by Cathy Ace
“I tried,” I said quietly, “but it became fully-asleep dreaming, so I can’t be sure if it all made sense.”
Bud’s expression was less than happy when he asked the critical question. “Do you know who did it, Cait? Because, I have to be honest, I know everyone who could have done it, and I go along with whys and the hows, but I can’t put my hand on my heart and say I know for sure.”
“I think I do.”
Bud was silent for a moment. “Not going to tell me, are you?” he said, thin lipped.
I shook my head.
“Think the captain will let us go through with this?”
I shrugged.
The phone startled me so much I spilled my coffee. “Can you get that?” I said, mopping at the sleeve of my robe, no longer snowy white.
I mopped and Bud listened. He grunted a few times, then hung up.
“Not gonna happen, Cait. Ezra says the captain says no way. We arrive in port in less than twenty-four hours. They are both convinced that no one else on the ship is in danger—thanks to our investigation—and they feel it’s a step too far to constrain any of the suspects.”
“You’re kidding!”
Bud shook his head. “I wouldn’t. Not about this.” His expression was dour. “I think they are wrong, Cait. Whoever did it could easily escape justice because of the circumstantial evidence against the others. I don’t like it. I faced this all the time on the force. This is wrong.”
Bud pulled open the door, just as I opened my mouth. “I’m not taking this lying down, Cait. Leave it to me. I’ll sort it. Get ready for battle, Wife. You will be performing later on. Maybe not when we had planned, but it will happen. I assure you of that.”
I called after him, but he’d already gone. I’d seen Bud like this before, when we’d been after a perp who was just out of reach. Nothing had stopped him then, and I suspected nothing would stop him now. I didn’t know where he’d gone, but having seen him in action before, I suspected he’d start at the top. I wondered how one went about collaring the master of the ship, when, other than at formal duty time, he was essentially invisible. But I knew that if anyone could manage it, Bud would.
I decided I’d better put in a bit of an effort on my appearance. Pulling together a navy two-piece that had a business casual flair, which I gauged to be the right note to strike, I applied a bit of makeup, pulled back my hair, then mused on my wakeful, and sleeping, dreams of the previous hours. Not knowing how long it would take Bud to return, or to get in touch with me, I decided it was best to stay in the room and begin to pack.
An hour flew past without me realizing it. There’s a certain soothing feeling that comes from packing. It’s so much easier when you’re packing to go home, because you have to pack everything—no choices, no need to pack neatly; just get it all in knowing it’ll all be washed in any case. The other strange joy was to handle clothing and recall where we’d been when I’d worn it.
The striped overshirt I’d worn to travel had done well on the flight, and then got soaked through when we arrived at Honolulu airport in the rain. I’d chosen it because Bud said it helped him spot me in a crowd.
I shoved Bud’s swimming shorts into one of the pockets in the cover of the suitcase, and pushed my own swimsuits in to join them. Even though I knew they were dry, I didn’t want them to touch other clothing. I knew it was a saltwater pool on the ship, much more natural than lots of chemicals, and in keeping with the Aloha Spirit but … of course! That explained the white powder. I felt better about that mental discovery, because it helped me decide who hadn’t killed Tommy.
I carried on gathering items from around the cabin. A Christmas tree decoration of a surfing Santa, with “Mele Kalikamaka” painted on his longboard, a glass bauble for the same tree, filled with other little bubbles—in honor of the Don Ho song, which suddenly seemed less appealing. I tried to push it back into its protective box, but it didn’t seem to want to fit, which was annoying—it had come out of there, so it had to go back in. I pulled out the tissue paper and repacked it more carefully, finally getting the box to close.
Of course—Tommy’s poi pot! I’d seen the pot, clear-ish plastic with a blue lid, and stepped sides. Stepped sides! How could I not have worked that out? Good for packing, of course. He’d have figured that out for his travels.
I was almost finished when Bud returned. The closet still held a selection of clothing, our toiletries were still all in the bathroom, and I was feeling quite proud of myself—and of the things I’d worked out. But I could tell by the look on his face that I was about to feel even more proud of Bud.
“So?” I asked, wanting him to have the chance to tell me what he’d done.
“It’s sorted. We’ll all meet in what they call the Board Room at one this afternoon, just as you wanted, but with the additional presence of the captain himself.”
I felt my eyebrows rise. “Really?”
“The only basis upon which he would allow it to happen,” said Bud in his official voice.
“Very well then,” I replied. I checked the time. “Ninety minutes until zero hour.”
“Ready for it?” asked Bud.
“Almost,” I replied.
Bud pulled me into his chest. “Cait, you need to be sure. You are sure, right?”
“I will be when the time comes. You, Ezra, and I all know who could have done it, and why, and how. I have to draw out the culprit; what I say in that room, and how people react to it, will still be a part of my process. It won’t be easy for anyone. Lives will be changed forever.”
“You mean Derek?”
I nodded. “Do you want to give him a fighting chance, Bud?”
My husband nibbled his lip. “It’s only fair, don’t you think? I would hope someone would do the same for me.”
“But they wouldn’t need to, would they, Bud?”
“Probably not,” was all he said as he opened the door again. “He deserves this face-to-face, man-to-man.”
Sometimes the price of justice is alarmingly high. Murder doesn’t just affect the lives of those it touches directly; it infects those close to it—as does a natural death, of course. But the poison of murder can travel faster, and hurt more deeply. It is an experience that leaves everyone changed.
I considered our group and wondered how everyone would ultimately be affected by Tommy’s murder. I couldn’t be sure, but I had a terrible feeling it might damage the innocent more than the guilty. Yes, justice can come at a terrible cost, but secrets and lies cannot always remain hidden, and the bright light of a murder inquiry can cast a very long shadow.
The Gathering Storm
WAITING IN OUR STATEROOM, WE could see through our balcony doors that the sea was becoming an ever-darker gray; the whitecaps were more frequent, and there was rain on the horizon. The grim weather matched our mood. Eventually, the appointed time arrived, and, as Bud and I were ushered into the meeting room being used for the “memorial gathering,” I could see it had been set up to resemble the arrangements of the morning before in the Games Room, with tables dotted about the place. People had taken seats as they saw appropriate, and I noted with interest that Winston, Afrim, Rachel, and Bartholomew had taken the table at what had become the “back” of the room—farthest from the designated “front,” which was where Ezra sat, with an empty seat beside him, awaiting the arrival of Captain Andreas.
At another table sat the Knicelys and the Croppers. The Knicelys sat apart from each other, but Derek and Laurie held hands. Laurie’s face was puffy from crying; it looked as though Derek had finally shared his news with his wife. Frannie Lang sat at a table with the Pukuis and, as Bud and I entered, they began to fuss about to grab an extra seat so we could join them. Ezra jumped up, did the job for her, and we settled ourselves as best we could.
It was notable that a table with no chair filled the same relative spot in the room where Tommy Trussler’s little desk had been in the Games Room the previous morning—which seemed a lot longer than twenty-s
ix hours ago.
Given how Ezra had spent that entire time, I was amazed at how fresh he looked. His crisp white shirt was pressed with creases so sharp they were almost a weaponization of his sleeves; his hair looked especially lustrous, and his eyes were bright. I wondered if he’d slept at all, or was still awash with coffee and energy drinks. I couldn’t help but also notice the way he studiously avoided Rachel’s curious glances. I sighed as I realized I was about to make their lives a little more miserable than they already undoubtedly were.
Officer Ocampo stood at the door and pulled it wide to allow for the late entrance of our final attendee, Captain Andreas. Ezra leapt to his feet, as did the ship’s crew members. Captain Andreas removed his hat from its spot between his arm and his side and placed it on the table in front of Ezra. There couldn’t have been a more obvious signal that he was in charge—if any had been needed.
Clearing his throat, the captain began. “Thank you all for being here,” he said, nodding and smiling at the guests, “even if you had no choice in the matter.” Good start, Captain—put everyone at ease.
“I do not have to tell you that we are here for a very sad reason. We are here to remember one of our own—a member of the Stellar family for many years: Tommy Trussler. Or, as he should be properly known,” the captain referred to a notepad he’d pulled out of his pocket, “Sergeant Thomas Jefferson Trussler, of the 3rd Armored Division, United States Army.” There were surprised looks from the Pukuis and the Knicelys, while the Croppers began to hiss and whisper to each other. “Tommy Trussler was the same rank, and served in the same battalion, as Elvis Presley—though Tommy served many decades later in Desert Storm, where he was awarded the Silver Star for heroic action under fire, and received the Purple Heart in recognition of the fact that he was wounded at this time. Our very own Tommy Trussler was a war hero.”
I could see that Ezra had put his background on Tommy to good use, and the captain was allowing this ‘get together’ to shape up as an honest-to-goodness remembrance of our dead shipmate. Go, Team Justice!
“What feels especially bad to me, therefore, as the master of this ship, is that Tommy survived serving his country, only to lose his life here, now. It is a tragedy that has touched us all.” He dropped his head and paused for effect; everyone in the room automatically bowed their head for a second or two as well.
The captain continued. “While it is true that Tommy had no living relatives, he will be missed by his family members here at the Stellar Cruise Line. But we must do more than miss him: we must recognize that he lived and worked with us here, and we must tackle the question of his death.”
Puzzled looks from most people, a beat of hesitation in the breathing of a few.
“You see, ladies and gentlemen, I have not been able to tell you this until now, and I would ask you to be most discreet about how you share this information after this gathering, but Tommy Trussler’s death was not a natural one.”
The atmosphere in the room changes in a heartbeat.
“The moment I knew of the suspicious nature of his passing, I charged my trusted Head of Security Services, Officer Ezra Eisen, with going about his duties and responsibilities toward the remaining passengers and crew upon this vessel. Since then, he has been doing just that, in a most diligent manner. I invite Officer Eisen to take the floor and bring you up to speed with his inquiries.”
Captain Andreas sat and Ezra stood, straightening his pants. He nodded his thanks to his superior, and lifted his head to face the group.
“We do not believe that Tommy Tussler took his own life, and it was not an accidental death. All evidence points to Tommy Trussler having been murdered, by a person, or persons, unknown.” He let the idea hang in the air for a few seconds, then acknowledged Frannie Lang’s half-raised hand.
She spoke quietly. “Are we all quite safe?”
Ezra nodded. “We believe that whoever killed Tommy Trussler intended to kill him, and only him. You are all perfectly safe. Please do not be concerned.”
Seeing Derek also begin to raise a hand, Ezra said quickly, “I am sure you will all have many questions, but maybe if we tell you what we have discovered, the facts will address your worries. Our Senior Medical Officer, Dr. Rachel White, has conducted a detailed and thorough examination of the body, as well as any foodstuffs that were in the Games Room at the time of Tommy’s death—”
“You mean he was poisoned? Good grief man, we could all be dead,” said Nigel loudly, making his wife jump.
Rachel stood in response to Nigel, looking every inch the cool professional. She didn’t refer to notes, but held her head high, and allowed the confidence in her voice to work in her favor. “Yes, I examined the body of Tommy Trussler, and without going into detail, I surmised that he had ingested a toxic substance moments before his death. We are most fortunate, on this ship, to have a nurse practitioner, Bartholomew Goodman, who has extensive training and experience in dealing with poisons. Using his expertise, we examined everything that anyone in the Games Room yesterday morning could have touched or consumed, and found no trace of any toxic substance. At all.”
Rachel sat, and all eyes turned back to Ezra. As far as I could tell, everyone looked equally puzzled.
“So how—” was out of Nigel Knicely’s mouth before he could stop himself. You really aren’t used to not being in control—not being the leader of the pack, are you?
Ezra sighed, then continued. “Thank you, Dr. White, Nurse Goodman, for all your efforts in this matter.” He was unable to disguise the warmth in his tone. “My trained security officers secured the crime scene, and have been gathering information, as well as liaising with the necessary authorities about this matter. Although they are not present at this time, since they have many other duties to attend to, I would like to officially thank them for their excellent efforts.”
The formal stuff had to come first, I knew that, but I was anxious for Ezra to begin to make some real headway. I didn’t have to wait any longer.
“But now I come to a most difficult and delicate matter, and I would request that you all,” he looked directly at Nigel Knicely, “refrain from making any comments. I can assure you, you will all have a chance to speak.”
Ezra turned his attention to Bud and me. “As some of you might know, Mr. Bud Anderson was a high-ranking law enforcement officer, prior to his retirement, and his wife, Professor Cait Morgan, is a well-known and respected criminal psychologist.” There were shocked looks all around. “They kindly agreed to lend their expertise to my investigation.”
The looks directed at us from around the room suggest we’ve just sprouted an extra head each.
“Now look here,” said Nigel Knicely, “and don’t try to shut me up,” he sneered at Ezra, “you can’t just question people without—some sort of proper warning, can you?” Ending up sounding a lot less sure of himself than when he’d started, he looked from Ezra to Captain Andreas.
The captain answered. “I am responsible for the life of every person on this ship, as well as for the ship itself. If I believe an inquiry needs to be made into discovering who might be responsible for killing one of my passengers or crew, an inquiry can take place. No charges have been made, merely inquiries.” His manner, as well as his tone, seemed to stop Nigel in his tracks.
Nigel Knicely practiced his harrumphing technique again, then pouted.
“You all know Bud and Cait,” said Ezra. “They are your fellow guests, on their honeymoon. They have been as keen as me to work out if anyone else has been under threat. That was their priority.” You lie quite well. “By speaking to everyone concerned, and working alongside me and my staff, they have helped me reach the conclusion that no one else is at risk.” He beamed. Less convincing.
As Bud and Ezra had discussed, Ezra had managed to say almost nothing while making everyone feel he would say no more. I had advised Bud that would be the best way to allow me an opportunity to draw out the culprit. A false sense of security can be fatal.
&n
bsp; Ezra sat down. Confused faces. Puzzled looks. Mouthed anxieties. All as expected. Good.
It fell to Derek Cropper to break the tension. He stood and cleared his throat. “I can only speak on behalf of myself and my good lady-wife, but I guess everyone here feels the same, so I’ll go ahead and say it anyway. It was a real shock seeing Tommy keel over like that yesterday, and I know we guessed it mighta been his heart. But to hear that someone killed him is mighty upsetting, though we appreciate the work you and your people have done, Captain Andreas, to establish that we are all safe here.” He saluted the captain, who nodded back. “But look, someone’s gotta say this. We were all in there together yesterday when Tommy died—” he paused and looked at the crew table, adding, “—well, almost all, and the doctor said he ate something that poisoned him just before he died. So how’d that work? What was it he ate? And how come it was something that none of us ate? I don’t get it. I, for one, want to know what happened.”
“And who did it,” added Laurie, looking up at Derek with pride.
“And why,” added Malia Pukui, looking right at me. Sharp woman.
Ezra looked toward Bud and myself. “With Bud’s expert advice, I made a very comprehensive study of those who were present yesterday. You.” I noticed a slight glint in his eyes. “Of course, I worked only with the information that is readily available in the public domain, and through the normal channels to which I have access.” A few uneasy shoulder movements around the room. “I discussed my findings with Bud and Cait, and their insights and expertise helped me to understand one thing very clearly. In response to your very valid concerns, therefore, I have to tell you that my inquiries have proved that everyone who was in the Games Room yesterday morning had an opportunity to poison Tommy Trussler, and to conceal the fact that they had done so. I have also established that everyone there had access to a toxic substance that could have been used to kill him, and that everyone had a distinct motive to want the man dead.”