Now scribbling furiously to catch up, Theodore asked his next question without taking time to raise his hand.
"Did the private detectives follow him onboard?"
"Unfortunately, no. They were stopped by security at the gangplank. It seems the mayor and various other high officials had reserved this particular cruise as a private fund-raiser for their political party."
Theodore paused briefly to wonder how it was that criminals were able to travel in the same high social circles as people who ran the government. Present company in the Inner Sanctum excluded, of course.
"You're saying our client has an in with the mayor?"
"Mr. Jovanovich has been a large contributor to party coffers in the past, but we're not sure how he managed an invitation to this event. His recent arrest and resulting publicity should have made him a political liability if he were to be recognized by any of the news reporters standing dockside when the ship departed. Perhaps that explains why he boarded several hours before any other guests."
"And no one's laid eyes on Jovanovich since?"
"Quite correct, Theodore, at least as far as members of our side are concerned. It seems sunlight reflecting off the cabin's plate-glass windows rendered vision into the ship's interior impossible; therefore the detective agency's men rented a speedboat and followed the dinner cruise ship on its tour around the bay, hoping for a better look. Operatives scanned the deck and large cabin with binoculars and telescopes as best they could. No sight of our missing man."
Theodore ducked his head to hide his sudden flush of exuberance now that someone other than himself had recently failed the proprietor. At least the hired detectives’ failure should draw some of the proprietor's attention away from those prior incidents, which Theodore preferred to call his occasional professional mistakes. As it was, these incidents were seldom his own fault since he could readily rationalize why these mishaps had the misfortune to occur to him during the performance of his many duties. On the bright side, however, this negative development on the part of others in the current situation just might provide him, Theodore, with a chance to show his true worth to the firm.
"What would you like me to do, sir?"
The proprietor tented his long slender fingers and leaned back in his executive leather chair.
"Theodore, I want you at the dock to meet the dinner cruise ship when she returns. You have about twenty minutes to get there. Closely observe each departing passenger. If Mr. Jovanovich does not come ashore, then you will board and search all hiding places on the vessel."
Cletis Johnston passed an envelope across the top of his desk.
"This letter from our friend, the precinct captain, will get you all the cooperation you need from the ship's officers and crew. Report back to me as soon as possible."
Letter in one hand and notebook and stubby pencil in the other, Theodore immediately rushed for the door. He had a mission.
* * * *
Three hours and twenty-nine minutes later, Theodore dragged himself through the front entrance of the Twin Brothers Bail Bond firm and approached the door to the proprietor's office. He had hoped that the executive secretary's desk right outside the entrance to the Inner Sanctum would be vacant. No such luck.
The cadaverous Hindu sitting guard at the door motioned him forward.
Theodore took three reluctant steps toward the side of the desk. He stopped just out of arm's reach—Moklal Feringheea's long-armed reach, not the shorter length of his own stubby arms.
Moklal made a pointing motion with his left index finger toward his own sunken left cheek.
"You have a spot of grease close by your nose."
Theodore rubbed at his right cheek next to his nose.
"No, no, the grease is on the other side of your face. Stand still and I will get it for you."
Moklal opened the top drawer of his desk and brought out a yellow silk scarf knotted at both ends.
Upon quickly recognizing the rumal, a scarf used in the ritual strangulation of a Thuggee victim, Theodore immediately took two steps backward. He had no intention of placing his head into a hangman's noose over a mere smudge of alleged grease.
Moklal smiled in amusement.
"As the Mahatma so wisely says, ‘There would be no one to frighten you if you refused to be afraid.’”
"I'm not scared,” retorted Theodore.
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
Theodore tried to wrap his mind around that thought, finally gave up, and advanced into the proprietor's office.
From behind his mahogany desk, Cletis Johnston motioned at his own left cheek.
"You have a smudge of grease."
This time, Theodore frantically rubbed both cheeks.
"You got it,” murmured the proprietor. “Now what did you find out at the cruise ship?"
Theodore fumbled for his notebook, opened it, and began to recite from his notes.
"I watched all the departing passengers. Mr. Jovanovich never got off. After everyone had left, including all of the crew, I went on board and showed your letter to the ship's captain."
"Any problems?"
"No. The captain let me search the ship from stem to stern and top to bottom."
"And?"
"Nothing."
"You searched the upper deck?"
"Yes, sir. Not much up there except the captain's cabin and that little room where he steers the boat. No place to hide anything as large as a body anywhere in that room, plus I examined everything in the captain's cabin, his closet, and even under his bunk. The top deck's completely clear."
"What about the engine room and lockers down below?"
"I'd never been in the basement of a boat before,” replied Theodore. “Parts of it were pretty dark down there, but the captain loaned me a flashlight, so I could see better. He even helped me move all the stuff inside the lockers. I checked them all, no sign of our missing client. Then I rummaged through the engine room. That's probably where I got the grease on my face. No bodies down there either."
Using the tips of his well-manicured fingers, Cletis Johnston absently stroked one end of his long, silken, black Zapata mustache. He remained silent for a moment.
"Then according to your report, the only places left for you to search were the large dining cabin and the ship's galley on the main deck."
Theodore nodded. “Yes, sir.” He wasn't sure what a ship's galley was, but in any case he decided to continue his report by mentioning his search of the kitchen area.
"Since the mayor had previously requested a specific cuisine for the fund-raising event, the local political party insisted to the ship's captain that the dinner be catered by a certain upscale Bay City restaurant, and therefore the ship's kitchen was clean and didn't take long to look through. I opened the oven doors and pulled out all the cabinet drawers. They couldn't have hidden anything larger than a can of pork and beans in that room."
Now the proprietor slowly tapped one index finger on his executive mahogany desktop.
"Then we're down to the large dining room. Describe it."
Theodore flipped a page over in his spiral notebook before reciting the details.
"Well, sir, you enter the dining room from the back of the boat. Along this back wall are two small bars manned by one bartender on each side of the door. Forward of the two bars are several round tables covered with white tablecloths. Each table has about six chairs around it. Up along the front wall are an eight-foot table with several large chafing pans of hot food on it, plus an eight-foot-long stainless steel table filled with crushed ice for those foods needed to be kept cold. I opened the cabinet doors beneath both tables, but there were just linen napkins, clean silverware, and extra unused plates inside. And, let's see, there were six large insulated chests, which merely contained bags of crushed ice, placed in one corner of the cabin close to the stainless steel table. Naturally, I went through all the ice chests just in case they parted him out. I didn't want to overlook anything."
> "That's it, the whole room?"
Theodore fidgeted.
"Of course then I looked in the heating and air-conditioning ducts, under the round tables, behind the curtains framing the large plate-glass windows all around the room, and also underneath both bars. I even went outside and sorted through the lockers where they keep the life preservers. I couldn't find a body anywhere on that boat."
"Where were the crewmen during your search?"
"When I got back outside, those private detectives you hired had the crewmen all lined up in single file on the dock. They had also rounded up all the catering staff and looked them over, made ‘em leave all their hot and cold food, chafing pans, extra bags of ice, and other equipment right where it was on the boat."
Theodore noticed the proprietor was now looking past Theodore's right ear. At that moment, a soft cough came from directly behind Theodore's shoulder. He shuddered. That damn Thuggee had slipped up on his blind side. Before Theodore could speak, the cadaverous Hindu had stepped around him with a message slip in his hand.
"Please excuse me, sir,” said Moklal, as he extended the slip of paper to the proprietor, “but a phone call has come in."
Cletis glanced at the message.
"Who sent this information?” he demanded.
"The caller refused to leave a name, merely the message."
Cletis reached to one corner of his desktop, pulled his laptop computer closer, and raised the screen.
"This note suggests that I should read my latest e-mail."
With a couple of clicks, the proprietor ignored the window text asking if he knew who sent this e-mail, and opened it anyway. Next he clicked on the hyperlink embedded in the e-mail. After a short pause of gazing at the screen, he then turned the laptop around so Theodore and Moklal could see the digital photo being displayed.
"That's a picture of our missing client,” exclaimed Theodore. “And it was taken inside the dining cabin of that dinner cruise ship I searched."
"From the look of things,” replied the proprietor, “I would assume our Mr. Jovanovich is either drugged into a state of unconsciousness or else he is very dead. And after taking a closer look at the man's bloodshot eyes and the purple finger marks around his throat, I strongly suspect the latter."
As Theodore watched, the digital photo began to dissolve in a swirl of pixels.
"What the heck is this?” blurted Theodore.
Three words briefly appeared in place of the photo. Die gluckliche Jagd. Then the screen went blank.
"What'd them foreign words mean?"
Cletis Johnston slowly closed his laptop.
"I believe Herr Morden merely wished us a happy hunting. It seems that he and his group have terminated our client and sent us a photo of his trophy kill. It would appear this is to be a test of our abilities. Consider it as an exercise in urban survival."
Theodore's mouth opened and closed a few times before he uttered, “But the picture melted on the screen."
"Herr Morden usually erases his path behind him. Now we must accept his challenge and find the body wherever he has hidden it."
"Where else can we look?"
"Ever since passengers started jumping, falling from, or being pushed off of cruise ships in the Caribbean,” said the proprietor, “the cruise lines have installed hidden cameras onboard to record and show the true circumstances of these happenings. It's a matter of liability and lawsuits. See if our dinner cruise ship also installed any security cameras on their little boat. And hurry, Theodore, in this case, time may very well be measured in money."
Once again, Theodore had a mission to perform, and the clock was running close behind him.
* * * *
Upon his return to the bail bond firm, Theodore quietly let himself in through the front door and relocked it from the inside. Leaving the interior lights off, he catfooted his way through the dark waiting room and down the dim hallway. At the end of the corridor, he stopped and surreptitiously peeked around the corner. The executive secretary's desk sat in a pool of light cast from an overhead source, but the cadaverous Hindu's chair was vacant. Theodore breathed a sigh of relief.
"Were you looking for me?” inquired a deep voice near the stubby bail agent's left ear.
Theodore jumped three feet forward, then spun around to peer back into the dimly lit hall.
"Where were you? I didn't see you anywhere."
"As the Mahatma says, ‘Where there is light, there is shadow.’ It seems you were looking for me in the light, whereas I merely waited in the shadow for your return. Darkness is not a problem for one who is comfortable there. Tell me, did you bring the information our proprietor has requested?"
"Hey, the boss told me to get it, so I'll be the one to give it to him."
"Then you should not delay."
Turning his body halfway toward the Inner Sanctum while still keeping Moklal Feringheea in view, Theodore crab-walked a few steps before feeling safe enough to turn fully toward the door where he was headed. Now, if he could only come up with a parting retort, he could regain some of his self-esteem. Pausing with one hand on the door handle, Theodore glanced back over his shoulder to say, “The proprietor and I were doing just fine before you came to work here.” And that's when his nose almost bumped into Moklal's chest.
"Ah,” replied the executive secretary, as he looked down on the bald top of Theodore's head. “Under these circumstances, perhaps I could interest you in the Master's teaching that ‘Jealousy presupposes the possibility of rivalry.’”
"I'm not ... what you said."
"Of course not, but if you were, then you need to ask yourself, ‘What is equality of rights between a giant and a dwarf?’”
Once again, Theodore opened his mouth to reply, but wasn't sure where all this foreign philosophy was going. He couldn't quite put his finger on whether he'd been insulted, but he hoped the Hindu wasn't making allusions to his, Theodore's, short stature. That would be the last straw.
At that point, he was saved by the proprietor's voice projecting from the Inner Sanctum.
"Come in, Theodore. We already have a large-screen TV set up to view the security tapes. You did bring the tapes with you, did you not?"
"Uh, yes, sir."
Theodore dug two flat plastic boxes out of his cheap leather briefcase. He placed the boxes on the proprietor's mahogany desk and stepped back.
"Did anyone have a chance to tamper with the tapes?"
"I don't think so, Mr. Johnston. After I left the first time, those detectives you hired kept everyone, including the captain, off the boat."
"Very well, let's see what we have here. Start with the port-side tape."
Moklal stepped forward, opened both plastic boxes, carefully examined the labels, selected one tape, and inserted it into the player. The current day's date appeared at the lower left of the TV screen, while a digital time clock started running in the lower right corner. Taking up the rest of the screen was a forward-looking view of the left side of the boat.
At approximately the time that the private investigators had said Mr. Jovanovich boarded the dinner cruise ship, there was their missing client, neatly dressed in a pinstriped suit, stepping onto the deck and strolling toward the main cabin. Then he disappeared from the camera's view. For several minutes thereafter no one else was seen to board the ship.
"Speed up the video,” commanded the proprietor.
Moklal pressed a button on the remote and the action jerked forward. When a man in a white coat suddenly appeared on screen, Moklal hit the play button and all movement returned to normal speed.
"He's one of the caterers,” exclaimed Theodore.
Three more men in white coats stepped onto the boat, each one pushing a metal dolly of food containers. They made a couple of trips back and forth before everything they needed seemed to be loaded onto the cruise ship.
"That third man there.” Theodore pointed at the screen. “He keeps hiding his face from the camera."
"Quite right,
” replied the proprietor, “but then I suspect Herr Morden has no wish to have his picture taken for posterity. Tell me Theodore, do our private investigators still have all the caterers quarantined on the dock?"
"No, sir, during my last visit I was standing there on the dock asking the captain for his surveillance tapes when all the caterers suddenly up and charged the private investigators en masse, bowled them over, and then disappeared into the city streets."
"Can't say I'm surprised. But I do hope our detectives made sure none of the caterers or crew was wearing a disguise."
Theodore rolled his eyes upward as if the answer was written somewhere on the underside of his eyelids.
"Well, sir, Mr. Johnston, as I recall, one of the detectives did go around pulling on hair and mustaches to make sure none of them were fake. A couple of fights almost broke out at that point."
"I don't suppose photos were taken of any of the caterers?"
"No, sir, not to my knowledge."
The proprietor reached out with his left hand, long slender fingers splayed, as if he were trying to grasp something nearby.
"We were so close, Theodore, you probably could have reached out and touched him. Now he's gone and we may never get this close to him again."
"Are you talking about our client, Mr. Jovanovich?"
"No, Theodore, I'm speaking of Herr Morden. We unknowingly had him within our grasp, and he eluded us. In the past, he always operated at a safe distance. Now he's becoming bolder and more aggressive."
"Oh."
"We must be more careful in the future, Theodore. From now on, watchfulness is everything."
Theodore thought about it for a moment. His List of Everything was getting to be a long list. Now where the hell did that miniature golf pencil go? Fortunately, his mind could sometimes multitask, especially if it were a subject already sticking in his mind.
"But what about our missing client, you know, Mr. Jovanovich? What do we do about him?"
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