by Jon F. Merz
“As did I,” said Schwarzwalder. He stared at Thatcher. “I wonder how your traveling companion found her first night aboard my ship?”
Thatcher frowned. “Surely you can’t be suggesting-“
“Why not?” asked Schwarzwalder. “She is already the prime suspect in Adamson’s murder. Is it such a stretch to believe she could have done this as well?”
“I don’t know,” said Thatcher. “Could she kill five men all on her own?”
Chapter 26
“There’s only one way to find out, I suppose,” said Schwarzwalder. “Let’s go and see her.”
Thatcher followed the Captain to the cabin where Cyra was being held. Along the way, Thatcher made sure to keep his eyes open. All of this traveling to and fro across the breadth of the ship was giving him a fairly detailed map in his head of how to get around. Fortunately, Thatcher’s status as an American didn’t seem to put Schwarzwalder off and he seemed content to have Thatcher around rather than keeping him locked up all day long.
As they approached Cyra’s cabin, the guard snapped to attention. Schwarzwalder addressed him in German. “Have you been here long?”
“Two hours, Captain.”
Schwarzwalder grunted. “And the man you took over from, did he have anything to report?”
“Nothing, sir. All was quiet during the night.”
Schwarzwalder frowned. “Very well. Open it up.”
The guard turned and knocked once before opening the door. Schwarzwalder entered immediately followed by Thatcher.
Cyra sat at her table eating breakfast. She looked up with a big smile breaking across her face. She seemed completely unlike how she was on the previous day, Thatcher noted to himself.
“Captain, Harrison. How lovely to see you both.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Thatcher. “You looked pretty ill yesterday.”
Cyra smiled some more. “I’ll forgive you for insulting my appearance. I must admit something did not sit well with me yesterday, but it was nothing that a good sound sleep couldn’t cure. I awoke a short time ago feeling imminently refreshed and strong as ever. Perhaps I had too much excitement with the Archimedes being boarded and subsequently sunk.”
Schwarzwalder leaned against the wall regarding her. “I must inform you that I am inclined to distrust that which you say. You are one of two suspects in the murder of the Archimedes Captain Adamson.”
“Am I?” asked Cyra. “And who is the other?”
“This man here,” said Schwarzwalder.
Cyra laughed lightly. “If you consider him a suspect, why does he travel about the ship with you as if he is a free man?”
“Because he has seemed less and less like the killer over the last twenty-four hours. While you, madam, have seemed more and more likely the candidate.”
“Rather an awful thing to tell someone upon first waking up,” said Cyra. “Do you treat all of your guests in this manner, Captain? Or is it just the women who inspire this level of hostility?”
“Your gender has nothing to do with my appraisal,” said Schwarzwalder. “Your inclination toward guilt does, however.”
“And why on earth would a Captain in the German navy care so much about the Captain of an enemy vessel? Isn’t that rather an odd thing? I would imagine most times you would be overjoyed at the death of an enemy.”
Schwarzwalder shook his head. “Adamson was not an enemy combatant. Nor was he an enemy at all. He was a spy in the employ of the German intelligence service, plying the routes between England and Spain and Portugal to great effect for the benefit of the Führer’s war effort. And seeing as he was killed, it is my duty to find the killer and report all findings to the High Command in Berlin for appropriate measures.”
Cyra nodded with solemnity. “It is apparent that you take your responsibilities very seriously, Herr Captain. But I wonder if you know the full story of Captain Adamson? Perhaps you have only known what those in charge wished you to know.”
Schwarzwalder frowned. “If you have some relevant information to the matter, it would behoove you to inform me of it. Otherwise, I can make arrangements to put you off at a nearby port and let the Gestapo have their way with you.”
“Do threats such as those ever succeed in having the effect you want them to have?” asked Cyra. “I would be willing to wager they do not. You know that you can catch more bees with honey than vinegar? Have you ever heard that expression before?”
Schwarzwalder frowned. “I don’t believe that is something that Germans would appreciate.”
“No,” said Cyra. “I don’t think they would. You tend to be far too pragmatic for your own good sometimes and lose sight of the fact that there are many ways to achieve a goal without always needing to resort to threats and aggression.”
Schwarzwalder came off the wall of the cabin and pointed a finger at Cyra. “Were you in this cabin all night?”
“Of course I was. Where else would I be? There’s a guard outside of my door, at least last I checked. How could I have gotten out?”
Thatcher’s eyes flitted to the porthole for a brief second but Cyra must have caught the movement because she laughed.
“Surely, Harrison, you aren’t suggesting I somehow managed to shrink myself down like Alice in Wonderland and crawled out of the porthole? And even if I was able to do such a fantastical thing, where would I go?”
“The engine room,” said Schwarzwalder then in a move that surprised Thatcher.
“And what is down in the engine room?” asked Cyra.
“Obviously the engines,” said Thatcher, heading Schwarzwalder off before the Captain could answer her. Thatcher wasn’t sure he wanted Cyra having all of the information that they knew. It would give her the advantage.
But Schwarzwalder apparently didn’t care. “There are five dead men down there.”
“How did they die?”
Schwarzwalder kept his gaze fixed on Cyra. “If I had to guess, I would say someone ripped their very bones from their bodies and feasted upon them.”
Cyra glanced down at her tray of food and then pushed it away. “Well, that is one way to ruin a woman’s appetite. Thank you, Captain. I was fearful I was putting a bit of weight on given the rich food I’ve been dining on lately. I don’t think I will have any problem avoiding meals for a while.”
“Perhaps you didn’t need to eat that breakfast at all,” said Schwarzwalder.
Cyra eyed him. “Are you actually suggesting that I had something to do with the deaths of those five men?”
“All I know is this: someone killed those men and I am down five crew members. You are the prime suspect in the murder of another man, therefore I don’t think I can be faulted for suspecting you in these murders as well.”
Cyra stood and turned around. “Look at me, Captain. I am but a solitary woman. I have no special strength, nothing out of the ordinary that you can see, and yet you think me capable of attacking and killing five men who are in the prime of their lives? Surely, you are either complimenting me in the most fantastical way or else you are courting insanity by such thinking.”
Schwarzwalder’s frown deepened and creased his forehead. “What would you do in my position?”
“Look for evidence. Isn’t that what all the detectives do?” Cyra sat back down and took a sip of her coffee. She frowned and tore open the sugar, dumping it into the swirling black drink.
“There is no evidence save for the mutilated bodies of the brave men who served with me,” said Schwarzwalder.
“In that case, you have no grounds to accuse an innocent woman of anything,” said Cyra. She turned her attention to Thatcher. “And I must say, Harrison, I am more than a little disappointed that you seem to have bought into this outlandish theory, such as it is.”
“I’ve bought into nothing,” said Thatcher. “I’m still trying to figure this all out as well.”
“And aren’t you the criminal anyway? How is it that the Captain seems more interested in prosecuting me for these
crimes than he is with the most obvious choice of them all standing right in front of him?”
Thatcher shook his head. “Perhaps his instincts have determined that I am not the guilty party in this case.”
“And I am?” Cyra shook her head. “Well, as crazy as that is, I’m exceedingly annoyed at being accused of such monstrous actions. And I would very much like you to leave. Both of you.”
Schwarzwalder kept his eyes on Cyra. “This is my ship and I will go wherever I like, whenever I deem it appropriate.” He paused. “You are still aboard only by my graces, which are running dangerously short for your sake. I hope you will take this seriously because that is how I mean it: if I find out you had anything to do with the deaths of my men, I will see you handed off to the Gestapo and tortured to the extent that you will wish for death. Is that understood?”
Cyra’s eyes seemed to turn to stone as she regarded the Captain. “You have made yourself clear, Captain. The earnestness of your statement is heard and acknowledged.”
Schwarzwalder grunted once and then turned to the cabin door.
“Have a nice day, gentlemen,” said Cyra then. “I hope you find your killer.”
Chapter 27
Captain Schwarzwalder stood outside Cyra’s cabin and addressed the guard standing there. “I want to know if anything happens here, is that understood?”
“Anything…happens, sir?”
“Strange noises, any unusual requests, even polite conversation. Report it all to me.” He turned and strode down the hallway without waiting for the guard to acknowledge the order.
Thatcher hurried to catch up with him. “Well, that didn’t go precisely how I thought it would. She’s clearly not going to answer any of our questions.”
“And why should she?” Schwarzwalder frowned. “She knows we don’t have any evidence. And aside from the slaughterhouse we saw in the engine room, she’s absolutely correct. If this was any other time but war, she might be able to convince anyone of her innocence. But this is not such times and she is clearly willing to allow me to consult with the Gestapo on this. So I intend to. Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
Schwarzwalder steered them toward an outside deck and then followed the steps leading down toward the stern. “I have other matters to attend to first.”
By the rear of the vessel, Thatcher saw what remained of the five bodies wrapped in the flag of Germany. He found it interesting to note that the flags did not have the swastika on them. He mentioned this to Schwarzwalder who shook his head. “This is a German naval vessel, not an instrument of the SS. I would prefer to keep it that way as much as I am able. I answer to the High Command, not one of those crazy zealots.”
Thatcher stayed back while Schwarzwalder addressed the sailors that had gathered to send their comrades off to burial at sea. He spoke of their competence and their loyalty, praising them for their work ethic during these trying times. It was a speech of gratitude for their bravery and service, but also one of the need to keep their memory alive by doing their jobs as best they could given their deceased comrades and how well they had done theirs.
When he was finished, Schwarzwalder mentioned a bit of brief prayer and then ordered the bodies consigned to the deep. One by one, each sailor was slid overboard with a splash that barely echoed amid the churning motors of the ship itself. They couldn’t afford to pause in their journey even for a few minutes; it was vital they reach their operational grounds before any Allied ships were able to hunt them down. And they still had a very long way to go.
Schwarzwalder and his men stood there in silent respect for another five minutes until Thatcher felt that it might have become awkward had it carried on much longer. Then Schwarzwalder dismissed the men and told them to get back to work. As he came back toward Thatcher, he was interrupted by another officer who asked to speak with the Captain. They had a huddled conversation for several minutes and the officer gave Schwarzwalder something that Thatcher could not see.
When he left, Schwarzwalder approached Thatcher. He held up the item and Thatcher could see it was a piece of bone. He grimaced. “Is that what I think it is?”
The Captain nodded. “The ship’s doctor performed as much of a post-mortem as he could, which is to say, it wasn’t very thorough given the condition of the deceased. Still, he did have something to report that he couldn’t quite explain.”
Thatcher pointed at the bone. “And it has to do with that?”
Schwarzwalder handed it to him. “Take a look. What do you see?”
Thatcher turned the bone fragment over in his hand. It was roughly six inches long and two inches at its widest point. The bone fragment had been cleaned, that much was obvious because it was no longer discolored by blood or gristle. As Thatcher turned it over in his hand, he marveled at how light it was but he didn’t think that was what Schwarzwalder was referring to so he peered closer. The core of the bone was hollow. Thatcher stopped. He looked at Schwarzwalder. “Where’s the middle part of the bone?”
“The marrow is the word you’re looking for I believe,” said Schwarzwalder. “And that is precisely the point. There is none. According to the doctor, none of the bones he recovered had any, either.”
Thatcher shook his head. “What does that mean? Whoever killed these men did so for their bone marrow? That’s the reason the scene in the engine room was such complete and utter slaughter?”
“It makes no real sense,” said Schwarzwalder. “But that appears to be the case. If the bones are missing their marrow then one can only assume that was the goal of the killing itself: to obtain it.”
Thatcher sighed. “Why would anyone want marrow, though?”
Schwarzwalder shook his head. “I do not know. The doctor tells me that marrow is considered the source of certain blood cells. Perhaps that is the reason. But I do not pretend to have any real theory why anyone would want it. Let alone what they would do with it.”
Thatcher leaned against the nearby railing. “Let’s give some air to your theory about Cyra. Suppose she did kill Adamson-”
“That seems highly likely.”
Thatcher nodded. “I’m not arguing that point. She certainly had the means to do so. But one does not necessarily equate to the other.”
“But it does make it more likely than not.”
“Perhaps,” said Thatcher. “But what if there is something else aboard this ship that killed those men? Cyra’s cabin is guarded day and night.”
“Speaking of which,” said Schwarzwalder. “What happened to Steinkopf? He was with you up until we got to Cyra’s cabin. Then he vanished.”
Thatcher shook his head. “To be honest, I didn’t even notice.”
“In any event, you are correct: she is guarded day and night. There is no way for her to get out of that cabin without being seen. Unless she is somehow able to shrink herself down and exit through the porthole.”
Thatcher smiled. “Which we both know is utterly ridiculous.”
But Schwarzwalder didn’t comment on that. He paused and looked out at the ocean. “You know, I have always found the sea the source of security. Whenever I think about whatever problems may plague me, I simply stare at the ocean and they seem to vanish. There is serenity in its tempestuousness that I find reaffirming somehow. In some way, perhaps I find it to be a mirror of life; in all of its chaos, there is still a rhythm to it that can be used to soothe almost anything.”
“Perhaps except to find a killer,” said Thatcher. “After all, I too have guard on my cabin door.”
Schwarzwalder grinned. “Yet, here you stand.” He held up a hand. “I do not care that you are here with me. To be honest, I find your company welcome especially as I struggle to solve this barbaric crime.”
“Well, thanks. Please don’t give Steinkopf too much grief. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom or something.”
“Perhaps,” said Schwarzwalder. “No, there is no method that we know of for someone to shrink themselves down and exit through a porthole. Th
at I know in as much as I have ever seen to be true. But what if someone has figured out how to do it?”
Thatcher shrugged. “But how? You would need to figure out how to alter mass, shape, size, body weight…it’s too fantastic to give credence to.”
“When one eliminates the impossible, what must be left is the possible, right?”
Thatcher grinned. “Supposedly.”
“What if the reverse is true? What if one eliminates the possible? What is left can only be the impossible.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning just what we said. Cyra’s cabin is guarded day and night. She cannot simply open the door and leave to do her killing. The guard would hear her and report the fact that she tried to leave. Which would be difficult because her door is also locked. There are no other doors that would provide her with an exit. Therefore, the one thing that would is the porthole. As impossible as it seems, that must be how she is leaving the room. Somehow, some way, she is able to do so - as impossible as it seems to both of us.”
Thatcher frowned. “You realize we’re delving into science fiction here if indeed that is the case.”
Schwarzwalder shook his head. “We’re delving into science non-fiction if indeed that is what is happening. We must be willing to consider it; we cannot afford not to at this moment simply because we do not possess a more palatable theory.”
Thatcher sighed. “You’re correct, of course. It’s just all so bizarre.”
“As impossible as it may seem, the deaths of five of my men are as real as you and I and we must confront that fact.”
Thatcher eyed him. “But only if we are correct: that Cyra is indeed the killer.”
Chapter 28
“I’ve waited long enough,” said Schwarzwalder then. “It’s time for me to radio Berlin and ask for instructions. They’ll be expecting it and any more delay will result in them looking at me rather than the person responsible for these deaths.”
“That’s my goose cooked then, too,” said Thatcher. “Once the Gestapo hear there’s an American aboard, I’m sure they’re going to want to have a sit-down with me as well.”
