Cruising to Murder

by Mark McCrum

  ‘Thanks for coming down,’ said Viktor. ‘He’s in there.’

  ‘No longer … with us?’ asked Francis.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said the doctor. ‘I think he’s been gone for a couple of hours.’

  Francis turned slowly from Carmen to Viktor. Even as he asked the question he knew the answer. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘The lifeboat guy,’ Carmen said.

  ‘Whom we were going to talk to right away,’ said Francis. ‘Damn.’ He banged the wall so hard with his fist that it hurt.

  ‘We weren’t to know,’ said Carmen.

  ‘He must have seen something he wasn’t supposed to,’ Francis said.

  ‘I would agree,’ said Viktor. ‘Someone tried, but failed, to persuade him to keep quiet.’

  ‘Until now,’ said Francis. ‘So what d’you think happened here?’ he asked the doctor, nodding towards the cabin.

  ‘Snakebite,’ Dr Lagip replied. ‘There’s no doubt about it. But it’s very odd, because where did the snake come from? And where is it now?’

  ‘What kind of snake?’

  ‘Hard to tell. Puff adder maybe. They’re very common in this part of the world. I carry the antivenom in my medical kit when we go on excursions. But Leo here agrees, it’s highly unlikely one could have got on to the ship on its own.’

  ‘Let alone from the hostile environment of a port,’ Leo said. ‘There’s nowhere for them to hide with all that concrete. And Africans kill snakes as soon as they see them.’

  ‘Unless someone brought it on board deliberately,’ Francis said.

  ‘I agree,’ said Leo. ‘That’s the most likely scenario.’

  ‘So what are the symptoms?’ Francis asked.

  ‘Swelling of the ankle,’ said Dr Lagip. ‘Blistering on the leg. It’s not a pretty sight. Go in and have a look for yourself, if you like.’

  ‘And this is where you found him?’

  ‘We didn’t find him. His cabin mate did when he came off shift. But yes. He was on his bunk, as you’ll see.’

  Francis pushed open the door into the tiny cabin. There was no porthole down here, and two narrow bunks, with a gap of only a foot and a half between them and the opposite wall. A five-rung aluminium ladder led up to the top one. Both had curtains, which drew to the centre from the sides; they were pale blue, flimsy, didn’t look as if they’d keep much light out. There were wooden-fronted storage drawers below each bunk and two square shelves in the corner at the far end. The lower of these had a TV on it, the upper a laptop, a pair of white Converse trainers and a row of bottles and sprays: shampoo, conditioner, antiperspirant, and then, in the corner, a half-empty bottle of Captain Morgan rum.

  Francis took in all this with a glance, because his eye was drawn immediately down to the bottom bunk, where the dead man lay sprawled, his eyes wide open, his left leg swollen horribly, a deep and rancid purple-crimson, covered with dark brown blisters the size of potato crisps. The doctor, or someone, had sliced through his trouser leg, but otherwise he was still in his work clothes, a brown boiler suit with the initials GC picked out in yellow thread on the front pocket.

  No, Francis thought, whatever this engineer knew about what had happened to Lauren wasn’t going to be shared with anyone now. Double damn. Why hadn’t he insisted on waking him up and interviewing him? Was it even possible that the captain had been deliberately obstructive?

  So what had this poor fellow seen? If it had been the murderer actually doing the deed, why hadn’t he told anyone in authority? Because the murderer had spotted him and tried to silence him too? Or had he, more likely, been approached subsequently, once he’d revealed that he’d seen something by raising the alarm? If so, how had the murderer got to him? Below decks? Didn’t that argue powerfully for a killer among the officers or crew?

  If this guy had seen the murder taking place, and it was one of his superiors involved, it had been very brave of him to raise any kind of alarm in the first place. So had he wrestled with his conscience, finally compromising on telling the captain there was someone overboard so that the ship could turn and search, but glossing over exactly how that had come about? He would have known that even reporting a version of what he’d seen would put him in danger, in this closed environment from which there was no escape.

  There was little doubt in Francis’s mind that what he saw here was the result of a deliberate act. Even supposing a snake had made its way on board, this guy wouldn’t have just sat here and died, he would have sought help. So either he’d been sedated before the snake had been let loose or the murderer had somehow restrained him. Which argued again for someone strong, probably male, as this fellow didn’t look as if he’d easily be held down. And how long did it take for a snakebite to take effect? Surely it was hours, rather than minutes.

  Francis knelt and had a good look at the horrid discoloured leg. He’d had no idea that this is what snakebite did to you. If he’d imagined the symptoms at all, he’d assumed a little local swelling maybe, the poison doing its work in the veins. But looking closely at this vile mess, it wasn’t even clear where the fangs had gone in. There was a tiny tear in the skin in the soft flesh below the ankle bone, but as far as Francis could see on closer scrutiny, that was on its own. How, in any case, did you persuade a snake to bite someone? It sounded both an improbable and a dangerous method of killing. Where did you find one? How did you keep it or hide it? It was unlikely the creature came from Elmina, as the coach had parked right below the fort, well away from any bush or jungle. Which meant that if someone really had captured a snake and smuggled it on board they would have done it right at the start of this leg of the cruise, on the trip to the villages in Togo. Before Eve had even died.

  Francis’s eyes tracked slowly round the room, looking for anything that might give a clue as to what had happened. There was clothing hanging from hooks: two thin black waterproof jackets, two grey lifejackets, two baseball caps, one beige, one dark blue.

  There was a map of the world tacked up on one wall, with a thin red line marking the progress of the Golden Adventurer through the Panama Canal, down the west coast of South America, around Antarctica (the repeated excursions marked by a x4), then across the South Atlantic via Tristan de Cunha to Cape Town, then on up this wild west coast of Africa: Namibia, Angola, the two Republics of Congo, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea, Cameroon, Nigeria, Ghana, back in a mini-loop to Togo and then on. Beside it was a calendar with days boldly crossed off. On the wall at the back of the top bunk there was a row of tacked-up postcards: Antigua, New York, Bermuda, Cape Town. Behind the bottom bunk were family snaps: a pretty, dark-haired woman who was presumably the victim’s partner, in a couple of poses alone, in others with three small children. They ranged from toddler up to about eight or nine years old: two grinning girls and a serious-faced boy.

  A narrow door at the end led into a tiny closet containing a shower, sink and toilet. There was barely room to stand in this upright tube; and if you took a shower, there was no way the toilet seat was going to stay dry. Halfway up was a chrome basket containing shower gel and shampoo. A shelf above the sink held toothbrushes and razors. There was a little circular mirror above that.

  Francis stepped back into the cabin and looked slowly round again; then he knelt to pull open the wooden drawer below the bottom bunk. There was nothing surprising in here: clothes neatly folded, trousers, shirts, socks and, right at the bottom, a thin brown suit, presumably the gear that Daddy would wear when he finished his stint at sea, got off the ship and went home for a while.

  A look in the drawer below the upper bunk revealed a similar picture, although there were two pairs of very clean blue jeans and a younger, more casual feel, perhaps, to the tops. Francis got the sense of a single man rather than a family one. Would talking to the cabin mate reveal anything? Well, he certainly wasn’t going to miss his chance this time.

  There was a light double knock on the door.

  ‘Francis, mate.’ It was Carmen calling. ‘Are you done?’
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br />   ‘Hang on,’ called Francis. ‘Just a sec.’ What was he looking for? Hanging from a hook, lying on a shelf, bluetacked to the wall, fallen on the floor? He scanned slowly round, taking in all the details. No, he decided, even as he nosed into the corners and pulled open the drawers again, there was really nothing here that was going to give him what even five minutes with the living man would have yielded.

  Which begged the question: why had the captain been so insistent that the engineer get his beauty sleep?

  ‘OK,’ he said, as he pushed back outside to find Viktor, Carmen and the doctor in the corridor. Leo had gone. ‘I’ve seen all I need to see. Pretty grim, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ said the doctor.

  ‘I have two questions. Well, two and a half.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘One: surely if this man had been bitten by a snake, he would have called you long before he died?’

  ‘Of course. Even the most rapid venoms take half an hour to act. He must either have been sedated, or tied up and gagged. But there’s no evidence of restraint.’

  ‘So you think sedation?’

  ‘Must have been.’

  ‘So how would a murderer get a snake to actually bite someone? Wouldn’t that be an extremely dangerous procedure?’

  ‘That I don’t know the answer to. You could ask Leo, I guess. But yes, even if the victim was drugged, you’d be dealing with someone who’s an expert in handling snakes. And your half question?’

  ‘It wasn’t obvious to me where the fangs had gone in.’

  The doctor smiled, impressed, it seemed. ‘I checked that,’ she said. ‘Tiny incisions. Hardly visible because of the swelling. But they’re down by the ankle. You can tell because around them is the worst of the blistering.’

  ‘I could only see one, more like a tear in the skin.’

  ‘There are two. But the second has already sealed over.’

  ‘Quick work,’ said Francis.

  ‘Yes, amazing, isn’t it? Even though the body is in trauma, it’s still trying to heal itself.’

  Francis turned to Carmen and Viktor. ‘So, are you going to be doing a cabin hunt then?’

  ‘We were just discussing that,’ said Carmen.

  ‘Carmen thought, quite sensibly,’ said Viktor, ‘that the snake, having served its purpose, would probably be in the ocean by now.’

  ‘Don’t you think?’ said Carmen.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Francis. ‘Unless our killer has other plans for it.’

  It was a chilling thought: a poisonous reptile in the hands of a clearly determined and unscrupulous murderer. Francis would be checking his cabin very carefully tonight.

  ‘Maybe we should search the cabins,’ Viktor said.

  ‘You’d have to announce it,’ Carmen said, ‘which would cause a panic. Any killer in his right mind would then dispose of the snake immediately. You’re just not going to find it in someone’s cabin.’

  ‘What do you think, Doctor?’ Viktor asked.

  ‘My expertise is only medical. But yes, that sounds like a likely psychology to me.’

  ‘Francis?’

  ‘I suppose the only risk is that if you don’t announce a search the murderer might keep the snake.’

  ‘True,’ said Viktor. ‘But Carmen’s right. An announcement would cause mayhem. People are going to be having heart attacks just worrying about it. I’ll have to refer the decision to the captain.’

  ‘I can tell you his answer now,’ said Carmen.

  ‘I realized while I was in there,’ Francis said, ignoring this, ‘that I don’t even know the poor man’s name.’

  ‘George Bernard,’ said Viktor.

  ‘You’re joking. Is that some kind of made-up name?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Dr Lagip. ‘Filipinos generally have English or Spanish given names.’

  ‘George Bernard what? Not Shaw, I’m assuming.’

  Neither Viktor nor Carmen got the reference. Dr Lagip tittered.

  ‘Sure?’ queried Viktor.

  ‘It’s the name of a famous British playwright,’ said Francis. ‘George Bernard Shaw.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ said Viktor. ‘No, his surname is Dimagiba.’

  George Bernard Dimagiba. Fair enough. Francis was a long way from his cultural roots, he realized. ‘What I’d like to do now,’ he said, ‘is to talk to the cabin mate, if that can be arranged. Presumably he’s not asleep.’

  ‘No,’ Carmen agreed. ‘Not yet, anyway.’ She turned, deferentially, to her boss. ‘Is that possible, Viktor?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Viktor, brusquely; he didn’t even mention referring this to Alexei or the captain.

  They met in the crew bar, which was even further down in the bowels of the ship, on deck one. The little room was as functional as the rest of the below-stairs area, though at least in here there was a ceiling, and the wires to the oblong overhead lights were not exposed.

  The bar was closed, but there were indications that it could be a jolly enough place at the right time of day: a collage of postcards on the wall below the optics, a small blackboard offering happy hour cocktails and a big brass bell at one end. Mounted to one side was a large, flat TV screen.

  There were metal benches built into each wall. Up against them were four small square tables topped with blue Formica. Black plastic chairs completed the seating. There was nothing as comfortable as a cushion.

  George’s cabin mate Ray was waiting on one of the benches. As Carmen and Francis came in, he got to his feet, and his lean features were instantly animated with that typical Filipino smile. He too was in the brown boiler suit with the GC logo. The three of them shook hands and introduced themselves.

  ‘Thank you for talking to us,’ Francis said, though he knew that Ray would have had little choice in the matter.

  Ray nodded. ‘That’s OK, sir.’ He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Let’s sit,’ said Francis.

  Ray made a move to offer Francis and Carmen the bench but Francis waved him down.

  ‘No, no,’ he said, taking a plastic chair. Then: ‘This is a shocking state of affairs.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And I understand you were the one to find the body?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So, what happened?’ Francis asked. ‘You came off shift, returned to your cabin and there was your colleague, lying dead on the lower bunk?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you want to add anything to that description?’

  Ray met his eyes. His nervousness was tangible. ‘How do you mean, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘About exactly how you found your cabin mate … how you felt … if you don’t mind.’

  ‘My shift was finished, a bit early, in fact,’ Ray said, speaking slowly, almost jerkily, ‘so I went back to cabin for some rest. George had shift at four, so when I open door I am not surprised to see him. For one moment I think he is sleeping. But then I look again. And see his ankle, all big, swollen. I run to him. I pull off his shoe and sock. I see …’ He made a face, expressive of total disgust; Francis didn’t need to be reminded of the blistered mess he’d just seen. ‘I think immediately – snake. And then I think maybe snake is still in cabin. So I look quickly to find. But our cabin is small and even under bed there is no snake. So now I go up to George and slap his face. Nothing. I slap his face again; his cheeks are flared red, but nothing in his eyes. He is dead like fish. So I take his wrist to check pulse. Nothing. So I phone to doctor.’

  ‘You did all the right things.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘May I ask: what time exactly did your shift normally finish?’

  ‘Four, sir.’

  ‘And today?’

  ‘Three, sir. I was out searching last night when I should have been sleeping. And all my work was anyway finished. So first officer let me go back to cabin early. I was – am – very tired, sir.’

  ‘I imagine. This is First Officer Alexei Ninishi
vili?’

  ‘Alexei, sir, yes. I do not know his other name.’

  ‘Were you and George friends?’ Francis continued, after a moment.

  Ray shrugged. ‘We like each other. Enough. As cabin mates. George was good guy. You know, sometimes you get cabin mate who is … problem. He comes in when you are sleeping and puts TV on. He makes big noise getting up. Maybe he brings back woman.’

  ‘A woman? To that tiny little cabin?’

  Ray grinned. ‘It happens. Not on this ship, in fact. These guys are OK. Most of them. But yeah, it happens. And others, you know, they leave stuff everywhere. Clothes on your bed, shoes on your shelf, rubbish on floor. But George was not like that.’

  ‘I see,’ said Francis. ‘Did he say anything to you about the incident last night? The woman overboard?’

  ‘No.’ The reply was very quick. Ray looked up, but his eyes didn’t meet either of his interrogators, swerving sideways towards the bell at the end of the bar.

  ‘He didn’t speak to you about it at all?’ Francis asked.

  ‘I didn’t see him, sir. Our shifts are not at same time.’

  ‘But last night, you said you were part of the search. Surely you saw him then?’

  ‘I saw him, sir, yes. But I didn’t speak to him. We were all too busy looking over sea. And then when search was over I went straight back to cabin to sleep.’

  ‘While George stayed out there?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He finishes at eight, when I start.’

  ‘So there was no crossover, no conversation while you were getting up and he was going to bed?’

  ‘No, sir.’ The guy was adamant. Either he was telling the truth, or he had a firm story which he was sticking to. ‘We don’t see each other. I was away from cabin before he gets in.’

  ‘And you didn’t see each other on the stairs? Or anywhere else?’ Even as he spoke, Francis realized how little he knew about the operation of the ship. Was there a place other than this bar where the crew might meet: a canteen, a mess, an operations room?

  ‘No, sir.’

  Francis paused to let this repeated denial sink in; to let Ray imagine he had convinced them.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t go looking for him,’ Francis went on, in as relaxed a fashion as he could. ‘Given that he had such a story to tell. If I had been you, I’d have been dying to know the details of what he’d seen.’