Murder on the Mary Jane

by Evelyn James

  Skipper Wainwright handed his empty plate and his champagne flute to his wife.

  “I shan’t be long, my dear, I wouldn’t like to think of Pevsner in trouble, especially as this is the last sailing of the Mary Jane.”

  His wife gave him a look and then positively glowered at Clara, but she did not argue. Clara decided not to take Wainwright down into the bowels of the ship, instead she showed him up to the bridge. A much shorter walk, which would mean he could get back to the party sooner, all being well.

  “You knew that this was Mary Jane’s last voyage?” Clara asked as they walked.

  “Skippers talk,” Wainwright answered with a smile. “We know each other inside out. We are the only ones that understand how it is to give your life to a vessel and the sea. It’s a tough existence and there is no certainty of how it will end. Old skippers congregate, like sea birds on a wall. We are a separate species, and we know it.

  “Pevsner told me the Mary Jane was on her last legs a few weeks ago. She needs more repairs than she is worth. He is heartbroken, I know how it is. These ships get under your skin. They are your safety as well as your responsibility. Sometimes they are also your coffin. Your life becomes indelibly linked to them. Landlubbers can’t always understand it. It’s just a lump of steel and rivets to them. But to us, well, they are like a good woman. After all, we spend more time with them than our wives. It’s why many ships have feminine names.”

  “It must be awful then, to think of losing them?” Clara said.

  “Oh yes, it kills you a little inside. I know many a skipper who lost his vessel in the war who grieved for that ship or boat as much as if she was his sister or wife lost at sea,” Wainwright shrugged his shoulders. “I was lucky, as was Pevsner, our vessels survived the war.”

  “Will Pevsner retire from the sea now?”

  “Hard to see him doing anything else,” Wainwright glanced wistfully about him at the struts and ropes of the Mary Jane. “I don’t suppose he can afford to buy another vessel. He’ll sell Mary Jane for scrap and use the money and any he has been smart enough to save to live out his days ashore. It’s not the way he would have wanted it, not yet at least.”

  They had reached the bridge. Stepping inside and closing the door deafened the noise of the party and it was almost as if they were alone. Clara offered Wainwright the sole seat in the room, but he waved it away. He stood at the rear window instead and looked down on the party-goers.

  “What of you, Skipper Wainwright?” Clara began. “How will you cope with retirement?”

  “I’m not retired yet,” Wainwright laughed. “Not by a long shot.”

  “Oh,” Clara feigned surprise. “I was under the impression that you were no longer operating? That you and Noble and Sons had parted ways. I assumed that meant you were retiring.”

  Clara had offered him a way out, if he wanted to take it. He had been amenable and she didn’t want to get his back up by accusing him directly of murder.

  “Who told you that?” Wainwright’s humour had left him. He turned towards Clara.

  “Elias Noble. You see, the person who has caused bother to Captain Pevsner is Henry Kemp, I believe you know him?”

  “I do,” Wainwright was becoming suspicious. “What has he done?”

  Clara sighed and smiled.

  “He has managed to get himself stabbed and, unfortunately, is dead.”

  Wainwright blinked and took a step back. His shock seemed genuine.

  “When?”

  “It appears it was while everyone was in the lifeboats. You boarded a lifeboat, I assume?”

  Wainwright pulled a face.

  “I did not. I offered my assistance to Pevsner, knowing what blighters these mines can be like. He appreciated my help and, I should add, I was on deck the whole time.”

  “In sight of others?”

  “Not necessarily,” Wainwright admitted without hesitation. “I participated in locating the rifles on the ship and also doing other tasks that involved me being out of sight. What is this all about?”

  “I shall be honest with you, Skipper Wainwright, as you have been most forthcoming. It has been suggested to me that you had a grudge against Henry Kemp. I am trying to find someone with a motive to wish him harm. So far, only your name has been offered as a possibility,” Clara explained plainly. “I have been told that Henry Kemp cancelled the Noble and Sons contract with you. I imagine that was a significant blow to your business.”

  “It was,” Wainwright replied immediately. “And I will be honest with you too. I was angry about it. I had a few bad voyages, that was all. Rough seas made the passage difficult and delayed me, then I discovered the cargo had not been packaged as well as it should have been and bottles had smashed. I explained to Mr Kemp that that was not my fault. Whoever had packed the crates of wine had not made the effort to fill them sufficiently with wood shavings to prevent the bottles clattering about. He wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “He withdrew the contract after one bad delivery?” Captain O’Harris said in astonishment.

  “I had been late a handful of times, all due to the weather,” Wainwright explained. “It was a very bad spring. It was the last voyage when the bottles were smashed. Mr Kemp said that was the last straw.”

  “You can’t have been happy,” Clara pointed out.

  “After fifteen years serving Noble and Sons, excluding the four years of the war? No, I was not happy. I felt he didn’t appreciate the difficulties of being at sea,” Wainwright paused. “You think I lost my temper with him tonight and killed him?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Clara confessed. “The problem I have is no one seems to have a motive for disliking Henry Kemp.”

  Skipper Wainwright made a rough noise in his throat, it sounded part way between a laugh and a snort of derision. Clara picked him up on it.

  “You think there are more people with a reason to dislike Henry Kemp aboard this ship than I know about?”

  “I think whoever is telling you no one had reason to dislike him is being very selective with the truth,” Wainwright replied bluntly. “I’m a bluff man, Miss Fitzgerald, I tell things as they are. Henry Kemp was a good businessman, when he joined the Noble and Sons company he was both efficient and forward-thinking. But he changed. Maybe it was the war, I don’t know, a lot of men were changed by that, but he was no longer the star manager that Noble and Sons had hired. I know he was losing the company trade, because of his own heavy drinking.”

  “You knew about that?”

  “Hard not to. He would come to the dock to see a new cargo being unloaded and it was plain he was tight. I have been at sea all my life, I know what heavy drinkers look and act like, I know a few sailors and more than one captain who were prone to hitting the bottle. Henry Kemp was doing his best to mask it, but he was drunk nearly all the time. I suspected that was why he over-reacted to the damaged cargo.”

  “Did you say anything to anyone?” Clara asked.

  Skipper Wainwright for a moment looked sheepish. Then he nodded his head reluctantly.

  “I was angry about the whole thing,” he said. “I probably should have let it go, but I lost my rag a little. I told Mr Noble. I happened to see him at a fundraising evening for the Brighton and Hove lifeboat. I pulled him to one side and mentioned the whole affair. I have known him for years.”

  “How did he react?”

  Wainwright looked even more embarrassed.

  “I didn’t mince my words. I was so angry with Mr Kemp. I put it to him plain, that I thought Mr Kemp had been drinking and had not considered the consequences of his actions. I really wanted the decision overruled.”

  “What was Mr Noble’s response?”

  “He wouldn’t hear of it,” Wainwright shrugged again. “He said Kemp was the best thing that had happened to the company. He knew about the decision to cancel my contract and he had heard all the reasons why. He said he agreed with it too. I started to protest, but it was of no use. He said Mr Kemp had already arranged
a new shipping contract and I was wasting my breath. That was it, really.”

  Skipper Wainwright had said all this rather mildly, as if it was a very minor thing, Clara guessed that at the time that had not been the case at all.

  “You must have been furious,” Clara said.

  “I was, but, here’s the thing, a month later a new contract came up with a company that imports olive oil. I got that contract and it filled the gap left by the Noble and Sons fiasco. So, you see, even if they had offered me my old contract with them back, I could not have taken it up,” Wainwright smiled, knowing he had just delivered the ace up his sleeve. “I have no further grudge against Mr Kemp. I have moved on. I saw him here tonight, exchanged pleasantries and went on my way. He was drinking faster than a man dying of thirst who has just been offered water. I remember seeing him shouting about going in a lifeboat too. But I was far too busy dealing with that mine to be worried about what he was doing.”

  Wainwright looked very pleased with himself.

  “Henry Kemp had no reason to fear me. You need to look elsewhere for the person who killed him.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You don’t think Captain Wainwright is the killer?” Captain O’Harris leaned on the chart table in the bridge. Captain Wainwright had returned to the party on the sun deck and they were alone again.

  “He had the opportunity,” Clara admitted. “But, if he is telling the truth about the new olive oil contract, he really does not have motive. He didn’t strike me as a man to hold a petty grudge, especially when life has improved for him.”

  “No, that is true,” O’Harris agreed. “Where does that leave us?”

  Clara paced over to the window at the back of the bridge and stared down at the guests eating their pheasant and potatoes. The band was taking a break and the only noise was the jabber of dozens of voices.

  “Someone was down below decks during the mine crisis. Ronnie glimpsed them and they have not come forward to reveal themselves. That makes me suspicious. Captain Pevsner, I am sure, would have made it plain to his crew that they should afford us all the help they could.”

  “Which means that person has a reason for not coming forward?”

  Clara looked up at O’Harris, her expression answering his question. Whoever was below decks at the same time as Henry Kemp – the shadow in the corridor – it seemed likely they were the killer and were keeping quiet, not realising their presence had been noticed. But who? If all the guests were on the lifeboats, then that left only the crew and none of them had so far revealed a connection to Henry Kemp, let alone a motive.

  Clara narrowed her eyes as she scanned the party-goers. She spotted the person she wished to see.

  “It appears that Simon Noble has finished his supper,” she said. “Let us invite him for a little chat in the captain’s cabin.”

  Simon Noble was stood by the rail, once again, observing the other guests with a frown on his face. He seemed perpetually miserable. His brother was sitting with his father, though it did not look as though he delighted in the company, more that someone had to sit with the old man and he had drawn the short straw. Simon was alone, for the moment, an empty plate still held in one hand, a champagne flute in the other. Clara wondered what, if anything, made the man smile.

  “Mr Noble.”

  “You again,” Simon Noble grumbled. “Here, take my plate back to the buffet table will you?”

  He thrust the plate at Clara. She ignored it completely.

  “If you would accompany us down to the captain’s cabin, please, for a chat about Henry Kemp?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Simon Noble said as if he was turning down a second helping of dinner, not that it looked like he ever turned down second helpings. “I have no interest in continuing this charade. Elias told me you asked him a lot of silly questions. I don’t see the point in wasting my time.”

  “You don’t see the point in helping to discover who killed the senior manager of your father’s company?” Clara said, not entirely surprised that Simon was being so obnoxious.

  “I think that is a matter for the police, not for a woman.”

  “Steady on, old son,” O’Harris stepped out from behind Clara. He was a good head taller than Simon Noble and certainly fitter. He stood before the fat man and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have just about had enough of your attitude and the way you talk to my friend.”

  Simon Noble scowled at O’Harris, but he had some sense at least, he knew O’Harris was a good customer of the company and not someone to upset. He also could not guarantee O’Harris might not decide to do more than just take his business away. Bullies are cowards, and Simon Noble was most certainly the biggest of both. He gave a small cough.

  “Attitude? You are mistaken. You are taking my words the wrong way,” he said, dropping his eyes.

  “Look me in the eyes and tell me I am taking your words the wrong way,” O’Harris’ voice had dropped an octave.

  Clara decided to intercede.

  “You see, you really are doing yourself down, Mr Noble. Half an hour down in the captain’s cabin would not only go a long way to warming you up on this cold night, but it would get us to leave you alone. As it is, I am afraid I shall just have to pester you all night until you speak with me.”

  “You can’t do that,” Simon Noble snorted in indignation.

  “Why not?” Clara asked. “Who is to stop me? I shall be as polite as an old dame, but I shall also be talking to you the whole evening, never letting you be. Until the police arrive, naturally, but that is many hours away.”

  “You will be spoiling your own evening!” Simon Noble countered, clearly thinking this was a winning move.

  “Trust me, old man, she’ll take detective work over dancing any day of the week,” O’Harris said in a droll tone, he had a smirk on his face which Clara glimpsed. She almost blushed, but restrained herself.

  “Do you feel the need to be so contrary just because you can be, or is there another reason?” Clara asked Simon politely.

  “Contrary?” Noble barked. “I am being no such thing!”

  “And yet you are. Most people would like to help me find the killer of someone they knew. Not nice to think of a murderer walking around with blood on his hands, figuratively speaking,” Clara cast a pointed glance over the guests. “Why don’t you want to help me?”

  “Because I know nothing!” Simon snapped again. “I can’t help you, and I just want to get on with my evening! I was on the lifeboat when everything happened. I don’t know why Henry was killed, bloody shame that it is.”

  “Did you know about his drinking problem?” Clara had decided she was not going to get Simon downstairs, but she might get some answers on deck now he was talking.

  “What? No,” Simon Noble looked away and his answer was not entirely convincing. “I mean, we all like a tipple or two.”

  “Henry was drinking much more than two glasses of alcohol a day,” Clara said. “I’m surprised that an astute man like you had not noticed.”

  One thing Clara knew, bullies were egotistical and easily flattered. Simon Noble shuffled his feet.

  “Now you mention it, I was having concerns,” he sniffed. “However, I only saw Henry at the board meetings.”

  “Had you any doubts about Henry’s abilities? Perhaps, being a businessman yourself, you wondered if he was making the right decisions?”

  Simon gave another sniff. The flattery was working. He was mellowing and starting to talk.

  “I had cause to mention to father a couple of things,” he said. “I saw you talking to Captain Wainwright. I queried Henry’s decision to take the import contract away from him.”

  Clara did not for one moment think that was true, but she said nothing, instead feeding Simon’s ego with more fuel.

  “I guessed you would have had your uncertainties about that move. I said to Captain O’Harris that I felt you were the one in the family with your head screwed on.”

  Simon Noble
actually smiled a fraction, although it could have been a grimace.

  “I do try,” he said with feigned modesty.

  “How did Henry Kemp seem tonight, at the party?” Clara asked him. “You seem to have been alert to his mood.”

  Simon Noble shrugged.

  “He was not at his best,” Simon told them. “I noted that at once. No one else was much paying attention, but he seemed tired and beaten to me. He started drinking as soon as we were aboard and, before long, he was considerably drunk.”

  “He didn’t get on the lifeboat because he had been drinking?”

  “I don’t know why he was so cross about the lifeboat,” Simon remarked. “I thought it was foolish. No one wants to die over a New Year’s Party, do they?”

  “No, not really,” Clara agreed with him. “That was the last you saw of him?”

  “I wasn’t going after him,” Simon’s belligerence had returned. “I wasn’t risking my life for him.”

  It was hard to imagine Simon Noble risking his life for anybody.

  “Can you think of any reason someone would wish Henry harm?” Clara asked him.

  Simon seemed to find the question amusing.

  “Henry was such a loner I don’t know anyone who knew him well enough to want to kill him. I don’t think he had any friends.”

  “No one?” Clara said in some surprise.

  “If he ever attended anything where he was allowed to bring a guest, he always brought his mother. There was no woman in his life, though,” Simon raised an eyebrow. “I rather fancy Miss Dodd would have liked to have changed that. Woman are not meant to be unmarried, are they?”

  He addressed this to Captain O’Harris, a conspiratorial statement between two men, or at least that was what he was attempting. O’Harris did not respond.

  “Is there anyone on board who Henry Kemp knew, aside from Skipper Wainwright?” Clara asked, directing his attention back on her.

  Simon Noble made a show of examining all the guests dotted about the sun deck, then he shook his head, making his jowls wobble like he was some great saggy-jawed dog.