The Body on the Lido Deck

by Jane Bennett Munro

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Either she’s been thrown overboard or taken off in San Juan. Rob said he was going to check with the captain.”

  “Let’s hope she’s not going to be the next victim of the Lido roof,” Hal said.

  Mum shoved her chair back. “That’s quite enough, Hal dear,” she said with asperity. “I need to get all these packages up to the cabin.”

  “We’ll help you,” I offered. “We probably should start getting ready for dinner anyway.”

  On the way upstairs to the Nav deck, we met Nigel coming down. I pounced. “What did Scotland Yard say?”

  “Let’s go back to your cabin,” Nigel suggested.

  When we got there, Nigel closed the door behind us. “My old colleague was able to inquire as to the crew of the Southern Cross at the time of that murder. He faxed me the list. There are quite a lot of them, as you might guess.”

  “Where is it?” Hal asked.

  “Right here,” Nigel said.

  “Let’s see,” I urged. He handed it to me. I perused it while the ship’s whistle sounded, and the gentle motion of the ship told me that we were leaving San Juan. Ordinarily I loved to watch while the massive North Star moved away from its mooring and headed out to sea, but I was anxious to find a familiar name on that list.

  I found it on the fifth page under Technical Department. I handed it back to Nigel. “Check out the third engineer.”

  Nigel took it and frowned. “Well, I’ll be buggered.”

  “What?” asked Hal.

  Mum peered over Nigel’s shoulder at the document. “Joseph Gerard,” she said. “Can it possibly be the same one?”

  “We could ask him,” Nigel said. “Or we could ask the captain.”

  “Then we could ask him why he lied to me,” I said.

  The phone rang. Hal answered it and held the receiver out to me. “It’s for you.”

  It was Officer Grant. “I got a message that you wanted to talk to me,” he said.

  “I do,” I said. “I was wondering about security cameras. You have them, don’t you?”

  “Of course we do. Why do you ask?”

  “I need to know how easy it would be to throw somebody overboard without being seen.”

  “Dear God, why?”

  “Well, it seems stupid to crush a body in the roof if it could just as easily be thrown overboard.”

  Grant sighed. “Oh, I see. That girl.”

  “I figured out all the places where one could throw anyone or anything overboard,” I told him, and I enumerated them. “Do you have security cameras in all those places?”

  “We have them everywhere, Dr. Day.”

  “Do you record what they see?”

  “Of course.”

  “How long do you keep the recordings?”

  “Till after the cruise ends. Then we delete them.”

  “Does someone watch them twenty-four seven?”

  “We have an officer on duty for that at all times, sometimes two. But you have to understand that they have to check them periodically, because it’s not possible to see them all at once.”

  “So some things could get missed.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Only there’d be no way to know when nobody was watching a particular camera, would there?”

  “Only the officer on duty would know that,” Grant said. “And he’s not allowed to leave his post.”

  “Would it be possible for us to see some of those recordings?”

  “On whose authority?” Grant had clearly had enough of this conversation. I passed the phone to Nigel.

  “Chief Superintendent Gray here,” he said brusquely. “Scotland Yard.”

  Apparently that was all Officer Grant needed, and he offered to let us see any recordings we wanted. Nigel arranged for us to do that after dinner, and hung up.

  “Well, that answers one question,” Mum said. “I’ve been wondering all along why the murderer didn’t just simply throw the body overboard instead of making that awful mess with the roof.”

  “Because he was afraid he’d be seen,” Hal said.

  “You mean he wouldn’t be seen carrying her body up to the observation deck?” I argued. “And what did he do with her clothes? She would have had one of those overnight cases, like those girls had when we talked to them on the elevator. What about that?”

  “Maybe he threw those overboard,” Mum said.

  “Why would he do that and not the body?” I asked.

  “Perhaps because it was important that her death be a matter of record,” Nigel said. “That’s hard to do without a body.”

  “Why was it important?” I asked. “Was there an inheritance involved?”

  “That’s the usual reason,” Nigel said. “If she had to die to allow someone else to inherit, for example. Or if someone stood to inherit from her, which would be another scenario.”

  “Then why disfigure her so that nobody would recognize her?” Mum asked. “That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t you think?”

  Suddenly a thought came to my mind, one so illuminating that all came clear. “Unless,” I said, “the person who killed her is not the person who crushed her in the roof.”

  “You mean,” Hal said, “maybe there’s more than one person involved in this. Maybe the person who killed her asked someone else to dispose of the body.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why the body was disfigured,” Mum argued.

  “It might,” I said, “if the person who disposed of the body had a grudge against the person who killed her and did it for revenge.”

  “Oh brother,” Hal said. “Can we possibly make this any more complicated?”

  “That is quite a lot to digest all at once,” Nigel said. “I suggest we go and digest our dinners and talk about something else.”

  Our after-dinner movie date with Officer Grant didn’t happen as scheduled.

  From our table across the dining room, I saw the Filipino maître d’ make his way over to the captain’s table and whisper in his ear.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  Hal looked. “Déjà vu all over again.”

  Sure enough, the captain rose, and so did Rob, who came over to our table. “The captain requests your presence in the waste disposal department,” Rob said.

  “Oh, not again,” Mum said. “Can’t they at least finish their dinners?”

  “Maybe,” Hal said, “it would be best if they don’t.”

  Mum made a face. “Oh dear.”

  Nigel and I shrugged and followed the captain and Rob into the kitchen, where we took the elevator down to B deck where waste was sorted for disposal. Rob had described to me what went on down there, but all the same, I was not prepared for the size of the machines that ground up food waste, crushed cans, and shredded glass. Most of them were taller than I was, and some were even taller than the captain. Considering the type of work done, everything was amazingly clean and shiny, including the floor—except for the food grinder that had been opened up and dismantled on a drop cloth.

  Officer Dalquist stood over it, hands on hips, while a sullen-looking young man with a nasty-looking scratch on his cheek struggled to free an object from the cutting mechanism where it had gotten wedged. The smell of ozone in the air told me that the motor had burned out or shorted out, and it almost—but not quite—masked the all-too-familiar odor of decomposing flesh.

  I turned to Rob. “Is that what I think it is?”

  He nodded. “More than likely. When Keith figures that out, he’s going to need medical attention.”

  “Keith? You know him?”

  “He’s the captain’s son. Starting from the bottom up, and not too happy about it.”

  I watched as the captain greeted his son, and the look on the boy’s face was one of pure hatred. Too b
ad, I thought. Keith resembled his mother, except that his hair was dark, and with a smile on his face, he would have been handsome. The way he looked now, I was glad he had something besides me to be grumpy about. This was one very angry young man. Chances were that his wealthy mother had spoiled him rotten as a child.

  I noticed scratches on his arms too and wondered who he’d been fighting with.

  Officer Dalquist came over to us. “I do hope whatever that is wasn’t part of anything we’ve eaten. It’s definitely gone off.”

  “I’m pretty sure it isn’t food,” I said.

  He thought about that for a few seconds, and when he realized what I meant, he went pale. “Blimey!”

  At that moment, Keith managed to extricate the offending object from the cutting blades. He held it up. “Got it!”

  Crew members clustered around, straining to see. I recognized it, and so did Rob. We stayed where we were, and presently Officer Dalquist and the captain made their way to us through the crowd. “Any ideas?” the captain asked.

  “It’s her skull cap,” I told him. “And if that screwed up the grinder, the rest of the head is bound to do even more damage.”

  “Assuming,” Rob added, “that it hasn’t already gone through.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe it has,” I said. “It’s got even more bone than this.”

  Both the captain and Dalquist had gone pale and sweaty, and the captain looked positively green. I expected him to hightail it for the nearest loo, and he didn’t disappoint me. Dalquist took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “Are you telling me that we need to go through everything that’s in this grinder to find the rest of the head?”

  “It might not be in this grinder,” I said. “Aren’t there others?”

  “You’d best check them all,” Nigel said.

  Dalquist gave us an eye roll. “I do believe this is a job for the captain’s son,” he said. “I certainly hope he’s got a stronger stomach than his father.”

  “You don’t need us anymore, do you?” Rob asked.

  Dalquist shook his head. “We’ve got it in hand,” he said.

  As he made his way back to the center of the crowd and gave Keith Sloane the bad news, Rob and I beat a strategic retreat. “From the look on that kid’s face,” Rob said, “Dalquist may be our next corpse.”

  As we got off the elevator on the main deck, we heard the three chimes that heralded an announcement. “This is Second Officer Ian Bellingham speaking from the bridge. The captain has instructed me to inform you that there is a storm between here and Fort Lauderdale. We may experience rough weather tonight and tomorrow. Be sure to secure your belongings. I repeat—we may experience rough weather tonight and tomorrow. Secure your belongings. Thank you.”

  Better take a seasick pill tonight before bed, just in case, I thought.

  Our table was being served dessert when we got back. Nigel and I were just in time to have some. “Did you hear the announcement?” I asked Mum and Hal.

  Hal shook his head. “I heard the chimes, but it was too noisy in here to hear what was said. What was it about?”

  “We’re sailing into a storm,” I said. “We need to ‘secure our belongings.’”

  “I’d better take a pill tonight, then,” Mum said, “to secure my stomach. You too, kitten.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “So what was that all about?” Hal asked.

  “Tell you later,” I said. “Let’s just say that we don’t need to watch as many of Officer Grant’s movies as we thought.” We didn’t need to quiz Officer Dalquist about disposal of the stolen physical evidence either, but I decided not to mention that at the table.

  While eating our desserts, I saw the captain and Officer Dalquist return to their table. The captain refused dessert and leaned over to speak to Officer Gerard, who then rose and left the dining room.

  “He’s gone to give young Keith a hand with the grinder,” Nigel muttered sotto voce, but Hal heard him.

  “Who’s young Keith?” he asked.

  “Nepotism is alive and well aboard the North Star,” Nigel said. “Keith Sloane is the captain’s son, and he’s working down there in the bowels of the ship. Officer Dalquist told us that the boy is not happy about having to start at the bottom.”

  “That’s throwing roses at it,” I said. “You should have seen the way he looked at his father. That’s a very angry young man. He could be dangerous.”

  “How old is he?” Mum asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know—eighteen, maybe twenty,” I said. “Just out of school, I’m thinking, and probably spoiled rotten.”

  “If the captain hasn’t tried to steer him straight until now, it’s too late,” Mum said. “That sort of thing should start in the cradle.”

  “He wants watching,” Nigel said. “He could be the murderer, for all we know.”

  13

  There can no great smoke arise, but there must be some fire.

  —John Lyly

  AFTER NIGEL AND I left the table, we met Officer Grant on the main deck near the purser’s office, as arranged.

  “We don’t have to look for anybody throwing our evidence overboard,” I told him. “It turned up in the food-waste grinder tonight.”

  “Blimey!” Officer Grant exclaimed. “You don’t mean …”

  “Someone put it in the garbage,” Nigel said. “It wasn’t thrown overboard. So what we need now is the footage from the observation deck the night of the murder.”

  Officer Grant let us into the security room by typing a code into a pad by the door. A younger man, possibly late thirties, with bright-red hair, sat before a myriad of screens on the wall, which showed what was going on in—I counted—thirty-six locations on the ship. As I watched, the scenes changed to thirty-six more locations. How on earth, I wondered, did one person keep track of that many cameras, let alone that many cameras that changed every minute or two?

  “This is Security Guard Joe Gerard,” Grant said. “You just tell him what you need, and he’ll bring it up on the computer.”

  “Joe Gerard?” I echoed. “That’s the same name as the chief engineer.”

  The man grinned. “He’s my dad,” he said. “I’m Joe Junior. We don’t often get to work the same cruise.” His Scots wasn’t nearly as broad as his father’s, and he appeared to have a much better disposition.

  “I’m Dr. Toni Day,” I said, “and this is my stepfather, Chief Superintendent Nigel Gray of Scotland Yard.”

  Joe Gerard shook Nigel’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said. “Now what can I show you?”

  “Observation deck,” Grant said. “The night of the murder.”

  Gerard looked askance. “The night of the murder? What night would that be, sir?”

  “The night before we arrived in Barbados,” I said helpfully.

  “That would be Saturday,” he said. “What time?”

  “She was actually crushed in the roof sometime between six and six thirty in the morning,” I said, “so that would be Sunday.”

  “So you want Sunday morning at or around six. Which camera, do you know?”

  Nigel and I looked at each other and shrugged. What did we know? “Whichever cameras show the roof of the Lido deck,” I said finally.

  “From which direction?”

  Nigel and I looked at each other again. Nigel said, “We don’t know. Best do all of them.”

  Joe shrugged. “Okay. Here goes. This might take a while.”

  “We’ve got nothing but time,” Nigel said.

  It was disappointing, to say the least. None of the views of the roof showed anything. The roof was closed, and there was nobody in sight.

  “What were you expecting to see?” Joe asked us.

  I turned my palms up. “Somebody carrying a body, for one thing,” I said finally. “Can you run those backwar
ds?”

  “Sure. Do you know how they got the body up there and held it in place?”

  That was something we hadn’t considered. We’d been too preoccupied with who and why to think about how.

  “We were rather hoping to see that on these recordings,” Nigel said.

  “How far back do you want me to go?” Joe asked.

  “Can you run them back slowly so we can see if there’s anything happening?”

  “Okay.”

  Joe ran the first recording backward until I stopped him. “The roof’s opening!”

  “Do you see anybody?” Nigel asked, peering at the computer screen.

  “No. Keep going!”

  “Who’s that?” Nigel asked, pointing.

  Joe slowed the recording to a snail’s pace. A dark figure ran across the roof, knelt, reached down into the opening and did something we couldn’t see, and then ran back. Then the roof began to close.

  “I didn’t see his face—did you?” Joe asked.

  Nigel shook his head.

  I leaned forward and pointed. “There! What’s that?”

  It was so dark that I wasn’t sure I’d seen anybody, but I thought I saw something odd about the roof. A shadow had appeared along the roof opening that didn’t go all the way across.

  “Can you run it in slow motion?”

  Joe did so. The shadow slid across the roof along the opening and then dropped off the side and out of sight.

  “What just happened here?” I asked. “I didn’t see anybody. Did you?”

  “What was that thing that just slid off the roof?” Nigel asked. “Could that have been the body?”

  “If that was the body,” I said, “why didn’t it fall onto the Lido deck when the roof opened?”

  “It must have been secured somehow,” Grant said. “Run it back some more, and then forward in slow motion.”

  Joe did so. I concentrated so fiercely on what I was seeing that my eyes began to burn. I blinked to relieve them just as Nigel exclaimed, “There!”

  I opened my eyes just in time to see something suddenly shoot out of nowhere and then drop out of sight, like a shooting star.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” Nigel asked.