The Body on the Lido Deck

by Jane Bennett Munro

  “As a matter of fact, it did.”

  “Bingo!”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s the killer,” Hardwick cautioned. “It only means he slapped her and she scratched him.”

  “Okay,” I conceded. “It’s suspicious but not diagnostic.”

  “Spoken like a true pathologist.”

  “Bloody hell,” Nigel said. “Ten years ago he would have been, what, twelve or thirteen?”

  “Thirteen,” said the chief superintendent. “Big for his age. Liked to pick on the smaller boys.”

  That would make Keith twenty-three now, I thought.

  “A bully,” Mum said.

  “Who’s that?” Hardwick asked.

  “My wife,” Nigel said. “Fiona.”

  “Congratulations, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Did you receive any video from ship’s security?”

  “We did. But we couldn’t see anybody in it. I assume you’re talking about the ones where the roof opens and closes?”

  Two thumbs up for Joe, I thought. He must have done that right after we left. “Didn’t you get the one with the reflection in the glass door?”

  “Toni,” Hal said sotto voce, “quit interrupting.”

  “We got it, but we can’t match it to anyone.”

  “One more thing,” Nigel said. “Do you have any records on a Wilbert Meacham?”

  “Let me check.” I heard the rapid clicking of a computer keyboard. Rob’s phone had really good fidelity, much better than mine had. “Spell it.”

  Nigel did.

  “No, sorry. Your boy seems to have stayed out of trouble. We’ve got nothing.”

  I guessed that cheating on an exam in maritime college didn’t require police intervention. Apparently pranks aboard ship didn’t either.

  “What about the crew of the Seven Sisters?” I prompted Nigel.

  “The what?”

  I realized that I hadn’t yet told Nigel the name of Colin Sloane’s first ship. I rectified that oversight.

  “You still there, Al?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Can you pull up the crew of the Constellation Line ship Seven Sisters in 1984?”

  “Wish I could oblige, old boy. Those records wouldn’t be digitized. If we’ve got records at all, they’d be on microfiche. If you’re looking for something specific, I could assign someone to look for it. Or you could call the shipping line directly. They’d be more likely to have records of their crews.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that, but in the meantime, look for Colin Sloane, Joseph Gerard, Wilbert Meacham, and Evelyn Hodges.”

  “Right-o. Any relation to our dead girl?”

  “Her mother.”

  “Got it. I say, you are going to tell me someday what this is all about, aren’t you?”

  “Someday.”

  “I’ll hold you to it, old boy.”

  “Many thanks.” Nigel disconnected. “He may call back when he gets that info. Mind taking the message?”

  Rob held out his hand for the phone. “No worries.”

  Nigel didn’t give it to him. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to reach the shipping line office, would you?”

  Rob shook his head. “The captain probably does. Or any of the bridge officers.”

  Nigel gave the phone back to Rob. “Then it appears I need to visit the captain again.”

  A sudden gust of wind drove rain against the window. Mum shivered. “I wonder how he and Sarah are doing.”

  “You do realize,” Nigel said gently, “that it’s really none of our affair.”

  “On the other hand,” Rob said, “I do have to notify the captain of Joe’s death.”

  “You have to tell his father too,” I said.

  “I’m not looking forward to that one little bit,” Rob said. “I think I’ll tell the captain first. He might want to accompany me while I tell Gerard, for safety’s sake. Our chief engineer might not try to kill me if there are two of us.”

  After he’d left, Mum laid a hand on my arm. “Was he serious, kitten?”

  I was reluctant to cause my mother any more worry, and Nigel noticed, as he always did. “It’s no good trying to keep it from her, you know.”

  “Keep what from me?”

  I sighed. “Rob told me that our chief engineer called him a bloody quack.”

  Mum looked narrowly at me. “What else, kitten?”

  It was no use. “He also said that his son wouldn’t have ended up like this if I’d kept my nose out of it.”

  “Oh dear. And now his son is dead.”

  “Nonsense,” Hal said. “He can’t hold you responsible for that.”

  I disagreed. A reasonable man couldn’t hold me responsible, but Chief Engineer Joseph Gerard was not necessarily a reasonable man.

  “I was the one who wanted to see the security footage,” I reminded him.

  “Well, then he may as well blame me and Officer Grant,” Nigel said. “You couldn’t have seen those tapes without us.”

  “Do you suppose we ought to warn him?”

  Nigel shook his head. “I’m sure Officer Grant is well aware of Joseph Gerard’s temper. Besides, it’s probably all bluster. I doubt that Gerard has ever actually attacked anyone. He wouldn’t still have his position if he had.”

  I wasn’t so sure.

  From the look she gave me, neither was my mother.

  17

  Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you.

  —Satchel Paige

  I COULDN’T WAIT to see who showed up for dinner.

  Would both the captain and his wife be there after confessing their sins to each other? Would the chief engineer blame Rob for his son’s death and kill both him and the captain? Or would the chief engineer simply lie in wait somewhere to kill me for setting events in motion that led to his son’s death?

  But it was just past noon, and breakfast had been six hours ago, so we decided that lunch was in order. We went back up to the Lido deck and the restaurant.

  After lunch my belly was full but my head was pounding. I’d had exactly three hours sleep the night before, so I decided to take a little nap; but those three Irish coffees before lunch made sleeping impossible. So I tried to read for a little while, but after reading the same page over and over again for ten minutes I gave up on that too and went back down to the Promenade deck. I didn’t know where Hal and Mum and Nigel were or what they were doing, but I knew that there were computers in the library and that I could purchase Internet minutes at an exorbitant rate that would allow me to access my e-mail.

  The library was quite large, with bookcases lining the walls and comfortable-looking easy chairs and couches everywhere, tastefully lit by table lamps. Computer stations surrounded the pillars that divided the room and appeared to support the ceiling. Usually the room was filled with passengers lounging around reading books or newspapers, and usually all the computer stations were occupied, but not today.

  Although the lights were on, the library was completely empty, and nobody was on duty at the reception desk to assist me with purchasing minutes, so I went over to one of the computers and sat down. Instructions for logging on were attached to the top of the desk. All I needed was my cabin number and my name to access the screen for purchasing minutes—and Bob’s your uncle, as my mother would have said.

  I had accumulated 208 e-mails since my laptop and phone had gone missing. Many of them were advertisements from various retail catalogs and stores. There were also about two dozen Facebook friend requests from people I’d never heard of, and notifications that other friends had posted or shared something or other on Facebook or Twitter. I spent what I felt were too many of my precious minutes deleting those. Of the ones that were left, only four caught my attention.

  The first one was from Pete, dated three d
ays ago.

  “Toni, what have you gotten yourself into? Those pictures were pretty gross. You guys are supposed to be on vacation. What’s going on?”

  Damn. I thought I’d explained myself when I sent the pictures. The next one said, “Toni, why aren’t you answering my texts? Are you guys okay?”

  I clicked on Reply and typed, “We’re fine. Somebody stole my phone.”

  The next e-mail, dated two days ago, was a total surprise. “Dear Dr. Day, thank you for the excellent crime scene photos that you sent. We have duly forwarded them to Scotland Yard, as we feel that they are better equipped to deal with such a crime than we are. Best of luck in your future crime-solving endeavours. Sincerely, Marietta Gresham-St. John, MD, Coroner, Royal Barbados Police Force.”

  Well, how about that? The old bat finally gave me some credit for knowing what I was doing. And maybe it wasn’t fair to call her an old bat either, since she probably wasn’t that much older than I was.

  Pete’s next e-mail, dated yesterday, said, “Hal just texted me and asked me to forward those pictures to Scotland Yard. Hal never texts me. Was he serious?”

  Uh-oh. Did that mean he’d never sent Scotland Yard those pictures? Thank God that Dr. Gresham-St. John had. Rapidly I typed, “Don’t worry about sending those pictures if you haven’t already sent them. Scotland Yard already has them.”

  I’d barely finished typing that, when another e-mail popped up. Pete said, “Not to worry, Toni, I sent them. You and Hal don’t usually kid around about stuff like that. They should have them by now. How come you aren’t answering my e-mails? Is everything all right?”

  Excuse me? That didn’t make any sense, I thought. Then I noticed the date and time on that e-mail, which was earlier than any of my replies. Pete and I were crossing each other in the mail. I’d probably have to wait for his actual replies to my e-mails, using up more of my precious minutes, so I quit e-mailing Pete and sent a quick reply to Dr. Gresham-St. John. “You’re welcome. Did you send them any tissue for DNA matching?”

  I figured that she probably wouldn’t answer me right away either, so I Googled the Constellation shipping line and found that the office was located in Portsmouth, UK, and the address and phone number were provided. I wrote them down on a scrap of paper and stuffed it in my pocket. Then I went to the screen that said “Choose a ship” and typed in “Seven Sisters” What I got was a list of cruises scheduled for the coming year. I saw no screen that allowed me to bring up information on past cruises. So I went back to the original screen and found a box that said “Meet the crew” and clicked on it. That showed pictures of present crew members and a brief paragraph about each one’s experience. There was no way to access past crews.

  Obviously that was a dead end, so I Googled “Captain Colin Sloane” and found that he had graduated from the University of Southampton, UK, and served as a deck officer on the Seven Sisters, Orion, Sirius, and Southern Cross. The website didn’t specify which deck office he’d held on each of those ships, but obviously he’d spent his entire career with the Constellation Cruise Line. He had been captain of the Cassiopeia, the Andromeda, and presently, the North Star. He’d married Sarah Katherine Faversham of Portsmouth, UK, in 1989. One son, Keith Alexander, was born in 1990. Informative, but really nothing of importance that I didn’t already know.

  So I Googled Sarah. To my surprise, she was on Facebook. Not only that, she had her own website as a breeder of racehorses. I found no pertinent information that went back beyond 2008. I sent her a friend request, just for the hell of it.

  I Googled Keith Sloane. I found a number of Keith Sloans and Keith Sloanes and persons with the last name of Keith, but there was nothing specific about the particular Keith Sloane I was looking for. Surprising, considering that Scotland Yard had had him on their radar since 2003.

  Perhaps his family was influential enough to get all that deleted from the Internet. I’d thought that getting anything off the Internet once it was on there was impossible. Perhaps, if Keith hadn’t been in any trouble since he turned eighteen, his juvenile record had been expunged.

  But no, Nigel’s successor at Scotland Yard had access to Keith’s juvenile record. So it hadn’t been expunged. Or maybe it had, and Chief Superintendent Hardwick simply remembered Keith from back then.

  It’s hard to expunge things from someone’s memory if they’re memorable enough.

  I Googled Wilbert Meacham. I found that Meacham was indeed a very common name. Wilbert was not that uncommon either. Nonetheless, I found no Wilbert Meacham, dead or alive, associated with any cruise ship.

  Just for the hell of it, I tried Bert Meacham and hit pay dirt. I found him associated with all the ships of the line on which Colin Sloane had been a deck officer, except for the North Star. I also found an article entitled The Legend of Bert Meacham, which pretty much recapitulated everything Rob had told me. I wondered if he’d gotten his information from reading this article.

  So then I Googled Will Meacham and found him only on the Seven Sisters, the Southern Cross, and the North Star.

  What was going on here?

  This didn’t make any sense. The crew list Scotland Yard had provided to Nigel for the crew of the Southern Cross had a Wilbert Meacham on it.

  Could there actually be three Meachams?

  Perhaps I’d have better luck with Joseph Gerard, Senior. He’d gotten his maritime engineering degree from the City of Glasgow College Maritime Academy. His maritime record included the Seven Sisters, Southern Cross, and the North Star, among others. The time periods coincided with those of Colin Sloane.

  To my surprise, I learned that the chief engineer of a ship holds a rank equivalent to, or nearly equivalent to, the captain.

  “I’ll be damned,” I murmured.

  “Have ye found everything yer lookin’ for?”

  Startled, I whirled to find Chief Engineer Joseph Gerard standing right behind me, staring at my computer screen.

  Uh-oh.

  18

  I cannot tell how the truth may be;

  I say the tale as ’twas said to me.

  —Sir Walter Scott

  I LEAPED TO my feet, my heart in my mouth.

  Chief Gerard’s blazing blue eyes bored into mine. “Well?”

  The computer chose that moment to tell me that I’d run out of minutes, saving me the trouble of logging off. But it was too late. Chief Gerard already knew I’d been Googling him.

  “What d’ye think ye’re doing, Doctor, looking me up on Google?”

  Should I go all ashamed and apologetic and hope for mercy, or tell him the truth? It took me less than a nanosecond to make up my mind.

  I stood my ground. “I’m trying to solve a murder,” I said, looking him straight in the eyes. “What are you doing?”

  Gerard took a step closer. “So you think I’m a murderer, do ye?” he said. “D’ye care tae explain why?”

  He was so close that I could feel his breath on my face, but I refused to back up and let him think he was intimidating me, even though he was. “I don’t know if you’re a murderer or not,” I told him. “It could be anybody. Who do you think it is?”

  “I know it isna me,” he said, sounding suddenly defensive, “and I’ll not thank ye for snoopin’ into my private affairs.”

  “Oh, come on, do you think you’re the only one whose affairs I’m snooping into?” I demanded with false bravado. “Get over yourself, why don’t you? I’m Googling everybody.” As I said this, I threw my hands up in the air the way Hal does when he yells “Oy gevalt” to the ceiling. The gesture caused Gerard to step back, which was good because I was getting a crick in my neck from looking up into his face.

  Gerard opened his mouth but didn’t have a chance to say anything, because Hal chose that moment to come charging into the library, distracting Gerard and giving me a chance to stretch and rub my sore neck.

 
“So there you are! We were all wondering where you got to. I thought you were going to take a nap. Come on, let’s go!”

  “We’re no’ done here,” Gerard growled.

  “You are now,” Hal informed him. He grabbed my hand and began to pull me toward the door.

  “Someday he won’t be there tae save ye,” Gerard said very quietly, almost under his breath. My blood ran cold. Hal, seemingly oblivious, continued to pull me out the door and down the corridor so rapidly that I had to practically run to keep up. It reminded me of John Wayne dragging Maureen O’Hara the whole five miles from the train station back to Innisfree in the movie The Quiet Man. Furthermore, the motion of the ship made it very difficult to keep my feet under me. “What’s the big rush?” I protested. “Where are we going?”

  “What does it matter?” he growled. “Anywhere away from that man. He threatened you. Didn’t you hear him?”

  “I did, but I didn’t think you did.”

  “Well, I did, and I’m not letting you out of my sight until this cruise is over. Furthermore, I’m going to lodge a complaint.”

  “With whom?”

  “The captain, of course.”

  By this time we’d reached the Ocean Lounge, but Hal kept going, all the way to the aft elevators. He pushed the Down button.

  It seemed an age before the elevator came. Hal kept glancing behind him, as if expecting the chief engineer to come charging down the corridor after us; but he didn’t, and eventually the elevator arrived and we got on. Hal pushed the button for the main deck.

  “Did you know,” I said after the door had closed, “that the captain and the chief engineer have equivalent ranks?”

  Hal looked skeptical. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, really. I saw it when I Googled him.”

  “So does that mean there’s no point in complaining to the captain because there’s nothing he can do?”

  The elevator door opened onto the main deck and we got out. “I don’t know,” I said. “I suppose we can inquire about it, now that we’re here. Maybe we should ask the purser.”