by Dawn Brookes
“You’re right, he’s not here. No wonder the waiters are so chirpy.”
The waiters did seem to be happy, introducing themselves as they handed out the menus to passengers, and there was a warm atmosphere around the room.
“Waiters on board the Coral are always happy and friendly,” Rachel said.
“There can sometimes be a tense atmosphere in Stefan Sosa’s restaurants – he can be a bit of a taskmaster. I’m sure he’s around somewhere. Do you want me to ask?”
“Oh no, don’t worry. He didn’t seem to be the happiest person I’ve ever met, so perhaps he’s unwell.”
“Is someone unwell, madam?” A tall waiter had appeared, carrying a jug of iced water, and heard the last part of the conversation.
“No-one’s unwell, Pash. Rachel met Stefan on the bus coming down from London so we were wondering where he was,” explained Jason.
“Oh really? That’s interesting, we thought he might have missed the ship.” Was there a hint of disappointment in his tone? “In that case, I don’t know, madam. He hasn’t turned up for shift. We called the maître d from main dining and he told us he’d let us know where Stefan was later, but to get on with it for now. No word since.”
“I expect everyone’s busy because of turnaround day, I’m sure you’ll hear soon enough,” said Sarah.
“Yes, first night is always busy – as you know, Nurse.”
“Pash?” asked Rachel after the waiter had left.
“Short for Pashmarli – Pashmarli Bakshi. Everyone calls him Pash, even says that on his badge,” Sarah explained.
An attractive wine waitress arrived shortly afterwards, followed by another good-looking waiter offering a selection of breads. Mary Bradshaw was inquisitive about the workings behind the scenes on board ship and quizzed Sarah and Jason throughout the meal, while Gilbert listened on, taking it all in.
“I’ll give you a tour of the ship while you’re on board so you can see what goes on. Be prepared to be amazed, Mum. Jason’s even arranged for you to visit the bridge.”
“Now that would be interesting, Jason, thank you,” said Gilbert. Jason blushed and acknowledged the thanks with a nod.
The waiters were attentive and helpful. Rachel watched them go about their work efficiently, but felt they were a bit like swans on the water: calm on the surface while frantically moving underneath. There were eight waiters that she could see working across the three separate spaces, and she spent a few minutes trying to guess where they all came from.
Pash was Indian – she’d seen that on his badge the next time he’d come to the table following their initial conversation. The wine waitress, Danielle, was from Portugal and a couple of waiters looked Serbian or Croatian. The tall, handsome waiter called Sacha who served most of their food was from Russia, according to his badge. There was another Indian or Pakistani waiter and the other two looked central European.
“Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“You’re miles away. Mum just asked where Carlos was this Christmas.”
“Sorry, I was trying to work out where the waiters are all from. It’s a game I play when I cruise.”
“Yes, then she moves on to the passengers,” laughed Sarah. “Her mind never stops whirring.”
Rachel smirked at her friend. “Says the person who remembers dates like a calculator! Anyway, in answer to your question, Mary, Carlos is in Italy working on a case.”
“Over Christmas?” Gilbert exclaimed.
“That’s what I said when he told me, but he’s doing a favour for a cousin, and Christmas is all about family after all.” She sighed heavily.
“Well I agree with you there. What about your parents?”
“They’ll be busy with Christmas services and feeding the five thousand.”
“Yes, we did feel slightly guilty about leaving them in the lurch, but they understood. We haven’t seen them for a few weeks.” Gilbert took a sip of his red wine.
Jason looked uncomfortable when the conversation turned to family. Rachel knew that family life for him hadn’t been easy, but didn’t know the details. Now he was obviously waiting for the attention to move towards him and she suspected he was dreading being asked about his own family. Jason was outgoing with Sarah, but she sensed he was shy of her parents, even though they were doing their best to put him at ease.
As Mary Bradshaw turned to him with mouth open, ready to ask a question, Sarah cut her off at the pass.
“Mum, we need to get moving if we’re going to get seats for the show.”
As Jason squeezed her arm in gratitude, his radio beeped.
“Sorry, I have to go. Something’s come up.” He kissed Sarah on the forehead and left the restaurant.
Chapter 4
Jason arrived outside the crew member’s room on deck six just as Dr Graham Bentley was leaving. The doctor shook his head as the two men passed each other, standing to one side as a wheeled stretcher was brought out by Bernard and the medical team steward, Raggie. Whoever was on the stretcher was covered by a blanket and Bernard’s slit throat action indicated what Jason had already surmised: whoever was beneath the covering was dead.
After the medical team had departed, Jason entered the room to find his boss going through the scene.
“Fatality, I’m afraid, Goodridge.”
“Is there anything suspicious, sir?”
“Not that I can see. At first glance, it appears the man had a severe allergic reaction to something he ate. The strange thing is he was allergic to nuts, which catering staff are well aware of, and he hadn’t used any of his epi-pens according to the good doctor.”
“Where was he found?”
“On the floor just there.” Jason followed his boss’s gaze towards the desk attached to the wall. “The drawer where the epi-pens are kept was open so he may have been trying to reach for one, but the reaction came on too quickly and was too severe for him to make it in time. As you can see, the pens haven’t been used.”
Jason noted how tidy the room was apart from an overturned chair next to the desk, presumably knocked over when the man had reached for the pens. It reminded him of when he was in the army and he wondered whether the dead man could be ex military.
“Who found him?”
“One of the catering staff, Claudia Kitova. She was sent to find him by the head maître d, Colin Bell when he didn’t turn up for work in the Club Restaurant.”
“Was it Stefan Sosa?”
“Yes, did you know him?”
“I’ve never met him, but we were just talking about him over dinner. It seems Rachel Prince met him on the bus on the way down.”
Jason knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he saw the redness travelling from Waverley’s neck up to his face, the groan coming from his boss’s mouth confirming it.
“Oh no. Why does she have to be in contact with every single death that occurs on this ship? I do hope for all our sakes there is nothing untoward about this unfortunate incident. It seems pretty straightforward.”
Waverley stared as if in a trance at the half-eaten slice of French bread on a plate. Jason noticed nothing else had been eaten. It suddenly dawned on him that Waverley’s new wife was senior baker and managed the part of the bakery where bread was prepared for special diets. Waverley started to sweat as though the thought was occurring to him at the same time. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped his brow and turned to Jason.
“Deliberate or accident, if it came from our galley, heads are bound to roll.”
“Yes sir, I guess so. Although he had been off ship so he could have picked something up there. Shall I bag the bread, sir?”
With a long exhaled sigh, Waverley nodded. Jason could see his boss’s neck pulsating. He donned gloves and bagged the half-eaten baguette, then picked up an empty glass and sniffed.
“Whisky. This could have clouded his judgement. I thought he was supposed to be working tonight?”
“He was. Drinking on duty is a sackable off
ence, not that we can do anything about it now. It could affect his insurance cover, though, if he’d breached the terms and conditions of employment. We’ll see if alcohol is found in his system. Perhaps he did eat something on land he wouldn’t normally.” Waverley sounded hopeful and Jason fully understood why.
“I’ll bag the glass, sir. Do we need to seal the room for SOCO?”
“Yes, I suppose we do for now. Did Rachel Prince say anything about his mood on the bus? I’ll have to interview her, of course, and that’s likely to trigger her snooping gene. Blast! Why did it have to be her?”
“She has been helpful to us in the past, sir.”
Waverley sighed again. “I know she has, but this one could be personal, Goodridge. You know what I mean. I’d just rather have as few people involved as possible in case it turns out to be a catering error, that’s all.”
“I understand,” Jason said. “What did Claudia Kitova have to say about the whole thing?”
“I don’t know.” Waverley scowled. “Graham tells me she’s too distressed to be interviewed, so he’s sedated the woman and I won’t be able to speak to her until tomorrow – if I’m allowed to speak to her at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you see, man? If there’s any suspicion of Brenda having prepared that bread and if it contained nut traces, I will have to exclude myself from the investigation. Personal involvement and all that, you know how it is.”
“Have you asked Brenda about it?”
“Not yet, I’ve been too busy here. I think it best if we go to the galley together once we’ve finished preliminaries. She’ll be devastated.”
“What about a post-mortem?”
“The pilot’s still with us and has requested a sea ambulance to collect the body and transport it back to England for PM.”
Jason had wondered why he’d felt the ship slow down towards the end of dinner; now he understood. His boss looked seriously worried and he couldn’t reassure Waverley as there was no evidence of anything else Stefan Sosa might have devoured other than the bread and the whisky. No wrappers in the bin, no sign of food in the drawers, or anywhere else in the poky little minimalistic cabin.
At least it was a one-person habitation, so no roommate to worry about re-homing while they investigated. As a maître d, Stefan had his own room at the end of a corridor on deck six, well above the waterline. Jason as an officer had a balcony room further along the same corridor, and Sarah had a similar room further down. For once, Jason was hoping that this was murder because the thought of Brenda losing her job and what Waverley would do then filled him with dread.
“The man wasn’t popular, from what Sarah was saying over dinner, and the waiters in the Club Restaurant appeared happy he wasn’t around. I think it would be worth interviewing some of them as well as Rachel.”
“That’s a very good idea. I’ll go and speak to Rachel Prince first, then we will go together to see Brenda. I think you should start with his work colleagues in the morning.”
“They’ll be serving breakfasts, but I could pull them out one at a time, I guess.”
“Right, you go to the medical centre now while I track Rachel Prince down. Hand over those things before the ambulance arrives and see if Graham can add anything to this story. And check if he still thinks anaphylaxis is the cause of death.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jason headed towards the medical centre with the evidence bags that would accompany the body to the coroner. When he walked through the door into the centre that housed a waiting room, reception desk, surgery rooms and an infirmary, he heard Dr Bentley’s voice coming from Gwen Sumner’s office. Gwen and the chief medical officer were becoming close according to Sarah, but were not romantically involved as far as she knew.
Gwen, the senior nurse, was an Australian who didn’t pull her punches when required and was well respected by the medical team. Firm but fair, Jason understood. Bernard was the joker in the team, Brigitte the more serious one and Alessandro Romano, the junior doctor, was hard working and great with kids and crew.
Jason knocked and entered as Gwen called for him to come in. Bernard was sitting on the sofa while Gwen and Dr Bentley were in the chairs surrounding a table holding freshly poured cups of coffee.
“Hello, Jason, would you like a coffee?” Gwen greeted him in a friendly manner. “I expect you’re here about Stefan Sosa.”
“Yes please, and yes, I am. Sorry to bother you, but I’ve brought these things to accompany the body.” Jason placed the bagged items on Gwen’s desk and sat down next to Bernard. “And the chief wanted to know if there was anything to add.”
Graham Bentley looked tired. “Sad business, so needless if only he’d used his epi-pen. I’m certain it was anaphylaxis. The swelling is consistent with a severe allergic reaction and I can’t see any other cause of death from my preliminary examination. I just don’t understand how it happened; his allergy was well known to him, and to the catering staff. The tray of food in his room had the right sticker applied; it’s an absolute tragedy. A complete waste of a life.”
“Did he have any other allergies, sir? Wasps, bees, anything like that?”
“Not as far as we are aware, and such insects aren’t around at this time of year, but I get your point. The only thing listed in his medical record is severe nut allergy. He had epinephrine pens in his drawer and would have been told to carry one with him at all times.”
Jason took notes. “Was there any sign he’d used one of his pens?”
Dr Bentley looked at Bernard. “You were there first, Bernard. I didn’t see any used pen, did you?”
“No sir, none on or near his person. It looked as if he had got to the drawer but not managed to take a pen out. We gave him adrenaline from our emergency bag, but it was too late.”
“Is it unusual that he didn’t get to use his own pen?” Jason asked. “The drawer was very close to the dinner tray.”
“As a matter of fact, yes, it is unusual. He should have had time to get to the drawer and inject himself, but that is the only odd part about it all.”
“He had been drinking whisky, I believe, sir.”
“Ah, well that could have made a difference – depending on how much he’d drunk, of course. Alcohol does tend to slow one’s responses. That might explain it. I did note from a recent consultation with Alex that he had warned the man about the demon drink; Sosa had raised triglycerides following a routine cholesterol check. Alex had requested he return for liver function tests.” Graham Bentley drained his coffee and Gwen refilled his cup.
“I concur with that,” said Bernard. “Sosa was a known drinker; I warned him about it many times myself when I saw him for routine checks. He also had a limp, so that might have slowed him down.”
“I don’t suppose alcohol could have caused his death?” probed Jason.
“Sorry, no. A contributing factor perhaps if it prevented his ability to administer life-saving injections, but not causation. You see—”
Jason could sense Graham was about to launch into a medical lecture, which ordinarily he would have found interesting, but in this instance he wanted to get to the bottom of the case and help his boss.
“Could he have eaten anything containing nuts off ship and reacted later?”
“Not if he’d eaten nuts. His allergy was too severe, but there’s always a possibility he’d developed a second allergy to something else and that could have caused a delayed immune response. We’ll know more after the post-mortem, but for now we have to assume that he somehow imbibed nuts or nut residue from what he was eating in his cabin.”
“That would be terrible,” said Gwen. “Brenda always checks off food given to passengers and crew with allergies. She’s very strict about it, and we provide regular training to all the catering staff on prevention of cross-contamination, as you know. Even when she doesn’t bake the bread herself, she marks every ingredient down on charts and staff undergo rigorous training on maintaining an audit trail,
so it will soon come to light if there was an error. Jack must be worried sick.”
Jason grimaced. “It is obviously a cause for concern.”
“Perhaps it will turn out to be that he ate something different,” said Bernard. “Are you sure there’s no foul play? Rachel Prince is on board, after all.”
“Trust you to joke about it, Bernard,” Gwen scolded.
Jason drained his coffee cup in one mouthful and stood up.
“That’s what we intend to find out.”
Chapter 5
After taking a stroll around the outside decks after dinner, Rachel walked along the corridor back towards her stateroom. She felt tired, the nightshift catching up with her, and looked forward to getting a good night’s sleep.
It came as a surprise to her to see the chief of security, Jack Waverley, hovering outside her door. His face was expressionless, although she could tell from the redness in his neck that something was amiss.
“Chief Waverley, what a pleasure to see you again. How are you?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Prince. May I have a word?”
Rachel knew from the nervous cough preceding the sentence and his formal use of Miss Prince that this was business rather than pleasure. She frowned, puzzled.
“Of course, do come in.” She opened her door and walked towards the sitting area at the far end of the room, feeling Waverley hot on her tail. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you, I’m on duty.”
“What about tea or coffee?”
“No thanks.”
“Do please sit down. What can I help you with?”
Rachel was dumbfounded. What could the reason for his presence be? He appeared nervous.
Suddenly she felt a surge of panic. “Is everything alright at home? Are my parents okay – please don’t tell me something has happened to them or Carlos!” She felt her chest tighten and palpitations surge through her body.
“No, no. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to distress you. Please don’t be alarmed, it’s nothing personal like that. I do apologise, I should have asked how you were and reassured you that it was nothing to worry you. I’m a little distracted.” He did appear agitated, so she understood. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about a man that Goodridge tells me you met earlier today on the bus before you joined the ship.”