The Crime on the Norwegian Sea

by Steve Stevenson

  “Bismarck is heading for the exit,” whispered Chandler.

  “Great,” said Dash, clearing the EyeNet screen. “We’ll be able to track him in person!”

  Just then he heard an unmistakable voice. “What are you doing here?” Edgar Mistery strode up to their café table.

  “We were too late,” Agatha improvised. “The movie had already started, and there were no seats left.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Bauer walk briskly out of Excalibur Casino and disappear into the crowd.

  “So much the better.” Edgar beamed. “You can sit in a dark theater and watch movies at home! You’re young, you need to move your bodies! How about we all go to Deck Ten? There’s a big dance competition about to begin. Kristi went to change her shoes and check on Ilse. Let’s meet her there.”

  Chandler appeared in the casino doorway. He was carrying a huge bag of chips and looking around in concern.

  “Bauer went left,” Agatha whispered into her brooch. The butler took off in the same direction to search for the spy. Dash was dying to join him, but Edgar was like a dog with a bone. He kept asking, “What do you say, kids? An intergenerational challenge: me and Kristi versus you two. A race to the last waltz!”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Dash muttered, becoming more and more agitated. “I can feel a big headache coming on . . .”

  “No excuses, lazybones,” said Edgar. “I won’t settle for less! Anyway,” he added with a teasing smile, “your adoring fans will be there. Have you forgotten those girls?”

  “Don’t worry, Master Dash,” Chandler’s voice spoke into his earpiece. “I overheard everything. I’ve just spotted Bismarck. He’s in the middle of a crowd right in front of me. I suspect he’s heading back to Deck Eleven. I can keep an eye on him for now. You’d better go with Mr. Edgar, or it will look suspicious. I’ll keep you updated. Over and out.”

  Led by the exuberant Edgar Mistery, Dash and Agatha dragged their feet all the way to the ball.

  In the Queen Guinevere Ballroom, thirty couples danced to the gentle rhythm of a waltz.

  The orchestra performed each piece with expert precision, and the atmosphere was elegant. At Edgar’s urging, Dash and Agatha tried a few turns under the envious eyes of the girls Dash had met at the pool that afternoon. Agatha didn’t look happy.

  “You may be a brilliant detective,” Dash said with a smirk. “But you’ve got a lot to learn about dancing!”

  “Who cares about dancing?” huffed Agatha. “We should focus on that group of spies.”

  “Chandler’s got it covered for now. Try to relax and get into the groove!”

  The orchestra launched into the opening bars of the “Blue Danube,” a famous Viennese waltz by Johann Strauss.

  Edgar Mistery approached the two children, bowing theatrically to Agatha. “Since my wife and dancing partner has not yet arrived, would you allow me the honor of this dance?”

  Without waiting for a response, he led her into the middle of the floor, twirling her over the polished parquet. “And that’s how it’s done!” he bragged to Dash.

  The music got faster and faster, becoming so loud that Agatha barely could hear Chandler’s voice in her earbuds.

  “Miss Agatha, Master Dash, sorry to disturb you . . . but we have a problem.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Dash. “Have you lost track of Bismarck again?”

  “He’s in cabin 1188,” replied Chandler. “But there is an issue. I regret to inform you that he is deceased.”

  “WHAT?” Dash shrieked so loudly that Agatha jumped. She continued to waltz with her uncle so as not to attract attention, but stole a glance over his shoulder at Dash. He stood frozen and pale at the edge of the dance floor, staring at her with wide eyes.

  “That’s impossible,” he moaned into the microphone. “I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on him . . . and now this happens while I’m out dancing! I’ve really done it this time!”

  “It’s all my fault,” Chandler said sadly. “If I hadn’t let Bismarck get so far ahead of me, I would have caught his assassin red-handed!”

  “Don’t panic,” Agatha whispered. “We’ll find out what happened.”

  “All good, niece?” asked Edgar Mistery, raising an eyebrow at her twisted posture. “Why are you looking down at the floor?”

  “Just counting my steps,” she replied, wriggling out of his grasp. Then she pointed to Dash, who was waving his arms in agitation. “But Dash looks upset. I think he might need dancing lessons as well.”

  “Great idea!” exclaimed her uncle, dancing with confident steps toward his son.

  Dash shook his head, but the irrepressible Edgar dragged him onto the dance floor. “You’ll see, son,” he cried. “After one dance with me, you’ll be an expert!”

  While father and son were caught up in the waltz, Agatha moved away from the orchestra to continue the conversation with Chandler. Finding a quiet corner, she spoke into her brooch. “Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear, Miss Agatha.”

  “Good. Tell me exactly what happened from the moment you lost sight of him.”

  Chandler spoke low in her ear. “I followed Bismarck to Deck Eleven, letting him get ahead so that he wouldn’t spot me. Unfortunately, I lost track of him for a few minutes. Then I decided to check out his cabin, in hopes he’d gone back there. As I approached, I noticed the door was ajar . . . I pushed it open and saw his body sprawled on the bed. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do: Hermann Bauer, aka Bismarck, was already dead.”

  Agatha raised her eyes to the dance floor, where Dash and his father were dancing to the “Blue Danube.” Dash was shaking and stumbling all over the place, and Edgar corrected him eagerly.

  “So you were the first to find Bismarck?” asked Agatha into the microphone.

  “Exactly,” said Chandler. “Nobody has noticed anything amiss, for now. The hall outside cabin 1188 is deserted. I’m the only one at the crime scene.”

  “That’s for the best,” said Agatha.

  “Shall I use this opportunity to look for clues before the body is discovered and the crew raise the alarm?” asked the butler.

  “Cou-could you film the scene with my micro camera?” stammered Dash’s voice.

  After an embarrassed pause, Chandler replied in dismay, “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Master Dash. I must confess that in my hurry to follow Bismarck out of the casino, I left the lighter with the camera inside on top of the slot machine! This really isn’t my night.”

  “Don’t worry,” Agatha reassured him. “Tell us what you can see at the moment. Begin with the corpse. Are you sure it was murder?”

  “The victim is lying facedown,” Chandler explained. “There are purple bruises around his neck . . .”

  “So he was strangled,” Agatha observed, tapping her nose.

  It was a strange situation; they’d never had to analyze a crime scene . . . from a distance.

  “Someone must have attacked him from behind,” she continued. “Is there a murder weapon at the scene?”

  “Unfortunately not.” Chandler sighed. “There’s no rope, or anything else that looks possible. The assassin must have been quick. There’s no sign of a struggle.”

  “What else can you see around you?” asked the girl.

  “There’s an open briefcase on Bismarck’s desk.”

  “Can you check what’s inside and tell me if it’s been broken into?” asked Agatha. “Be careful not to leave any sign that you’ve been there, especially fingerprints. We don’t want to contaminate the crime scene.”

  “I’ve already put on latex gloves,” he replied. “In case I need to touch anything in the room. Regarding the briefcase, it seems to have been opened by force. There are signs of forced entry on the lock, though the scratches are very precise. It was likely done by a professional.”

  �
�The assassin sneaks into Bismarck’s room,” Agatha summarized. “Surprises him from behind and strangles him. He leaves the body on the bed, opens the briefcase, and steals its contents. Is there anything left in the briefcase?”

  “Only the lining,” the butler replied. “There is a small incision in it, right in the middle. The contents were stolen, just as you deduced, Miss. Whatever it was, it must have been very small.”

  “Like a flash drive containing some sort of secret information!” exclaimed Agatha, leaning against the ballroom wall.

  The orchestra had finished the “Blue Danube” and started a waltz by Tchaikovsky, cheerful and upbeat. Dash and his father continued to whirl on the parquet floor.

  “Anything else on the desk?” asked Agatha.

  “An open envelope, already stamped. There’s a name printed in capital letters on the front: Lilian.”

  Dash stepped on his father’s foot in surprise, nearly sprawling across the floor. His father, unable to hear what was going on, laughed at his son’s clumsiness and helped the boy steady himself.

  “Lilian?” Dash’s voice croaked in the earpieces. “Isn’t that the name of the Texan ex-spy who was playing with Bismarck at the casino?”

  Agatha cast her mind back to the frizzy-haired woman with the polka-dot blouse. She recalled her look of triumph just before they all got up from the table.

  “Lilian Turner,” she said. “She won that bizarre game of blackjack! Bauer was probably writing her a message when he was attacked. Chandler, is it possible to check inside the envelope without leaving any traces?”

  “Certainly,” replied the ex-boxer. They heard a faint rustling in the background, then the butler spoke. “There’s a sheet of writing paper inside, but it’s completely blank!”

  “The victim evidently wanted to contact Ms. Turner,” the girl reflected, adjusting the microphone brooch on her dress. “But why would he send her a blank sheet of paper?”

  “If I had to guess,” Chandler said, “I’d say it’s some sort of signal. Or perhaps the letter contains a message written in invisible ink. Too bad we can’t remove it from the scene of the crime. If we were able to run some tests on it, we might find something interesting.”

  “Leave it where it is,” said Agatha. “Tell me, what else do you see?”

  Chandler rapidly examined the cabin. The closet and drawers had been ransacked, and the small window was open.

  “The culprit must have escaped through it,” the butler said. “He obviously didn’t want to run the risk of encountering any other passengers as he was leaving the scene of the crime.”

  “What’s outside the window?” asked Agatha.

  “A terrace with lifeboats,” said Chandler. “From there, it would be possible to get back inside the King Arthur through one of the service doors . . . and disappear without a trace!”

  “Speaking of traces,” Agatha said, “it’s probably best if you get away from there, too. The assassin might return to check on the scene. Or worse, someone might surprise you in the victim’s cabin and think you’re a suspect!”

  “Right away,” agreed Chandler. “I’ll pull the cabin’s alarm on my way out so the crew are notified.”

  Agatha raised her eyes to the dance floor. Kristi had finally arrived.

  Uncle Edgar saw her at once, and swooped over to greet her. Freed from his father’s attention, Dash rushed to his cousin. He was breathless with shock.

  “What a mess!” he panted, leaning against the wall. “Now what do we do?”

  “Rejoin Chandler,” Agatha promptly replied.

  “The alarm is activated,” the butler’s voice confirmed in their earpieces. “I’m going down to Deck Seven, above the great hall. I’ll wait for you there.”

  “Perfect!” Dash turned toward the exit.

  “Had enough, little man?” Edgar called from behind. Dash rolled his eyes in exasperation. Then he turned around, flashing his brightest smile.

  “You win, Dad,” he said. “You’re unbeatable on the dance floor!”

  “Plus we’re a bit tired,” said Agatha, pretending to stifle a yawn. “I think we could do with some sleep.”

  “Young people today!” gloated Edgar Mistery. “Your old man’s got twice as much energy! You need more exercise, boy. It takes next to nothing to wipe you out!”

  “Oh, this is by Chopin!” cried Kristi, as the orchestra started to play a new waltz. “Leave the poor kids alone and let’s dance, darling!”

  Edgar gave his wife a gallant kiss on the hand. Then the two lovebirds swept away, leaving the children free to meet Chandler.

  Agatha cast an eye over the railing of Deck Seven. The King Arthur’s vast hall spread out below them. Even though it was already after eleven, the ship was still crowded with tourists going in and out of shops. They had no idea that there’d been a murder on board the ship.

  “No signal,” Dash grumbled, raising his eyes from the EyeNet. “The communications satellite seems to have gone haywire. I can’t get a connection to London.”

  He’d spent several minutes trying to contact Eye International headquarters to report what had happened. Agent AP36 was out of reach on a moving train, so they’d have to fend for themselves.

  “It’s strange that the news of the crime hasn’t spread yet,” commented Chandler.

  “Usually in cases like this, the captain contacts the authorities in the nearest port,” said Agatha, who’d read several mysteries set on ocean liners. “Bismarck’s body will be taken from the ship in Trondheim tomorrow morning as discreetly as possible, to avoid ruining the cruise for other passengers.”

  “What am I going to tell Agent AP36?” asked Dash.

  “The name of the murderer, if we act quickly enough,” Agatha replied. “The culprit must be one of the three former spies who met Bismarck at the casino.”

  “Yeah, but what were the four of them scheming?” groaned Dash.

  “There’s one way to find out: Ask them!” said Agatha. “We’ll interrogate all three and find out who killed Bismarck.”

  “Who do you suggest we track down first?” Chandler asked.

  “Let’s start with Lilian Turner,” Agatha replied. “Her name was written on the letter the victim left. Dash, what does her file say?”

  Dash opened the file and began to read.

  “Fifty-nine years old, born in Dallas, Texas. Ex–CIA agent, highly decorated. She left the American secret services eight years ago for health reasons. She has chronic rheumatism that forced her to take an early retirement.”

  Agatha and Chandler exchanged puzzled glances. Their brightly dressed suspect seemed far from retired.

  Dash went on. “But she hasn’t been idle. It seems that, like Bismarck, she put her experience to use as a private spy for rich corporations.”

  Checking the roster of passengers, Dash discovered that Ms. Turner was staying on Deck Five, cabin 577. The three headed briskly in that direction.

  “I don’t think she’s in her cabin,” announced Chandler after knocking a couple of times.

  “There’s no way we’ll be able to find her,” Dash groaned. “This ship is as big as a city.”

  “I bet she’s on Deck Six,” said Agatha, flashing a confident smile.

  Dash and Chandler stared at her, wide-eyed. She took off down the hall and the other two followed.

  “At this time of night,” Agatha explained, “most of the attractions are closed. But just down these stairs on Deck Six, there’s one that stays open till midnight: the spa! Lilian Turner suffers from chronic rheumatism, right? The warm air of a steam room is just the thing for those kinds of complaints.”

  Moments later, the group reached the glass doors of a luxury spa, Morgana Beauty, full of thermal pools, saunas, and mud treatments. As soon as they entered the vestibule, they were hit with a blast of heat. The air was thick w
ith the scent of the sulfur typical of thermal pools. The elegant blue-and-white mosaics reminded Agatha of Roman baths.

  “We’ve forgotten one detail,” said Dash. “We don’t have our swimsuits. We can’t go inside unless we’re wearing them!”

  “We’ll just have to pretend, then,” said Agatha with a grin. She slipped off her shoes and reached for a peg rack where a dozen white terry cloth robes hung. She pulled one on and secured the belt, perfectly hiding her dress. Chandler kicked off his shoes and rolled his pants up to the knees.

  “We’ll liquefy in this heat!” complained Dash, cloaking himself in a terry cloth robe.

  As soon as the butler was ready, the trio headed toward the pool.

  Inside, it was ninety degrees, and the humidity was as high as in an Amazonian rain forest. Dash flushed as red as a pepper, dripping with sweat. Chandler, however, somehow maintained his immaculate air.

  “Excellent deduction, Miss,” he commented, nodding discreetly toward a corner of the pool. “There’s our first suspect.”

  There were still a dozen guests in the spa. Apart from the rest, on the edge of the pool, sat Lilian Turner. She was wearing a polka-dot swimsuit, and her pouf of hair was covered with a hot-pink swim cap.

  The trio walked toward her carefully. Dash passed a hand across his forehead to wipe away beads of sweat. He was trying to think up a way to approach her.

  But it was the Texan who made the first move. She raised her blue eyes to Chandler and flashed him a grin. “Howdy there, colleague. How’s your secret mission going?”

  “Excuse me?” muttered the butler, taken aback.

  “Come on,” laughed Lilian. “I worked for the CIA for thirty years. Even if I’m almost retired, I know a fellow spy when I see one.”

  Agatha smiled. This woman’s powers of observation were remarkable.

  “Even a child would have realized you were playing the slots just to keep an eye on our little ole game,” she continued. “Am I mistaken, or did you leave your micro camera behind? And you Brits always brag about your precision.” Lilian Turner stood up with difficulty, turning to face them. “So what do you want with me, pardner?”