There was an antechamber with a screen at the end, and as I came in, the well-known picture of Titanic flashed up, queen of her seas: flags strung fluttering above the four raked funnels, the white layers of cabins with their long windows, the dark hull, with Nomadic bobbing tiny beside it. No wonder they had believed she was indestructible.
I didn’t have time to stare. On my left, the room opened out to brightness again. I scurried down the steps and was caught in a blaze of light, an enormous filmed tour of the ship on three sides of me as I stood with my hand on the railing before it. This was the fancy first-class saloon, with walnut panelling, gold curved chairs and starched tablecloths. The fluted wood pillars supporting the ceiling were festooned with gilded ribbons. It was so real you felt you could walk into it. The picture slid upwards again to the grand staircase, familiar from the old photographs, except that this was shining with wood and polish, the ironwork below the bannister gold and black, the cherub figure shining. Another smooth glide upwards and we were in the bridge, fifteen times the size of Sørlandet’s nav shack, with the great wheel in the centre and brass-cased instruments around it. It was here that the helmsman had received his orders, and made that last, fatal movement that turned the ship towards the iceberg.
I didn’t have time to stare. It was just as I was turning away that an arm flung itself around my shoulders, and a heavy hand gripped my collarbone, one finger digging into the hollow by my neck, sending a shudder of pain through it. The hard barrel of a gun prodded my side. ‘Do not speak,’ a voice said in my ear. He had a cold, dead voice, the kind there was no point arguing with. ‘Turn.’
Obediently, I turned, and he turned with me, his arm still round my shoulders. I saw our reflection in the glass surrounding the first-class cabin, leaning together like lovers. My face showed none of the panic I was feeling. His was as I’d remembered it: the heavy brows, the flared nostrils. My eyes met his in the glass; they were as dead as his voice. He glanced round at the other people. His voice came softly in my ear. ‘You scream, I shoot you first, then I shoot my way out of here. We will walk together.’
I took three measured breaths, and felt my heartbeat steady. Beyond our reflections, the cabin was upholstered in red, with hangings on the four-poster bed and a Récamier couch. First class. A lamp on the table punctured our reflections. Behind it, a filmed Edwardian lady in a cartwheel hat gave orders to a uniformed steward. There were people all around us, pausing as we were doing, then moving on. The grip on my shoulder pushed me forwards. The second-class cabin was not so very different from my own quarters aboard Sørlandet, with the same mahogany bed and washstand. Third class had two bunk beds, with towels hanging by the washbasin, white with a red stripe. There were still plenty of people around. I tried to think what his plan was. If he shot me here, he’d be seen, and caught. He needed to get me alone, behind a case, or in a corridor. One shot, and he’d drop my body to the floor and be out of there before the next person came.
We sauntered on, close as lovers. A case with a dinner service, festooned green and gold round the edges, and a vegetable dish with little plump legs and scrolled handles. Photographs of the pianos on board: a full-size grand for the upper classes, a simple upright for steerage. Maman would approve. The permanently texting teenager turned to look at us, then her gaze went back down to the screen in her hand. No, it had to be another teenager, for I’d left that family a couple of cars behind. My brain kept working feverishly, although my legs were trembling so hard I was afraid they might give out on me. Red velvet curtains between two glass cases. If I could get away from him, I could hide behind those. He wouldn’t want to act too soon, for the minute the alarm was given they’d close the exits. There was still the iceberg to come, and the rescue by the Carpathia, then the recovery from the depths. It wouldn’t be now.
Besides, he was enjoying this. I could feel it. He was feeding off the waves of terror I was trying so hard to control. Angels and saints, defend me. I sent a wordless cry up to my own particular saint, the warrior who’d dressed in men’s clothes, led her troops against the English and died a witch’s death in the fire. Jeanne, pucelle, aide-moi. The thought of her strengthened me. I wouldn’t let him kill me. I tried to think clearly, ignoring that hard finger pressing into my ribs. He had the gun. What advantages did I have?
Her opponents underestimated Saint Jeanne because she was small and female. I had those advantages. I was agile with my smallness. I thought of Shetland ponies who could beat larger horses around obstacle courses, switching direction and turning on themselves while the racehorses were sorting out their long legs. I couldn’t risk a chase around the cases, in these crowded rooms, but if I made a run for it I’d have an initial advantage over him. If I could get out of sight, he’d have no reason to start shooting.
We were at the end of the room now, and there was a family in front of us, filling the corridor, a short corridor, with a fire door at the end and a room to the side. We couldn’t push past them without drawing attention to ourselves. I was safe for the moment. Suddenly, like an answer to prayer, I saw my way clear if I could summon up the courage to risk making my situation worse, far worse, if I failed. Jeanne, pucelle, aide-moi. I let him feel me relax. Now we were in the side room dedicated to the sinking, with the voices of long-dead people telling the story: the cold, the ice on deck, the judder as the ship hit. On the wall was an animation of the ship hitting the iceberg, settling, then gradually tilting forward as her bows filled so that her stern reared upward, the propellers turning in air. The family were bang in front of it; I watched over their shoulders. With a rush, the water inside her streamed forward, the stern shot skywards and she plunged down. I felt sick watching it, thinking of the people trapped below, the people on deck flung from the ship to hit the ice-hard water, only to be sucked down in the ship’s wash. The voices went on over my head.
He was watching me. As the family moved onwards, past the stories of those who didn’t survive – Mrs Straus, who refused to be separated from her husband, the band who played on – his hand gripped my shoulder, holding me within the room. I couldn’t afford to let this old tragedy distract me. I thought again of St Jeanne in her armour, with her standard of the royal lily flowers. He was playing with me. I wasn’t sure I’d really believed in evil, but now I felt it coming off him. He knew where he was going, and he was enjoying seeing how far he could stretch out my nerves. These children bouncing about two yards ahead of us were my reminder of what he could do if I panicked. Then, horribly, as if the tension between us was a phone line, I felt the thought in his head: regret that he was going to shoot me instead of cutting my throat and feeling my blood run thickly over his fingers. I saw it, and the thought gave me courage.
The phone vibrated against my hip. It was on the side furthest from him. I didn’t react, and nor did he. If you don’t answer, we’ll know you’re in trouble. I needed to save myself before they sent in the cavalry.
There was an arrow pointing to a door in the corner. The father of the family opened it to let the others through, and a waft of Céline Dion came in through the opened door, and was silenced as they let it swing to behind them. Now we were alone. If I ran, he’d expect me to go forwards. Suddenly, faster than thought, I dropped to the floor, dodged between his legs and went back, vaulting over the bench in the middle of the room to get to the door. I banged the fire door open, then, on blessedly silent feet, bolted back along the ten yards of corridor and dived behind the red velvet curtains.
I hardly dared breathe. There was an alcove behind the curtain with an internal window, just broad enough to let me croog into it, so that there would be no tell-tale bulge.
I’d got there just in time. He came pounding out of the iceberg room, head hunkered into his bull neck, nostrils flaring, looking around as if he could scent me. He glanced towards this room, then back at the fire door, slowly swinging closed on its pneumatic stop. Another long, suspicious look. I closed my eyes and prayed.
Then I he
ard the clunk of the fire-door bar, and my eyes shot open again. He was shoving it forwards. A glance over his shoulder, then he had his gun in his hand and he was through. I felt dizzy with relief.
I couldn’t stay here. I didn’t know where the fire door led to, or how far he’d go before he came back. I had to move.
The corridor was still empty, except for the texting teenager. I took a deep breath and willed myself forward, like a soldier going into battle. I dived along it on silent feet, scuttled through the iceberg room and reached the corridor beyond. A blast of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ met me. That would cover any noise I made. I bolted like a hunted hare between the film posters: Atlantic, Cavalcade, A Night to Remember, The Unsinkable Molly Brown, Kate Winslet standing in the bows, arms spread.
As I went I fumbled for my phone, and pressed the shortcut to Gavin. I had to let them know what was happening.
‘I’ve got away from him,’ I said, not giving him a chance to speak. Behind me, I heard the snick of a door. There was a set of stairs ahead of me. I swung down them. ‘I think he’s gone out of the fire exit between the cabins room and the iceberg room. He’s armed. I’m getting out of here as fast as I can.’
There was a choice of doors next, and nothing to tell me which one I should go through. ‘Discovery Theatre’ turned out to be a film of the wreck. I scuttled through an empty row, out of the other side of it, and down more stairs to a darkened room with a glass floor above a montage of the wreck, which glowed eerily below us. The attendant was showing a family how to use machines to hone in on the objects scattered around it: a china cup, a doll, a boot. On the seabed all around the ship lay pairs of boots, leather outlasting flesh and bone. I felt sick.
Beyond the attendant was a door with the blessed word EXIT. I came out into the light, with the sun-glint on the water shining through an industrial-size window. I could hear the buzz of talk, the clatter of cups from the restaurant. I scurried down the last flight of stairs and ran the twenty yards into the bustle of the entrance hall.
Gavin was standing by the door, eyes roving round the hall. He saw me, and his whole face lightened with relief. I ran into his arms, and couldn’t say anything for a moment. I was trembling as if I had the flu. He held me tight with one arm, and brought his phone up with the other. ‘She’s out. Safe and sound. In the entrance hall.’ He nodded. ‘Sir.’
‘Did you get him?’ My voice sounded like an old lady’s.
He shook his head. ‘We’ll keep watching.’ He put his phone back in his pocket. ‘There’s a police car coming for us. Straight into it.’
I could scarcely walk. His arm supported me, strong with the fear he’d felt when I hadn’t answered the phone. He didn’t need to say it; I knew, and gripped his hand as if I’d never let it go. I willed my legs to take me as far as the car, but when we reached it they gave way under me and I dropped into the back seat, limp and trembling. Gavin came around to the other door, and slid in beside me. ‘Safe now.’ His arm came up around my shoulders. ‘Safe.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I was bundled out of the car and into the police station, where they found an unused interview office, and installed me in it. I did my best to take them through what had happened, and confirmed Bezrukov’s identity. Just looking at the picture of him made me cold inside.
‘Once you’d given him the slip,’ CI Beattie said, ‘once he realised it, then he must have made straight for the outside.’
‘I didn’t dare phone sooner,’ I said.
He gave my shoulder a pat. ‘You did very well, girl, very well indeed. Trust an Irishwoman to keep her head. Now, we’ve not quite done with your man, but I think he’d be happier keeping an eye on you for the moment. Where do you want to go?’
I didn’t need to think about it. ‘My ship. Sørlandet.’
Gavin frowned. ‘That’s where he’ll look for you. I was going to book us a hotel room.’
I thought of being in the neutral colours of a strange hotel, even with Gavin, and shook my head. ‘No. No. I’ll be fine aboard. I’m on duty from six anyway – this party on board. I’ll have a lie down till then.’ I could see he wasn’t happy, and made with the words. ‘I’ll feel safer there. Really I will. He gave me a bad fright. I need to be home.’
He still looked doubtful.
‘The crew will be there. Nils’s watch is on duty now, and everyone will be about for the party.’
‘We can’t spare an extra man to guard her, with all these shenanigans around the docks,’ CI Beattie told Gavin, ‘but you’ve got our number. There are plenty of officers about.’
He nodded, reluctantly.
‘Besides,’ CI Beattie added, ‘if he’s watching, he’ll know she’s told us everything she knows. He’ll know we’ve got his mugshot now. There’s no more threat she can be to him.’
He hadn’t felt that thread of hatred. I’d seen him. I’d caused the search in Stavanger. Now I’d outwitted him. On the other hand, I tried to console myself, he must have come to Belfast for a purpose, and dealing with me wasn’t part of that. He wouldn’t have known I’d be at the Titanic museum just then; that was my bad luck, to run straight into him. When a felon’s not engaged in his employment … sang my head, suddenly. Why shouldn’t assassins go looking at museums? Or maturing his felonious little plans … I was getting light-headed. Time I was home.
The police car ran us back through the jumble of docks and right onto the quay. The loudspeakers were blaring out thump-thump music. A stream of folk were waiting at Sørlandet’s gangplank, and her deck was garish with shifting summer clothes: white, pink, orange, acid green. We made our way through them, and I collapsed on my berth while Gavin boiled the kettle. Cat came straight to my chest, purring in welcome, his soft fur soothing under my still-trembling fingers. ‘A close one,’ I told him. He opened his mouth in his soundless mew, his yellow eyes staring straight into mine. I’ve had enough of this, I thought at him. In the last two years I’ve been hit on the head, left in a Neolithic tomb, shot, nearly drowned. I’m not tough enough to take it any more. A quiet life on a Highland farm, where the biggest excitement was the ram getting loose, suddenly seemed an attractive option. But murder had followed me even there … perhaps I was murder-prone, just as some people are hit multiple times by lightning, or some only have to get on a ship for it to sink. Whatever it was, I was sick of it. I didn’t want to be a target. I wanted peace.
Gavin came in then with the hot chocolate. ‘I made it a white one, since you were having a bad day.’ He handed it to me and sat down on the settee, and gave me a sideways glance. ‘You’re OK? Really OK?’
I nodded. ‘Scared but unhurt.’
He laughed at that. ‘Oh, you, scared!’ His hand lay warm on my belly. ‘I told them you’d keep a cool head. All the same, a peaceful race back to Kristiansand would be just fine.’
I remembered what Agnetha had said. Dismissed … I might not be still on board. But Captain Gunnar hadn’t said anything yet, and he’d had all morning to call me aside. Besides, I told myself, my ship needed me. Without Mike, there was nobody to fill my place.
‘What’s wrong?’ Gavin said.
I made a face. I wasn’t sure I could explain it in words.
‘The rumours about you being mad and responsible for Mike’s death?’ he asked.
I nodded. His arm tightened over me. ‘CI Beattie’s in charge of the investigation now. Sergeant Peterson and I have handed our conclusions so far over to him.’ His grey eyes looked straight into mine. ‘There’s nothing to link you with the crime more than anyone else. I promise you.’
Relief flooded me. ‘You’re sure?’
‘We’re sure your jacket and hat were worn by somebody else. The two witnesses who were in the best position to see were sure the person was taller than you. Your jacket and hat are at the lab now, being checked for prints and hairs.’
I felt as if my chest had suddenly filled with helium, like a balloon. ‘I’m off the hook?’
‘Hair m
atching’s not a precise science yet, but I can confirm that there are hairs that don’t look like yours.’
The lightness left me. ‘Do you know … whose?’
He shook his head. I didn’t know whether that meant he didn’t know, or that he couldn’t tell me. ‘You’re not completely cleared. But you’re too new a crew member to have smuggled Bezrukov aboard, so your only possible motive would have been psychopathic, and you’ve given CI Beattie a very good example of how sane you are under pressure.’
I let out a long breath, closing my eyes for a moment. I pushed the thought of those silver-fair hairs away from me. The police would find the guilty person, and we’d have peace again. ‘Then we can have fun all the way to Kristiansand.’
He gave me a teasing look. ‘Fun, while your ship’s racing?’
I conceded that one. ‘When we’re off duty.’
We stayed in the cabin in peace while the tourists clumped on the deck above us. Gavin fished his tablet out of his pocket and read, while I dozed, one hand still curved round Cat’s back, his breathing warm under my fingers, one hand touching Gavin’s back. From time to time we looked at each other, and smiled.
At half past four, the noises over our head changed. The excited feet of children clattered off over the gangway and were replaced by the shuffle of people carrying boxes across the gangplank. A good number of them had the sound of bottles clinking. There were heavy thuds as amplifiers were set down, and the metallic clang of a band setting up its microphones, the whoof of speakers being plugged in. I stretched and swung my legs down. ‘Shall we go and find something to eat on the pier, before I change into my officer-on-parade outfit?’
Gavin nodded. Eating whatever you could snatch in passing was something police officers and ship’s crew shared. I put Cat’s harness on, and we went out on deck.
Death in Shetland Waters Page 25