I sighed and managed to push myself into a sitting position. It was then I realised nobody was playing the drums, but someone was knocking quite forcefully on my door. My temper flared and, with both eyes open and a tongue that felt as though it had fur growing on it, I climbed out of bed and shuffled toward the insistent sound. I pulled the cabin door open with so much force that the handle hit the wall behind it, making a loud bang.
“What the fu....” I uttered in a loud voice before I focused in on Chris standing there in his pyjamas, a serious look on his face.
Fully awake now, I ushered him inside. “Let me splash some water on my face and I’ll be right with you. I don’t know what you’re playing at, waking me at such an hour, but it had better be good.”
I turned to make my way to the bathroom, but Chris’s hand shot out and grabbed hold of my arm. “Wait,” he urged. “Get dressed, Mia. The captain wants to see us.”
I shook my head in annoyance. “That bloody Smythe! I bet he ran to the captain with tales about my drinking at dinner.” I knew what I said made absolutely no sense whatsoever, but neither did Chris’s appearance at this hour.
Chris turned me gently around to face him. “You don’t understand,” he stated rather forcefully. “The ship’s stopped its engines, and we more than likely have a death on our hands. A passenger’s gone overboard.”
Chapter 3
We were met at Reception by the ship’s security officer who led us to the Bridge where Dobbs and Smythe were already in deep conversation with the captain and another officer.
After Chris had come to wake me, we each took a few moments to dress before making our way to the ship’s control room. I threw on a pair of jeans and a white tracksuit top while Chris wore old khaki cargo pants with a black long-sleeved T-shirt. Although I’d had time to brush my teeth and smooth down my short blonde hair, I still looked like I’d just woken up, with bits of my hair spiking up here and there. Not only this, but I felt almost naked without a touch of make-up. At my age, a woman needed to look good in any event, even in an emergency. Chris, on the other hand, looked young and fresh-faced despite the fact he hadn’t even attempted to comb his hair.
As we approached the others, I took comfort in the knowledge that Dobbs and Smythe looked as bad as I felt; with clothes thrown on in a haphazard fashion, a well-after-five- o’clock shadow on their faces and with Smythe’s brown hair needing a good combing. At least, Dobbs was lucky with his short frizzy hair, which always seemed to remain neatly in place no matter what the occasion.
Unlike us, the captain looked very smart in his whites and I wondered whether he was pulling an all-nighter or if he was used to dressing in haste. His salt and pepper hair was neatly combed back from a good looking middle-aged face.
“Mia.” Dobbs motioned for me and Chris to join them. “This is Captain John Wilkins.”
“Mia Ferrari, Captain. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I shook his hand firmly and then introduced Chris, who also shook the captain’s hand.
With an American accent, the captain introduced the two men standing on either side of him. One of them was the security officer who had escorted us to the Bridge. “Jerry Garcia, Chief of Security. And this is my First Officer, Mark Evans.”
We all shook hands. Jerry Garcia looked like a Mexican version of Dobbs; late fifties to early sixties, with a short black moustache and a paunch to rival Dobbs’s own. He stood at around five-foot-ten. In contrast, Mark Evans stood at six foot plus. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, fit, and he sported short blond hair that framed bright blue eyes in an attractive tanned face. I noted a twinkle in his baby blues as we were introduced and wondered whether he was the “bad boy” type.
“Please, let’s all have a seat.” The captain pointed to a round table away from the gleaming control panels of navigational instruments.
Mark went to make a quick phone call before he rejoined us. “I ordered some coffee,” he announced and sat down next to the captain.
“Thank you all for attending so promptly,” the captain began. “And my apologies for having to wake you so early.”
We acknowledged this with a nod.
The captain turned to Chris. “Seeing as you’re all special guests of your father’s business partner and our CEO, Mr Edward Teppler, I made the decision to contact him about further investigating this unfortunate incident.”
I looked puzzled as I directed my question to the captain. “With all due respect, sir; what can we possibly do about a passenger overboard when I’m sure your ship has a set procedure to follow?” I noticed my companions nodded their heads in agreement.
There was a knock on the door and a steward entered carrying a tray with a coffee pot, milk, sugar, cups and a plate full of Danish pastries. He set the tray down on the table while Dobbs eyed the pastries with anticipation.
“Thank you, Victor,” Mark Evans said. “We’ll help ourselves.”
The steward nodded and left us. We didn’t need any prompting; and while I poured coffee for everyone, Chris passed the cups around, and we all helped ourselves to the pastries.
“In answer to your question, Ms Ferrari.” The captain glanced my way. “We are carrying out the standard procedures even as we speak.”
“Please, call me Mia,” I invited.
Smythe threw me a glaring look as if to tell me to shut up and let the captain finish what he had to say. I ignored him, but waited for the captain to continue.
“The thing is,” the captain explained, “as soon as we had the report come through about the passenger going overboard, Officer Garcia and his team immediately checked the CCTV footage around the area where it was reported the person fell.” He then nodded toward Garcia. “I’d better hand over to him to explain.”
Garcia looked around the table at us, his gaze finally settling on Dobbs. “We have approximately four hundred CCTV cameras around the ship.”
Chris let out a whistle. “That many?”
Garcia nodded. “This is a big ship, young man.”
“So what did you find?” I skipped past all the preliminaries and went straight to the point, earning myself another glare from Smythe.
“Let me show you,” Garcia responded and left the table to return momentarily with a laptop, which he set down in the middle so we could all see the screen. “Watch carefully,” he directed and pressed the play button for the footage.
The image that came up was grainy, especially because it was dark outside when the camera had filmed this particular segment. The time at the bottom right hand corner of the footage displayed 1.15am.
I recognised this section of Deck 13, which was not too far away from the bow of the ship and near the entry door that led to the nightclub. The area was rather dark, but I could still make out the outline of a dark figure leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette even though this was a non-smoking deck. Then, in the space of about twenty seconds, another figure appeared, startling the smoker. The two on camera went on to exchange a few words and almost immediately, the smoker was shoved toward the ship’s railing with a hard push from the other figure. A struggle ensued between the two and the smoker was swiftly pushed overboard. The culprit then walked off camera with their back to the lens.
“Shit!” I exclaimed.
“And so we have a murder,” Chris stated in a voice devoid of surprise.
Dobbs and Smythe were still glued to the screen, with Smythe asking Garcia to replay the footage. We watched it again in silence.
“As you can see,” the captain addressed us when we finished watching, “this isn’t a run-of-the-mill-man-overboard situation.”
“What’s being done at present?” Smythe spoke, his tone serious; the look on his face official.
“We stopped the ship’s engines as soon as we knew what had happened and reported the incident to the authorities in Sydney. We’re closer to them than our first port of call, Noumea,” the captain explained. “We then spoke with Mr Teppler, who discussed what happened here wit
h Mr Rourke. Mr Rourke suggested we make use of your investigative services until we ultimately hand over the case to the proper authorities.”
“Dad wants us to investigate the murder?”
Chris’s tone of excitement interrupted my train of thought, and I found myself asking at the same time as Smythe, and with the same words, “Who called in the report?” Smythe and I looked at each other in surprise. Great minds think alike even though I hated to admit it.
“We had an anonymous caller almost as soon as it happened,” Garcia told us.
“Do we know who the victim is?” I jumped to my next question.
“Not yet. My officers are making enquiries and going through the passenger list. This will take a while, though,” Garcia informed us, “seeing as most passengers are asleep and we can’t blare this over the PA system and frighten everybody.”
“Meanwhile,” Mark Evans took up the conversation, “we’re expecting search helicopters and divers from the Australian authorities. We’re fairly sure the victim’s dead. Unlike what you see in the movies, if someone goes overboard they’re usually sucked under the ship almost immediately and it’s near impossible for them to come back up. Then, there’s the matter of the lifeboats. From where the victim fell, they could have easily hit one of the lifeboats on the way down, rendering them unconscious. So I can pretty much confirm that our only hope is to recover the body.”
“The victim looks like a male, but we can’t be absolutely sure on that,” I uttered, almost speaking to myself.
“The anonymous caller referred to the victim as a male,” Mark Evans informed me.
“Do we have a recording of the call?” Smythe followed my train of thought; and again, I had to look his way with newfound respect. We were definitely on the same wavelength.
“No,” Garcia answered. “The call was made to Reception rather than the security office so they didn’t have the facility to record anything. Besides, the caller only stayed on the line for about five seconds; not giving anybody enough time to do much else but listen.”
“So where was the call made from?” Dobbs beat me to the next question.
“The caller used one of the public phones on Deck 12; the one at the Deck Grill to be exact,” Garcia returned.
Could this have been the murderer? If so, why would he make the call to alert us? I asked myself. “I take it the caller was male?”
Garcia nodded. “The receptionist seems fairly sure it was a man’s voice. However, we can’t be one hundred per cent sure as it all happened so fast.”
“Hmm. I think it was the murderer who placed the call. And he’s definitely male because it takes quite a lot of strength to lift a body and shove over the side,” I observed and noted the merest of nods from Smythe. For some reason, I blushed at his obvious approval.
“We made good time sailing from Sydney,” the captain informed us, bringing me back to focus. “Therefore, we can afford to wait a few hours until daylight, by which time the helicopters will arrive to help in the search for the body. Meanwhile, we can identify who’s missing from our passengers.”
Chris turned the conversation back to what I had been saying. “What makes you think the murderer called it in?” he remarked with interest.
Before I could reply, Smythe stated, “Who else could it be? We didn’t see any other people on deck at the time.”
Now it was I who nodded approval his way; then something occurred to me. “Is it possible there could have been any witnesses from the nightclub?”
“We close the club at 1.00am,” Mark Evans replied.
“But what about the employees left behind to clean up? Surely, someone must’ve seen something,” I insisted.
“We already questioned the barman and the waiting staff,” Garcia informed me. “They cleared up and went straight to bed. No one had the need to go out on deck in order to get to their cabins. Besides, we would’ve seen them on the CCTV.”
“True.” I leaned my chin on one hand, looking pensive, and brought the coffee cup to my lips with the other.
The captain turned his attention to Smythe. “You’re a police detective, I believe?”
Smythe nodded. “Yes. And I’ll be happy to work with your people.”
My head jerked up at this; but before I could say anything in protest, the captain continued speaking. “Mr Rourke assured me you’d all make a very good investigative team; and Mr Teppler’s given us permission to involve you if you’re willing.”
I caught the look of delight on Chris’s face at being included in the team. “Well, I’m pretty sure I speak for all of us when I say you can count us in, Captain,” I remarked.
There were nods all around from our group; and I thought how ironic it was that for once Smythe and I would be working on the same side, without him becoming enraged at my interference in police matters. I was beginning to enjoy the situation despite the fact that some poor soul lost his life.
Dobbs spoke, “Captain, when you said we’ll eventually report to the authorities, I take it you meant at our final destination seeing as the ship’s registered in the US. I’m an ex-detective with the Honolulu police so I’ll be happy to liaise with the authorities if you’re okay with that.”
The captain looked visibly relieved. “Thank you, Mr Dobbs. I’m not yet sure what we’re going to find, but we’ll also report the incident to the New Caledonian police in case the body ends up washing up somewhere on their shores. Then, we need to resume our trip. Mr Teppler’s a powerful man, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to get clearance from the police in Hawaii for you to lead this investigation until we arrive at our destination.”
“And in the meantime, we might just catch ourselves a murderer,” I chimed in.
Dobbs shook his head at me to be quiet, and I went back to my pensive silence.
“My department will work closely with you,” Garcia stated. “Anything you need, you’ve only to ask.”
“Thank you, Officer Garcia,” Smythe said and looked across at Dobbs. “I think the first thing we need is to plan our strategy. As for shore leave, we’ll need to confiscate everyone’s passports. We don’t want the murderer to disappear.”
Garcia nodded. “That’s not a problem. We scan every passenger’s passkey so we know exactly who goes on and off the ship at anyone time. So if someone suddenly goes missing, we’ll know about it as soon as we sail, and we can report it to the local authorities to deal with.”
Who named Smythe as officer in charge, when the captain had just announced Dobbs would lead the investigation? I felt my hackles rise for a moment, but then told myself to calm down. We were all in this together, and I wasn’t going to be the first one to rock the boat—no pun intended.
Chapter 4
None of us wanted to go back to bed after the meeting with the captain and his men; therefore, Chris suggested we find somewhere to talk.
We went to The Mariners’ Hub, a café that served coffee and cakes on Deck 5. The café, currently closed, was located to one side of the reception’s main lounge, facing the windows, and carved into a small and private nook for privacy. This made it the perfect place to meet as it was both cosy and it offered expansive views of the ocean; except at this time of night, the ocean and sky were a black void. The four of us sat in comfortable plush sofa chairs around a small square coffee table.
“Mia,” Smythe referred to me by my first name, which was another surprise seeing as he always called me “Ferrari”. I certainly had no intention of relating to him as Phil. To me, he would always be “Smythe”, my archenemy. Right now, however, I decided to call an imaginary truce with him so we could work together on the investigation.
Totally unaware of my thoughts, Smythe waited to get my attention. I glanced his way. “Yes?”
“You’re good with getting information out of people, so I suggest you have a talk to the receptionist that took the call plus any other crew member or passenger you think may be able to give us relevant information.” His official tone of comma
nd got to me despite my earlier intentions to keep the peace between us.
“Who made you the boss, Smythe? On this ship you’re a civilian, like the rest of us,” I uttered with annoyance. “Besides, the captain asked Dobbs to lead the investigation.”
Smythe frowned; and if looks could kill I’d be a dead duck. Before he could speak, however, Dobbs interceded. “Hey, you two, cut the crap right now!” Dobbs’s American accent always became more pronounced when he was upset. “Ferrari, for once try and co-operate.”
I practically jumped out of my seat. “Why is this my fault all of a sudden? And why are you letting Smythe take command?”
I noticed Chris’s look of amusement when I crossed my arms and pouted. Dobbs sighed with frustration and tried again in a cajoling tone. “Mia, we are all working together. I’m not going to pull rank on anybody. Phil’s the real cop here and I’m happy to listen to any suggestions he might have.”
I shot Smythe a furtive glance in case he dared to look smug, in which case I would have reached across the table to throttle him with my bare hands. I was disappointed. Smythe sat in silence, his eyes trained on Dobbs.
“Very well,” I muttered reluctantly. “For the time being, I’ll do what Smythe says.”
There was an almost imperceptible sigh of relief from the others and after a few seconds of silence, Smythe continued. “Chris, please help Mia in any way you can. Dobbs and I will work with the security team and review every piece of footage from all over the ship to see whether anyone was about.”
“That’s like four hundred bits of film,” Chris exclaimed at the immensity of the task.
“We’ll obviously eliminate any areas we think are irrelevant,” Smythe replied.
“Actually, Smythe, everything is relevant,” I put in forcefully. “You should be tracing the path the killer took prior to arriving on deck. The same goes for the victim.”
The South Pacific Murders Page 3