Southtrap

Southtrap Page 11

by Geoffrey Jenkins

  Thanks,' I said. 'I wasn't meaning to pull my rank, but it's a good thing to know where you stand. This is a serious situation.'

  'I'll say. I'll keep this roll of film safer than fine gold. Ten million dollars' worth.'

  It was as if an electric shock had passed through Wegger. The muscles of his neck corded and bulged and his hand went to his gun pocket as if it had a life of its own.

  Brunton's keen eye didn't miss it. 'Have I said something wrong?'

  Wegger laughed it off, not very convincingly. 'That's a lot of gold to compare it to.'

  Brunton eyed him for a long moment. Then he said to me. 'If you don't want me for anything more, I'll be getting back to bed. With these shorties I'll land myself a severe dose of Antartic testicle.'

  'Thanks,' I said. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

  When he had gone, I said to Wegger, 'We'll lock the body in the sick-bay. 'We'll leave him strapped. This plank is the best thing to carry him on anyway. Petersen, go and find a blanket, will you?'

  Petersen was only too glad to leave.

  Wegger asked, 'Burial at sea?'

  That was going too fast for me. I fobbed off the question. 'He's halfway prepared already.'

  'We'd better unstrap his arms,' Wegger went on. 'Easier later for sewing him into canvas. Rigor mortis and all that.'

  I didn't like Wegger's tacit assumption of what would be done. I felt he was subtly pressuring me.

  'Leave him how he is,' I ordered. 'I'll decide all that later.'

  When Petersen, returned with a couple of blankets it was Wegger and I who carried the deadweight board after we had covered and wrapped the body. Petersen led, with instructions not to use my torch in the unlighted section between the stern and amidships deck-houses. I didn't want any stray passengers to witness our passage. Perhaps my caution was a mistake. Shortly after leaving the locked door behind us Wegger tripped on something on deck. The body's weight transferred to his damaged right hand. I did a quick snatch to save the board from falling. I sensed him fumbling near the head for a moment or two to find a grip. Then he regained his balance.

  We hurried from the deck into the lighted corridor where the luxury accommodation was situated. The sick-bay was at its forward end. I glanced at Number 3 as we hastened past. Linn's cabin.

  The key was in the sick-bay door. I locked it and pocketed the key after we had stowed Holdgate safely inside.

  I dismissed Wegger and Petersen. 'See you on the bridge. I take over at midnight.'

  'I'll stand your watch if you like, sir,' suggested Wegger. 'I won't sleep much anyway.'

  No more would I, I thought grimly. 'Thanks,' I said, 'but it won't be necessary.'

  The more I saw of Wegger, the less I understood the man. There had been times during the photographing of the body when he'd been all screwed up with tension. Now he seemed completely relaxed, in spite of what he said about not sleeping. But Petersen was different. If I hadn't thought it bad for his morale I would have ordered him to bed. He looked ghastly.

  When they had gone I made my way to my cabin. I sat down at the desk and started to frame a radio signal. I didn't get far. How do you convey in a few crisp sentences that a man has been murdered? I didn't address it either. To whom? The police? The port authorities? The Weather Bureau? I crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastepaper basket. The Quest's radio wasn't working anyway because of the radio black-out, but I'd have to try to get through to someone.

  I hurried to Persson's cabin in the officers' quarters and hammered on his door. I would have to tell him the truth. A radio operator is to a captain as his own thoughts. Persson answered, full of sleep and surprise.

  'See here,' I told him. 'There's been an emergency. Can you raise Cape Town on the radio?'

  He shook his head. 'No. Reception's been getting worse all day, the further South we go. It was hopeless when I packed up a few hours ago. No sferics, even.'

  I recalled Smit's remarks about the black-out. I didn't want to try and teach Persson his job. On the other hand if I put an expert like Smit on his back it would only cause friction.

  'Can I come in?' I asked. 'What I have to say is confidential.'

  'Sorry, sir. I must be half-asleep still.'

  I went in. The cabin was warm and smelt of cigarettes and the indefinable odour of male-aloneness. A pin-up whose breasts ballooned close to the pillow hung above his bunk.

  'What are sferics?'

  'Bits and pieces of noises, sir. They used to be called static. They don't mean anything. Or, rather, they do if…'

  I cut him short. 'You mean the radio's stone dead?'

  'Yes, sir. Both receiving and transmitting. I've heard about this sort of thing but never experienced it.'

  'What about the radio-telephone?'

  'It's got no range at all, sir. I couldn't reach the mainland that way.'

  I glanced at the door to make sure we could not be overheard. 'Listen, Persson. A man was killed aboard tonight. I've got to get a signal out somehow.'

  He said quietly, as if only a part of him were listening while the rest was wrestling with the insoluble technical problem, 'I see, sir. Then the R/T's our only hope. Maybe…'

  'Yes?'

  The US Navy works the KC-4 USV station from McMurdo at certain times as a ham station for direct voice talks with the men's relatives back home. It's a powerful transmission. Maybe — only maybe — I could patch a signal from us into it.'

  'What would that mean, if you did?'

  'It would mean someone talking from America to a guy in McMurdo would get the message. Or vice versa.'

  'Where — I mean, what station in the United States?'

  'An ordinary telephone sir. That's the way it works?'

  'I don't follow the ins and outs of this, but if you think you can establish contact with the outside world, go ahead right away,' I replied. 'If you can't, I want you to stand a round-the-clock radio watch until you do. Got that?'

  'I'll be up in the radio shack in about five minutes.'

  'Good. If you make a contact, let me know at once. I'll be on the bridge after midnight. In my cabin until then.'

  I went from Persson direct to the engine-room. As I clattered down the ladder into the oil-warm comfort and racket of the place, MacFie's assistant started up in astonishment from a nudey magazine and a cup of coffee. A captain doesn't usually pay social calls to the engine-room in the middle of the night.

  'I want to see Reilly,' I told him. 'He's on duty?'

  The man pointed. His attitude asked, 'More trouble?' but he didn't speak.

  Reilly. was dripping oil out of an outsize oil-can with the fixed zombie-like look machine-men develop in the presence of continual noise. His brown overall was open to a stained singlet. It was as warm down here as all that.

  I tapped him on the shoulder. He started as if he'd been shot. I gestured to a corner away from the other men. Not that they could have overheard with all that noise going on.

  When we were there, I said, 'Reilly, I want you to tell me something.'

  His eyes were bitter under their pale lashes. 'I said all I had to say to the Chief. You can't get anything more out of me.'

  I wasn't in the mood for this prima donna stuff. 'That business is finished.'

  Then why come and try to twist my arm?'

  I bit back my retort. 'Reilly — what did the ghost look like? the one who held the gun on you?'

  There wasn't a ghost. You searched the ship. You said there wasn't.'

  I went on, jumping the credibility gap. 'You said he was big.'

  'Aye, his hands were big. He was a big man.'

  'A man, not a ghost?'

  Reilly looked shiftier, if that were possible. 'You searched the ship. You said there wasn't.'

  Next he'll be talking leprechauns, I told myself savagely. I hid my fury as best I could.

  'Bigger than — Mr Wegger, say?'

  'I dunno who Mr Wegger is.'

  Than me, then?'

  'Aye, bigge
r.'

  'His hands — was there anything wrong with either or them?'

  He looked stupid. 'Naw. Big hands, that's all. Very big. The gun looked small.'

  'You're sure it was a machine-pistol? Not a Luger?'

  'I seen plenty of machine-pistols. In Belfast, like I said. You shot all over me for saying it, remember?'

  Reilly would "Store up grievances all his life like a computer. A computer never forgets.

  'What about his ringers? Did he have all his fingers?'

  'His hands were big like I said.'

  'For Chrissake — his fingers! Did he have all his fingers?'

  He replied sullenly/It was dark down there. I dunno.'

  I had to steel myself to say. Thanks, Reilly. That's all I want to know.'

  He watched me suspiciously as I rejoined MacFie's assistant.

  'Can you spare a couple of cups of coffee?'

  'Sure, a pleasure.'

  He went over to the sort of cubby-hole you find in all engine-rooms, where there is a spout of steam, a tin of coffee and condensed milk and some off-white mugs. He brought two back. They looked good.

  'Thanks,' I said. 'I'll return the cups.'

  He nodded. He, like the rest of the engine-room crew, was wary of my visit.

  I retraced my steps to my cabin, balancing the cups against the roll and pitch of the ship. I put the bottle of brandy under my arm and headed in the direction of the sick-bay.

  "I stopped at Number 3.

  I put down one cup in order to leave me a free hand to knock on Linn's door. My pulses raced. I didn't give myself time to think. I knocked sharply.

  Again.

  I was about to knock a third time when the door opened and Linn stood blinking at me in the light of the corridor. She had on a blue quilted dressing-gown, and her eyes looked soft and sleepy.

  'John…!' Her eyes went from the cup in my hand to the brandy bottle under my arm. The misty expression vanished from her eyes and gave way to coolness. And to disappointment. Brandy — the crude Panzer spearhead of the midnight assignation.

  Then she saw what was in my face, and her expression changed again.

  'John! What's wrong? What's happened?'

  I picked up the second steaming cup from the floor. 'You may need this when I tell you. The brandy's there for medicinal reasons.'

  'Come in. It's perishing out here.'

  I moved into the cabin. She was fumbling for the light switch, so that we were very close. She was all woman-sleep and warmth.

  I said a little unsteadily, 'You'd better take the bottle before I let it fall.'

  She had the light on now. She eased the bottle out from between my arm and my side.

  I scarcely heard her whisper, it was so soft. 'Sorry. I should have known you better than that.'

  'Thank you, Linn.' I put her cup down. She sat on her bunk and I took the chair that stood at a small desk. 'That's genuine engine-room brew,' I said, 'guaranteed to keep the patient awake.'

  She eyed me. 'You haven't been asleep, John.'

  I took a drink of coffee and filled the space up with brandy.

  'I'm afraid I've some bad news, Linn,' I said.

  I could see the skin round her cheekbones tighten as she waited to hear.

  There's no point in beating about the bush. Doctor Holdgate, the volcanologist, was murdered tonight.'

  She reached for her cup, slopped it unsteadily, and put it down again without tasting.

  She said slowly, 'I can't believe it. That's what people always say, isn't it? I can't believe it. But I suppose I must try to believe it.'

  She managed her coffee cup this time. She held it out to me before drinking. 'A medicinal measure from the bottle, please. I feel as if I'd been kicked in the stomach.'

  She leaned towards me. The weight of her breasts pushed the lapel of her gown partly aside. She'd been sleeping in the nude. Her pyjamas lay on her bunk among the blankets she had thrown back.

  'Go on.'

  My thoughts yawed like a ship with a bugged gyro. I replied, 'Young Petersen was doing his rounds when he saw Holdgate's door open. He went in and found him with a knife in his throat. He called me. Holdgate had been dead for some time.'

  'It's incredible! Holdgate!'

  'Yes, Holdate — bumbling, inconsequential Hold-gate,' I answered.

  'He wouldn't have hurt a fly.'

  That's what I thought.' I recounted the night's events: my discovery of the body, the photographic record, and, finally, the radio black-out and the very faint hope that Persson had of transmitting a signal. I left Reilly out of it. I let her think my visit to the engine-room was to fetch our coffee.

  Then I asked, 'What do you know about Holdgate's background?'

  She seemed grateful to steer away from the details of the killing. 'Not much. I think he must have had quite a brilliant academic record. I seem to remember from his application to join the cruise that he'd been a lecturer at the Australian National University at Canberra and had been given some big geological award by the Rijksmuseum in Holland.'

  'Where was he from?'

  'British-born, I think.'

  'I don't mean that. Where did he come from to join the ship?'

  'Geological Survey, Pretoria. He was an expert on palaeomagnetism. That's why the rocks at Prince Edward fascinated him so. There's very little work being done on them.'

  'No cause of murder in any of that,' I said. 'Married?'

  'No. Confirmed bachelor type, I'd say.'

  I poured a trickle more brandy into my coffee. 'Linn,' I went on, 'whoever killed Holdgate for whatever reason is not really my affair — that's a police job. What does concern me greatly, however, is that at this moment there's a killer loose in the ship. And because of that, the fate of the Quest's voyage is at stake.'

  She shivered. It wasn't cold in her cabin. It was snug. Somewhere there was a lingering trace of the perfume she'd worn when we'd danced together earlier in the evening. I tried to think whether I had seen Holdgate at the dance. Probably not. He wasn't the sort to socialize with tourists. Perhaps his absence had been the cause of his downfall, being alone with his work when everyone else had been enjoying themselves.

  'Explain please, John.'

  'This voyage is jinxed. There've been two killings.'

  'I can scarcely credit it, even now.'

  'Your father was killed,' I went on. 'He was savagely beaten to death. Now Holdgate. His death was just as brutal, in its way. There's a connection between the two.'

  'What possible connection could my father have had with Doctor Holdgate? They never even knew each other.'

  I answered slowly, 'Linn, my mind feels like those fancy modern navigational systems they call SINS — ships inertial navigational system. They're marvels — providing your initial fix is spot-on. That's what I am lacking now — a reference point from which to begin.'

  'And failing that?'

  I looked at her squarely. She looked very lovely. Because of the crisis, we had already moved closer to each other and I knew instinctively that she was glad I had turned to her.

  'It's nearly midnight,' I said. The Quest is now just over the halfway mark to the launching-point for the buoy. I could put the ship about and land Holdgate's body in Cape Town on Monday, at roughly the same time the launching is scheduled. Then I could turn the whole matter over to the authorities.'

  She looked away and found an imaginary thread on her quilted sleeve.

  'And then?'

  'I would have discharged my responsibility as captain.'

  'But not your conscience, John.'

  'On the other hand, I could carry on. I could bury Holdgate at sea tomorrow. In that event, the case against the killer might break down for lack of evidence. Both police and medical evidence. There would be no body, no clues. It would all be at the bottom of the sea.'

  There must be a doctor somewhere, John!'

  There is. In the Crozet Islands. That's about two days' steaming east of Prince Edward, as you
know.'

  'You'd do that?'

  'I couldn't keep a body on board that long.'

  'What… what… have you done with… it… him?'

  I gestured with my head. 'In the sick-bay. Just up the corridor.'

  She started to her feet. 'John — it's all a nightmare! It's too horrible to think about…!'

  I reached out to her and she came fiercely to me for a moment. Her lips were hard against mine. Then she pulled away.

  'We mustn't, John! I don't want you this way if it's just because… because…'

  'Because what, Linn?'

  'People who are under threat are driven into one another's arms — like in a bombing raid — and then when the danger's gone they find they have nothing left for each other.'

  She moved away and stood between the edge of her bunk and the door of the built-in clothes cabinet. Her head was held back in her characteristic way.

  'Do you think I regard this danger as big as that?'

  In answer, she spread her arms wide across the corner where she stood so that I could see the deep cleavage of her breasts.

  I went to her. Her tongue was warm and soft and seeking against my palate.

  Light years passed.

  It was she who ended it, breathless, sobbing, pulling her elbows down over her breasts like a boxer covering up from an attack which could have only one outcome.

  'Now's not the time, my darling! I need you, I want you, but we've got this horror to attend to…'

  I found my voice. 'Sometime?'

  'Any other time you want, my darling. You don't have to have an excuse to bring coffee next time.'

  A roll of the ship brought us together again. We let the sweet electricity flow between us until both of us had sense enough left to throw the trip-switch.

  We found our previous places and our half-cold coffee. As I looked into her green-grey eyes, I felt I was talking on two levels — outwardly about Holdgate and inwardly in a silent exchange about ourselves.

  I tried to marshal my thoughts. 'Listen, Linn. I believe the key to both murders lies in what your father tried to tell me in hospital. I can't forget those words of his — stay away from Dina's Island. It was like a command. I can't help feeling it was tied up with what he did in the war when he escaped the German raider. But it was all so disconnected and rambling.'

 

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