‘This is the life,’ he said. ‘What a beautiful island.’
‘It certainly is,’ I said. ‘As long as you don’t get murdered on-board.’
‘I apologize for not having more time to talk to you, Casey. Have you ten minutes now?’
‘As long as you promise not to sweep me off my feet and kiss me in front of several hundred returning passengers,’ I said.
He grinned. ‘I should very much like to do that, but since you are hoping to keep your air of cool elegance, I promise not to. It will be difficult, but I’ll do my best.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, hiding a smile. I had changed out of my crumpled shore clothes and was back in uniform. ‘Let’s go to my favourite place and have a cream tea. Very English and sustaining if you miss a few meals.’
‘I’ve missed a lot of meals. I can’t get used to the times. I always turn up just as some food outlet is closing.’
Food outlet. Head Office would love that.
The Terrace Café was empty. Most passengers were still ashore. Elba was a novelty and they were making the most of the time. I collected a tray of tea, home-made scones, jam and dish of cream. Bruce Everton had spotted a free table on deck but in some shade. It was still very hot and the sun was a furnace. We had a view of the harbour.
‘This is perfect,’ he said with a grateful smile. ‘Thank you. Everyone is so busy on board. You are always so busy. It’s nice to find an oasis of calm.’
‘Have you felt neglected?’ I asked.
‘I feel neglected, in the way, and a nuisance. Death isn’t taken seriously on board this ship. It’s as if it’s another diversion, but nothing that must interfere with eating or entertainment.’
I was shocked at his sarcasm. ‘No, surely, not as bad as that. That’s awful. The passengers were naturally upset about Mrs Belcher. Many knew her. The professor was different. They hardly knew him. They don’t get to know our lecturers that well until further into the cruise.’
‘I’ve been interviewing everyone who knew Mrs Belcher, all the passengers with cabins along the same section of the ship, also their table companions. All I’ve got is that they argued a lot. I’ve interviewed all the other lecturers and your arts and crafts people. Nobody knew the professor. He had a cabin to himself and was not much of a mixer.’
‘You might as well interview every single passenger on board. And the entire crew and the stewards. Everyone is a suspect. I guess I’m still a suspect but you are kind enough to pretend that I’m not.’
‘I could demand that the whole cruise is called off and the ship and passengers return to Southampton for investigation,’ he said, biting into a scone heavily laden with jam and cream. ‘Then they might take some notice. They regard my questions as an intrusion on their holiday.’
‘I understand your feelings of frustration,’ I said, stirring my tea. I wanted to drink and drink. I was dehydrated. ‘But the killer is still on board. You have more chance of arresting him at sea than you have in Southampton. He’ll disappear in minutes once we dock. He’ll slip away and you’ll have no chance of finding him. Why not hold a meeting, all the officers, heads of departments, and hammer home how important this is? They might take some notice then and come up with titbits of information that’ll help you.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ he said. He was a nice-looking but ordinary man, yet his eyes were full of honesty like beams from a lighthouse. They were pale blue, dancing with light, outlined by fair eyebrows. Eyes are the mirror of the soul. I’d read that somewhere. I could see his soul but I couldn’t read it.
‘Do you want to hear what else is happening?’ I said, letting the cream and jam pack calories into my gut. ‘We’ve the ongoing Ember saga and the missing singer.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ he said, letting some of the frustration roll off him. ‘Why don’t you tell me? I might learn something from your methods of deduction, find them instructive.’
So I unburdened my soul and he listened. He listened like a policeman, not like a soul mate or a friend. But it was good because he did not interrupt or make me feel like a fool. He did ask leading questions.
‘This Miss Lucinda Ember,’ he said. ‘Has she got a criminal record?’
‘Heavens, I’ve no idea and no way of finding out. I only know that the other cruise ships of the Conway Blue Line were not eager to have her company. In fact, they refused to take her on board.’
‘I can find out for you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got my laptop with me and can access most of our databases. Of course, it might only be a few parking tickets, but it all helps to build up a profile.’
I liked that phrase. Building up a profile. It summed up what I did most of the time for passengers, entertainers and some of the crew. But Dr Samuel Mallory was still a mystery to me. I couldn’t build up anything about him.
‘Thank you. That would be a great help.’
It was not long before all the tenders were secured back on deck, and the usual announcements were made for missing passengers. Miss Ember was not missing. Then the Countess weighed anchor, swung off her anchorage and proceeded out. We set a westerly course, heading towards Calvi.
‘There’s a legend, you know,’ I said finishing the last of the tea. ‘That Christopher Columbus was from Calvi. At that time it was part of the Genoese empire.’
‘Almost every port in the Mediterranean claims Columbus as its famous son,’ said Bruce Everton, grinning. ‘His mother certainly got around.’
‘And we don’t even know who she was.’
‘That’s history for you. The unknown Mrs Columbus. Mary was the only mother ever to became famous. Every other mother has vanished into the mists of time. Thank you, Casey, for a pleasant and informative afternoon. Can I call you Casey? Miss Jones is rather formal.’
‘Only call me Miss Jones if you are coming to arrest me.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ he said solemnly. ‘But I doubt if it’s a possibility. You are transparently honest.’
It was a nice compliment but not entirely accurate. I knew I could lie like the best of them. Sometimes it was necessary to lie. Social lies I call them. We all need them at times.
‘Dora Belcher came back to have her hair done,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t that a little strange?’ I asked. ‘Especially when she’d had it done the day before.’
‘The ways of you ladies are a mystery,’ said Bruce.
Dawn Charmans, the dance captain, was racing across the deck towards me, blonde hair flying. She could move fast when she had to. There was a show starting in about twenty minutes. I had to change too, into some glad rags. Something cool and floaty for tonight.
‘Case, hang on a minute, girl, I got something to tell you.’
‘Can’t it wait? We haven’t time to talk. You’re cutting it fine. We’re both cutting it fine.’
‘I can get into my first costume, slap on some make-up, and be on stage in ten minutes flat. It’s checking the others wot takes the time.’
‘So?’ I was itching for a shower, literally itching. Elba was a dusty island. I hadn’t decided what to wear yet.
‘That non-appearing artiste, the so-called famous cabaret singer, Miss Judie Garllund. Well, I’ve found her. Howd’ya like that? Got time for me now?’
‘Right. Talk as we walk,’ I said, heading her toward the theatre.
Twenty
Corsica
There was no way I was going to get ashore on Corsica, not after the information that Dawn gave me yesterday. I had to stay on-board while we entered one of the most beautiful gulfs of the Mediterranean, and anchored half a mile north of Calvi harbour.
So no long and cool swim for me at the town beach which was tantalizingly close to the harbour. Such clear blue water. It was only a twenty minute walk, along the front, through palm-lined gardens, past small shops and hotels. The last time I was there, I burnt the soles of my feet on the hot sand.
It was time to help Detective Chief Inspector Everton. I had discovered some clues, including t
he whereabouts of Miss Judie Garllund. But for the time being, she could stay where she was, out of sight, out of trouble. She was not likely to surface. My chatting around would not attract any attention. I was always talking to people, on deck, below deck, stateroom or my lady’s chamber.
No one had discovered a motive for the death of Professor Papados. Dr Mallory had assumed it was natural causes although he had that theory about an insulin jab. At least that’s what he told me, but then he did not always give me straight answers. Protecting me from the truth, he called it.
I went into the bar where the professor had collapsed. It was a small side bar without a name, where passengers went for a bit of peace and quiet, wanting to escape from the masses. The barman was an amiable Irishman with unruly dark hair called Paddy. No one knew his real name. He sailed all the cruises. I don’t think he had a home to go home to.
‘Hi, there, Paddy,’ I said. ‘How are things?’
‘Quietened down a bit now, miss,’ he said. ‘We were on the sightseeing circuit after the poor professor copped it, here on the floor. A real gentleman, he was. Didn’t even need to clean the carpet.’
‘I’m sure the carpet was cleaned,’ I said, not sure if this was an obscure Irish joke. ‘How did he seem before he died?’
‘Not himself, miss,’ said Paddy, polishing some glasses till they sparkled. He didn’t hold with our newfangled dishwashers. There were always smears. ‘He didn’t seem all there which was unusual in such an educated man. Like he’d lost his sense of reality.’
This was a strange thing for Paddy to say. ‘Did he look any different?’
‘He did, miss. He was very hot.’
‘But it was getting hot.’
‘This bar is air-conditioned and his face was bright red. He was drinking a lot, had got awful thirsty all of a sudden. Normally he was a one drink man and he made it last.’
‘Alcohol?’
‘No, it was coke. One bottle after the other. He said his mouth was dry.’
‘Was there anyone with him?’ I asked.
‘No, he was on his own, as usual. Except that singer woman was with him for a bit, earlier on. Judy Garland, as she calls herself, same as that famous star. She came in here, all dolled up, trying to chat him up but he’d have none of it. Sent her packing quite sharpish.’
‘Judie Garllund? Are you sure about that?’
‘Perfectly, miss. She was chatting away to him about nothing, trying to cadge free drinks, for sure. I know the type.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing really, except that he got even more hot and angry and dry. He was quite aggressive before he collapsed, not like his normal self at all. It was very strange.’
‘Was Miss Garllund still with him?’
‘No, she’d gone before then.’
Paddy poured me an orange juice, added ice and a few slices of fruit, and pushed it across the counter to me. I thanked him.
‘Did he happen to mention Miss Lucinda Ember at all?’
‘Funny you should ask that, miss, but he did,’ said Paddy. ‘He asked me if she ever came into this bar. It was as if he didn’t want to see her. I told him she never did. He was safe from her in here. He looked relieved and asked for some water. He said he was very hot. Suddenly he sort of staggered and collapsed, unconscious like, and the doctor came. It was touch and go. The good doctor almost saved him, the blessed man.’
‘I know. Dr Mallory was pretty upset about it. One other thing, do you remember if the professor had a mobile phone on him when he died?’
‘That was another thing he was going on about,’ said Paddy. ‘Somehow he’d lost his phone and he was annoyed. Said it had some special photos on it that he wanted to get printed out for you. That’s right. He said you had to have them. It was important, he said. Don’t reckon nobody’s getting them printed now.’
I felt a tremor of apprehension and it wasn’t only the clinking of ice at the bottom of the glass. The professor’s mobile phone was missing. What else was missing? It was like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces gone astray. A motive was missing for a start. But something weird was nagging my memory and I didn’t know what it was.
I thanked Paddy for the juice again and left the bar. I passed the Bond Street shopping gallery and stopped at the window where the Chanel dress had draped the model. If only that model could talk. She had her head back on now and was wearing a shore-going outfit. Blazer and cotton trench jeans, jaunty cap.
Richard had traced the photo of Lucinda Ember on the model back to the ship’s photo gallery. They always displayed recent photographs taken by the ship’s photographers for passengers to buy. Someone had lifted a head and shoulders shot of Lucinda Ember and glued it to the model’s face.
Suddenly I saw something that I hadn’t noticed before. The beauty counters were laid out right behind the window show case. There were several gilt-edged mirrors so that shoppers could try out the various cosmetics.
What was intriguing was that the mirrors were angled, so they also reflected people standing in other parts of the shop. What if Professor Papados had noticed that, knew that his photos of the dress also contained the reflection of someone in the shop? Someone you would not expect to see there. Someone who should not have been there?
It was a possibility and an intriguing thought. It could also be a motive for getting rid of the professor before he told anyone. Why did I keep saying ‘get rid of’ when he had died of a heart attack, a natural death? It was not a comfortable thought. I had to tell someone my suspicions.
But who should I tell? Collision course, Casey.
*
Morning surgery was still busy. Passengers were waiting outside the doctor’s consulting room, idling through current glossy magazines, renewed each cruise. No dog-eared, out of date publications on the Countess.
‘A quick word, please’ I said to the nurse receptionist. ‘I’m not a patient. I need to give Dr Mallory some information.’
‘I’ll fit you in as soon as this patient comes out.’
‘But I’ve been waiting a long time,’ said Frank Trafford, whose hearing had picked up our exchange. ‘She’s not going in before me.’
‘Staff do have priority,’ said the nurse. ‘Unless you are an emergency, Mr Trafford?’
‘Commander,’ he snapped.
‘Thank you.’ I smiled around at the waiting passengers. ‘I’ll be double quick. Promise.’
‘Miss Jones,’ said Dr Mallory, not even looking up as I went into his surgery. ‘I don’t seem to have your notes. What is it this time? A nose job, ears pinned back or the morning-after pill?’
He could really make me mad. But this was not the time or the place for banter. I had promised those people waiting outside. Commander Trafford was probably timing me, right now.
‘I’ve been talking to the barman in the side bar where Professor Papados died,’ I began.
‘Paddy.’
‘Sure, Paddy told me that before he died the professor was hot, thirsty, red in the face and aggressive. Thought you ought to know. Also that Miss Judie Garllund was in the bar before he was taken ill, chatting him up.’
‘Enough to make any sane man hot, thirsty, red in the face and aggressive.’
‘I thought you ought to know.’
‘Thank you, Miss Jones. Keep taking the tablets.’
‘And I have information about the missing Miss Garllund.’
‘Riveting news. Next patient, please.’
Lee had gone ashore for a couple of hours. Security on the card scanner at the top of the gangway confirmed that Miss Ember had also gone ashore. I had a feeling that this was my only chance. But I did need a terribly good reason for looking round her stateroom. More mice? Something a little more serious, say another rat?
Like the one I was smelling?
Her new steward was not keen to let me in.
‘I have been told that no one, absolutely no one, is to be let in. Even myself am not allowed in,’ he said
staunchly.
‘But that doesn’t mean me,’ I said, digging in my heels. No, I wasn’t wearing heels. ‘I am not no one.’
‘You are Miss Jones, worthy entertainments director. Very clever. Very pretty.’ His dark brown eyes twinkled for one and a half seconds, then blanked off.
‘So you will let me in?’
‘No.’
‘So I will have to go and get Richard Norton, the security officer?’ The last person I wanted to speak to. He’d try to chat me up. I didn’t have the time or the inclination.
‘Yes, miss.’
‘You are wasting my time.’
‘Sorry, miss. I know, absolute pain in the rear.’
I wondered where he had learned that. Come on, Casey, think up an alternative argument that will floor him. But there was no need. Dr Mallory came sauntering along the corridor, waving a piece of paper in his hand.
‘Health and Safety check,’ he said. ‘Door, please, steward.’
‘Yes, sir, doctor.’
We were both inside in seconds. I didn’t know what to do or where to start. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for either.
‘I hope you realize that I’m risking my reputation,’ he said. ‘I could lose my job and my licence over this. Getting access to a stateroom on false pretences is no mean matter. Dawn said you might be here.’
‘But you said Health and Safety.’
He waved the piece of paper in front of my nose. It was a sheet from his prescription pad. It said six Dramamine. They were motion sickness tablets.
‘Looks perfectly authentic to me,’ I went on.
‘Made out for Minnie Mouse?’
‘We’ll put them in a trap. New method of rodent catching. Let them sleep it off.’
‘I suppose we should ransack cupboards and unpick hems of clothes,’ Sam said, wandering into the bedroom. ‘That’s what they do in films.’
‘Slash the cushions and pillows. Sniff all the bottles.’
‘You’ve less of a clue than I have. Sitting area, bedroom, bathroom and balcony. In that order. Let’s go. What are we looking for?’
‘Sorry. I don’t know.’
We didn’t do any slashing or sniffing, ransacking or unpicking. I was never any good at hems at school. We turned everything over and back again, under drawers and cupboards, on top of shelves and storage spaces, felt along hems. There was nothing unusual or suspicious.
Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2) Page 17