by Fiona Leitch
It stayed dark. More laughter.
“Do you need 50p for the meter?” some wag called out - I suspected it was the poor man’s James Bond. There’s always one, isn’t there…
And still the lights didn’t come on. I heard the Chief Purser sigh angrily.
“Where’s Karl?” she hissed. The steward behind the bar answered quietly, obviously in the negative, and she hissed again. “Then you turn the bloody lights on!”
There was the sound of someone fumbling around and an ‘ow!’ as they walked into something and finally, finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only about 5 minutes, the lights came back on and we were all left blinking at the sudden brightness.
There was a body slouched across one of the tables. How unhygienic, I thought. I’m glad we already had pudding.
A dark red stain was slowly spreading across the tablecloth… It looked very realistic, until the corpse farted softly (I mean, I know gas builds up in dead bodies and it has to escape somehow, but this one wasn’t even cold yet) and those of us close enough to hear giggled.
This time, the corpse was dressed in a crew member’s uniform. I recognised the young man who had given me the invitation to the murder in the library.
The other guests stood frozen in surprise for a few seconds, then swarmed around the corpse, gingerly at first - the blood was thick and glutinous, and did look quite real - then exclaiming as they realised who it was. I noticed a few of them looking around to try and work out who had been standing nearby; next to me, Will nodded approvingly. I could see Harvey and Michael prodding the not-really-deceased, and I knew they were just trying to make him laugh. Naughty boys.
The poor grieving widow from earlier (who had, rather unrealistically in my view, joined us for dinner) gave it a minute, then screamed and swooned into a handily placed chair, after looking round and making sure it was there. Zoé appeared from behind me, holding a glass of brandy she had managed to procure from the bar. She gave it to the woman, who knocked it back delicately but quickly and pointedly looked at the empty glass. The Chief Purser took it from her with a warning look, and the widow subsided back into gentle sobs.
Sylvia rolled her eyes at Zoé. “You do know she’s just acting, right? She knew this was going to happen. The rest of us didn’t.”
“No,” said Harvey. “It was all a bit of a shock. I could do with a brandy myself.”
“Sorry,” said Zoé. “I just got caught up in the moment.” She bent down and picked up her phone, which had ended up on the floor in the melée, and scuttled away again.
Will, the Chief Purser and I faded into the background, letting the amateurs do the detecting. Joel said loudly, “I wonder what happened to the murder weapon?” before joining us. They immediately all began scuttling around looking for a knife.
Joel sighed. “Why do they automatically assume it was a knife? There are so many other things he could have been stabbed with.”
“And that’s why you’re a crime writer,” I said. “You don’t immediately think of the obvious thing.”
Will looked at me in surprise, and to be honest I was surprised myself that I’d actually said something that could be construed as ‘nice’ to Joel. I smiled.
“But of course in real life it normally is the obvious thing, isn’t it?” I said, turning to Will. He nodded.
“In my experience, yes. Which is why I’m a policeman of sorts and not a writer…”
I turned as a purser - a real one, rather than a fake dead one - ahemed behind me. He smiled apologetically and held out a piece of paper.
“Message for you,” he said. I took it; another handwritten note on the ship’s stationery.
Come to my cabin. P9-4. We need to talk, LM
“When did you get this?” I asked, frowning.
“A couple of minutes ago,” he said. “Ms Meyers rang the pursers station. I brought it straight here.”
I thanked him and he left.
“What’s the matter?” asked Will. I could feel Joel watching me carefully. I showed Will the message and he looked surprised. “Well that’s a turn up for the books. Do you want me to come with you?”
“Is there something wrong with Louise?” asked Joel. I shrugged and showed him the message. “Ah… I think she might want to call a truce.”
“Really?” I was incredulous, but he nodded.
“I told her she was out of line. She’s really not that bad, you know. You bring out the worst in her.”
I opened my mouth to protest. So it was my fault, was it? The way she swanned around and constantly made snide remarks about me? But Will touched my arm.
“Maybe just go and talk to her,” he said gently. “You act like it doesn’t bother you, but I know you. You want everyone to like you.”
Damn him, he was right. I hate conflict. I hated being at war with her, even when she bloody deserved it. I sighed.
“Alright, I’m going,” I said. “If she starts mouthing off again and it ends up in fisticuffs, I’m blaming you.”
Chapter 9
I headed out of the Pearl, through the Excelsior upper level dining area and out into a corridor. The more expensive penthouses - like mine - were on the next level up, but this one still had a mixture of exclusive suites and bigger cabins, handily located for the private dining rooms.
P9-4 was close by, luckily for Louise; she wouldn’t have made it back if it had been too far, even with Zoé and the steward helping her. I took a deep breath as I stood outside the door. From the next cabin I could hear the sound of a woman laughing, a deep, throaty laugh followed by a moan of pleasure. No prizes for guessing what was going on there, then. I wished I was back in my own cabin, making the same sort of noises with Will. But needs must. If Louise was holding out an olive branch it would be childish not to take it.
I knocked. And waited. No answer. I knocked again. If she was playing silly buggers with me… Fork her, I wasn’t hanging about. I banged on the door again in frustration and then stopped as it moved under my hand. It was unlocked.
Ooh that wasn’t good. Spidey senses tingling, I opened it and called out.
“Louise? Are you alright?”
I went inside, leaving the door open behind me.
There was no sign of her in the main room. I looked around, convinced now that she was playing some sort of stupid joke on me, and then stopped as I saw a foot, stretched out on the floor behind the bed. Oh bloody hell… Not wanting to but having to, I forced myself to edge around the bed and then froze in horror.
Louise lay on the floor, eyes wide in unseeing terror, hands clutching weakly at her throat. Blood oozed sluggishly but relentlessly through her fingers as they scrabbled at something sticking out, dark and sticky against her white skin. Blood puddled around her head, staining the soft cream carpet crimson. It’ll be a right bugger getting that deep pile clean flashed inappropriately across my mind. I dropped to my knees, narrowly missing a small pool of vomit next to her, and saw the corkscrew rammed into her artery, its evil twisted hook tearing through the flesh. Paralysed with shock, I thought I saw a flicker of recognition as she stared into my eyes, all the while trying in feeble panic to pull the corkscrew out. I had this sudden, horrific vision of her succeeding, of her neck popping like a champagne cork and blood spurting everywhere. I grabbed her hand and held it still.
“Leave it!” I said urgently. I put a hand on her cheek. It was cold. “Leave it, it’ll make it worse if you pull it out. We have to stem the blood flow…” I looked around, then tugged at the scarf around my neck and pressed it onto her wound. “It’s okay Louise, I’ve got you, we’ll get help…” I looked around helplessly, but her phone was on the other side of the room and I’d left mine back in my own cabin. I didn’t want to move and lessen the pressure on her wound, even though a voice in the back of my head whispered that it was too late, she was already gone and I was - for want of a better phrase - flogging a dead horse. What the hell do you want me
to do? I hissed at that voice. Abandon her? Let her bleed to death without even trying?
I looked down at her face, hoping against hope to hear that bloody awful voice of hers sneering that she’d fooled me, that it was all a game and I was a bloody idiot for falling for it. I’d even have settled for a snarky comment about my age or weight or grey hair. But I knew the likelihood of my ever hearing that voice again was getting less and less. All of a sudden I remembered the couple next door.
“Help!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Please, someone help me!”
Karl and Heather were the first ones to show up. They found me bent over Louise, covered in her blood, crying as I realised the life had already left her eyes. I wouldn’t let go of her hand or take the pressure off her wound until Will arrived and ever so gently prised my fingers away from hers. I looked up into his face and saw my own shock and horror mirrored there.
The captain came, and the ship’s doctor arrived at a run with a full medical kit, but he didn’t even bother to open his bag; there was no point. It was too late.
The ship’s head of security took charge of the situation, although it was clear that the stunned man had never had to deal with anything quite like this before. Will offered his assistance, but it was firmly (although politely) declined. Two security guards escorted us back to our cabin, where the doctor examined me and placed my blood-stained clothing into plastic bags. He then swabbed under my fingernails, much to Will’s consternation; but I barely noticed anything he did. All I could see was Louise’s eyes, staring into mine, pleading with me to please, please not let her die. And I’d failed.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up, then stayed on the floor by the toilet, shaking, just in case I needed to do it again. I heard Will talking to the doctor, sounding slightly pissed off, and then the sound of the door shutting as he left.
Will came and sat on the floor next to me. He cleaned my face with a flannel and draped a bath towel around my shoulders like a blanket, then put his arm around me and stayed there on the tiles with me.
Eventually I felt well enough to stand up. Will helped me out of the bathrobe I’d changed into and turned on the shower, then sat on the toilet while I stood under the hot jets, soaping and scrubbing all traces of Louise out of my hair and skin pores. The thought of that made me retch again and I had to steady myself against the shower screen. Will was on his feet in a second, ready to grab me, but I recovered. I was so glad that he was there.
I put on my pyjamas and sat on the bed as Will made some tea.
“What time is it?” I asked him. I felt exhausted but strangely wide awake at the same time.
“Nearly 2am,” he said. He looked wiped out as well. He handed me a mug, watching as my hand trembled, then sat down next to me. I leaned against him and closed my eyes.
There was a knock on the cabin door. I jumped, but Will put his hand on my leg.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got a good idea who that will be.”
There were two vaguely familiar men outside in uniform. Will stood aside to let them in, making it clear he wasn’t very happy about it, then sat down next to me again. One of the men stood near the door while the other pulled up a chair and sat in front of me.
“Bella, this is Harry Carter,” Will said. “Harry is the head of security, here on the boat.”
“I know you,” I said. “I saw you at Louise’s cabin…” My voice trailed off as saw the scene again.
“Mrs Tyson - ” he began.
“Mrs Carmichael,” corrected Will.
“Bella,” I said. Harry smiled, without warmth.
“Bella. I need to ask you some questions about what happened.”
That was the last thing I wanted to think about, but I knew I would think about it anyway, so I may as well tell him what he wanted to know.
“Okay, well, I knocked on the door but there was no answer. I thought she was playing a trick on me, so I was going to leave, but then I realised the door was open so I went in and there she was…” I wiped my eyes, not even really aware I was crying again.
“Why did you go to Ms Meyers’ cabin?” asked Harry. Will shifted in annoyance.
“We told you that earlier - ”
“Yes, but I want to hear it from Bella.”
“Why do you need me to go over this again?” I just wanted to lie down and shut my eyes. “I already told you all this.”
“It’s just routine.”
“If it’s routine, can’t we do it in the morning? I feel awful, I just want to lie down.”
Harry didn’t answer but looked at me steadily.
“What?” I asked, confused. “Why do we have to do this right now?”
“Because you’re a suspect,” said Will, angrily. “Bella, he thinks you did it.”
Chapter 10
‘Time stood still’. Writers use that phrase all the time - I’ve even used it myself, when I wanted to slow a story down and take stock, but I’ve never actually experienced it in real life.
Except at that moment. Everything froze. I couldn’t breathe. Harry looked at me, and Will glared at Harry, and I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at either of them. Only then I saw Louise lying on the carpet bleeding to death in front of me, so I opened them again. Harry was still staring at me.
“He thinks - ” Will started, but I stopped him.
“He thinks I killed her,” I said. The words sounded faintly ridiculous. Me, kill someone? I was the least aggressive, biggest coward out of anyone I knew. Why would I kill Louise?
“Why on earth would I kill her?” I asked. Will gripped my hand tightly, and for a moment I thought he was warning me to keep quiet, in case I might say something to incriminate myself. Angrily, I turned to look at him. “Don’t tell me you think I did it too?”
Will looked shocked. “Of course not! You’re not a killer. I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone.” He looked at Harry. “You don’t know my wife - ”
“I know that she had a well-publicised feud with the deceased,” said Harry. “A feud that’s blown up over the last few days on Twitter. I know that she was found next to the deceased, restraining her with a scarf and holding the murder weapon in place - ”
“I was trying to stop her bleeding to death!” I protested. The whole thing was ludicrous.
“I know that the deceased was having a relationship with her ex-husband, which by all accounts your wife wasn’t happy about.”
“What accounts?” I exclaimed, exasperated. “Who said I wasn’t happy about it? I wasn’t bloody jealous! I - ”
“There was a threat made on Twitter,” said Harry, “Something about hoping the murderer didn’t get Ms Meyers ‘by mistake’. And then you asked one of the passengers to make the deceased disappear ‘discreetly’ so no one would realise she had left the dining room…”
I scoffed, incredulous. “Oh for god’s sake! I told her I didn’t want it to end up on Twitter that Louise had got legless and had to be helped back to her cabin. I was trying to be nice!”
“There’s also the matter of the murder weapon,” said Harry. He spoke with the air of Hercule Poirot, delivering his deductions and about to deliver the killer blow. “The deceased was killed by a blow to the carotid artery with a corkscrew. Does that sound familiar?”
“No…” But it did. I started to get a nasty feeling.
“Really? You’ve never written a murder where the murderer kills the victim with a corkscrew to the neck?”
Will looked at me, his mouth falling open slightly. He’s my biggest fan, and he’s read all my books, and it rang a bell with him too.
I shrugged. “One of my DCI Fletcher books had a similar murder - ”
“The exact same murder,” insisted Harry.
“Okay, it was the exact same method,” I said. “I wasn’t hiding it from you, I didn’t remember it. I’ve written a lot of books and killed a lot of people.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. I shook my
head in irritation.
“You know what I mean. So the murderer copied my book. So what?” But I was started to feel sweaty and panicky.
“So this is your case against my wife, is it?” Will sounded calm, but I knew he was barely keeping it together. He got to his feet and pointed a finger right in Harry’s face. “You come to our cabin when my wife has just been through the most distressing experience of her life, when she’s still in shock, and you accuse her of murder based on - well, it’s not even evidence, is it? You accuse her based on wild conjecture, gossip and speculation?” He took a step forward, his fists now clenched in barely contained anger.
The other security guard, who I’d almost forgotten about, stepped in front of him, but Harry gestured him away and faced Will steadily.
“Mr Carmichael,” he said. “I’m just doing my job. A murder has taken place on this ship, and a murderer is on the loose. The safety of every single passenger and member of the crew is my responsibility, and I will not be prevented from fulfilling that responsibility. If you persist in obstructing my investigation I will place you both under house arrest and you will be confined to your cabin until we reach New York, when you will be handed over to the authorities.”
I looked at Will. I could not believe this was happening, and clearly neither could he. I knew I was innocent, but no one else did, and at that moment I felt completely and utterly alone. Even Will - did he really believe me? Or was he just sticking up for me because I was his wife, and because, after I’d covered for him in Venice, he owed me?
Will reached out and pulled me towards him, and I burst into tears. I felt his reassuring warmth as I sobbed into his shoulder and knew that whatever he thought had happened in that cabin, he would defend me to the death anyway.
Harry sighed heavily. I hoped he didn’t expect me to feel sympathy for him, shouldering this huge burden of responsibility, because if he did he was shit out of luck.
