Death in Shetland Waters

by Marsali Taylor

  A human chain of black-clad waiters was passing the boxes along and piling them up beside the banjer. Henrik was in charge, pointing out where they were to go. As we waited for the gangplank to clear, a man with an air of being in charge of catering came across, directing four minions with a pair of whisky boxes each. They were set down further along, past the galley door. Henrik nodded, and gave the man an envelope. The man turned away with a wave of his hand, and Henrik himself started taking the boxes into the galley. It was all a bit odd … and then enlightenment dawned. Merchandise … as planned, Thursday …

  ‘Spirits,’ I said.

  Gavin gave me a quizzical look. ‘Ghosts or alcohol?’

  I realised that I hadn’t mentioned the white boxes in the cold store to him. That was ship’s business, and if it was what I was thinking, I’d keep not mentioning it. I tucked my arm into his. ‘Let’s get off. I think I saw a crêpe place, if you fancy that. Crêpe au jambon fromage.’

  He followed me across the gangplank, and took my arm again at the other side. ‘Spirits?’

  ‘I think you’d rather not know.’ I’d been thinking wine bottles, but spirits cost the earth in Norway, and the ship would be giving a party for Captain Gunnar’s retirement in August. If Henrik had had the bright idea of asking the catering company for this party to supply him with, say, four dozen bottles of whisky at catering prices … I paused to sniff the air. ‘Paella?’

  ‘No. Nor Mexican. There’s a French flag over there.’ He steered me towards it, and we ordered two jambon-fromage and two sucrée-citron, for pudding. We found an empty table at the open-air bar, and sat down. Cat jumped up into my lap and sniffed at the crêpe triangle. I gave him a bit with cheese and ham, and kept thinking. I should have recognised Captain Gunnar’s voice, even in Norwegian. Four dozen bottles at a saving of, say, £15 a bottle, would mean he could have a send-off where the whisky flowed like water.

  ‘Would what you’re mulling over be worth killing for?’ Gavin asked.

  I shook my head. ‘A one-off fiddle worth about £720.’ The crêpe smelt like I’d bought it in France. I managed to get the cone balanced in my hand and took a mouthful of crispy edge, generously scattered with cheese. ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Good,’ Gavin agreed. He took another bite, and went into thought-reading mode. ‘If it’s something to do with your steward buying cheap drink, would it be a sacking offence?’

  ‘Only if customs found out about it and there was a stink likely to damage the good name of the ship. Which I don’t think there would be.’ I took another mouthful and found ham, encased in cheese. I passed Cat another bit. ‘A fine maybe, from customs. That could be substantial. A rap over the knuckles from the office.’

  We ate steadily, and watched the caterers set up on board: tables, white cloths, rows of glasses, ice buckets. The band had installed themselves under the banjer overhang, four men in waistcoats and bow ties, with guitars. The lead singer had a Blues-Brothers hat and shades. I sighed, and negotiated the last lemony bit of my sucrée-citron corner. ‘Time I was getting into my best uniform.’

  ‘I haven’t been invited,’ Gavin said. ‘I’ll watch from here.’

  ‘Have a Guinness on me.’ I rose. ‘Come on, Cat.’

  I transformed myself into Best Third Mate, stripes and all, and headed back on deck. Erik was at the aft banjer steps, getting into his climbing harness. ‘Cass, fancy a trip up the mast?’

  ‘I’d be delighted, but why?’

  ‘We have an acrobat.’ He made a face. ‘A trapeze artiste. She’s just arrived, and we have to go up with her and check where she attaches her ropes.’

  The crew harnesses hung at the aft steps, ready for a quick grab. I flipped quickly through them and found Mona’s, which fitted me without too much adjustment. My pockets were empty. Legs, arms, front buckle, red is dead.

  The trapeze artiste was dressed in a scarlet leotard which glittered with sequins. ‘Celestine,’ she introduced herself. She waved away the climbing harness, looped her coil of rope around one shoulder, flicked back her long hair and followed me up the ratlines.

  It was good to be climbing. I felt the wind in my hair as soon as we were fifteen feet above deck level. The taped wires felt easy and familiar in my grasp, and the wooden spars were solid under my feet. Below us, a coach drew up at the gangplank, and our guests spilt out of it, men in crisp striped shirts and aftershave I could smell from up here, women with sparkling off-the-shoulder dresses, mask-like make-up and stiletto heels. They poured onto the ship, hooting with laughter as if they’d had a drink or two already, and by the time I reached the first platform they’d all got a glass in hand. The band launched into ‘That’s Amore’, followed, predictably, by ‘I am Sailing’. I clicked on for the familiar up-and-over, arrived on the platform and reached down to take Celestine’s rope. She swung herself up in one fluid movement, and looked around. ‘Sure, this is fine for height. Any higher and they won’t be able to see me.’

  The band ceased, and Henrik took the microphone to do a formal welcome to the ship, smooth as best Laphroaig. Celestine ignored him. ‘I need safe fixing points for these clips, well clear of the mast here.’

  I gave the yard wires an assessing look. ‘What do you think, Erik?’

  He had a puzzled look, one hand fiddling with the loop around his right leg as if it was too tight. He let go of it, and turned to me. ‘We could put it from the fixings that hold the foot wires. They should easily be strong enough. Then a safety line to the platform.’

  Celestine nodded, and watched as he slid forward along the line, her rope hooked round his elbow. Below us, faces turned upwards.

  Erik had secured the lines and was making his way back to us when he gave a choked cry, as if he’d had a sudden spasm of pain. He stopped on the lines and put his hand down to his harness. His eyes opened wide in shock, and the hand came back up red with blood. Then the blood spouted out from his thigh. There was a scream from below, a panicky milling as the bright office workers moved away from the dark arterial blood that was spilling on their shining heads, into their drinks, over their shaking hands and party clothes.

  I couldn’t understand what had happened, but I knew we had to act quickly. I stretched out a hand to get him back on the platform, but I was already too late. The hand that was still curved over the yard slid backwards. He slumped away from the spar and dropped, feet twanging the wire as they relinquished it.

  The safety harness held him. He swung below the wire, horizontal, with his head, legs, arms drooping away from the hook in the centre of his chest. His mouth was open, his eyes searching mine for understanding of what had happened. Below him, the deck ran red with blood.

  EIGHT BELLS

  Belfast

  Friday 3rd July

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Stanley knife blades,’ Gavin said, ‘probably from the carpenter’s shop. They were sewn into his harness, just where they would rub against his femoral artery.’

  He was facing us all over breakfast. We had filed in silently and taken our places. Captain Gunnar, at the head of the table, had extra wrinkles on his face and a defeated slump to his shoulders. Henrik was crumbling his bread on his plate; Rolf’s grin was quenched. Sadie kept taking her phone out of her pocket, then putting it back. Nils and Agnetha were white-faced, and Jenn looked as if she hadn’t slept. Anders had Rat curled round his neck under his shirt, as if comforting him.

  It felt like we’d been up all night. The shocked executives had been herded to one end of the deck, with Agnetha and I taking care of the two women who’d been directly below Erik as he fell. We’d showed them where the shower was, given them toiletries and towels, and found them spare togs to replace their blood-drenched finery. When they’d come out, we’d given them sweet tea and biscuits and done our best to soothe their shuddering horror. By then the police had talked briefly to everyone else. There wasn’t anything they could tell. None of them had been on the ship long enough to doctor a harness, but they still
had to be interviewed and soothed. At last we got them back on their coach, with Erik’s death already turned into a gruesome anecdote to be recounted with hushed horror to their family tonight, and with Gothic panache at their workplaces on Monday. Several had videoed it on their phones. It was probably on YouTube already. Heaven guard me from this modern land-world.

  He had died from blood loss within a few minutes of falling from the yard. Rolf and Nils fixed up a pulley to lower him down to the police stretcher. Once we’d got rid of the coach party, we’d got into working clothes and scrubbed the deck over and over, until the red water ran clear. We’d just managed to finish when the first of the trainees returned.

  I’d gone to bed then, exhausted. I’d had enough; I wanted oblivion. I’d been almost asleep when Gavin had come to bed at last. He slipped in beside me, and held me to him. I could feel he didn’t want to talk. We’d held each other in silence until sleep took us.

  Stanley knife blades … I remembered that picture that had come into my head in the Titanic museum, as Bezrukov had held me, of my blood running over his fingers, and shuddered. I remembered Erik’s puzzled look, his fumbling with the thigh straps as he’d felt the prick of the blades.

  It would have been easy enough to take his harness and doctor it. The crew harnesses were named, to save constant readjustment of the straps. I tried to remember when Erik had last used his. Not for several days; we’d had no sails up since approaching Orkney, and then, when everyone had been climbing on our approach to Belfast, he’d supervised from deck level. But why Erik?

  Gavin was looking around us all, face shadowed, official. ‘I can’t go into details at the moment, but we believe that the person responsible is now off the ship.’

  Agnetha moistened her pale lips. ‘Did he kill Mike too?’ she asked. ‘Was that the person Cass saw?’

  She was looking at me. I wasn’t sure how to react. It hadn’t been Bezrukov who’d walked up the stairs with Mike.

  Gavin cut in smoothly. ‘We haven’t finished our investigation on that.’ He spread his hands in a That’s all I can say gesture. ‘I hope that this unhappy period aboard is now finished with. There may still be some forensic investigation on board, but we’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible.’

  We finished our breakfast in a gloomy silence. I was just rising at the end of it, when Captain Gunnar took me aside. ‘I have phoned Erik’s wife. She was naturally very shocked. I hope that the Norwegian police will send round a counsellor, but you knew her too, did you not?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You would perhaps call her after muster this morning, for the ship, and see how she is.’

  ‘Sir.’

  I’d thought all the trainees had been busy sampling Belfast nightlife, but as they lined up I saw that the story had gone round. They had a tendency to huddle together, eyeing up the place beside Mona and Petter where Erik would have stood. Captain Gunnar squared his shoulders and came out among them. He didn’t go into details, simply said that there had been an accident aboard while Erik had been helping set up the trapeze for the acrobat. It emphasised the need for care in the rig at all times, he added. Then he stepped back to let Jenn take over with the schedules for the morning’s activities, and then the timetable for the afternoon’s parade through the streets. Henrik distributed Tall Ships T-shirts and the wristbands to let them into the party, and then dismissed them, light-hearted again and chattering like parrots about where they were going to spend the morning.

  I gave them ten minutes to get away, then headed up to the foredeck, phone in hand. It was going to be a bonny, warm day. The sky was marbled with clouds, and the light breeze spread the flags. Music thump-thumped from the fairground already, lights flashed from the Ferris wheel as it turned, and the first strollers were walking along the pier, rubbernecking the boats. We would be open to visitors from ten o’clock.

  I took a deep breath, then clicked on Micaela’s house number. Erik, it said in my phone. I felt that sharp pang of unreality. There was no Erik now. She answered on the third ring. ‘Cass. I hoped you would phone.’

  There was the noise of children behind her, excited, as if they were about to go out on a picnic. ‘Elena, Alexander, silencio! Estoy en el teléfono.’

  There were scufflings, shooings, Micaela saying, ‘Vayan al jardín!’ then silence.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked. It was a stupid question. ‘And the children?’

  ‘I haven’t told them yet. Later.’ She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, then repeated, ‘Later. Once things are settled.’

  ‘Has it been on the news in Norway?’

  ‘Only a short item, that there had been a death on board Sørlandet, and that the police were investigating.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Yes. They did not give his name, so I have not had any phone calls from the press.’

  I was glad of that. I’d only had one encounter with the press in full cry, during the longship affair, and that once had been plenty. Micaela had enough to cope with.

  ‘When Captain Gunnar phoned last night, it was too much of a shock. I couldn’t ask all the questions …’ Her voice wavered, and steadied again. ‘Were you there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Captain Gunnar said it was an accident in the rig. Did he fall?’

  There was no easy way of putting it. I took a deep breath. ‘No. Somebody killed him.’ I couldn’t bear to go into the details. ‘I was right beside him. It was very quick, Micaela. It sounds awful, but he didn’t suffer. He was dead before any of us could do anything to help.’

  There was a long, heavy silence, so long that I thought she’d put the phone down. At last she spoke again, her voice dull. ‘I knew it would happen.’

  She left another silence. I waited.

  ‘He told me he had said no to them. After Mike’s death. He told the Russian to tell them, not again.’

  I felt a coldness in my chest. ‘Erik brought Bezrukov on board?’

  ‘All of them,’ Micaela said. She hesitated. ‘I did not tell Captain Gunnar, but you will explain to him. Please, tell him I am sorry. He was sorry. He wanted it to end.’

  All of them? I waited, my mobile cold in my hand.

  ‘You know that we met on a beach,’ Micaela said. ‘It was a beach in … well, the country does not matter. We came off the boat which had brought us from my own country. There was a patrol boat not far behind us, so we ran the boat straight up the beach, and got out, and began running for the forest behind it – palm trees and undergrowth where we could hide. There were people on the beach, a party, with a driftwood fire. They watched us as we ran. I didn’t know it then, but it was a ship’s crew. Not Sørlandet – the ship Erik was on, Belle Etoile. And then I tripped. I was dazzled by the firelight, and I fell over, and I was so tired and cold and frightened that I could not get up again; my legs would not hold me. Erik came over to help me.’

  She paused. I could hear that she was crying as the moment relived itself in her head. ‘We looked at each other in the firelight, and fell in love, just like that. Then the patrol boat arrived, filled with men with guns, and beached itself by our boat, and the men jumped out. Erik pulled his shirt off and flung it round me, and I fumbled my arms into the sleeves, and there I was, dressed as a member of the ship. We sat down at the fire with the others. Someone passed me a tourist cap, and a tin of drink, and when the officials came over to us, I was part of the group, with Erik’s arm around me. I watched as they went into the forest. I heard the shots. They brought some of them back. My uncle, and one of my cousins, and some of the others. I do not know what happened to the rest of our boatload. They punctured the boat which had brought us, and left it. Erik kept his arm around me, and when he returned to the ship, I went with him. I stayed with the ship, working, until we came back to Norway. Then I came ashore, to Erik’s house. I was Erik’s wife, who he’d met and married abroad. Erik got the post on Sørlandet, and was home more, instead of roaming the world. The children were born –
I had to go to a private clinic for that; because I had no papers, I was not on the Norwegian health service, but we managed to scrape the money together. We were happy.’

  Her voice hardened. ‘Then the phone call came. A man who knew all about me. He threatened to tell the authorities, unless Erik would arrange to smuggle a person on Sørlandet. He would make sure the person got on board while he was on the gangplank, and then that person simply kept out of the way, mingled with the trainees, and left the ship at the destination port. Perhaps they were carrying drugs … he did not ask. After the first time, there was a payment made to our account, a hundred thousand kroner, and we did not know what to do. If we tried to go to the police, they would say we’d taken payment. Erik would be put in prison, I would be sent back to the country I had escaped, and perhaps the children too, because we weren’t actually married, so we feared they might not be Norwegian citizens either. The laws are harsh. We didn’t dare risk it.’ Her voice pleaded. ‘It was not often. One person, two or three times a year, from different ports.’

  She hesitated. ‘You understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ I said.

  ‘You will tell the captain how it came about?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that Erik was sorry. He did not want to do it. He died because he would not do it any more. He told the Russian that.’

  I heard Erik’s voice in my head: Sometimes what felt like the right thing was actually wrong after all, and then trouble multiplies from it, and you’re left with a choice of wrongs.

  ‘I’ll tell him.’ I paused. ‘Micaela, what about you? Will you be OK?’

  ‘Yes. I will see you back in Kristiansand, in ten days. We will talk then. Goodbye, Cass.’ She hung up, and I was left with the phone in my hand, making sense of it all. Now I understood Micaela’s air of strain as she’d said goodbye. Poor Micaela, poor Erik, living with this threat hanging over them. I didn’t know what I’d have done, had it been me. I tried to imagine Gavin stumbling up a beach, with armed men after him, and knew I couldn’t have handed him over.