I had even missed the Countess leaving Corsica and I always made a point of being on deck for a departure. She backed off her anchorage without incident and once clear of the land set a south-westerly track towards our next port of call, Gibraltar. The famous monkey mountain was not one of my favourite ports and I could happily give it a miss. It was a duty-free haven of alcohol, leather and perfume if you were into a long walk to town and marathon shopping.
Judie Garllund, or whatever her real name was, had gone into refusal mode. She was refusing to say anything. She would not give any information about herself, not her name, address, age or occupation.
‘She can sit there until we reach Southampton,’ said Richard, clearly riled. ‘I wash my hands of her.’
Miss Ember was also refusing to say anything beyond confirming that she had invited Judie to share her stateroom. She was ruffled at being interviewed again.
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ I asked, keeping my calm. ‘We’ve been doing our best to find something that suited you.’
‘It was none of your business. You people seem to have had it in for me throughout this whole cruise,’ she said, looking even more scrawny than ever. It was as if she was determined to show that the smaller cabin didn’t agree with her. ‘I can’t do anything without all these questions from you lot. I’ve been victimized from day one by everyone, even the captain. He’s never asked me to sit at his table. You’re a lot of interfering, official busy bodies. I shan’t let it rest there. Head Office are going to hear about this.’
I could see another letter on the way. She must use up a lot of complimentary stationery.
‘We are simply trying to find out the truth of the matter,’ said Richard, his expression betraying how fed up he was.
‘Apparently Judie had been turned out of her cabin so that it could be fumigated. Germs in the air conditioning,’ she said. ‘The poor girl had nowhere to sleep.’
Another story on the wild side. Judie had disappeared from her cabin. It had not been touched since. But once we neared Southampton, a stewardess would pack all her belongings so that the cabin could be cleaned and made ready for the next occupant. I hoped it would be an entertainer who actually liked singing, dancing, balloon blowing, anything as long as the contracted person went on stage.
I phoned up Karim, the head steward, and suggested that the cabin packing could be done earlier, to save time in the last-minute rushed turn round. Judie was unlikely to return to her cabin. He seemed to like the idea. Anything to save his staff valuable time.
‘I will get one of my best stewardesses to do it,’ he said. He didn’t know the exact circumstances. ‘Would you like her to pack a small bag of warmer clothes for when we reach Southampton? The English climate is always a shock after the Mediterranean.’
‘Yes, please. A good idea. That would be so thoughtful, thank you.’
Judie would probably be taken straight into custody for appearance at a local magistrates’ court, on the shoplifting charge. I wondered if Miss Ember’s generosity would stretch to bail?
It was still warm on deck but there was a force two to three wind, which caught a few hats and sent them overboard. I rescued one straw hat with its ribbons caught against the railing, and nearly fell when grabbing the ribbons. It was a graceful slide along the decking, but the wrench on my ankle nearly resulted in a less than graceful, primeval yelp.
‘Rescuing errant hats is not in your job description,’ said Samuel Mallory, helping me to my feet and heaving me to the nearest deck chair. ‘Have you hurt the ankle? It’s the injured one, isn’t it?’
‘It’s always the injured one, dammit,’ I said. ‘I never hurt the other one.’
‘It’s the good one that keeps you going. Your injured ankle wouldn’t be able to support you if you hurt the good one.’
Convoluted, but I knew what he meant. It made sense. ‘I suppose not.’
‘You missed our walk last night. I waited for you on deck. The crew were taking bets on how late you would be. Then they decided you had thrown me over and our romance was finished, kaput.’
I was feeling mildly homicidal with the pain. ‘Firstly, it isn’t our walk, as you put it. I never said I would be there so I wasn’t late. Thirdly, I haven’t thrown you over because fourthly there never has been any romance to throw over.’
‘What a long speech, Casey,’ said Dr Mallory, sitting in the chair next to mine, and holding my hand under cover of taking my pulse. ‘I’m absolutely delighted to hear you say that you haven’t thrown me over. So there’s hope for me, yet? I take heart from this statement. You are still considering me for a light-hearted shipboard romance?’
‘Don’t bank on it.’
‘I feel we both need a little romantic interlude after all the heavy drama of the last few days. It hasn’t been easy.’
He was laughing at me as usual, but beneath it was a genuine concern. It was difficult to resist him when he was being sympathetic. He called over a hovering stewardess. She darted forward as if on springs.
‘A Pimm’s for Miss Jones. Purely medicinal. And an orange juice for me.’
‘Orange juice?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I’m operating in half an hour. A passenger came aboard with stitches in a hernia wound and they have gone septic. It all needs tidying up. As far as I can see, a botched operation. One of these in and out in a day jobs.’
‘Sounds nasty. Before you go, Sam, tell me what you think Miss Ember is likely to get from Conway Blue Line in the way of compensation for these various, what we might call, mishaps?’
‘Every case varies according to the circumstances. But I should think she’ll get her money back on this cruise and the offer of an alternative cruise some other time, completely free. Conway are very generous. Two cruises for nothing.’
‘Could she also sue for nerves or something?’
‘If she has nerves or something, I suppose she could. The reptile rash, or whatever it was, has cleared up despite her scratching it raw with her nails. Is she thinking of suing the company?’
‘I don’t know. It’s all horrendous, if you think back. The snake, the rat, the blood coming out of the shower. I suppose the dress in the Bond Street window was a joke of some sort, but it all adds up to some very unpleasant experiences.’
‘You sound as if you are on the lady’s side now.’
‘I am trying to be fair,’ I said, downing the ice-cold Pimm’s. I began to feel even fairer. ‘Even if she does annoy me and is so rude every time we meet.’
‘Better go and scrub up,’ said Sam, getting out of the chair. He finished off the juice. ‘See you around, Miss Jones. No more hat rescues. It’s bad for trade.’
The passenger whose hat I had saved was grateful. It was Hilary Miles, the woman on my table who never went ashore. ‘It was bought for me in Calvi,’ she said. ‘I think it’s a little too big for my head.’
‘So you didn’t try it on?’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t go ashore.’ She paused, struggling, wondering whether to tell me. ‘You see I have agoraphobia and claustrophobia, both at the same time. One is the fear of public spaces, the other is the fear of small places. It makes going anywhere, even a lift, a nightmare. It was hard enough coming into the dining room for the first time. I don’t know how I made it.’
‘I noticed that you weren’t very happy.’
‘Happy? I was terrified. I couldn’t leave fast enough.’
‘I admire you for coming on the cruise at all,’ I said. ‘Being on board ship itself is a big step forward, surely? This huge deck is like a market place.’
‘But it has perimeters. All the rails and doors and lifeboats and deck furniture make it seem much smaller, but not too small. It seems like it’s divided into manageable sections. Am I making any sense?’ Mrs Miles was hanging on to her hat as if it was the only stable thing in her life.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘If I had realized earlier, I could have helped. At least we dock alongside at
Gibraltar, so no tenders involved. We could walk down the gangway together and you could step on land for a few minutes. That would be something, wouldn’t it? Even if all you do is wander round the few shops on the dockside. Then you can come straight back on board and sit on the deck watching everyone stagger back with their duty-free haul.’
She smiled at me and the hesitant smile changed her face. ‘I’d like to try that. But no promises, Miss Jones. I might chicken out at the last moment.’
‘And put some milliner’s elastic inside your hat so that it hooks round your hair,’ I said, rubbing my ankle. ‘That’s what our dancers do if they have a big hat to wear on stage. I’ll get you a bit from wardrobe.’
‘You’re a mine of information,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
This is what I should have been doing, helping Mrs Miles from the start. But I’d been too busy trying to solve things which were none of my business.
I was bone weary with a painful ankle, but still mystified by the strange happenings around Miss Ember, my thoughts tumbling around spin-dryer fashion. Why couldn’t I forget it all and let Richard Norton sort out the puzzles? It was his job, not mine.
When I got back to the office to finish returning calls, there was an email from Karim, the head steward, marked urgent.
Miss Jones. Stewardess clearing out cabin in hysterics. Please to come.
I hurried along to the cabin which Judie Garllund had once occupied. Karim was standing guard outside, looking grim. The ashen-faced stewardess was being consoled by another woman and sipping water.
‘I tried to phone you. We have not touched anything,’ he said. ‘You must see it as found.’
The cabin had been half cleared. Two big wheelie cases were full of folded clothes. The stewardess had been using lots of new tissue paper as we always instruct. One of the Conway touches.
On the desk were two plastic pouches containing a dark red liquid. I didn’t need to touch them. They were blood, but not real blood. They were labelled ‘Fake Blood’ from Max Marks Magic Shop. This was getting interesting. What else did she have in store?
‘Surprise, surprise,’ I said. ‘Well spotted.’
But why the hysterics? Nasty shock perhaps, but producing nothing more than a few gasps, surely?
‘Please to look in refrigerator,’ said Karim, standing back to allow me through. Like mine, the cabin had a small refrigerator under the desk. Hers was no exception.
I opened the refrigerator door, expecting the usual row of mineral waters and an ice bucket. Instead, on the shelf were two plastic bags, both sealed. One contained two dead rats and curled in the other was a very nasty-looking snake. It was either dead or hibernating. I did not investigate.
‘Anything else?’ I asked faintly.
He opened the wardrobe door very slowly, his kindly face concerned. ‘Please, Miss Jones. Take care. Do not have the hysterics.’
I thought I might well have hysterics. In the circumstances, I felt I was entitled to have fullblown hysterics. But Dr Mallory was operating on a septic hernia scar and it wouldn’t be fair to disturb him.
*
I sat outside for a few minutes and the two stewardesses gave me sips of water and patted my shoulder sympathetically. This was going to be a great story for them below decks in the crew cafeteria tonight. It was Coronation Street and EastEnders rolled into one. Their moment of gory glory.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling a lot better now. Lock the cabin, please Karim. I’ll get the security officer to take over. It’s his responsibility. I’ll phone him straightaway. Sorry my phone wasn’t on before.’
Richard Norton was not pleased to hear from me. ‘Really, Casey, I’ve enough on my plate as it is, without you phoning me every five minutes.’
I ignored the exaggeration. ‘Well, here’s something more for your plate. Not exactly John the Baptist’s head, but near. Go to Judie Garllund’s former cabin and look in the wardrobe. Take strong smelling salts.’
‘I haven’t got time for jokes, Casey.’
He put the phone down on me. That is something I do not like at all. Grown men acting childishly. Let’s see how he handles the wardrobe.
I went up on deck for some fresh air, letting my brain free itself of the images. I wanted a blank screen. Judie Garllund was not going to haunt me with her weird collection of souvenirs. There was no other word I could put to her choice of memorabilia.
The discovery of these items put this Judie person firmly into the Lucinda Ember box of tricks. This couldn’t be a chance encounter made during the cruise. You don’t bring dead rats, a snake and fake blood with you on the chance of going to a Dracula fancy dress party. The blood dripping from the shower had been pig’s blood. Sam was not likely to make that kind of mistake. The fake blood was obviously back-up or for some other planned nightmare. Perhaps Lucinda was going to be smeared with blood and didn’t fancy pig’s.
I tried to get an email through to the agent whose name had been on her fake CV. But it kept being returned. They either didn’t exist or their email address was no longer valid.
Lee was concerned. ‘Are you all right, Casey? You’re looking a bit upset.’
‘I’m not upset,’ I said, wearily. ‘A little stressed out. There have been some new complications. Don’t you worry about them.’
‘Can I help? There must be something I can do.’ Lee still had a sad look in his eyes but he was enjoying his job, and I didn’t want to change that. I wanted to keep him on the team.
‘Yes, there is something you can do. I’m looking for a passenger called Frank with naval connections, who could be travelling under an assumed name. He might be in the merchant navy or the Royal Navy. No real information about him. In his fifties, I should think.’
‘Sure, I’ll ask around. Make out it’s for a quiz question.’
‘Good idea. But be careful. Don’t let him know that you are making enquiries. You might find yourself being tipped overboard.’
‘I’ll be extra careful. Put your feet up for ten minutes, Casey. You don’t look as if you have eaten today. Shall I get you something from the Terrace Café?’
‘No, thanks. I don’t want any food,’ I said. The contents of the wardrobe had completely put me off eating.
I truly couldn’t remember when I had last eaten. The events of the last few hours had concertinaed into a horrible messy collage. My head needed washing out and freshening up. Perhaps a swim in one of the Countess’s pools would help. I rarely went into the ship’s pools. Four strokes and you bump your head. But this felt like an emergency, like I needed the cleansing ritual of water.
There was a spare swimsuit in the office. It had been there days, waiting for me to take it back to my cabin and rinse out. It had dried stiff and smelt of salt.
I used the changing rooms next to the indoor pool. It was flanked by the gymnasium. None of the bikes or walking machines were in use at the moment. I couldn’t see the point of walking on a machine, when you could walk in the fresh air on deck. The pool supervisor was not about, which was unusual. Perhaps he was having a quick fag on deck.
The pool was empty making a pleasant change, no stately matrons in big swimsuits
doing one and a half lengths before dinner. I decided to swim round and round anticlockwise. Don’t ask me why. It was the way I struck out. The water was soothing, cool and sparkling with lights. They had artificial sunlight playing on the surface to make people think they were outside. I wondered which boffin thought that one up.
Rolled up at one end of the pool on a long spool was a length of heavy green netting. This was stretched over the pool at night or when it was dangerous to use the pool. If the sea was rough and the ship was pitching, they closed all the pools to passengers, and emptied out some of the water. I’ve seen the pool water lurching from end to end in waves, splashing over the tiled sides, drenching the artificial palm trees.
It was a lazy sort of swim, not for exercise but simply to empty my mind. My brain had too much bag
gage. I felt the tension easing from my shoulders and the rhythm of the strokes becoming stronger. Someone was moving about, out of my vision, probably one of the gym instructors putting away equipment or tidying up. I vaguely heard an odd rattle but took no notice of the noise.
Something flopped down over my head and my outstretched fingers went through mesh, getting caught. It caught me by surprise. I rolled over, to push it off but there was a dragging sensation as some floating stuff wrapped itself round my body. I could feel heavy yards of something and started fighting to get it off me. But it was round my legs as well as my body. It was the weirdest sensation, frightening, like being encased in prickly wire.
I knew what it was now. It was the green safety netting. Somehow it had got loose and fallen on me. I struggled to get out of it, but the more I struggled the more I got entangled.
A surge of fear panicked me. This could be dangerous. It was heavy stuff, especially when wet. I heard another noise, like a grunt.
Someone was there. Vaguely I saw a figure at the side of the pool. Someone had thrown the netting over me and was even now dragging the edges around, trapping me like a fish. I tried to see who it was but the trawl tugged me over, mesh hard against my nostrils and my eyes. Another grunt and then a door closed.
I started to thrash about, choking, gasping for breath. There was no one around. I had to get out of this on my own. Already I was tiring. Polar bears, penguins, what would they do? They’d float. I only hoped that the weight of the netting would not drag me under first.
I managed to reach out and grasp the side rail, trying to keep my head above water, but the heavy netting was pulling me under. Keep calm, Casey. I told myself to take small, rapid breaths. I didn’t know why, perhaps conserving energy.
Surely whoever was in charge of the pool would come back soon. And where were the attendants anyway? It should never be left unsupervised.
Now I was getting very cold. The heating had been turned off. I couldn’t move to keep myself warm. I tried to clench and unclench my fingers and toes but I was trussed in the netting like a Christmas turkey.
Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2) Page 19