Dead Slow Ahead (Casey Jones Book 2)

by Stella Whitelaw

  ‘Is that interesting?’

  ‘It’s amazing. One day I’ll tell you about it.’

  Lisbon was already weaving its magic spell. I began to relax, the knots easing from my still-sore shoulders.

  ‘I’ll let you into a little secret,’ said Sam, stifling a yawn behind his panama hat. He waved to some female passengers who were boarding a coach. They waved back, beckoning, inviting him to join them. ‘We have a new stowaway on board.’

  ‘Good heavens. Have you reported it?’

  ‘I have indeed. All properly logged by Captain Nicolas. He was really chuffed. Six pound ten ounces of baby boy getting his first taste of cruising. Mother and son doing well in the medical centre. Probably be on deck by the time the Countess leaves Lisbon.’

  He’d been up all night and yet he still arrived for our date, immaculate and on time. The man had stamina.

  ‘Champagne tonight,’ I said hopefully. ‘The perfect reason to celebrate. We don’t get many babies born on-board. Let’s hope the Bay of Biscay is calm for him.’

  ‘He’ll be getting his sea legs by then.’

  Sam handed me down the last step on to land. I could see now that he was tired. No more questions. The one I really wanted to ask him could wait, but I held on to his hand, in case he fell asleep walking.

  ‘What are they going to call the baby?’

  Sam groaned. ‘Can’t you guess?’

  Twenty-Five

  At Sea

  Richard Norton could not resist having a full departmental meeting to report to everyone on the success of the investigations. His investigations as they were now, since DCI Everton was no longer on board and in charge. He had to invite me as I was so mixed up in it all, although I’m sure that he would have preferred it if I was absent.

  Captain Nicolas had laid on coffee for us. We sat round a long table in the small conference room. The room was sometimes used for club meetings or small publicity events and was tucked away behind a bar on the top deck.

  Richard Norton opened the proceedings by making a lengthy speech that nearly sent everyone to sleep. If it hadn’t been for the coffee, I’d have nodded off. Only good manners kept an alert expression on my face. He was not going to give me any credit for my help in any way, but I let that pass. It was not a problem. My ego was intact.

  ‘I want to thank everyone for their cooperation during a very difficult time during the last few days and weeks,’ he went on. ‘I really appreciate the way you have backed me up in all my endeavours to bring these investigations to a successful conclusion.’ He then went on to thank everyone personally. It took ages. Derek Ripon, Karim, the purser’s office, catering, the library, Dr Mallory, Uncle Tom Cobbley and all.

  ‘And we should not forget Miss Jones,’ said Captain Nicolas, interrupting the flow. ‘Who was, at times, in great personal danger.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Jones,’ said Richard hurriedly. ‘Who discovered a few things in the course of her normal work.’

  I didn’t put him right. The captain knew the truth and that was what counted.

  ‘What about Miss Lucinda Ember now?’ the captain asked. ‘Has she quietened down?’ I was about to answer when Richard leaped in.

  ‘Nothing further on that front,’ he said. ‘She has returned to her stateroom and as far as I know has kept a very low profile. There was nothing we could actually charge her with. It all depends on what she does when we reach Southampton, if she starts any claims for compensation, etc.’

  He was quoting DCI Everton, almost word for word. He continued with a lengthy description of Judie Street and Frank Monk being taken to Lisbon airport on an accompanied flight to London, which everyone already knew. We’d all be comatose if he went on much longer.

  Suddenly, the door to the conference room was flung open and Dr Mallory entered, still in his surgery whites. ‘Sorry to be late everyone, Captain Nicolas, Richard. Patient problem. Have I missed anything? Is that coffee still hot?’

  ‘No, you haven’t missed anything that you didn’t already know,’ said Captain Nicolas before Richard Norton could open his mouth. ‘Come and sit down. Pull up a chair.’ A stewardess immediately put a cup of coffee in front of him.

  ‘So, I was just saying that the complicated investigations are complete and I was thanking everyone for their help and cooperation,’ said Richard, determined to get his word in.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Sam. ‘So the shoplifter has been taken back to England and the unpleasant faked claims are no longer an issue, am I right?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘And the man who tried to drown our lovely entertainments director is also in custody in the UK?’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘What about whoever murdered Dora Belcher? Have I missed that? Who has been arrested for killing her?’

  There was a tiny silence. Surely the good doctor knew? The medical centre wasn’t exactly the Outer Hebrides. Richard cleared his throat and tapped his notes with his pen.

  ‘It was Frank Monk, or Commander Frank Trafford as he liked to be known on-board, a naval man. He’s been charged with killing his ex-wife. It was an open and shut case.’

  Dr Mallory looked up sharply, almost spilling his coffee. ‘Open and shut case? What do you mean, an open and shut case? I can’t believe what I’m hearing. What proof was there that Frank Trafford murdered his ex-wife?’

  ‘I gave DCI Everton all the evidence. The crystal ashtray which will no doubt have his prints on. Evidence that he had made arrangements to meet Dora Belcher the evening she was murdered. He was insanely jealous of her second marriage. A clear case of revenge. Crime of passion.’

  ‘I’m sorry to burst the bubble of your carefully constructed evidence,’ said Samuel Mallory with the faintest touch of irony. ‘But there is no way that Frank Trafford could have murdered his ex-wife that evening. When he returned from his trip ashore at Monte Carlo, he came straight to the medical centre where I operated on him, some half an hour later. And he spent the night there, sleeping off the anaesthetic. Dead to the world, if you’ll pardon the expression.’

  *

  The meeting broke up in a shambles. I felt sorry for Richard Norton in a way. DCI Everton had been misled by the evidence produced but what worried me even more was the fact that we still had a murderer on board the Countess. And that was a frightening fact. If Frank Monk didn’t kill Dora Belcher, then who had?

  Dr Mallory immediately took the medical records to the captain’s study. All times and dates were logged meticulously. He then emailed DCI Everton, not once asking how it was that I knew the detective’s Scotland Yard email address.

  I went on deck, pulling on a sweater. There was a northerly wind, six to seven force, buffeting the ship as we continued to track along the western side of the Iberian Peninsula. Later today we would round Cape Finisterre to begin crossing the Bay of Biscay. Nearly home.

  The doctor joined me at the rail, watching the choppy sea and the white-topped waves as the Countess ploughed through them. We were going to have a very rough crossing if this wind didn’t drop.

  ‘Are you annoyed with me?’ he said at last. ‘You haven’t said a word.’

  ‘I’m not annoyed with you,’ I said. ‘I just don’t understand how you didn’t know that Frank Trafford had been charged with the murder of Dora Belcher. Everybody knew.’

  ‘Nobody told me. Nobody thought to tell me. You are not the only one kept in the dark half the time. Though I am surprised that DCI Everton accepted such circumstantial evidence, as he did. Perhaps he was told something else which he couldn’t check. Why didn’t Frank Trafford deny it?’

  ‘He did deny it. He then refused to say any more. Why didn’t he say that he was in the medical centre?’

  ‘I know why,’ said Sam. ‘Because he reckoned he’d be safer in custody in the UK than still on board ship. Maybe he thought he was the next on the hit list.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ I said. ‘Any of us could be on that list. It’s frighten
ing.’ My face went white with fear. I could feel the blood draining.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve my own theory about all this. Remember, Dora Belcher came on-board with a black eye. She was in a violent relationship. A domestic. They were on the edge of getting divorced. And she was after her fair share of the goodies, the house, the savings, whatever wealth Greg Belcher had accumulated.’

  ‘But the computerized bar bills. Greg Belcher has a watertight alibi. He couldn’t have done it.’

  ‘Somehow we’ve got to break that watertight alibi. The answer is there somewhere.’

  I hesitated. I knew all about medical confidentiality but I was dying to know. And I couldn’t stop myself asking. ‘Sam, I know this is against the rules, but why did Frank Trafford come to see you after Monte Carlo? Can’t you give me a hint?’

  Sam laughed and pulled me against him, shielding me from the wind. ‘You and your female curiosity. It’s not exactly breaking any rules. That famous bad temper of his. Remember how grumpy he was all the time? The poor man had chronic toothache and an abscess on the root. He went to a back street dentist somewhere onshore and they broke the tooth and made a right mess of his mouth.’

  I gasped. ‘It was toothache.’

  ‘He came to me in agony. I’m not a dentist but I had to do what I could to help him out. So I gave him a hefty local injection and a few whiffs of nitrous oxide because he wouldn’t keep still. There was no way I could sort out the abscess and the broken tooth with him fidgeting and trying to tell me what to do.’

  ‘I didn’t know you knew any dentistry.’

  ‘Neither did I.’

  *

  The Officers’ Mess was full and they gave me a welcome as I went in. Some wags started whistling Ten Green Bottles but I let them have their joke. I was after the carrot and coriander soup. I’d got chilled on deck.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said, slurping soup in a matey manner. ‘You know those two who were smuggled aboard at midnight? Was it before or after Palma? Now, I know it happened so don’t start denying it. Nobody is going to get into trouble, especially not through me.’

  I could tell by their faces that the male bundled aboard was one of their own. An officer. Hence the brick wall. But the girl? They might be less protective.

  ‘I only want to speak to the girl for a few moments. Something you fellas wouldn’t understand. A girlie thing, you know?’

  I could talk rubbish when I had to. Sometimes I was ashamed of myself. The officers didn’t understand a word but pretended they did.

  ‘If that’s all it is,’ said one of them, cutting himself a huge hunk of Stilton. ‘It was one of the Thai bar stewardesses. Lovely little thing. I wouldn’t have bothered coming back at all.’

  They all laughed. Ha, ha. The male group bonding.

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Leila,’ someone said but was then shut up by a fellow officer. But I had heard and that was all I needed to know. Half a salad later and I was away to find Karim. He told me that I could find Leila serving at the bar on A Deck.

  ‘Very nice girl,’ he said, cautiously. ‘Good worker. You not getting her into trouble?’

  ‘No,’ I promised. ‘I only want to ask her a couple of questions. Don’t worry. Her secret is safe with me.’

  Leila was indeed a lovely girl. One of those tiny Thai women with long black hair and a twenty inch waist. She served me an orange juice.

  ‘Miss Jones,’ she said shyly. ‘Karim says you wish to ask me a few questions. I am happy to give you answers if I know them.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I know about you and your friend both coming aboard, late at night. I was there on deck and I saw you. It must have been terrible in that little rowing boat.’

  She shook her head, her long hair swishing like a curtain, looking down at the deck. ‘It was bad dream.’

  ‘A bad dream you will want to forget. But before you forget, tell me if anyone else came aboard with you? Were there just the two of you, or was there a third? Another person?’

  ‘Yes, the man who rented us the rowing boat, he came too. He said his boat was too damaged to row back to land, so he came on with us. He said he would get off at the next port of call and be no trouble. We never saw him again.’

  ‘Was he English or was he Spanish?’

  ‘He was big English. He said he had to leave England in a hurry for some bad reason. He was making living with boats. I was frightened of him.’

  I leaned forward and smiled. ‘Thank you, Leila. That’s all I wanted to know.’

  I took a cashmere jacket with me and went looking for Sam. He was in the Galaxy Lounge bar with a shrunken harem. The rough weather was taking its toll. He was buying the ladies double brandies but they still didn’t look too happy. It was difficult to look alluring if your stomach was churning your supper. Their eyes flickered venom when they saw me.

  ‘May I have a word, on deck,’ I said, not standing too close.

  ‘Of course, Miss Jones. Excuse me, ladies.’

  I shrugged into the jacket as the wind buffeted the door opening on to the deck. It would have to be a brief talk. Any minute now and the decks would be cordoned off as too dangerous. My hair whipped away, out of its careful chignon.

  ‘Hold on to me,’ said Sam. ‘Twenty stone is enough ballast, surely?’

  ‘I’m not that heavy.’

  ‘Combined weight. Just guessing. Let’s find a sheltered corner.’

  I loved rough weather but I knew this was getting to be unsafe. We stood in the shelter of a doorway and lifeboat, protected by the worst of the gusts. The only place to be alone and not overheard.

  ‘Why do you think Frank Trafford wrapped me in heavy netting, hoping I would drown?’ The thought of that watery grave still made me tremble. ‘What had I done to make him hate me so? Was I close to a solution, that drove a nervous killer to the surface?’

  ‘It was enough that you jumped the queue in the surgery. He’s one of those vindictive people who never forget, no matter how trivial the annoyance. He wanted to teach you a lesson. He never thought of the consequences.’

  ‘Time to circle the wagons then. But I think I’ve broken Greg Belcher’s bar alibi, in a way,’ I said. ‘Lateral thinking.’

  ‘Brilliant. My clever girl. I adore you.’ He kissed me with enthusiasm on the cheek. Not exactly loving, more like boisterous congratulations.

  ‘I said sort of, not actually broken. Greg Belcher could have hired someone else to do it. His bar alibi is ninety-nine percent foolproof. But what if there was an extra Englishman on board, that no one knew about, someone who had to leave the UK in a hurry? Maybe an ex-con? There are a lot of those about. He could have been hired by Greg in the UK or Greg Belcher met him on board and took advantage of the situation, paid him to kill Dora. Remember the black eye? The killer’s probably gone ashore by now, with the money.’

  ‘You’re not fooling me,’ said Sam, shielding me from the wind. It was strong enough to flatten his body against the wall. ‘What do you really think, Casey?’

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘No, I don’t. You said his bar bill was ninety-nine percent foolproof. So, tell me about that one percent flaw.’

  I knew Sam could read my mind. ‘He was drinking beer with a whisky chaser. Now that’s a lot of liquid to hold. At some point in the evening, Mother Nature had to be obeyed.’

  ‘Naturally. She who must be obeyed.’

  ‘I got copies of all his bar receipts. As you know, they not only have the date on, the barman’s name, the bar venue, and the time the receipt was issued. Practically War and Peace. I put them in time order and there was one thing no one had noticed.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Roderic. Paddy took a ten minute break and Roderic stood in for him. There’s one receipt headed Roderic with his service number. Maybe Paddy went to fetch supplies, maybe something was slow in being delivered. But he left the bar for ten minutes. Greg could also have sli
pped out.’

  ‘And you timed the distance?’

  ‘Yes. I did a late-night run. It was possible in ten minutes. Pretty fast work but just possible.’

  ‘Adrenalin,’ said Sam. ‘So these mathematical logistics will be passed to the right authority and you’ll let them sort it out?’

  ‘Yes, let them sort it out. It’s their department, not mine.’

  ‘Casey Jones, you are a wonder. Whatever should I do without you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Chat up lonely female passengers. Pull a few teeth.’

  He folded me into his arms. The Bay of Biscay was ahead, a trough of chaos to be survived. But Sam was with me and that was all that mattered.

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