar and ran a brush through my hair before passing it to her when I’d done with it. Together we left the room and walked to the lift in silence with the young English officer trotting along ahead of us.

  He escorted us downstairs to deck 5 and left us sitting on a bench outside a small room whose door was closed. He knocked on the door and entered, closing it behind him. I could hear some conversational noise but it was too blurred to make any sense of. Moments later he reappeared and smiling at Margaret said, “Don’t worry. This is purely routine. You’ll be back tucked up in bed in twenty minutes, I promise you. Thank you for your cooperation. I’m off to collect more passengers.” and with that, he was gone.

  We sat another minute or two lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, a deep voice boomed out, “Enter,” and we rose as one.

  I opened the door to let Margaret into the room first. Extending a hand of greeting from across a large desk, a stout grey haired man allowed the briefest of smiles to rest on his face before gesturing to us to sit in the chairs opposite him.

  I thought it strange that he’d see us both together but I suppose it was all he could do, given the number of people to interview. I did a quick calculation of hours needed to interview 2,800 people for twenty minutes each while working eighteen hour days. I came to forty-seven days’ and he only had, by my reckoning thirteen days if he started interviewing on the day he boarded. He had to cut corners so there was a certain method to his madness.

  He fell back into his padded chair and, reaching out, flipped open one of the two brown folders on the table. Around the room were strewn many archive boxes filled to the lid with similar folders. On his desk a small notebook and pencil sat next to a mug of steaming coffee and an old fashioned grey telephone.

  “Mrs Granger?” He looked up and she smiled. He glanced down again and after a long pause he said, “Margaret?” He was clearly tiring and the effort to stay focused was written on his face. He took a swig from the mug and rolled the liquid ar
ound his mouth before swallowing.

  “Yes, that’s me, Officer,” Margaret confirmed.

  “Right,” he now briefly examined the other folder and glanced at me. I could see the image from my boarding card on a photocopied page and saw he was checking my face against it. “Mr Luke Granger?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered and like Margaret, I smiled. It wasn’t returned because he was now reading further through the folder and had his head down, eyes fully engaged. Finally, he read the last page in the folder and picking up the two folders he dropped them unceremoniously into the archive box at his feet. The noise startled us both. We now had his full attention and he took a deep breath before launching into a spiel he had already recited hundreds of times over the past two weeks.

  “Good evening, folks. My name is Gary Matthews. I’m a detective based in Southampton and a fulltime employee of Octavian Cruises PLC. My job is to investigate unusual and often criminal activities that occur during cruises run by the company.

  I have been assigned to investigate the death by poisoning of a large number of people on or around the thirty-third day of this cruise which was, to jog your memory a bit Saturday the 4th of February. That was two days’ before the ship docked in Manaus, a thousand miles up the Amazon River in Brazil.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “Seeing as that was seventeen days ago I appreciate it may be hard for you to recall that specific day but do your best.” He paused, “What were you both doing on that day?” He reached across his desk and pushed the ship’s Skyline newspaper for the day towards Margaret who, picked it up and began to read it.

  “Well, officer, we had breakfast and attended the Beginners Bridge class at 10:15 and then we went for coffee. I’d be pretty sure Luke attended the choir practice at noon.” She looked at me questioningly.

  “Yes, that’s how it was,” I ventured. “We split up at noon as I recall. Margaret went to the clothes sale in the atrium and I attended the choir practice.”

  He seemed satisfied with our answers. “Did you see anything untoward occur in the bridge class that morning? Was anyone ill during the class or was there any falling out between attendees of either the beginners or the intermediate classes?”

  “Not that I saw,” answered Margaret, promptly and with a smile.

  I merely shook my head. It was great that we were being interviewed together and that she was taking the lead. Long may it stay that way!

  “Mrs Granger, what was your profession before retiring?”

  “I can answer for both of us officer, we were both accountants,” Margaret was playing a blinder and I think was treating the interview as a quiz show and she loved quizzes. She seemed to relish the question and answer format. This answer produced another dead end for our detective whom I couldn’t yet decide was either just going through the motions of an investigation or was cunningly appearing not to care but playing with us like fish, wriggling at the end of his line.

  “Did you study chemistry during your schooling, Mr Granger?”

  His question came like a bolt from the blue. In switching his questioning from Margaret to me, just like that, he had caught me off guard. I’d switched off, I’d relaxed.

  I couldn’t be sure what he knew about me? How much of my life was laid out for him in that folder? I made a decision and decided to answer honestly.

  “Yes, I did, Mr Matthews. It was a compulsory subject in Ireland up to our intermediate cert examinations, equivalent to your English “O” levels. We both studied chemistry to a basic level because we were schooled in Ireland.”

  Margaret agreed and Gary Matthews seemed pleased that he may be onto something. “But I dropped it fast the next semester as I was useless at it. I was able to switch my studies to economics for my final two years in school. I sat the Leaving certificate, an equivalent to your English A levels in English, Irish, lower lever mathematics, economics, business studies, art and French.”

  “Cripes,” said Matthews “we only sit exams in two or three subjects for the A levels in England. You guys had it tough!” The detective then switched his attention back to Margaret. “And you, Mrs Granger, did you continue your chemistry studies?”

  “No, detective. I left school after the intermediate exams and I became an articled clerk in a large accounting practice in Dublin where I stayed until I qualified as an accountant five years later.”

  Another lead withered on the vine.

  The detective glanced at his watch–00:05.

  I guessed he’d been hard at it for about thirteen hours today. God only knows how many more passengers he had to interview before he’d finally hit the sack. Time was on our side.

  “So, did you two go ashore at any of the islands before you sailed to Brazil? Did you visit any of the Caribbean islands? To refresh your memories they were Jamaica, the Dominican Republic, Guadeloupe, St. Vincent’s, Barbados and finally Tobago.”

  “Now I can be certain we didn’t get off at Jamaica,” Margaret answered. “We probably visited the others but I can’t recall for sure.” She looked to me for help.

  “Why don’t you check the ship’s card reader scanner’s as they capture and record all embarking and disembarking,” I volunteered. “I’m sure the records can be made available to you.”

  “I have those records Mr Granger but I like to hear independently from passengers too.” A check question included to test out passenger honesty had been rumbled.

  “Did either of you visit a chemist while you were ashore?” I stepped in to reply before Margaret could answer.

  “No, Officer” I said.

  “No?” said Margaret. “Now that’s not right, Luke, we did visit a chemist when ashore!”

  My heart sank as Mr Matthews leapt. Margaret wasn’t finished and I was helpless to stop her.

  “I had some chronic insect bites, Mr Matthews. They kept me awake for nights on end until I said to Luke I must get something for them when we next get ashore.” Margaret paused to draw breath.

  “And where was that, Mrs Granger?” asked the detective, his pencil in his hand, poised and waiting.

  “Ah, it’s come back to me.” smiled Margaret triumphantly. “It was the Walmart Chemist in New Orleans. Luke, do you remember?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” I answered, mightily relieved she’d forgotten the chemist in St. Vincent’s. Margaret couldn’t ever lie and as such a person she was brilliantly believable. She rattled on about her bites, the failure of the treatment and her visit to the medical centre on board.

  Detective Gary Matthews was already opening the folders for his next passengers and the knock on the door was followed by the ship’s officer entering the room.

  “Well, thank you both for your cooperation this evening and I wish you a pleasant onward trip tomorrow.” Detective Gary Matthews shook both our hands as we slipped out of his office and out of his clutches.

  Day 51

  Wednesday 22nd February.

  Docked in Southampton, England.

  The ship had arrived in the early morning and unusually I hadn't heard any of the docking noises that normally had accompanied our arrival in port. The SS Azara was definitely stationary and her bow camera showed a darkened Southampton dock and terminal with just the odd flash of coach lights as they passed on the road nearby.

  Outside our cabin in the post tray sat our final ships account statement and it would hit our credit card unless we queried it immediately.

  Up at 06:00 we showered and dressed before heading up to deck 12 and the restaurant for breakfast. The cold English winter air cut through my light clothing and we huddled together as we walked into the face of a cold wind. We ate heartily but I couldn't wait until we had got off this ship. I was haunted with a fear that Margaret may recall the chemist visit I made in St Vincent and go to the detective’s office and land me in it. Not deliberately but these things happen.

  We made our way back through the atrium and spotted two men laying out piles of newspapers and magazines. They d
idn’t look like ship staff, so I asked if they had any news about the Southern Rail strike? They had! The strike was over and they insisted on giving us a bundle of newspapers and magazines for free!

  Back in the cabin we packed the last of our possessions into our hand luggage. I recognised several items would not be coming home, such as several pairs of my teeny weeny underpants, one washing machine tablet, shampoo, toothpaste and the dregs of our brandy.

  By 08:00 we were dragging along the corridors of the ship two cases each, all with wheels, along with my rucksack and Margaret's handbag. Down at the gangplank the ship account cards functioned one last time and the electronic voice said an emotionless "Goodbye."

  We wheeled our four bags through a terminal ground floor now filled with thousands of suitcases from the ship. We walked on and through the border police and customs section where benches sat awaiting use, but no officers were to be seen. Suddenly we emerged into daylight and onto the path. Outside a long row of taxis waited for passengers.

  “Oh, Luke,” Margaret said, turning to me. “I really loved this cruise but there was just one thing wrong with it.”

  “What’s that?” I asked genuinely confused.

  “Fifty days’ just wasn’t long enough,” she answered. “Let’s do one hundred next time!”

  THE END

  About the Author

  Mark Rice has kept daily diaries for years, but started publishing short stories and novels in 2014.

  At about the same time, he started a blog where you can find many more stories and postings.

  He lives in County Wexford in Ireland and is happily married with grown-up children.

  Hobbies are gardening, photography and running.

  He is a member of the Gorey Writer Group based in County Wexford, Ireland.