by P. C. James
“I feel seasick,” Freda said. “I hope we won’t be using those rubber boats at every island. They’re okay when the sea is calm but horrible when it isn’t.”
“Sometimes they use the lifeboats as tenders. I don’t know how they decide when to use which,” Pauline said. “The tour brochure only mentions wet or dry landings so it’s either this or ‘wet landings’ which, I guess, means jumping into the sea at a beach. This was a dry one, according to the brochure.”
Pauline looked about. The black lava that made up the only ground she could see was undulating and broken, with deep gullies and sharp cutting edges everywhere. It looked as she imagined a lunar landscape might. She was pleased she’d brought proper hiking boots for it would be easy to turn an ankle and anyone who fell here would be severely sliced and diced when they hit the ground.
Once the group were all gathered, the guide began to explain the geology that had brought this barren volcanic island into existence. As he spoke, Pauline saw Somerville making his way toward her. She kept her expression neutral, though her annoyance was intense.
“What have I missed?” Somerville asked.
“It’s a volcanic island,” Freda replied.
“I thought they all were,” Somerville said.
“And you’ll miss the rest if you don’t listen,” Pauline said in what she hoped was a quelling tone.
He grinned and turned to listen to the guide who was now describing the ‘colonist’ plants who began the process of occupying the barren rock and the vegetation that would come later when the ‘colonists’ had died and left enough nutrient for ‘pioneer’ plants to grow in. The guide went on to describe the iguanas and birds that lived here and those they might see today, and how some of them were used in Darwin’s theories about evolution.
Somerville’s impatience began to become obvious to people around him, as he fidgeted, twisted and turned, looking about for the highlights the guide was describing.
“You’re very impatient, Mr. Somerville,” Pauline said.
“I like to be busy. Can’t stand waiting or just watching. I have to be doing.”
“We’d noticed, but you came to see the islands and their fauna and flora,” Freda said.
“I can see it just as well on the move. In fact, I think I’d see more.”
The guide seemed to take the hint for he told them to follow him and not stray off the path; the ground was very uneven.
“Finally,” Somerville said, loud enough to be heard by the whole party.
“You’re eager to explore the island. That’s good.” Freda’s tone suggested the opposite of good.
“I’m eager to get this tour done with and get back to the ship so I can start interviewing the crew,” Somerville said, this time quietly enough to be only heard by Pauline and Freda. “Now we’ve got started on the investigation, I resent any interruption.”
“What would you have done if this unfortunate death hadn’t happened?”
Somerville grinned. “I guess I’d have zipped my lip and done the tours but now it has happened, I’m going to find it hard to do that.”
Pauline shook her head. He may be an admirable young man in many ways but, in the end, he was a very young man and not one who she’d want investigating a possible murder. Experience and judgment were the qualities she’d have chosen. If there’d been a choice.
Their hike wasn’t long, only difficult for many to navigate. The broken lava underfoot was treacherous, especially where wet. However, the party arrived safely at the rocks and beach that were their destination. The largest colony of marine iguanas in the Galapagos lived here, the guide said, and Pauline could believe it. They were piled one on top of another in writhing mounds of red and black scaly flesh. It looked most unappealing to Pauline. She presumed the iguanas liked it. Where the rocks were free of iguanas, there were sinister-looking cormorants drying their wings, which made no sense at all to Pauline for they were flightless birds. One of the many unusual adaptions found here on these islands.
Their dinner table that evening was silent. The other tables were made up of parties traveling together and they were all more cheerful and boisterous. The group on Pauline and Freda’s table seemed to be those who knew no one and were consequently drawn together only by being excluded from every other table. She didn’t know if that were really true but certainly they were always the same subdued eight.
Rod’s expression was even grimmer than usual but tonight his sarcastic comments, if any, were kept to himself. His wife, perhaps depressed by his smoldering resentment, was almost equally quiet, her usual gaiety gone.
Arvin was still unhappy about being questioned the day before and his was an injured silence. Pauline thought that a good thing, on the whole, for you could never tell where his obsessions would take him, and them.
The Mennonite couple were never talkative but slowly, Freda was able to have them provide their views on the two islands they’d seen. For this, Pauline was grateful because she and Somerville were as silent as the others. The thoughts that filled their heads could not be shared at the table.
“Does your religion allow for evolution?” Pauline heard Freda ask. Pauline froze. Politics and religion didn’t belong at the dinner table, that was the rule she’d heard from being a child and she still thought it good advice.
“We have not read Mr. Darwin’s theory, so it is hard for us to comment, Mrs. Holman,” Isaac said.
“But you have heard of it?”
“Oh, yes. In fact, I’ve brought his book Origin of Species to read as we explore the islands. From what we were told by our parents, and the Elders, it doesn’t sound like it would be acceptable,” Ruth said. “However, we are of a reformed group and we understand Darwin was a Christian who had his own struggles with what he was proposing. If he found a way to reconcile his theory with his beliefs, how can we say that we mightn’t be able to do the same if we studied the subject.”
“I heard it is about ‘adaption’ rather than ‘evolution’,” Betty said, suddenly joining in. “My Pastor says it doesn’t disprove the Bible; it just explains how things changed over time after they were created.”
Pauline heaved a silent sigh of relief. With luck, the conversation would continue along lines that wouldn’t lead to yet another death. For her own part, she was struck by the way Rod occasionally glanced at Somerville. There was real anger in that. Was Rod the person Somerville had so mysteriously gone off to interview and, if so, why? What had he learned that had taken him off to question Rod without sharing the results with Pauline or the captain?
After their coffee, Pauline and Freda walked the deck under a clear sky filled with stars. There were other guests out but it was still quiet enough to talk privately.
“Did you notice Rod was even less communicative than usual tonight?” Pauline said.
“Yes. I think it was because he and Detective Somerville were arguing in the lounge earlier,” Freda said.
“Ah, I thought it might be something like that.”
“I tried to hear what they were saying but it wasn’t easy. They were clearly upset but not shouting. In fact, their voices were lower than usual, I’d say. Particularly Somerville’s.”
“You heard nothing?”
“Rod said ‘Mexican’ once. I heard that.”
“I wonder if he is Mexican. He’s very tanned.”
“Dark complexions always tan, and his coloring is very Spanish” Freda said, shrugging. “It doesn’t mean he’s from South or Central America.” Freda and her husband had been on many Spanish holidays in recent years and she felt she knew enough to argue this point.
“I agree but he must have meant something. I wondered if Somerville had learned he was Latin American and asked if he was Peruvian, that’s all.”
Freda thought for a minute. “He does look Spanish, doesn’t he? Very sexy, I think.”
“You aren’t planning to run off with a bullfighter, I hope.”
Freda smiled. “I might, you know.
I don’t hold with cruelty to animals but when Keith and I went to Spain on our holidays, those bullfighters did catch my eye. In the world today, we don’t see such courage displayed with so much elegance. I have to admit I was smitten.” Her expression grew troubled. “I feel guilty about that now that Keith is gone, to be honest.”
“You couldn’t know Keith was going to die so soon and it was only a thought, not a deed. You have no reason to feel any such thing.”
“I know but strange memories come back. Usually, they’re good memories but occasionally there are some I don’t like to recall. It seems we often harbor unkind thoughts and they haunt us when we least expect it.”
“I wonder when it will be safe for me to interview Rod,” Pauline said, thoughtfully, hardly noticing Freda’s wistfulness.
“What does the company know about Jose?” Pauline asked Captain Ferguson when they met to discuss progress.
“I was sure you would ask this question,” Ferguson said, with a smile. “I asked them to translate and send the interview and background checks that were done.” He handed a sheaf of papers to Pauline and Somerville.
They read them quickly.
Pauline said, “Well, it says little more than what we’ve been told. Jose was a refugee from Peru living in Ecuador.”
Ferguson nodded. “I spoke to our personnel manager, the one who approved the hiring of most of the technical crew. He said Jose’s story was a horrific one and he filled in some additional details for me. Jose was captured by the Shining Path guerillas on his way to school on the morning of the massacre. They forced him to take part in the massacre, not by actually killing people but in telling them information about the villagers. He was so scared that, when the killing began and he saw the guerillas weren’t watching him anymore, he escaped into the forest. He followed trails that eventually led him over the border. He didn’t even know he’d made it to Ecuador at first. He was so in fear of his life, he’d avoided everyone as he traveled. It was only when he’d become ill that he went into a town and begged for help, which is when he discovered he was in another country and was safe.”
“It sounds like we have to consider the real possibility that the guerrillas caught up with him on this ship,” Somerville said.
“Then the murderer,” Pauline paused as she saw Somerville frown, and then continued, “if there is a murderer, is one of the crew and not a passenger. However, how did the guerillas know he was here? His story, if true, sounds to me like the guerillas aren’t our suspects.”
“I think it most likely to be a member of the crew anyway, don’t you?” Ferguson said. “The passengers only arrived here hours before the voyage began. They hardly had time to discover Jose existed, let alone work up enough anger to kill him. And, as you say, how would the guerillas know and why would they care if some kid spoke about them? They live out in the wild and care nothing for the law.”
“One or two of the American passengers are Latin American,” Somerville said, thinking out loud. “They could have had family who knew about Jose and they might blame Jose for helping the guerillas.”
“We should consider that,” Pauline said, “but it’s more likely to be a crew member, as Captain Ferguson suggests.”
“We need the same information we have on Jose, Captain,” Somerville said, waving the papers to indicate what he wanted, “on all the crew. Certainly, the male crew members.”
“It takes time for the fax machine to print out that much information,” Ferguson said, “but I’ll have them start right away. You think only a man could have sent Jose over the railing?”
“I’m sure of it,” Somerville said. ‘He wasn’t a small or weak man.”
“Miss Riddell?” Ferguson asked.
“I agree, Captain. It’s unlikely to be a woman,” Pauline said. “Not impossible, though, so we shouldn’t completely rule out the female crew members.”
“Anything else?” Ferguson asked.
“Yes. I’d like to speak to the head of personnel,” Pauline said. “Could you arrange for us to interview him by radio?”
“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Ferguson said. “I’ll contact our head office right after we finish here and set it up for tomorrow night. That way you can enjoy your island excursions and Mr. Hidalgo, our local Ecuadorean recruiter, can gather the information you want to discuss.”
10
Isabela Island, Urbina Bay
They’d been warned by the guides that this site was a ‘wet landing’ and they’d taken that to mean they’d get wet feet. It was way more than that. By the time everyone was ashore, using the demonstrated ‘park your butt on the side and swing your legs over’ method, everyone’s clothes were soaked. The unsteadiness of the elderly passengers, the boat with its nose on the sand, its tail bobbing about in the inrushing waves, all contributed to most people getting a dousing. Many simply slipped off the wet sides, lost their footing in the sea and were swallowed up by the surf. Some fell backward into the boat, were caught by the guide, and maneuvered over the side, where they were invariably unready for the waves that splashed up and soaked them. If she hadn’t been so embarrassed at her own lack of agility, Pauline would have paid money to buy a movie of this first interesting event.
“Still, the water is refreshing,” Freda said, wringing out her sunhat, which had blown into the sea as she’d slithered over the slippery, rubbery sides of the boat.
Pauline laughed. “And it makes the trip more memorable. I actually feel like a real explorer now.”
The walk soon dried them off, which led to a new source of irritation as the salt water dried on their skin and in their clothes. In the heat, salty itching made them feel like they were being bitten by the clouds of flying insects.
“‘May be hot’ the excursion guide said,” Freda grumbled, as the bushes crowded in on them, blocking even the merest hint of a breeze they’d enjoyed on the beach. “This isn’t hot, it’s baking.”
“When you live in England,” Pauline said, “everywhere else on the planet seems hot.”
“Not Norway,” Freda replied. “Keith and I went there five years ago in August. It was like our October, so cold and wet.”
“That’s probably why the Vikings left,” Pauline said as she made her way carefully across the ridged volcanic rock. “Some of the older folk are going to struggle here,” she said, staring at the trail ahead of them.
“Most of the older people are on the shorter hike.”
“You said Betty was. That would please Rod.” Pauline grinned at the thought of the grim, taciturn Rod assisting his wife over these broken boulders and razor-sharp ripples of solidified lava.
They followed the guide and listened with half their attention as he told them the seahorse-shaped island was actually five volcano cones that had merged together to form a single island. He said the volcanoes were still considered to be active and they all laughed politely when he suggested one may erupt today and bring additional excitement to their visit.
The walk took them among deep pools fringed by brilliant green vegetation, so different to the ‘colonist’ plants on the newly formed Fernandina. Finches flitted among the bushes and cameras clicked and whirred as the keenest members of the party tried to get that great photo to show their friends and neighbors the amazing sights they’d seen. Pauline, whose opinion of the utterly nondescript birds wasn’t high, couldn’t help thinking the friends and neighbors would likely be unimpressed.
The afternoon was to be another long hike at a more southerly part of the island. When they’d planned this trip, she and Freda had agreed that it would be great having all day off the ship, walking among the flora and fauna of the most unusual islands known to man. Now Pauline was wishing she’d planned to stay onboard and read a book. This first hike felt like more than enough to satisfy her needs.
The walk, however, did have something to interest Pauline. Set back from the shoreline, which, according to their guide, had been raised more than twelve feet by an earthquake bac
k in 1954 was the remains of a coral reef, now marooned inland. For the first time, Pauline got a sense of just how unstable these islands were and how precarious was the existence of their birds and animals.
The hike, too, got better as the morning wore on. Because the older and slower people had chosen the optional excursion, this hike kept a good pace that felt exhilarating after trailing around at the speed of giant tortoises as they’d done the day before. It also brought her into contact with Ruth and Isaac for the first time away from the other dinner guests.
“Hello,” Pauline said, “are you enjoying this fast hike too? I’m pleased to be moving again instead of dawdling along.”
“We are indeed enjoying it,” Isaac said. “We’re working people, so a vacation is something strange for us and today feels more natural.”
Pauline nodded. She could see both of them working in the fields. They had the stocky, strong frames of farmers.
“Can I ask you about the night of the accident?”
“It will make a change from questions about whether we’ve lost our faith now we’ve seen the light of Darwinism,” Isaac said, with again that hint of humor she’d seen so often in him when answering impertinent questions about their beliefs.
“I imagine,” Pauline said. “You left the lounge after dinner so you might have heard or seen something in the quiet of the outside. Did you?”
Ruth said simply, “No.”
Isaac added, “We have thought about this, and repeatedly walked through that evening in our minds. We were outside. The evening was so beautiful but then it grew dark and the wind was cold. We returned to our cabin to read. Everything we saw made sense then and still does. We saw officers on the bridge and heard people talking in normal voices, not raised in argument. The voices we heard, we didn’t recognize.”
“That’s disappointing,” Pauline said. “Do you remember what time it was when you left the dinner table or arrived in your cabin?”