by Fiona Leitch
“Come in, then,” I said. “What can I do for you?”
Harry entered, followed by one of the security guards who had been posted outside. The guard nodded at me, looking slightly embarrassed, I thought; they probably hadn’t expected anything like this when they had taken the job. The guard headed towards the kitchenette area and stopped, looking askance at Harry, who nodded. Harry spoke as his colleague began searching the cupboards.
“As you know, the murder weapon was a corkscrew. Every single cabin on this ship has one.” Harry looked at the guard, who shook his head. “The ordinary cabins - the Silver class passengers - have plain silver coloured corkscrews, but the penthouses like this and Louise’s - what we call the Diamond class cabins - have corkscrews with diamond-cut crystal handles. There are only 20 Diamond class cabins, with 20 corkscrews on board.” Will and I looked at each other, perplexed; what did this have to do with anything?
“Okay,” said Will. “But you’ve already got the murder weapon - ”
“It was still stuck in the victim’s neck, or did you miss that?” I asked, sarcastically. Harry just smiled thinly.
“Where is your corkscrew, Mrs Tyson?” Harry knew he was using the wrong surname, I could tell, and he was trying to wind Will up. I put my hand on Will’s arm.
“It’s Mrs Carmichael, as you well know, and the last time I saw the corkscrew it was on the side there, next to the ice bucket. Why?” But I was starting to get a nasty feeling. The guard shook his head, and Harry spoke again, this time with an irritatingly calm satisfaction.
“We assumed at first that Ms Meyers had been stabbed with the corkscrew from her own room,” he said. “But in the course of removing the victim’s body, we discovered that corkscrew on the table. So the murder weapon came from another cabin.”
“It didn’t come from here,” I said. “I saw it this morning. I moved it off the table with the ice bucket when the steward brought brunch.”
“Well it doesn’t appear to be here now,” said Harry. I shook my head.
“Of course it’s bloody here! Look properly. The cleaner came in and tidied up, they’ve probably put it in the wrong drawer.”
The guard shook his head again, but wouldn’t meet my eyes. Harry smiled grimly.
“Added to the fact that I’m pretty confident the police will find your fingerprints all over the murder weapon - ”
“Of course they will, you moron!” This guy was a regular Inspector Morse. Not. “I had my hands all over it, trying to stop Louise pulling it out and bleeding to death faster!”
“Mrs Tyson - ”
“It’s Carmichael.” I hissed. I was so furious I could have punched the smug smile off his face, but I resorted to sarcasm instead of violence. “So what you’re saying is, I planned Louise’s murder, just like I planned all those murders in my books, you know, the ones that none of my readers ever solve before the end. The ones that I’m famous for. I deliberately chose the corkscrew to be the murder weapon - the very distinctive corkscrew, which would immediately narrow down the field of suspects to the occupants of those 20 cabins, rather than something that could have been used by all 3000-odd people on this boat. I picked it up before we went to dinner, because I knew I wouldn’t have an opportunity to come back to my cabin, and took it with me, ready to stab her.” I looked at him, unable to keep the contempt off my face. “Where did I put this corkscrew? It’s got a large, cold handle, and I didn’t have a handbag, so what did I do with it? Hide it in my cleavage? Stick it up my - ”
“Bella’s right, this is preposterous!” Will’s voice was relatively calm, but his hands were balled into fists and I could tell he was on the verge of slamming Harry into a wall. Or possibly through one. I could see the security guard getting ready to leap into action if necessary, and Harry himself looked like he was limbering up for a fight, and suddenly I’d had more than enough of all this testosterone. I hate confrontation at the best of times, and this one was getting out of hand, everything was starting to spin out of control, and I needed to do something before there was a punch up in my cabin and things got even worse. So I did the only thing I could think of to do.
I fainted.
I say I fainted. I did a massive swoon and dropped to the floor, making sure not to hit my head on the way down. There was stunned silence for a moment, then Will was kneeling next to me, looking anxiously into my face. He stroked some hair off my cheek and gazed into my eyes.
“What happened?” I asked, groggily.
“Bella! It’s alright, darling, you fainted, don’t try to get up.” I winked at him and he coughed suddenly, violently, trying to hide a laugh. Will got himself under control and glared up at Harry. “You see what all your ridiculous accusations have done?” he said angrily. “My poor wife…” His poor wife shifted; I’d landed as carefully as I could, but I’d trapped my leg underneath myself and (sadly) I weigh far too much to stay like that for long.
“I need to get up…” I said in a timid voice, nothing like my own.
“What in God’s name is going on?” Captain Butler’s anything but timid voice boomed across the cabin, sounding shocked at the ridiculous tableau that confronted him. I struggled to my feet (I am a consummate actress, even under pressure) and staggered to the bed, hand clasped to my head.
Harry looked alarmed and I realised that whatever he was up to, he hadn’t passed it by the Captain.
“Captain Butler,” he started, but the Captain held his hand up to stop him and turned to me. Will sat down on the bed next to me and held my hand.
“The Chief Purser tells me Mr Carter has confined you to your cabin,” he said. “Is that right?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to sound calm. I got the feeling that getting angry with the head of security was one thing, but it was probably not a good idea to get pissed off at the Captain of the ship when we had another 4 days at sea.
“Have you confessed to the murder of Ms Meyers?” he asked. Will and I exchanged shocked looks.
“What? No, of course I haven’t!” I protested. I was about to say more but the Captain nodded.
“I thought as much. Under what grounds are you holding Ms Tyson here?” Captain Butler turned back to Harry, who looked flustered.
“The evidence - ” he began. Will snorted.
“What evidence?” he asked, scornfully. “Captain, if I ran an investigation this badly - ”
The Captain held his hand up again, this time to stop both men talking. No resorting to undignified fake fainting for him. He was a big, heavy-set man, and I got the impression that once he was on the floor he’d have a struggle to get up again, so it was probably just as well.
“Mr Carter, I think you and I need to discuss this in my cabin,” said the Captain, then he addressed me. “Ms Tyson, my apologies. I believe the phrase is ‘innocent until proven guilty’, isn’t it? You are of course free to rejoin the rest of the passengers. The police in New York have been informed and they will doubtless want to question you when we dock, but for now please try to enjoy the rest of the cruise.”
“Thank you…” I said.
The Captain stood back and gestured for Harry to leave. The head of security glared at me, probably expecting me to look smug; but I wasn’t feeling smug, I was feeling - relieved? Not quite the right word - it wasn’t as if this was over yet, not by a long shot - but at least I could get out of this cabin and help Will clear my name. Harry glared at me and left, followed by the Captain, who walked with the air of someone who couldn’t wait to get back to the privacy of his own cabin and completely explode.
We were left alone in the cabin. Alone, that is, apart from the security guard, who stood there looking slightly gormless and embarrassed. Will looked him, eyebrows raised.
“Oh - yes - sorry,” said the security guard, and he headed for the door. But he stopped again and looked at me. “I am sorry about that, Ms Tyson,” he said, “but I honestly couldn’t find your corkscrew. You might want to have
a better look for it.”
Chapter 14
Of course, now that I was allowed to leave the cabin I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. Joel and Zoé believed I was innocent, but Zoé had also said that people were talking about me and saying nasty things. Well, that was no surprise; once you hit a certain level of success or fame there’s always someone, somewhere, saying nasty things about you. But they weren’t normally accusing me of murder.
Social media seemed split pretty much 50-50 on whether or not I was guilty, and I guessed that the passengers on this ship might well fall into the same divisions. I hoped that those who knew me from the murder mystery game would think better of me, but you can never tell. From what Zoé had said about my team of amateur detectives, I thought that maybe Harvey and Michael at least believed in my innocence; but who knew about anyone else?
There was only one way I was going to find out. Suddenly staying in the cabin and living off room service until we reached New York seemed more attractive than ever…
But Will was having none of it, and he was right (he has a bloody annoying habit of often being right).
“Get your glad rags on, do your hair and make up and come for a walk,” he said. I lay back on the bed.
“Do we have to? Can’t we stay here and make our own entertainment…?” That usually worked, but he laughed and shook his head.
“Oh no, I’m not falling for that one - well, not right now, anyway - you’re trying to appeal to my base sexual urges just so that you can hide away in here.”
I sat up. “‘Base sexual urges’? Ooh, that is so hot, I’m genuinely turned on now…”
But he grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.
“Behave, woman! Tidy yourself up. I’ve sworn to clear your name, and I will, but I could do with a bit of help.”
I sighed and went into the bathroom, flinching at my reflection in the mirror. I even looked guilty to my own eyes, and I knew I hadn’t done it.
I cleaned my teeth and applied a good couple of inches of foundation to cover the dark circles under my eyes - any more, and my reading glasses wouldn’t fit round my head - then tossed my hair about to make it look like I was young and carefree (it didn’t work on either score and just looked like I’d been dragged through the hairspray aisle at Boots). I plastered on a fake smile and presented myself to Will, who managed to repress a shudder but not before I’d seen it.
“That bad?” I asked.
“No, no, no… Just relax, will you? You didn’t do it.” He smoothed my mad hair down and tucked a few rogue strands behind one ear, then kissed my cheek. “Stop trying to look like nothing’s happened. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. It’s okay to let people know you’re having a hard time.”
I hugged him tightly and wished we were back on land, back home in Wimbledon without ever having set foot on this bloody cruise ship. Will kissed me again and smiled.
“There’s only 4 more days until we reach New York,” he said. “The police there won’t be anything like Harry Carter. He’s out of his depth and clutching at straws, and he’s desperate to prove his worth by solving this murder. Unfortunately by the time we dock the trail will have started to go cold…”
“So if we want the murderer brought to justice, we’ll have to find them,” I finished. He nodded. “We’d better get on with it, then. This murder ain’t going to solve itself, is it?”
Brave words are one thing. Actions are another. We walked down the corridor, and I smiled confidently at the few people we came across. I can do this, I thought. And then we went downstairs and into the main entertainment deck.
You know in old Westerns, when the hero walks into a cowboy bar full of gamblers and desperados, smoking, drinking and gambling while some old timer plays the piano, and suddenly everything goes quiet as they turn to look at him? It was almost (but not quite) totally unlike that. It didn’t go quiet, if anything the noise level picked up as people turned to each other and gossiped as I passed. Most of them tried to be discreet but some of them made no attempt to hide it, oohing and aahing as I went past and loudly sounding off about my guilt or otherwise.
I ignored them all. I could feel my cheeks burning, but I firmly bit my tongue and resisted the urge to confront the onlookers with an aggressive “WHAT?” or suggest that they maybe take a picture, it’d last longer. That had been the standard comeback in my youth, but of course these days everyone has a bloody camera in their pocket, and I’d learnt the hard way that if you say, “Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer?” the buggers actually will.
Will clutched my hand tightly and led me through them all, past the shops and the beauty salon, past the entrances into bars and restaurants and the cinema, and outside to the swimming pool area, which was rather less crowded being the end of summer and not as warm as it could be. A few die hard octogenarians were sitting in deck chairs, soaking up the late September rays, and a couple of kids splashed in the pool. Will turned towards the pool side bar and sat on a bar stool, with an attempt at nonchalance that was slightly spoilt by the fact that he’s only about 5’6” and the stools were high. I struggled onto one next to him, my feet dangling in the air.
“Let’s have a drink,” he suggested.
“No alcohol for me,” I said. Honestly, I barely drink normally, and I’d had more wine in the last two days than I’d had in the two years preceding that. Damn you, all inclusive holidays. My liver would need three weeks at a monastic retreat in the mountains if I carried on drinking at that rate. “I need to keep sharp.”
Will nodded and handed me the cocktail menu. “Have a Virgin Mojito or something,” he said. “Something with an umbrella and fruit that tells everyone you’re on holiday.”
We both ordered mocktails - Will doesn’t normally drink much either, and we have this running competition when we go out to see who can order the campest drink (it’s normally not me). And then we decided to go over what we knew.
“Okay, so - the murderer had a window of around seven to ten minutes in which to get into Louise’s cabin, stab her - ” Will stopped as the bartender, with raised eyebrows, set two glasses full of pink liquid, fruit and sparkly stuff in front of us. If these drinks didn’t say BACK OFF MAN I’M AN INNOCENT TOURIST then nothing would. I smiled at the bartender.
“Thank you!” The bartender nodded and moved away, although I had the distinct impression they were eavesdropping. I sucked up the incongruously sweet and girly drink as Will carried on outlining the grisly murder.
“They must’ve arrived at her cabin after 9.33, quickly done the deed, and then scarpered,” he said. I nodded.
“Okay, first of all - how did they get into the cabin?” I asked, watching Will stir the fruit around his drink with a swizzle stick decorated with thin strands of silver tinsel.
“If Louise let them in, it was someone she knew,” said Will.
“Or someone like a steward, someone you’d let in without suspecting them of foul play.” I picked a grape out of my drink and ate it. “But when Louise left the Pearl she was completely legless. I can’t imagine her being able to get up and let someone in.”
“When did she leave?” asked Will. “Did she have to time to get back to her cabin and throw up? Sometimes being sick can sober you up pretty quickly.”
“She left before the murder - the pretend murder,” I clarified. “Probably ten, fifteen minutes before the lights went out. Then the murder took - I dunno, another five minutes? The lights were out for ages.”
“The Chief Purser said they were only meant to be out for a minute, and then Karl was supposed to turn them back on but he didn’t,” said Will.
“Because he was getting jiggy in the next cabin along with Heather,” I said, adding mentally, Respect, sister. Because she was at least 25 years older than him and deserved a good time.
Will sucked at his straw, making a slurping noise as he reached the bottom of the glass. It was a good job these were non-alcoholic, as we’
d both knocked them back in seconds, self consciously toying with the straws as we felt (or imagined) other passengers watching us.
“Anyway…,” I said. “ Louise had been gone about 25 minutes when she called the pursers’ desk. I’m actually amazed she managed to even do that, but then I suppose the phone’s next to the bed so she didn’t have to stand up or anything.”
I reached the end of my own drink and stared across the deck at the kids in the swimming pool. It seemed like the last place on earth a murderer would be hiding, but someone had killed Louise and whoever they were, they were out there, probably watching me and thanking their lucky stars that I’d blundered onto the murder scene and taken the heat off them.
“So,” I said, pushing my glass away and signalling to the bartender for two more drinks, “we’re still none the wiser as to whether she knew her killer or not. I still think she’d have been unlikely to have let them in herself, because she was so wasted, which makes me think it was someone with a key.”
“A crew member?” asked Will. “That ties in with them being able to hide in a cabin and clean themselves up before leaving that deck…”
“Yep.” Something else had occurred to me. “A crew member also might be able to insinuate themselves into the investigation, so they’d know what was going on. When they realised that I was looking good for it, they could have decided to help things along by stealing our corkscrew and planting it in Louise’s cabin, making it look like ours was the murder weapon.”
“Maybe…” Will looked at me. “You said you’d had a lot of visitors this morning. Who exactly came to see you?”
I smiled guiltily. “To be honest it might not have been this morning. I told Harry Carter that I saw the corkscrew when I ordered my lunch, but between you and me - I don’t actually remember the last time I saw it. We definitely had it when we were getting ready for the fancy dress, because you opened that bottle of wine, remember? And we had a lot of visitors after I found her.” I shook my head to clear it. It seemed unbelievable that all this had only happened the night before. “Last night. The Captain popped by. The doctor was in our cabin for ages. Harry came in, and there were a couple of security guards. Then this morning there was the steward who brought my lunch, and the cleaner, and then Harry and the security guard again…”
