by Mims, Lee
Pulling it out, I checked the screen: Detective Sergeant Pierce. I decided to return the call later when I’d be sure of uninterrupted service. At forty-five miles from shore, as the crow flies, I was at the maximum reach for cell transmission. I shoved the phone back in my pocket and went after the wheel.
That’s when I heard footfalls on the catwalk above me. “Cleo!” a voice shouted.
Nine
“Stay there, I’ll come to you!”
Struck speechless, I gawked as the last person in the world I would have expected to see rushed headlong down the stairs to me: the young Russian I’d met in Louisiana. Before I could stop him, Viktor Kozlov grabbed me and gave me an exuberant hug.
“Whoa,” I said, politely pushing from his embrace.
“I can hardly believe this … the way we keep meeting,” Viktor said. “And look at you. Even more beautiful than I remember.”
Work duds, no makeup, and a hard hat. Yep, a regular Aphrodite. I scanned the area. Fortunately, no one was nearby. Some of the things I’d done with this kid came to mind, and I knew I was blushing. That really ticked me off. I struggled to regain my professionalism. “What on earth are you doing here?” I blurted.
His smile broadened. “I work here. Don’t you remember, I told you I had resumes out with ROV companies?”
Past conversations, in fact, were not what I remembered about him, but I didn’t say so. Instead I said, “Yes, so you said, it’s just I never expected you’d actually get a job, you being a student and all.”
“Actually, being a student worked in my favor.”
“How’s that?” I asked skeptically.
But he ignored my question and instead, his eyes getting all dreamy, he said softly, “I have to say, I’ve missed the way you called me … Vic-ter that night we were together. It was so charming, so …
what’s the word … rural?”
“I hope the word you’re looking for is Southern, as in a Southern accent,” I said dryly.
“Yes,” he laughed his wonderful laugh. It was almost enough to pull a smile from me, but not quite. “That’s probably the word I’m looking for. But what about you? I didn’t expect to find you in the employ of Global too.”
“Oh, I’m not,” I said. “I’m just here consulting.”
An uncomfortable silence bloomed between us. He must have sensed my anxiety because he took a few steps back, leaned against the ROV’s cage, and studied me. I studied him back. God, he was hot even in an orange jumpsuit and hard hat. I gave up trying to remember any past career discussions. “So who are you working for?”
Viktor stepped away from the ROV, answering with a nod in its direction.
Duh. “Oh, right, Voyager.”
“Yes. They called me last Wednesday and said they needed someone who could come out here right away and would be interested in working only on a job-by-job basis. Of course this is perfect for me, as I’ll be working on my dissertation during the winter months. That’s what I meant when I said my being a student is an asset.”
I nodded my understanding.
“So,” he said, extending his arms in a here-I-am gesture. “I flew to their headquarters in Texas, went through training, and Saturday was transported out here.”
“What about your other job?”
“With the geophysical surveying company? Yes, I’m glad you remember.” Viktor now grinned. “Mr. Duchamp was sad to see me go, but he understood. And, after what happened to the guy I’m replacing—he fell overboard in the middle of the night, did you hear?—and because his sons make up the rest of the team, I think he wanted me here. Maybe to help watch out for them.”
“His twin sons? The ones I met at the party?”
“That’s right.”
“They work for Voyager too?”
“Yes,” Viktor said. Then, abruptly, he shifted gears. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You left so very quickly …”
Now there’s one for the books, I thought. It’s not every day your last one-night stand turns up unexpectedly replacing the guy who died trying to rape you. I had to ask, “Did you know the … fellow who fell overboard?”
“No. I’m told he was from Alaska, where he’d been dragging seismic cable. Duchamp met him up there and offered him a full-time job if he came back to Louisiana, so he did. After several years he quit Davy and was hired by Voyager, where he learned to be a pilot. The twins said he was a good worker but”—he spoke as if remembering their exact words—“couldn’t hold his booze. We don’t know the details, but it’s being said he got drunk and fell overboard.”
The last bit was spoken as though it were a secret, but it sounded like a stupid rumor to me. “Hell, you can’t even have a lighter on board, let alone alcohol.” Which didn’t stop Bud from tying one on with the boys over poker that night, so who knew?
Viktor just shrugged. “Sad to say, but one person’s tragedy is another’s opportunity. Well, enough of that. Come. The twins will want to say hello. They are in the galley—we’re on a break.” He put his arm around my shoulder and began to usher me to the stairs.
Slipping out from his casual embrace, I said, “I’ll meet you there. First I need to go, um … take care of something I forgot to do … in the logging lab. I only have a little while before I have to catch the boat back to port.”
“Then hurry, Cleo,” he said, cheekily. “See you in the galley.”
I made my exit into the maze of aisles created by stacks of supplies and equipment. After a few moments, I checked to make sure Viktor was out of sight before returning to retrieve the strange little metal wheel. I quickly pocketed it, then hurried to the galley.
“Cleo,” Viktor said, standing and pulling out a chair for me. “You remember Tim and Dean Duchamp?”
“I certainly do,” I said, shaking their hands as they stood to greet me. They were of average height and build, their brown hair parted and combed identically. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your coworker,” I said. “Was he a good friend?”
The young men looked at each other with obvious discomfort before Tim spoke up. “I wouldn’t say that. Dad sometimes put us on jobs with him. Then, fortunately, he went to work for Voyager a couple of years ago.”
“Fortunately?”
A sheepish expression crossed Tim’s face. “It’s just that he wasn’t the brightest light in the hall and he … well … he was downright mean sometimes.”
“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” Reminding his brother of this, Dean turned to me. “He was an experienced pilot. That’s why they put us with him for this job as Team One. It’s the first time we’ve worked with him since the Voyager deal.”
“Team One?” I said.
“The one in charge of the ROV during the spudding process. Voyager leaves a first team in place until routine drilling starts. By Monday, we’ll have been out here for two complete rotations.”
“Are you guys pilots too?” I asked.
“No,” Tim said. “We both have engineering degrees. But Dean has a double major in computer sciences, so he does the programming of the unit. I specialize in welding, pipe fitting, deployment, that type of thing.”
“And now that Nuvuk is gone, Viktor’s our pilot,” Dean said. “He’s got lots of experience.”
I looked at Viktor. “Yes,” he said. “Back in Russia I was a pilot during the daytime, a student at night.”
There was plenty I didn’t know, but it also was no time for catching up on Viktor’s resume. I felt my cell vibrate. Retrieving it, I checked the screen—Pierce again—and said, “What made you guys decide to become ROV techs?” I put away the phone.
“Working for our dad,” Tim said, laughing. “We’ve done every type of job SeaTrek offers, and he didn’t like the way we did any of them.”
Dean chimed in. “We decided to get jobs somewhere else—”
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br /> “—but we didn’t want to leave the ocean—” Tim continued.
“—so we decided on working in the very diverse ROV industry,” Dean said, finishing the sentence.
“Oh, come on,” Viktor said. “Your dad’s great and you know it. He is simply … demanding.”
“That he is,” Dean agreed. “Well, break’s over, and Captain Powell runs a tight ship. It was nice to meet you, Miss Cleo.” He rose from the table in unison with his twin. They pushed their chairs in and left.
“I must go as well,” said Viktor. As we scooped up our hard hats and headed for the door, he added, “Not to worry, though, I have your address over on the beach. As soon as I finish my rotation, I’ll come by to see you. We’ll do something fun.”
Figuring now was as good a time as any to set things straight, I stopped at the door. “Viktor,” I said, being careful to use the proper Russian pronunciation, “about that. While I had a lovely time with you in Port Fourchon, that was then and this is now. I know you care as much about your professional life as I do, and since this ship is our workplace, you have to agree that it would be a bad idea to … engage in any more … fun things.”
He totally ignored my attempt to let him down easy. “Now that the well is completely spudded and drilling is underway, the teams will go back to regular fourteen-day rotations. Ours ends Monday when a replacement crew comes in. We’ll get together then.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
Viktor opened the galley door for me. The roar of diesel engines and generators mixed with the deafening hiss of a sand blaster, making conversation difficult. To add to the cacophony, the loudspeaker bleated three chimes, the warning to be at the crew boat in five minutes or be prepared to spend the night.
“Listen,” I said, trying to raise my voice above the din, “I’ve got to run. That’s my boat leaving. Remember, next time we see each other … strictly professional, right?”
Viktor donned his hard hat, lifted mine from my hands, put his lips to my ear, and said, “Ne boysya, milaya moya.” He then planted my hat back on my head, squeezed my shoulder, and left.
“What?” I called after him, but another wave of the sand blaster blew my words to the wind.
On the way back to Morehead, I tried to return Detective Pierce’s call but only reached his voicemail. I left my name and number, unable to quell the queasy feeling I got wondering why was he trying to reach me. Had the medical examiner ruled on the cause of death? I’d become convinced that the corpse I’d seen had been my attacker and was fervently hoping for a finding of accidental drowning. That would be one less complication to deal with. Maybe that pesky Pierce would even write off the scrap of material as work related and I wouldn’t have to worry about Bud living out his days in the slammer because of me.
When I got home late Wednesday afternoon, the black Crown Victoria parked in my drive told me my new little friends, Detectives Pierce and Myers, were back and the day was about to get longer.
Down by the dock Tulip yelped a greeting and hopped out of Henri’s boat, where she’d apparently been keeping Will company. He had the cover off of the outboard motor and was working on it. He looked up as she loped across the yard to greet me. I tossed him a wave. “What’s up?” I called.
“Not much. Just setting Henri’s timing!” He bent back to his task as I went inside.
A laughing Henri sat at the kitchen table, batting her eyes and flirting shamelessly with the detectives, regardless of the fact that both guys were old enough to be her father. Oh well. As far as I was concerned, softening them up before they questioned me again couldn’t hurt. Both men rose courteously from their seats at my entrance.
“What’s going on?” I asked
“Oh, hi, Mom,” Henri said. “These very nice policemen came to see you. I told them you’d be back soon, and here you are. I’ve been keeping them company.”
I’d had experience with cops once before when a body turned up on a piece of property where I was doing exploration work. In that instance, the sheriff and his deputies were fairly amenable. These detectives on the other hand … well. I slipped my poker face snugly into place.
Pierce cleared his throat and said, “We need to talk to your mom now, Henri. Thanks for your time. And for your hospitality.” Both men, I noted, had Cokes in front of them.
“No problem,” Henri said, then looked at me, “Mom?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “Go check on Will. He’s working on your boat.”
“What? I told him to leave that motor alone.” The door slammed and she was gone.
Pierce pulled out a chair for me, and they reseated themselves.
“We just wanted to let you know the ME has done his work. The preliminary ruling is drowning”—my heart soared as Pierce paused to pull his trusty little spiral notebook from his pocket—“following trauma to the back of his skull by a blunt object.”
My heart sank. “What?”
“Yeah, apparently the crack in his skull wasn’t obvious when he was first brought in because the body had been in the water.” Both men stared at me, looking, I assumed, for a reaction. When I just stared back, Pierce asked, “So does hearing about the killing, that it was a blow to the back of the head with a blunt object, jog your memory? Give you any … insight? Any clarity?”
“No.”
Pierce looked at Myers, who said, as if on cue, “Well, the toxicology report isn’t back yet. Maybe we’ll know more then.”
“Right,” added Pierce. “We’ll keep you abreast of any information in the case as we get it.”
I gave him a what-the-hell-for look.
“After all,” he said with feigned patience, “we’re still trying to jump start your memory of that night, aren’t we?”
I nodded but wondered if this indicated some manipulative police psychology. Make the suspect think they’re helping with the investigation, then catch them in some kind of stupid slipup.
“For instance, we ran Mr. Hunter’s name through NCIC and he popped up right away. He was charged twice in Alaska with rape, but both times the charges were dropped. The victims changed their minds.”
Jeez. How could a guy like that get employed on a drillship? It didn’t make sense.
“Thoughts?” Myers asked.
“Actually, I’m wondering how he got employed with a rape record.”
“He was only charged with rape, not convicted. And the only reason I can think of why an employer probably didn’t feel it necessary to do a criminal background check is because someone pulled strings for him.”
“More thoughts?” Myers chimed in again.
“What now, is all.” Then I shrugged.
“We have a bit of a strange situation here,” Pierce said. “Our usual procedure in the case of murder is to immediately cordon off the crime scene and have CSI go over it. But, in this case, the crime scene—”
“If there is one,” I interjected.
Both detectives nodded. Then Pierce continued, “The potential crime scene, then, is somewhat out of our jurisdiction. Add to that the fact that days went by before the body washed up miles away, during which time the scene was contaminated by the day-to-day activities there …”
“But we are still inclined to want to see it,” Myers added. “Tomorrow, in fact.”
“Good luck with getting on a working drillship without certification and a TWIC card,” I said, knowing that quickly obtaining these would be nearly impossible under ordinary circumstances. “Even if you managed it, your department would still have to be willing to drop about fifteen large on a helicopter ride out there.” I could tell I’d gotten their attention by the sudden look of surprise that came over their faces. “Unless you’re an employee with transportation provided by the operator or the subcontracted company you work for, or you’re a VIP guest of the operator, you’re responsible for your
own transportation. I don’t think you guys fall under the VIP category, do you?”
“We don’t have to”, Pierce said, “We’re good friends with the fellows out at our local Coast Guard Station at Fort Macon. They’re all the permission we need, plus they’re going to ride us and a CSI team out to the Magellan.”
Anger and frustration boiled up in me. “Need I remind you, you’re entering my workplace and could seriously endanger my position there?”
“How so?” asked Myers innocently.
“You know damn well if it got around that I was involved in an attempted rape that ended with one of the crew dying, it would make my professional relationships there even more difficult than they already are. In case you haven’t noticed, I work in a male-dominated industry, especially when it comes to offshore exploration. Right now the word on board is the guy fell overboard and drowned. Why can’t you leave it at that?”
“Because the back of the victim’s skull was crushed, Ms. Cooper. Because you were there. Because you conveniently can’t remember anything.”
“What would my motive be?”
“Self-defense comes to mind. But there’s also the nagging fact that you said nothing to the captain of the ship.”
“What would I say? Hell, I couldn’t even identify the guy I grappled with! What would be the point?”
“How about this,” Pierce said, standing. “The investigation is still ongoing, but we’ll make sure your name isn’t mentioned in connection with the case while we’re out there.”
I sighed and said nothing. Pierce hesitated at the door. I waited, unsurprised at his ploy. “We’ve ascertained that your husband … er, ex-husband, is out of the country. When’s he supposed to be back?”