Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2)

by Stella Whitelaw

  ‘After all, if there was some incriminating picture on the mobile then whoever took the phone, wouldn’t have it any more.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘They would have thrown it overboard instantly, pronto, at the double.’

  ‘Some whale has gobbled it up, photos and all.’

  ‘Moby Dick with indigestion.’

  ‘Sshh.’

  I heard it too. A minute sound, like the scraping of a chair leg on the deck. We still had the balcony to check. The private balconies on the Countess were all reached by sliding doors. We could see two sun loungers and a table. Miss Ember had draped a beach towel over one of them, to dry in the hot sun.

  Miss Ember? She hadn’t come back from Calvi yet and was still residing in the twin cabin, running up a bar bill and casino losses. And I could hardly imagine her swimming from the public beach at the far end of the harbour. Anyhow, used towels were dumped on the bathroom floor and replaced with fresh ones by the steward on his next round. But Miss Ember wasn’t using this stateroom, except to collect clothes.

  Sam crouched down silently, balancing on his heels and squinted under an edge of the towel. He unwound as silently and stood up.

  ‘She’s going to get dehydrated and cramped hiding under that lounger,’ he whispered. ‘A Deck is rather high for a freedom jump. I’d better call Richard Norton.’

  ‘Who is it?’ I asked, even though I knew the answer. But I let him have his moment of glory.

  ‘The shoplifter, with or without an Equity card.’

  Twenty-One

  Calvi

  It was the bangle on the wrist that gave her away. The engraved silver one costing £175 that the shoplifter had taken along with the stand. Derek Ripon had shown me a photo of it in a catalogue. I went down on my knees and peered at the glimpse of wrist underneath the towel.

  ‘Definitely the stolen bracelet,’ I whispered. ‘Unless Mr Ripon buys them in bulk.’

  ‘We must stop her jumping,’ said Sam. ‘She might panic and jump. Both of us together. One, two, three, go.’

  We slid open the door to the balcony, tipped the lounger towards the railing, and blocked her, all in one swift coordinated movement, so that she had no chance of getting away. The female figure was curled up on the decking in the fetal position. She looked up at us, shocked, dismayed, and speechless for once.

  ‘So we’ve found you at last, Miss Garllund,’ I said, picking up the towel. ‘What a merry chase you’ve led us. Just in time to do your first show in the Princess Lounge. They’ve made you a lovely balcony.’

  She went white beneath her sunburn. She’d been doing a lot of sunbathing out on this balcony.

  ‘Don’t hurt me,’ she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Sam, in his best bedside manner. ‘Of course we are not going to hurt you. Get up and don’t attempt anything foolish. It’s a very long way down.’ He took her arm and escorted her inside.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘We won’t go into that now. What’s more important, what are you going to wear tonight for your show? Have you got a decent dress?’ I wasn’t going to tell her that Dawn had seen her sunbathing on the balcony. And Dawn wasn’t going to tell me what she had been doing visiting the next-door stateroom. Purely platonic, a social call, she said.

  Judie looked at me, aghast, horrified that I might be serious. ‘B-but I haven’t rehearsed anything. I can’t sing without rehearsal.’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of time,’ I went on. ‘Everyone has gone ashore today. You can have the theatre to yourself for the afternoon.’

  Sam was on his phone to Richard Norton. ‘We’ve found the missing singer, Judie Garllund as she calls herself, in stateroom 212 on A Deck. Miss Ember’s stateroom. She’s also in possession of stolen property, the silver bangle from Bond Street. You’ll probably want to question her.’

  I could imagine Richard’s surge of elation. A crime solved, two in fact, if you count one a missing person and two a shoplifter, even if they were the same woman. And both despite the presence of Scotland Yard’s most elite detective, flown out at great expense. Richard was grinning as he entered the stateroom, some minutes later, wearing his official flat cap. He must have taken several short cuts. It was a wonder he wasn’t carrying a truncheon and handcuffs.

  Judie was by now sitting on the sofa, weeping into her mascara, being made to drink a glass of water by our handy resident doctor. She didn’t need medical attention. She was wearing black trousers with silk braid down the outside and a man’s white T-shirt, concealing but too heavy for today’s temperatures. Unless they were a disguise of sorts. Maybe she had been going around dressed as a young man. Her hair was pulled back in a skinny pigtail. Tuck it under a baseball cap, wear a loose jacket, and she could pass as a youth.

  Black trousers? They were probably Lee’s trousers, the ones that were stolen while he was pressing his dinner suit. He wouldn’t want them back now. We’d get him a new pair. It would be a legitimate expenditure. Then I noticed something glinting round her neck. It looked to me like Miss Ember’s Byzantine necklace.

  ‘Ah, Miss Garllund, perhaps you’d like to explain what you are doing in Miss Ember’s stateroom and how you came to possess that silver bracelet.’

  Judie Garllund was recovering fast, regaining her composure, crossing her legs. ‘Why, Miss Ember invited me to share her stateroom to keep her company, after all the dreadful things that have been happening to her. Disgraceful, I’d say. She didn’t want to be in here alone. As for the bracelet, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Where did you get it from?’

  ‘Miss Ember gave it to me as a gift. She’s such a lovely lady. It’s a thank you present for a few favours. She’s a really generous person.’

  ‘But Miss Ember isn’t here. She’s moved to another cabin.’

  ‘She said I could stay here.’

  ‘Don’t believe her,’ I said sideways to Richard, under my breath. ‘Ask her when she got the bangle.’

  ‘It’s very pretty,’ said Richard. ‘Did she give it to you after you collected her dress from the dry-cleaners?’

  Good one, Richard. On the ball at last. She fell straight into the trap.

  ‘Yes, that’s when she gave it to me, right after we left St Tropez, and I brought her dress back. She was so grateful.’

  ‘How did you manage to get the dress from the dry-cleaners? You didn’t have a receipt. How did you know which cleaners?’

  ‘I happened to see you go in,’ she said. She’d been following me, she meant. ‘You looked laden so I thought I’d help out. I told the manager I was Miss Ember’s assistant and he gave me the dress. Such a nice man. That’s why Miss Ember gave me the bangle, to show how pleased she was to get the dress back safely.’

  ‘Funny way of showing her gratitude,’ I said. ‘The bangle was stolen from Bond Street salon several days later. It was still on display, chained to the jewellery counter long after we left St Tropez.’

  Judie coloured, realizing that she had been a little too eager in her explanation. ‘I may have got the days mixed up,’ she said. ‘I have been ill, you know. The doctor knows I’ve been ill. Too much sun. And food poisoning. All the stress of rehearsing.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear you have been unwell,’ I said. ‘It would have been courteous to have let me know that you were not well enough to go on stage. We had to put together a last-minute show from scratch. Fortunately it was very good, but you might have left us in a disaster zone.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Casey. I didn’t think. I was too ill.’

  ‘And since then?’ said Dr Mallory. ‘You have apparently recovered but still sent no word to Miss Jones.’

  ‘I forgot,’ said Judie. ‘I have a terrible memory.’

  ‘Early onset Alzheimer’s?’ I suggested.

  ‘I think you have conveniently forgotten a great deal,’ said Richard Norton. ‘Please come with me to my offic
e. I want to take a full statement. But first, I have a list of items missing from the Bond Street salon, and I should be obliged if Miss Jones would have a look around for them.’

  I took the list and made for the bathroom and the bedroom.

  I found the Dior perfume straight away. It was still in its silvery grey box and cellophane, unopened. They would be able to check the barcode to see if it was the stolen perfume. It would be difficult to identify the cosmetics and the clothes. There was a lot of stuff strewn over the bedroom with Countess logos and labels. But much of it was definitely not to Miss Ember’s taste. It was too young and casual to belong to the older woman.

  I put all of the cosmetics into a plastic bag. Many were brand-new and unopened. There was a pair of sunglasses with the price tag still on them, so they went into the bag, too. It was filling up. I was beginning to enjoy myself. Our little excursion had not been wasted.

  ‘What’s going to h-happen to me?’ Judie began to worry, biting on her lip.

  ‘I shall take a statement from you. Of course, it would be easier all round if you simply confessed. You will be restrained for the rest of the cruise in the brig. We have a small cabin that is perfect for people like you. Unfortunately it is an interior cabin. If you insist that you are innocent, then every item will have to be flown back to Britain for forensic examination.’

  ‘Either way then, I won’t be able to do a show on stage this evening?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Richard. He had played right into her hands. She thumped the sofa with relief. ‘The acoustics from the brig are rather restricted.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness for that,’ she said. ‘I loathe going on stage, I can’t sing in tune and I hate audiences. I’m never going to go anywhere near a theatre, ever again in my life. I’m finished with it.’

  This didn’t sound like one of our normal entertainers. Nerves, yes, they all got nerves. Who didn’t? But they loved doing what they did. They loved singing, dancing, telling jokes, playing the fiddle, reciting Shakespeare, whatever. Performing was a joy that they lived for, despite the hard work, the endless rehearsals, the touring and often not much pay.

  ‘I’m curious,’ I said. ‘If you dislike going on stage so much, then why are you here? Your agent recommended you. Your CV is modestly enthusiastic. You’ve had a lot of experience in the provinces, Manchester, Blackpool, Portsmouth, pantomime, cabaret.’

  ‘It’s lies, fabrication, fiction. I made it all up. The agent has never heard of me, never heard me sing. It was a con. I had to get on this ship, that’s all.’ She said it loudly, barely hiding her triumph that she had duped everyone.

  Dr Mallory refilled her glass with cold water. ‘I think maybe we are now getting nearer the truth.’

  ‘Why did you have to get on this ship?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean, you had to get on this ship?’ repeated Richard.

  Suddenly she clammed up, fastened her mouth with Velcro. She’d let that slip, wasn’t going to say any more. She asked to go to the bathroom and I had to go with her, in case she was about to swallow the contents of a bottle of Valium. It was so embarrassing. She started crying again, her face getting red and swollen. She came out and threw a few things into a holdall.

  ‘What’s this brig place like?’ she asked, sniffing.

  ‘Down in the depths, cramped, cold, wet. Infested with vermin, I expect. I don’t know. I’ve never been there. It’s certainly not five-star accommodation. There’s no cabin entertainment. Better take this portable radio with you, or did you pinch that, too?’

  ‘No, excuse me, that’s mine.’ She was actually indignant.

  ‘Take face cleanser and moisturizer. This jar of Nivea is probably yours. You could give yourself some facials to while away the time. It’ll be a week before we are back in Southampton,’ I said.

  She began to weep again. Perhaps it was all that water the good doctor had been pumping down her. ‘I want to go home,’ she wailed.

  ‘You are going home,’ said Richard sternly.

  *

  We might have found the shoplifter but we were no nearer to solving the two murders. Mr Belcher’s alibi at the bar, with the barman and his bar purchases, all computer logged, was absolutely watertight. He was nowhere near their cabin when his wife was murdered and then, somehow, her body transported to the interview room.

  He had been interrogated by DCI Everton several times but stuck to his story. He seemed genuinely upset by his wife’s death.

  ‘We’d quarrelled all day, on and off, about the bloody packing. I was sick of it all,’ he said, morosely, but still emotional about Dora’s death. ‘So I decided to drown my sorrows and let her come to her senses. I wish I hadn’t. If I hadn’t left her, she might be alive now. Ready to rip another strip off me. But even that would be better than this, being a suspect, people thinking I did it, when I didn’t. I would never kill her, never. And I’ve got to tell her children, her family.’

  ‘Her children?’

  ‘She was married before and has two children, a boy and a girl. Grown up they are now, married themselves, but I’ve still got to tell them, haven’t I? They’ll probably blame me. I seem to get the blame for everything.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I believe him,’ said Bruce Everton, relating that part of their conversation to me. ‘It was a second marriage for both of them, and Greg Belcher was beginning to regret it. The constant rows, the arguing, the bickering. It was no way to live. If he had murdered her, then he’d hardly tell me all that, would he?’

  ‘Could be a double bluff.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s that clever. How could he have fixed the computerized card purchases at the bar? Now that would be clever.’

  ‘Got someone else to do them for him? Paid somebody.’

  ‘What about the signing of each chit? I’ve checked the signatures on the receipts. They are all his. He was definitely in that bar, drowning his sorrows in Scotch. Besides Paddy confirms it, and Paddy has no reason to give him an alibi.’

  ‘No reason we know of,’ I agreed.

  ‘At least your shoplifter is behind bars for the time being.’

  ‘In the brig. It’s the only secure area we have on-board. Not exactly luxury accommodation but certainly a cut above a prison ship.’

  Passengers were beginning to return from their excursions. There were few cultural destinations on the island, but the stunning scenery and picturesque villages were worth a visit. My favourite was Sant’ Antonino, the oldest village in Corsica, which was perched on top of a mountain. It had vaulted streets and narrow, winding passageways, full of ghosts and mysterious deeds. The island tours drove through deep forests of chestnut and pine, deep mountainous passes, fruit orchards, swathes of vineyards and olive groves. It wasn’t how people imagined Corsica. They only remembered tales of brigands and pirates and underground passages leading to the sea.

  But not for me, today. Perhaps on another cruise. And not apparently for Mr Belcher. I found him leaning on a rail, watching the coaches disembark their passengers and join the long queue for the tenders back to the ship. He looked grey and seemed to have aged, deflated somehow.

  ‘You didn’t go ashore, Mr Belcher?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I didn’t feel like it. Even though the wife and I were chalk and cheese and quarrelled a lot, she was good company when she was in a good mood. I don’t feel like going on my own. I’m not being kept on-board or anything,’ he added hurriedly. ‘That detective chap said I was free to go ashore anytime, as long as I left my passport with the purser. Seemed fair enough to me.’

  ‘Seems very fair,’ I said. ‘After all, you are not under suspicion. Did you have a hangover after all that drinking in Paddy’s bar?’ The bar now had a name. I must tell Paddy of the promotion.

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ said Mr Belcher. ‘The moment they told me about Dora, I stopped drinking and I was stone cold sober. I couldn’t believe she had gone. I was angry again, not with her, this time, but with the bastard that did it.’r />
  ‘Have you got any idea who might have killed her?’

  ‘No, no idea at all. Could be anyone. If I didn’t know he was halfway across the world, sailing the Pacific on a merchant ship, I’d say it was that violent first husband of hers, Frank. He was that annoyed when we got married. He caused a scene outside the church and had to be escorted away. I never saw him but I did see the damage he did to the wedding car after he threw a bucket of tar all over it. Can you believe it? Couldn’t get the stuff off. The car had to be resprayed. And I had to pay for it.’

  ‘Would he know you were on this ship?’

  ‘No, he couldn’t know. We never kept in touch.’

  ‘I understand Mrs Belcher came back to the ship early to have her hair done. Do you know anything about this?’

  ‘No idea. Always having her hair done. That’s nothing new.’

  I meet hundreds of people on board ship and it’s impossible for me to remember all their names. But this scenario was ringing a loud bell. Bad-tempered, naval connection, Frank? We had a bad-tempered Frank on board. But it was a bookie’s sure bet that it wouldn’t be the same person. If her first husband was travelling on the Countess, he would surely have used an assumed name.

  ‘Sorry, but I have to go now, Mr Belcher. Are you with nice people on your table in the dining room?’

  ‘Yes, they’re really pleasant. I’m lucky in that respect. They make it easy for me to join in the conversation and I like that. No Mrs B to nag me, or contradict me, or tell me to shut up. It makes a change. A bit on the quiet side, actually.’

  I left Mr Belcher leaning over the rail. I had a lot to do and not much time. But where to start? Some of the jigsaw was falling into place.

  Twenty-Two

  At Sea

  The manifest contained over a thousand names, a list of passengers and crew. I was up half the night, scanning the Christian names. There were four Franklins, five Frankies and eight Franks. There was one Franklyn and one Franky. Sometimes Francis was abbreviated to Frank. At this point, I gave up and went to bed.