Eva thought about Jim’s words. It all seemed logical. Li Poh had the opportunity, on account of being in Team Two and on duty, but, as far as she could tell, no means or motive. ‘Not to mention how terrible she was at maintenance during Tom’s training period,’ she added. ‘From what Marcus and Tom were saying, it looked like the work of someone who had at least a rudimentary understanding of the systems. Who do we know who did well in training, despite no real prior knowledge?’
Both Jim and Duncan uttered, ‘Patrice.’
‘I remember the training week,’ Duncan said. ‘He picked the maintenance routines up quicker than almost all of us. And from his time on the Bravo, we know he’s highly adaptable and competent. So, to use your line of enquiry, he has the means and opportunity, but where’s the motive?’
‘I’ve known him for years,’ Jim said. ‘It’s not in his character. It can’t be him.’
‘Then who? We’ve accounted for everyone,’ Eva urged. The more she looked at the situation, and considered each person, the more her instinct told her Patrice was most likely, despite what they all knew about him. She had seen enough surprises in the police force to know that even the most unlikely of suspects can have some hidden motive that would make them act considerably out of character.
‘There’s one other option,’ Jim said. ‘What if we had an unaccounted-for guest?’
‘A stowaway?’ Duncan said, looking unsure.
Eva wasn’t convinced either. Sure, the sub was large, but she couldn’t imagine it being too easy for someone to sneak aboard and stay undetected. They’d need to drink and eat, sleep and attend to other bodily requirements. Someone on duty would have spotted them, surely. ‘I suppose we can’t entirely rule it out,’ Eva said, ‘but I think it’s highly doubtful. Let’s eliminate the current known crew first before we go that route.’
‘If you two watch the systems here, I’ll go and talk with Patrice,’ Jim said, stifling a yawn.
Eva stood up and held out her hand. ‘No, I’ll go. It’ll be easier for me, it’s what I used to do. Besides, I’m due to finish my shift and he’s taking over from me. It’ll give me cover to start the questioning.’
‘Don’t go too heavy on him; he’s a friend,’ Duncan said.
Eva stood and turned to leave, but stopped and once more considered where Duncan’s loyalties lay. Instead of wishing her luck, he seemed more concerned for an old friend. She couldn’t help but grow increasingly doubtful over his feelings for her – and hers for him.
Without responding, she ducked through the bulkhead and left the command centre, heading down the main passageway, weaving around the detritus of living: cans of food, canteens of water, and myriad other supplies stacked in the narrow aperture.
It took a few minutes to navigate her way around the obstacles and move the hundred metres or so to the cabins where Patrice had set himself up, each empty berth she passed on the way representing the ghost shell of some young man who had perished at the hands of Stanic, and the whims of a governmental organisation that didn’t value life.
When she arrived at Patrice’s cabin, she stopped before reaching out to knock. There were sounds of struggle from inside: a grunt, a moan, a whimper, then clothes rustling, and a sharp cry. When she heard the sound of someone being hit – dull thuds, over and over, Eva’s reactions kicked in. She grabbed the handle and barged in, ready to act.
‘Bernita!’ Eva cried, taking a step backwards into the open doorway.
The Argentinean woman looked over Patrice’s shoulder at Eva, her dark, soulful eyes flashing wide with alarm. Her bare shoulders were reddened by finger marks – Patrice’s. The Frenchman stood behind her, his strong body pushed up against hers, crushing her against the cabin wall. Eva lowered her eyes, saw the pile of clothes around their ankles, and realised in a flush of embarrassment that the sounds had not been of struggle – at least not in a violent sense.
‘Oh . . . I’m so sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . .’
Patrice spun round, flashing her inadvertently as he grabbed for his clothes. Eva diverted her attention and stood there as if pinned to the ground by iron spikes, as the two lovers quickly got dressed. Bernita’s face reddened with embarrassment and she shuffled past Patrice, avoiding eye contact with Eva.
‘I must go,’ Bernita said. She let her long brown hair cover her face as she bustled towards the doorway. Eva stepped aside, opened her mouth to apologise and explain, but the young woman hurried past, clutching her loose clothes to her chest. She trotted as fast as she could down the passageway.
Eva turned her attention back to Patrice, relieved he had put on some trousers at least. His nostrils were flared as he glowered at Eva.
‘What?’ he said, lifting his nose in the air with decades of sommelier experience. ‘My shift doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. What Bernita and I get up to in our own time is our business.’
He had a point, Eva thought. And, to be fair, she didn’t care what he and Bernita got up to. Sure, it wasn’t the most professional thing to do before a shift, but everyone had to get through the experience the best they could. She didn’t know him well enough to know if this was unusual behaviour for him, so she decided to take the non-confrontational approach.
‘Hey, you guys are free to do what you want as long as it’s consenting. I’m not judging you. I just thought . . . Well, it sounded like . . .’
‘Rape?’ Patrice said with a sneer. ‘Is that what you were about to accuse me of?’
Closing the door behind her, Eva turned to face him and raised her palms in an apologetic gesture. ‘Of course not! It just sounded like a struggle is all. I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t react to that. It’s just a misunderstanding. I’m not accusing you of doing anything to her. I’m sorry if that’s the impression you got, but, that aside, I do need to talk with you.’
He lifted his wrist dramatically, the bulky diver’s watch making his arms look like twigs. ‘My shift is starting soon,’ he said. ‘We don’t have time.’ He fumbled with his sweater and lifted it over his head.
‘It won’t take long,’ she said, ignoring his sigh of frustration.
As he continued to put on his clothes, she scanned the cabin out of casual interest. The bed sheets on the bunks were rumpled – she didn’t need Sherlock Holmes to explain why; socks and shoes were strewn about the place as though a student had made themselves at home, but beyond those, something else caught her eye.
Patrice mirrored her gaze until they both settled on a small metal toolbox, one of the cantilever types with a tote handle; the kind that the submarine kept in one very specific place so that they wouldn’t get lost. The kind that was used for various maintenance jobs around the sub: maintenance jobs that Patrice was not responsible for, on account of his duties in the command centre.
‘Oh,’ Patrice said, his face flushed even redder than before. ‘I can explain.’
CHAPTER SIX
Fourth day at sea. 11:49 a.m.
It’s not what you think,’ Patrice said. ‘I mean . . . about the . . .’
‘About what?’ Eva asked, settling back against the door. ‘The tools? What are they doing in here?’
‘I . . . Wait, is this why you’ve come to see me? You think I had something to do with the damage to those electrical systems? That’s . . . how you say . . . preposterous!’ He straightened up, squaring his shoulders.
Eva relaxed her muscles, no longer anticipating an attack from him. He was still in denial mode. She would have to break through that before anything else might develop. She placed her hands casually in her pockets and softened her expression.
‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘And you’re right; it’s totally preposterous. But here’s how it looks: we’ve identified the culprit as being on Team Two owing to the time of the incidents; it’s obviously someone who has shown a degree of competence during the training, and finally . . .’ She nodded to the set of tools and stepped forward, placing a hand on Patrice’s shoulder, as though h
e were her best friend and she was confiding in him.
‘You can see how it looks to the others,’ she continued. ‘I just want to clear your name from the enquiry. We’ve all been through a lot, and naturally everyone gets a little paranoid under the strain. Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?’
Patrice sat on the edge of the bunk and rested his elbows on his knees; his head drooped towards the floor. Eva thought about sitting next to him, pulling the old good cop routine of putting her arm around his shoulder, telling him that she could help him if he just confessed, but she stayed standing in front of him, waiting, not quite trusting his reaction.
Patrice lifted his head and shook it slowly from side to side. ‘Non,’ he said. ‘Non, non, non. It wasn’t me. I see how it looks, but it’s just an . . . illusion. A lie. Merde! You know me! They know me!’ He rubbed a shaking hand across his face, which was becoming ever paler in the low light of the cabin. Shadows made his eyes look deep-seated within their sockets. He was ageing right there before her very eyes.
‘Then explain,’ Eva said. ‘Don’t let anyone accuse you if you’re innocent. Prove you had nothing to do with it.’
He stood up quickly then, clenched his right hand into a fist.
Eva jerked back with a flinch.
Patrice caught himself, realised how his action appeared. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, releasing his fist. ‘I’m just . . . You know, these people, you, were my friends. Now you think I would do something like that? I’m starting to wish I never came on this damned trip in the first place.’
‘The tools,’ Eva said, getting him focused back on the issue. ‘Why do you have them?’
‘Ask Tom!’ he bellowed. ‘He told me to collect them for some extra maintenance later during my shift.’
‘So, if that’s all, why the guilty expression and shiftiness?’
‘Fine. If you must know, Tom asked me to keep it to myself. This extra maintenance . . . it was, how you say . . . busy work for Marcus.’
‘Busy work?’ Eva asked. ‘You mean, Tom wanted you to create extra work for Marcus. For what reason?’
Patrice shrugged with frustration. ‘I don’t know. Ask Tom. I guess he just wanted Marcus to remain focused. I didn’t want to be involved.’
‘You realise how suspicious this sounds, right?’ Eva said, weighing up what he had told her. But it must have some validity, she thought; it was an easy alibi to check, after all. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll square it with Tom. But before I go back to tell the others you had nothing to do with the malfunctions, you need to tell me where you were when those systems blew. No one saw you, and with this issue with the tools . . .’
Patrice looked down at the rumpled sheets on his bunk and closed his eyes as if going back to a better time in his life. ‘Bernita,’ he said. ‘We were . . . Well, you know.’ He then turned to face her and looked directly into her eyes. ‘I guess you would prefer proof? Speak with Li Poh; she served Bernita and me food at the beginning of our rest period, a few hours before the systems must have been tampered with. After that, we went back to my cabin.’
Eva noted this in her memory and added a trip to speak with Li Poh to her list of things she’d need to do next. But even without that, she could see the sincerity in Patrice’s face. He slumped back down onto the bunk and sighed heavily.
‘You’ve not been your usual self since we left,’ Eva said, finally settling down next to him. ‘I’ve barely seen you, or spoken with you. Has someone done something to upset you?’
‘Non, it’s nothing like that.’
‘Then what’s the problem? You were great during training – enthusiastic, competent. Is something bothering you?’ She noticed the tension in his shoulders as though he was carrying the pressure of the water above them.
Looking up at her with soulful, honest eyes, he said, ‘I guess I don’t believe that there is a base, or that we have a future. I thought maybe I’d feel different if I came along.’
‘Then why did you come?’
‘Because I had to see – even if on the off-chance there was something. We’re going nowhere on the flotilla. Just existing isn’t enough. I need to know – one way or another – what happened. Even if this is all a lie, there’s that chance, you know?’
She did. She guessed every member of the crew had had the same thoughts at some point during this journey. Without seeing it for themselves, there would always be that doubt – that the documents Tom had decoded were somehow wrong, or a lie, some fabrication to justify Stanic’s action.
‘That’s where faith comes in,’ Eva said.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t have faith; I have facts.’
‘That can be a depressing way to live. And from someone whose entire career was based on fact, that’s something to consider.’
‘It’s realistic, though. Look, Eva, I respect that you had to come and talk with me about this whole sabotage thing, but I’m telling you, it wasn’t me. I have given you two alibis and a solid reason for why I’ve been withdrawn. I’d like you to leave now. My shift starts in a few minutes and I’d rather focus on that right now.’
He stood and squared his shoulders towards the door. Eva took the hint and made to leave. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, then turned back towards him. ‘I’m sorry, Patrice, for everything. If you ever feel the need, you can talk to me.’
‘I have Bernita,’ he said solemnly, then closed the door in her face, though not with any kind of force. Eva closed her eyes and sighed, hating that she had potentially lost an ally. But she had no other choice: the safety of the crew as a whole was more important. With that in mind, she decided to head off to get some rest before following up on his two alibis. Tom was still busy working on fixing the blown converter and Li Poh wasn’t on shift yet.
Both would be available after she’d had a chance to sleep before the next shift.
If Patrice’s alibis checked out, they’d be back to square one again. Someone among her friends was a liar and a saboteur, and the thought of it made her sick. Human nature never ceased to surprise, or disappoint, she thought sadly, as she headed down the hallway back towards her cabin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
14:30 p.m.
Eva couldn’t sleep, despite her bunk being completely dark and still. The mattress was cold and too firm beneath her, a marble slab in a dark crypt. Although deep sleep eluded her, she had slipped into a fitful daydream.
It was filled with darkness and stillness. At first she thought it was just a reflection of her bunk, a reflection of the mind, taking her into a meditative state. The dream continued to sharpen in resolution, imprinting on her the undeniable sensation of being trapped at the bottom of the ocean.
Not even the bottom of the new ocean, but deeper still.
The sub, in this pseudo-dream, lay at the very bottom of the Earth where no light could penetrate. She and the rest of the crew were corpses in their bunks. All around them, a field of blue electrical arcs swayed and popped.
She was unable to move her limbs in this watery tomb. But it seemed as though she didn’t mind too much, enjoying the experience of just being without the weight of movement, decision, or action spoiling her stillness.
Is this what life actually is, she thought? An endless procession of interruptions to one’s stillness?
In thinking like this, death, as inevitable as it was, no longer held its dominion over her. A part of her welcomed it, welcomed the end to the struggles. Perhaps humans were an anomaly, and nature was in the process of correcting this terrible error, this spanner in the works of the natural cycle of existence.
The dream continued to progress, dragging heavy thoughts from her like beasts of burden dragging a tiller across the soil, the churning of the surface exposing the new life beneath – but what was beneath?
It was this consideration that brought her out of her stupor. The truth was waiting for her. She just had to dig. She swung her legs over the mattress, and made her way across and down the
hallway a few metres until she came to Duncan’s cabin.
The door wasn’t locked and she stepped inside to find Duncan sprawled on the bed, a small reading light casting the colour of aged bones around the compact space. His head was propped up on a folded pillow. He was reading a tatty old paperback – Dune, by Frank Herbert. He folded the top corner of a page into a triangle and closed the book, making Eva wince. She hated people who did that to book pages.
‘Not heard of a bookmark?’ she said, trying to say it with humour, but it came out with an edge of bitterness that surprised even her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she quickly added. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so . . .’
‘Harsh?’ Duncan said rolling on to his side and propping his head up with his hand. He let the book drop to the mattress in front of his belly. He was still fully clothed and looked no worse for still being up after a long shift. A part of Eva was jealous of his ability to be so calm and capable with such a demanding shift pattern. Another part of her resented him for it.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Eva said. ‘I just wanted to come by, talk to you about Patrice.’
‘You look exhausted.’
‘Thanks. Very kind of you to say so.’
‘I mean it, Eva. Why don’t you go back and get some rest? Even if you can’t sleep, the rest will do you good.’
‘Are you suggesting this is all too much for me? Just because you’re finding it easy doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t handling it.’
‘That’s not what I meant. Let’s start over, shall we? What can I do for you?’
He made it sound like Eva was just some kid annoying him for a favour.
‘I spoke with Patrice.’
‘I know,’ Duncan said, interrupting. ‘He told Dad and me when he started his shift.’
Soil (The Last Flotilla Book 2) Page 5