by Kim Ekemar
“No, for the moment it won’t be necessary. She’s actually the only passenger besides myself that I can place with an alibi when the shot went off.”
*
That Brent Crenshaw was a distant relative of royalty was of no particular interest to Ricardo, with the exception that it gave him some – albeit, not very reliable and perhaps not consequential – background into his personality.
Of much more interest was the time Crenshaw had spent as a news photographer in war zones, and in particular his spell in Syria. According to the Interpol report, Crenshaw had a year earlier resigned from the newspaper he had worked for because of a personal breakdown. There had been some medical corroboration that he was emotionally unstable because of his war experiences, with its conclusion that Crenshaw was emotionally unreliable.
When the man he shared his dinner table with on Stella Australis entered the lounge, for the first time Ricardo witnessed Crenshaw become agitated when he noticed the uniformed policemen. Fidgeting with his hands, he sat down without looking at them.
A man who’s afraid … but of what? Villaverde wondered. Crenshaw gives the impression of someone who’s not in control … but is that reaction something that makes him the assassin?
“Brent, I need to hear you tell us again your whereabouts between three and three thirty yesterday afternoon”, Ricardo began the interview. “I’m sure you can appreciate that, if a murder has taken place on board, as a police officer I must conduct an inquiry.”
“Was it murder?” Crenshaw replied, lifting his eyebrows in vague surprise.
“It seems to have been, and that’s why I need to interrogate you, since you are one among those on board that do not have an alibi for the time the crime occurred.”
“Of course you must”, Crenshaw replied, still not looking Ricardo in the eyes. “I wasn’t the one who fired the gun, though. I hate guns. I wouldn’t go near one.”
“Then for the benefit of the chief of police here, tell us where you were at the time.”
“I had a beer in the Darwin Lounge. Some five or ten minutes before the shot was fired, I left the lounge and went downstairs. It occurred to me that here, on the balcony to this lounge, there was a different angle of the Pia Glacier that could be interesting to try out for a few pictures.”
“Did you see anyone when you came here?”
“Yes”, Crenshaw replied, “there were two housekeepers gossiping in the lounge. They quickly fell silent when I entered, but I’m sure they started chatting again the moment I stepped out onto the balcony. When I returned, they had left. I imagine I spooked them.”
“Could they see you from the lounge?”
“I really don’t know”, Crenshaw said, “you’ll have to ask them.”
“Did you see them while standing on the balcony?”
“I didn’t really bother to look for them, so I guess my answer is no.”
“Did you get the pictures you wanted?”
“No. The weather was becoming worse. The wind was picking up. I took a few shots, just in case. Later when I checked them, there was nothing worthwhile, so I deleted them. Anyway, I had already taken the pictures I wanted from the Darwin deck.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I returned to my cabin.”
“Which is one of the superior cabins on the same deck as the bridge. Where were you when you heard the shot?”
“I heard it a minute or two after I had entered.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went to bed.”
“You weren’t curious about a gun being fired near your cabin?”
“As I’ve already said, I can’t stand guns or gunfire – they make me nervous and depressed.”
After dismissing him, Ricardo compared Crenshaw’s information to the timeline he had created and showed it to Villaverde. Crenshaw had left the Darwin Lounge at 3:04. The two maids had confirmed that he had entered the Yamana Lounge shortly afterwards and had gone out on its balcony carrying a large camera bag. Since his presence had made them uncomfortable, they had left the lounge.
Over the next two hours, there was no one who could vouch for Crenshaw’s whereabouts.
*
Antanias stumbled as he entered into the lounge. There were pearls of sweat on his balding forehead as if he had been running in a hurry to attend Ricardo’s summons. Breathing heavily, he clumsily took the chair opposite the policemen. Ricardo noted a faint odour of garlic come wafting across.
“Here I am”, Antanias announced himself, moving around in his chair. “What is it you wanted to see me about this time?”
This man is so far the most nervous among the witnesses, Villaverde reflected, as he studied him. If he’s not guilty of murder, then it certainly must be of something else.
On an impulse, Ricardo decided to confront this particular witness with a more direct approach.
“An international law enforcement agency has provided me with information concerning yourself that isn’t particularly flattering”, Ricardo began. “In the past decades – and this is according to Interpol – you’ve either come under investigation about or have been accused of illegal arms trading, drug trafficking, money laundering and a number of other crimes of a description equally concerning. That –”
“That! … That is slander and as far from the truth as any gossip can guide you!” Antanias protested wildly, sitting up in the chair. “I am, and always have been, a lawful citizen who is a –“
It was Ricardo’s turn to interrupt.
“Citizen of Lebanon, is it?”
“Yes, I am – born and raised in that very country, which is a fact I confirm with pride!”
“Have you ever been to Syria?”
The question seemed to catch Antanias off guard.
“Yes … yes, I’ve visited our neighbouring country on several occasions, especially before the civil war there began”, he replied, looking bewildered. “But what does that have to do with anything? We’re halfway around the world, at the tip of South America!”
“Because the man on this photo that I’m going to show you was a Syrian naval officer before he was shot by someone on board this ship yesterday afternoon.”
“Shot? You mean, somebody killed him?”
Ricardo handed over a photocopy of Cohen’s passport and decided to press on without allowing Antanias to catch his breath.
“You need to repeat where you were at twelve past three yesterday afternoon, as well as your movements immediately before and after the shot was fired.”
Antanias was wary now that the policeman had shared the information Interpol had on him. It was far more extensive than he had thought was known by any intelligence service. How did this Argentinian cop come across so much about my activities in such a short time? he wondered. The only way to come out of this interview unscathed is of course to vehemently deny, deny, deny that any of it is true.
“When you interrogated me earlier, I told you that I was leaving my cabin to find Ferah when the shot went off!” Antanias shouted his indignation heatedly while pulling himself to the edge of his chair and in the process revealed that some of his teeth were adorned with a gold-encrusted bridge. “Before that, I was in the Darwin Lounge on the top deck. Ferah left before I did. I must have left the lounge around three. I went to the lavatory on the deck below, where I met the bartender in the doorway. When I came out, I saw the photographer, Crenshaw, disappear down the stairs. I peeked inside the lounge again, to see if Ferah had returned. She hadn’t. The only one sitting there, playing some computer game, was that French girl, Leila.”
“Was she? I have another witness saying that by this time, Leila had put away her tablet. Did you really return to the lounge?”
“Of course I did!” Antanias protested. “Even if I don’t recollect exactly what she was doing – anyway, there she was.”
“And then, after you heard the shot?”
“As I’ve said before, I didn’t pay much attention to it �
�”
“A very loud gun blast half a corridor away? How is that possible?”
“I repeat, my mind was elsewhere; I thought Ferah was waiting for me in the cabin.”
“And when you didn’t find her there?”
“I left the cabin and went looking for her.”
“And did you find her?”
“Yes”, Antanias said with a sigh. “I’ve told you all this before. She was on the deck where the reception is.”
“Did you see anybody else before finding her?”
Antanias thought for a moment.
“Yes … yes, now I remember. I briefly saw the hostess, Berenice, appear on the deck where we were talking. She looked dishevelled, with unkempt hair. Someone called out, and she immediately disappeared.”
Ricardo thought through the information Antanias had provided. There were two staircases connecting the five decks and the engine room. The captain and his crew used the one closest to the ship’s bow, which was the quickest way to communicate between the bridge, the engine room and the captain’s cabin. The other staircase, the one that went from the dining room on the Patagonia deck up to the Cabo de Hornos deck, must have been where Berenice had briefly appeared. Still, it was not clear if she had done so coming from above or below the Magallanes deck, where Antanias claimed to have seen her.
“Did Berenice come and go from upstairs or downstairs when you saw her?”
Again, Antanias took his time to think about the answer.
“I can’t say where she came from, because my attention was on the conversation with Ferah. But I did notice that she went downstairs when she left.”
“How come you decided to make this cruise so far away from your usual habitat?” Ricardo inquired.
“A change of air”, Antanias replied, shrugging off the question. “Something different and more exciting than where we live and where the subject of everyone’s conversation is war, war, war. An opportunity to –”
Ricardo held up a hand to stop him from elaborating on his reply with words he knew would have no value to his investigation.
“What was your reason for paying the waiter in the dining room on the first night?”
“What are you suggesting – paying some waiter?” Again, Antanias looked offended.
“I saw you with my own eyes when you handed over a roll of dollar bills to him. What was the favour you expected?”
“Oh, that”, Antanias said, and sought to wave away any importance in what he had done. “I merely wanted him to deliver a bottle to our room to surprise Ferah later.”
It was obvious to both Ricardo and Villaverde that he was lying.
“Thank you, Mister Murad, you may go now. I’ll call for you later, should there be anything else I need you to clarify.”
*
As always, Ferah was provocatively dressed as she swept into the lounge where Ricardo and Villaverde waited to interview her. She wore an expensive-looking shawl across her shoulders, which in no way blocked their view of her generous décolletage. This woman was no doubt a stunning beauty when she was younger, Villaverde reflected with admiration, and she still projects an air of certain … magnificence.
As for Ricardo, her appearance merely fitted with what he had learnt from reading through the Interpol report about her: a life of escort girls and solicitation in Istanbul. He imperceptibly raised his shoulders at the knowledge. He didn’t doubt for a moment that she was a cunning woman, streetwise from a hard life working in the shadows. However, her past or present work conditions were of no concern to him so long as they weren’t the motive behind the killing of Shadid.
“I understand that, for many years you have run a lucrative escort service in Turkey using young women to –”
“– be company for businessmen? Company is about building bridges”, she tried to drown him out by interrupting with a rapid-fire response, “and of course we Turks know all about it, having the only bridge in the world that connects two continents. It’s only natural that a businessman who comes to Istanbul wants to appear more presentable with a beautiful girl on his arm –”
“– that on occasion has caused some disturbance with the Turkish police –”
“– who with her sophisticated conversation about world affairs has helped close many deals –”
“– and here, in particular, I am referring to a specific incident that you yourself reported to the police about the man in this photo.”
That silenced her for a full minute while she studied the picture of Adnan Shadid.
“Yes”, she finally admitted, now with her attitude completely changed, “I reported this man once, many years ago, for physically abusing me.”
“I noticed that you recognised him when we entered the engine room yesterday”, Ricardo added. “In our previous interview, you denied to have recognised him.”
“Yesterday, I wasn’t sure – it all happened long ago when I met this despicable man”, she replied. “I’m convinced my memory wanted to erase this … this brutal thug from my recollection.”
“What you’re telling me, then, is that you also remember that he was about to strike another crew member”, Ricardo continued, “this man that you reported years ago to the Turkish police, right?”
“Yes”, she said, simply.
“Now, here’s the situation I’m investigating. The name of the man who you once reported to the police is Adnan Shadid. What happened to him after you reported him to the police?”
“When I was contacted a week later, the police told me he had left the country and that there was nothing more they could do. Maybe that was true, maybe not. If you have enough money, it’s not difficult in Turkey to make the police look the other way.”
“Well, Adnan Shadid is now dead. Yesterday, he was shot by someone on the commanding bridge of the ship. I find it to be an extraordinary coincidence that, on the afternoon he was killed, you remained on board instead of going ashore with all the others.”
“Was he murdered?”
Ferah inhaled deeply and straightened herself, which made her bosom appear even more impressive to Villaverde. She leaned forward and grabbed her chin with her left hand, leaving her index finger across her red-painted lower lip.
“Life is all about coincidences, Inspector, didn’t you know? Once and for all: I was looking at the quite limited merchandise on offer at the shop in the reception area when I, in the distance, heard the shot you have referred to being fired. A few minutes later, I was joined by Antanias. What more is there to tell?”
“Did you see anyone else between leaving the Darwin Lounge and until you were joined by Mister Murad in the reception area?”
Her eyes took on a distant gaze as she frowned thinking about an answer.
“I remember briefly talking with the captain, when we met on the stairs between the decks. That was before Antanias caught up with me.”
“That’s what you told me in a previous interview. However, when I checked this with the captain, he disputes it. He firmly puts your meeting on the staircase nearly an hour earlier. Your response to that?”
For a moment, Ferah looked confused.
“Perhaps I got the time mixed up”, she finally admitted. “Walking up and down stairs on a ship where everything looks alike isn’t helping my memory, I suppose.”
“Did you see or hear anyone by the staircase moments after the shot went off?”
“No, I’m quite certain I didn’t see anyone after Antanias joined me in the reception area and until we got back to our cabin.”
“What time did you get there?”
“Oh, maybe a quarter to four or so.”
I was allowed inside the bridge ten minutes before that, so, if she’s telling the truth, that part checks, Ricardo observed.
“That will be all for now”, he concluded the interview, already reflecting upon how some of Ferah’s assertions contradicted what Antanias had already told him. “I will call you later should there be some new development that we need t
o corroborate.”
Fully aware of the imposing figure she cut, Ferah got up and sailed out from the lounge.
*
Berenice arrived. She had changed into a uniform with a different colour. Wearing it, she appeared demurer than Ricardo had previously seen her.
“Sit down, please”, he told her.
Berenice obeyed him. She crossed one leg over the other while pulling at her skirt to carefully cover her thighs. Nothing like the picture the Interpol report paints, Ricardo silently reflected.
“There is considerable proof to believe that Ari Cohen was shot dead on the bridge by someone yesterday afternoon”, he began. “Tell me where you were at twelve minutes past three when the gun went off.”
“He … Ari was murdered?”
“So it seems.”
“It’s hard for me to believe …”
“Nevertheless, that’s apparently what happened. Now, tell me – where were you at twelve minutes past three?”
“I … I was in my cabin”, she replied.
“Did you hear the shot?” he demanded to know.
“No … I can’t say I did … but then again my cabin is far away from the bridge, on the lowest of the decks, as it is.”
“Is there anyone who can support your statement?”
For some reason her cheeks became flushed a dark pink.
“There is … there is, but there is also a slight … inconvenience related to … this … my particular … situation”, she stammered.
Ricardo’s interest was immediately piqued.
“What are you trying to say?”
“I suppose I need to tell you …”, she replied hesitantly, “with the killing of Ari and all. But I beg you, I beg you not to tell the captain about it – it would get me into trouble. Surely you can understand that reporting it would be taking it a bridge too far.”
“Whatever it is that you want to keep secret”, Ricardo rebuked her, “I’m sure that Ari Cohen’s murder is much graver. It’s of the utmost importance that you tell me the truth. The only thing I can promise you is that, insofar as your troubling behaviour doesn’t interfere with the police investigation, I can’t see any reason to bring it up with anyone.”