“Didn’t take long for the news to get back to the ship, hey?” Benny Tallman, the two bit huckster slurred to Jiggers Malone, the owner, operator of the Big Apple Martini bar. They were sitting in #3205, their inside cabin being comforted by their favorite cousin, Johnny, of the Walker family. They were already chugging down a second boiler maker consisting of a four ounce glass, filled half full with the red label Scotch whiskey, washed down by a chaser from a giant can of Foster’s Lager. For medicinal purposes only, they mused, to calm down the nerves from the stressful session they had just endured with the Cayman connection.
“I don’t care what you say, I think we’ll get away with this. No one knows that we’re on this cruise. We just need to lay low out of sight. We’ll keep ordering room service and no one will be the wiser that we got on the ship at the last minute. Randy thinks that we’re still back in Miami and, well, now Marsha is history. Too bad for the poor broad, but it couldn’t be helped. We’re playing in the big times and those guys don’t fool around with anyone, including us,” Jiggers responded.
“I suppose we won’t have to keep those pictures of her working as a princess of the pavement. That was a great blackmail scheme we had hanging over her head. It did the trick to force her to smuggle the package. Hey, Jiggers, where did we come up with those pictures, anyway? She looked pretty young in them; little wonder she didn’t want her parents to see them.”
“You’d be surprised how we came into possession of them, but forget it; it’s over, now. All I need to say is be careful who you work with and who your so-called friends are.” Jiggers set his empty glass down. “We better hope that those two guys’ plan works so that they get the second package that she brought over to the island. Then, we are out of here big time, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Hey, how ‘bout us finding Randy’s package? Pretty slick, if I have to say so myself. The hand off to those two smucks went smoothly and we got our share. Benny patted his pocket filled with the wad of dough. Now, it’s up to those thugs shoreside to get what once was Marsha’s. Did you take a gander at the mug on that Asian guy? Scared me half to death just looking at it,” Benny finished off his glass of whiskey and let out a laugh mixed with coughing.
Benny got off the couch and went to the cabin safety box, “I’ll just put these eggs in our little nest here for safe keeping.” He placed the envelope in the safe.
“How about another round, Benny? Hair that bit the dog, right?” Jiggers picked up the quart of Scotch whiskey and did what he knew how to do best, poured drinks for the two cads.
“Hey, Benny, you heard this one: a termite came into the bar, looks around and asks the guy behind the bar, ‘Hey, Buddy, where’s the bar tender?’ Get it Benny? Where’s the bar tender? A termite.” Jiggers roared laughing; Benny smirked. Jiggers had told that one a thousand times. Oh well, once a bartender...
Yellow police tape wrapped around the entire area of the diving center like a Christmas present. Local gawkers stood mingled together whispering questions and comments to one another about the goings-on and what it all might be about. They hadn’t witnessed what Led had.
Deep below the chaos of the crime scene, Led watched as the curls of blood continued to sink, his eye caught a reflection of sunlight slicing the water reflecting off a metal object sinking very quickly into the depths of the sea. His hand grabbed at the sinking piece, just missing it by an inch, as it sunk quickly. Since the water depth was less than twenty feet, he was able to keep the object in sight. Spiraling downwards, he jetted after the bit as it rested precariously, caught between the jagged edges of two peaks of coral.
As he reached the coral, he gently reached over and retrieved the metal object. He brought it up to his mask for a closer examination of what he had recovered. The item of interest was none other than a bullet...the bullet which had gone through Marsha’s head and would have sunk into oblivion if not for Led’s keen observation despite his blurred vision. Not wanting to lose the bullet back onto the sea floor of silt and sand, he placed it inside the pocket of his dive suit and secured it with the zipper. Led then swam toward Yolanda as fast as his attached frog fins would push him. Taking her hand, he pointed up in the direction of Marsha’s body, now floating above them like an island of vegetation. Yolanda’s eyes bulged large as she took in the sight and the meaning of the disaster slowly seeped into her awareness.
Led and Yolanda went to the surface in rhythm with the air bubbles and popped out into the explosive glare of sunlight. Led flipped back his face mask and began speaking as soon as he took a couple of good gulps of real air.
“Yolanda, swim to shore and contact the emergency services; have them call an ambulance. I’ll swim over to Marsha and do what I can.” Led half barked-half bubbled out the orders as the waves of sea water crested in and out of his eyes and mouth. He swam over to Marsha’s body frantically reaching over for her neck, hoping against hope that he would sense a pulse. The seconds went by like hours; he didn’t perceive the sensation of any heartbeat, so he put his arm around her in the life saving position and dragged her back to shore.
When he got her positioned on the sandy beach, he instigated his life saving skills learned from many hours of EMT training and practice. Led worked as hard as he could to revive her, but, sadly, Marsha was beyond reviving by anyone. He couldn’t help but notice the large hole through the back of her head where the rifle bullet had entered as she was snorkeling with her face down in the water. There was no hope. Marsha’s life was over.
All the while the crowd began to gather. Finally, the first police car showed up, a traffic department crew who had been lazily monitoring the beach front road. Shortly following their arrival, they began to wrap the yellow tape around the area to manage the onlookers. Then, the sound of the ambulance siren was heard in the distance. No need for the ambulance. It was too late. Led felt that emptiness of failure that he so hated anytime this happened. He took it personally that his efforts weren’t successful. In this case, there was never any hope. The sniper knew his business and had fired a high power rifle bullet accurately into a lethal spot. Death was non- negotiable.
Randy, frozen in place due to the shock of the entire incident, finally came to his senses and panicked. Unaware of the girl’s switching places, he was thinking if they killed Marsha, what was stopping them from doing the same to him. He ducked as if he had seen a sniper aiming a rifle at him, but, of course, there wasn’t’ any except in his mind. He blushed with embarrassment.
Then, it struck him like a lightening bolt...the package. He grabbed Marsha’s beach bag which he had been protecting and took out the parcel. Dropping the bag, he frantically looked around for some place to run to and hide. The curiosity seekers were already blocking a clear getaway. He spotted a barrel and made an instant decision to deposit it in the container before the killers could corner him and seize it.
Standing on the dive shop deck overlooking the scene unfolding, was a touristy dressed man, with dark skin and wearing dark glasses. Chief Inspector Sanjay Mehta had followed his hunch and decided to ferry over onto the shore along with the cruisers. He sensed something of a criminal nature was in process, though he wasn’t yet aware of exactly what form the activity might take. No matter, he was convinced that he needed to be in position, if at all possible, when the wrongdoing materialized.
He observed the strange event unfolding with Randy and his package. It became obvious that the packet was of import. But why throw it in a trash container? That action didn’t compute with his analytical mind except that the man was desperate to detach the package from his possession perhaps to be retrieved later.
Wrenched back to the more dramatic occurrence, Sanjay jumped off the deck and made his way over to Led and the now lifeless body of Marsha Stewart. He recognized Led, of course, from his past dealings with him on the now infamous cruise which caused so much mayhem aboard the North Star.
He couldn’t quite get a good look at the victim as she had her head layin
g to the side and there was a great amount of blood streaming down her face. As he was about to get into a position to examine the body more closely, behind him, hot in pursuit, scampered two uniformed policemen. Thinking that Sanjay was a another curious tourist about to contaminate the crime scene, they shouted out to Sanjay who straightened up in surprise.
“Hold up, there!” demanded the taller of the two policemen, a lanky fellow. His partner showing a penchant toward developing obesity in the next year or so, had fallen back in the race with his cover in hand and mopping his brow with the other.
“This is a suspected crime scene, Sir. You need to step away,” demanded the local George Town officer.
“Sorry, Constable, my name is Mehta. I’m the Chief Inspector of Security on the Caribbean Star and these two are my passengers,” Mehta responded vigorously. He flashed his security badge.
“I see, Inspector. However, as you know, this incident is happening on our soil and we will by law of proper domain be in charge of the proceedings.” The officer stepped back, reached for his phone attached to his service belt and made a phone call to his headquarters.
Following the verbal report being given to Headquarters by Constable Bridgestone, Sanjay overheard: “I see, Sir. Yes, I understand. I’ll inform the Chief Inspector of the circumstances.” Bridgestone stepped back to the impatiently waiting Mehta.
“Chief Inspector, my Commander informs me that both of us are in over our heads on this one. He’s requested that I escort you down to the precinct station. There are two gentlemen who flew in from the States this afternoon waiting for us there. They’re from the CIA.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
With the revelation that authorities as high up as the CIA were involved, the Chief Inspector’s professional focus was immediately reoriented. Constable Bridgestone pointed to where the police car stood by. As they mounted the steps from the beach to the deck of the dive shop, Sanjay suddenly halted and excused himself.
“Give me a moment, Constable. I really need to use the WC if you can spare a couple of minutes?”
“Oh, right, of course. No worry. It’s straight ahead through that opening next to the trash barrow, Inspector,” the Constable politely replied.
As Sanjay made his way to the opening with a WC sign overhanging it, he looked back to catch sight if the Constable was still turned his way watching him. To Sanjay’s satisfaction, Bridgestone had already turned about, being distracted by the questions from several onlookers. Quickly, Sanjay, positioning his body to deflect prying eyes, reached down into the trash container and, again with a bit of luck, found the package still sitting on top of the paper cups, napkins and other detritus usually thrown into those receptacles. He stuck the parcel into one of the overly large side pockets of the beach shorts that he had donned to help keep him incognito while ashore.
Proceeding into the WC, he remained long enough to feign a believable use of the facility. When he exited, Mehta scanned the area for any sign of Marsha’s companion, Randy. Not picking up on any sighting, he rejoined his Constable escort and proceeded to the precinct Constabulary for, what he supposed, would be a most interesting high level summit with the local law enforcement and the agents from the CIA. Murder was a terrible business and a bit of drug smuggling was far too ordinary in this day and age, Sanjay reflected, but what in the world would raise this affair to such a drastic level as to warrant the attention of the CIA?
When the sound of the rifle shot penetrated Lucky’s ear, without thinking he released his grip on the telescope and the eye piece dropped down on its perch and hit his cheek. Rubbing his face, he turned to George and thought he caught a strange glimmer of recognition, as if somehow George already was in the know of what had occurred.
“What the blazes?” Lucky’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Am I correct that what I think just happened, really happened? It looked like something, or God forbid, someone got shot in the water. I was peering through the telescope and it appeared that an object exploded a few seconds before the delayed report of the shot hit my ears. Did you see what happened, George?”
Elaine and Samantha came running out of the kitchen back onto the pool deck terrace. Both of the ladies had shocked expressions on their faces telling the story of their confusion. Elaine ran over to George.
“What’s going on, George? The window in the kitchen made a cracking sound like it was going to break.”
“Blazes if I know, Darling. Lucky and I were enjoying a little star gazing and all of a sudden there was this bloody sound of a shot from some type of gun. Lucky thinks it might have come from a rifle, but that sounds preposterous...not to question your analysis of the situation, Old Boy.”
“Didn’t you say that the dive shop was over in that area?” Samantha queried.
“Yes, it’s just down the beach road a mile or so. The beach itself bends back out our way a bit, so it doesn’t appear that far. We can hear the party goers and the kids shouting all the time, especially when the wind is favorable in this direction,” Elaine said.
“Why the anxious look, Lucky?” Samantha asked.
“Because I’m hoping that that isn’t the dive and snorkel beach that Led, Yolanda and Marsha had planned to go to. Sorry to say, but I have a very sick feeling about this.” Lucky grew pale.
“Hey, Old Chap, let me drive us down there and put a rest to any of our worries. The chances are very high that your friends chose to enjoy the afternoon at a different beach. There’s dozens of them on Grand Cayman,” George formulated a convincing attempt to calm the rough seas of worry.
“Sounds like the perfect idea to me,” Samantha said. “Anyway, there might be a story in it for me.” Though George rolled with the remark, Samantha’s seeming callousness brought a look of bewilderment on both Elaine’s and Lucky’s faces.
“Oops, sorry. My profession got ahead of my personal feelings on this one. Of course, I’m terribly concerned about Led, Yolanda and Marsha. A thousand apologies,” Samantha was truly embarrassed over her seemingly uncaring remark.
“Let me get the car keys,” George said. As George made his move to roust out the keys to the SUV, he nonchalantly picked up one of the bags of groceries and headed back toward the master bedroom area of the house. Though Elaine and Samantha’s attention was riveted on the watery scene down at the dive shop beach, Lucky again noticed George’s rather peculiar behavior. The car keys understandably may be in a room or office in the back of the house, but what was he doing toting a bag of groceries along with him into that area?
“I’ll just be a sec,” he called back to the others once out of view. Quickly, he removed the non grocery item and slipped it into the second drawer of his dresser, pulling his white undershirts over it. He closed the drawer, gave the top of the dresser a little pat and smiled as he rejoined the others to continue their chase down the beach road to the dive shop and the mysterious gun shot incident.
The local paramedics had arrived and commandeered the situation. Drownings were far too common on the island beaches with the lackadaisical attitude of tourists along with too much consumption of alcohol. Pretty as the drinks looked, they still lowered the inhibitions which help us remain cautious of environments possibly sporting elements dangerous to our lives. Swimming, snorkeling and all around tomfoolery in the waters off the beaches do hold their share of danger to non gill breathing humans; not to mention rifle shots to the head of an innocent snorkeler.
Led was given kudos for his valiant, though sadly, fruitless efforts to revive Marsha. When the local EMT team found out about Led’s training and skill in their area of expertise, they readily empathized with his feelings. They had all been through the emotional throes of unsuccessful attempts to save lives. Though Led had the natural inclination to follow through with the rescue operation and ride along in the ambulance with Marsha’s body, he was convinced by his new found colleagues that it would be a waste of his time. They would transport her immediately to the coroner for a post mortem since the death was
of an unusual nature. More to the point, Led, not being a local; was required to return to his ship in short order.
With the ambulance pulling away from the scene of the disaster, Led regained his composure enough and realized that he hadn’t seen Yolanda since she went off to summon the emergency vehicles. The crowd was fading away back into their own worlds; life goes on with us or without us. Feeling alone now that the excitement was over and standing on the sandy beach, he heard the best word in the world shouted out: his name.
“Led! Hey, Led, over here,” a group of four, vigorously waving their arms like flags in the wind, came toward him. The glare of the sun off the sparkling sea water prevented him from identifying their faces, but the voice of his friend, Lucky, calling out to him, buoyed up his spirits. When they reached him, they huddled around him with a group hug and the introductions were hurriedly completed.
“What happened?” In their anxiety over the mysterious event, they all blurted out and asked the same question at the same time.
“It’s awful, guys,” Led began. “Yolanda and I were enjoying our dive and I thought Marsha was overhead, doing alright, when it all happened so fast...it was all so confusing. I tried my best, I was exhausted from dragging her ashore, my vision was blurry from the salt water, and...I’m just not sure I was doing everything right...” Led emotionally stuttered his response betraying that his state of mind was far from placid.
In the terrible confusion of this madness, another reality shot through Led’s mind, Yolanda’s whereabouts. What happened to her after she ran to call in the emergency services? As he was about to ask about her, Lucky distracted him from pursuing an answer when he grabbed Led’s arms and shook him back to the here and now.
Cruise to Critique (Lucky & Led Cruise Ship Mystery Series Book 5) Page 8