by P. C. James
“Not really,” Ruth said. “Time doesn’t mean as much to us as it seems to mean to you folk.”
“It’s true. We’re obsessed with it, aren’t we?”
“As with so much else we find puzzling,” Isaac said. “Do any of these things you all crave and pine for make any of you happy?”
“Now, you’re teasing me,” Pauline said. “I’m sure you know the answer as well as I do. But I think it’s as the American Constitution says, it’s the ‘pursuit of happiness’ and not the ‘achieving happiness’ that makes all our lives meaningful.”
Isaac smiled. “We don’t have much to do with the U.S. or any other national constitution, but it does describe life correctly – the pursuit of happiness. It’s how people pursue it that differs, I guess.”
Pauline was about to reply in kind, when she stopped. “You said people talking in normal voices. Can you say more about that?”
“What is there to say? There seemed to be people outside on the decks, maybe balconies, talking. They didn’t sound angry or frightened.”
“Were they speaking English or Spanish?”
“English.”
“Did they have an accent?”
“Everyone has an accent,” Isaac said, “and all of your accents sound strange to us. But if what you’re asking is ‘were they crew members’, I think the answer is no. They were passengers.”
“Men or women?”
“Men,” Ruth said.
“Two or more?”
“There were two groups of men, I think,” Isaac said, looking to Ruth for confirmation. She nodded.
“More than two in each group do you think?”
“Possibly but probably just two pairs of men, outside smoking and talking,” Isaac said.
“You were on the lounge deck. Were they out of sight on the same deck or above, on upper decks?”
“One group was above us on an upper deck. The other, I think, the same deck but around the other side. That’s how it seemed anyhow. As I said, ordinary. Nothing that would suggest violence.”
“That’s good to know. Now, if we can find those people, they may have heard something that you didn’t.”
Pedro called a halt and the group gathered around him. “We rest here for five minutes, no more,” he said. “Drink lots of water because we will be out in the sun for the return trip and it is very hot.”
One of the more argumentative passengers pounced on Ruth and Isaac. Pauline, though sorry for the young couple, took her chance and left them to their fate. She moved quickly over to where Freda was waiting.
“Did you learn anything?” Freda asked as Pauline joined her.
“Yes. There were others on deck that night.”
“No one has mentioned being there.”
“No, they haven’t so we need to find out who, when, and why they haven’t mentioned it.”
“That’s easy,” Freda said. “No one has asked them. You and Somerville have been busy asking questions of the very few people you suspect. If I wasn’t being asked, I wouldn’t volunteer any information either.”
Pauline smiled. “I thought you were an upright, honest citizen,” she said.
“I thought so too,” Freda admitted, “until I realized this is serious and bad things happen to simple people who get caught up in serious things.”
“Still regretting volunteering to help detect, Freddie,” Pauline said, grinning.
“I honestly don’t know why you choose to do this. One day someone will kill you. You do know that, don’t you?”
Pauline’s expression changed to one of long ago and far away. She shook herself and replied, “A long time ago, my friend Poppy said I was a soldier in the war against injustice. At the time, it seemed over the top. I was just trying to find out why another friend had been murdered. The words have stayed with me, though, and I think they explain it best. I may be killed one day, as you say, but it will be in a just cause and what more can anyone ask for in the end?”
“A quiet ‘going to sleep’ in my own bed with my family around me,” Freda snapped. “And that feels quite unlikely right now.”
“I don’t have a family,” Pauline said. “Now, when we get back, circulate and start asking questions. We need to find the men on deck that evening and learn what they heard and saw.”
When they returned to the landing site, they found many of those who had taken the short, slower walk were already snorkeling around the rocks that formed the breakwater.
Pauline and Freda liked the look of the calm shallow waters of the small bay. After the heat on the hike, they thought a swim would be perfect. They both took the offered goggles and snorkel.
Pedro had told them the water on this side of the island was cold because of the peculiar way currents lifted water from the deep to the surface. For the sisters, used to bathing in the North Sea off Yorkshire’s coast, they found it warm but still refreshing and nothing like the harsh waters they were used to. Underwater, colorful fish and rays swam by, along with what looked like small torpedoes that they knew were actually penguins, the only penguins to live this far north – and only because the cold water made it possible. An occasional shark sailed across their vision, which was unnerving. If they hadn’t been told they were nurse sharks and harmless, they would have left the water vertically like cartoon characters and not stopped paddling air until they reached the beach.
Back onboard, Pauline was met by the security officer, Sanchez, and escorted to the Captain’s cabin where she found Somerville had already arrived.
“I have Señor Hidalgo on the radio, Miss Riddell,” Captain Ferguson said. “I felt it would be good for you and Detective Somerville to meet him, even if it has to be at a distance. This way you can ask directly what information you’re looking for.”
Mr. Hidalgo fortunately spoke excellent English, so Pauline and Somerville were able to ask questions and receive answers that required no interpretation or explanation.
“In your mind,” Pauline asked, in conclusion, “the checks you did confirmed Jose was a genuine refugee and the other members of the crew from this part of the world are highly unlikely to be linked to any of the various factions fighting for control in Peru?”
“That is correct,” Hidalgo said. “We have to be very careful with our hiring here, as you can imagine. There are many different political groups who have the support of many people. We did extensive checks on all of them.”
Somerville asked, “You say there was no evidence Jose took part in violence but can you really be sure? He admitted to leading the guerillas who’d captured him to the village where he’d lived. That alone must be suspicious.”
“We thought of all that, Detective, but remember, he was little more than a child when he was taken by them and they assured him they had the best intentions in going to the village. Their mission, they said, was to help and support the people. He was traumatized by what happened.”
“You say a child but this was less than two years ago,” Pauline said. “He was just twenty when he died and therefore around eighteen or nineteen when it happened. I don’t consider nineteen a child. I suspect many of the guerrilla band were much the same age.”
“Nevertheless,” Hidalgo said, “our intensive review of his life and known behavior convinced us it would be wrong to decide against him. And, after all, it is he who was the victim here, assuming there was any wrongdoing.”
“The point is, his behavior in the past may have led to his death,” Somerville said.
“All the evidence says he was a victim then and maybe he is a victim again.” Hidalgo paused, and then added, “Have you considered suicide? Could it not be that his experiences preyed on his mind until he could no longer stand it?”
“That may account for the superficial cut under his chin,” Ferguson added. “If he’d initially tried to kill himself with a knife and then found he couldn’t do it.”
Pauline shook her head. “The cut was under his chin, not on his throat. Even the most reluctan
t of suicides would know the difference. And if it was suicide, there is a vast ocean just one step off the rail. No, this wasn’t suicide.”
“I don’t think we should dismiss the possibility too quickly,” Somerville said. “Who knows what goes through the mind of a person at these low moments.”
“And none of the others among the crew were found to have any connection to the village where the massacre Jose mentioned took place, or a connection to Jose himself?” Pauline asked Hidalgo, ignoring the suicide discussion that was continuing between her two companions.
“We weren’t looking for such a connection when we screened the interviewees,” Hidalgo replied. “I have asked the police here to do that now. It may take a day or so for them to complete their research.”
“We look forward to hearing the results of those investigations, Mr. Hidalgo,” Somerville said. “I have nothing more to ask tonight but would ask that you be available to answer questions about details in the faxes you’re sending. I hope that can be possible?”
“Certainly,” Hidalgo said. “If Captain Ferguson can make the radio link available, I’ll be happy to respond to anything you have to say.”
Ferguson replied, “Miss Riddell, Detective Somerville, and I meet each evening to discuss their progress. I’ll have the radio operator make it possible for you join us.”
To fill in the time, as the ship sailed along the coast of Isabela Island to its next stop, the regular superb lunch was replaced by an even more sumptuous barbecue.
Pauline and Freda each took small plates of lobster, steak and salad up to the next deck to escape the crowd. Their stratagem, designed to protect their tightening waistbands, backfired. When Maria saw them escaping, she made it her job to supply them with everything on the menu, far more than they could ever manage. By the time the meal was over, they could barely move.
“Thank you, Maria, but we have another hike in an hour,” Freda said, despairingly, when the server had offered yet more dessert or an after-dinner port. “We couldn’t possible manage another mouthful.”
“Señora,” Maria replied, tut-tutting sadly, “you will walk it off and be hungry.”
Freda shook her head but, smiling, she said, “Our guides Pedro and Raul will have to carry us back, more like.”
“Working together they couldn’t lift me now,” Pauline added.
“We’re doomed,” Freda said, when Maria left them, clearly disappointed in their capacity to consume. “We’ll sink the zephyr when we step aboard.”
“Us and everyone else,” Pauline said. “Taking one passenger per zephyr will be the only safe way.”
11
Isabella Island, Punta Moreno
Although the zephyr was pulled up tightly to the rocky ledge of the dock, and they could step ashore without wading in the sea, the landing was again far from a ‘dry’ one. The stiff breeze that had plagued them in the morning was also bringing waves splashing over the landing stage and making the boat rise and fall rapidly. Even with a strong man onshore to grasp the passengers and haul them from the boat and onto the wet, smooth, volcanic rocks, the disembarkation got them soaked.
They’d picked their excursions when booking the cruise and Pauline and Freda had chosen the longest hikes at each stop because Freda intended to see everything she could in the time available. Many who had been on the morning hike had decided to take it easy in the afternoon, so it was with a smaller band of only the hardier souls that they set out into the hinterland. The breeze that had made landing so hazardous, and they’d hoped would cool them as they hiked, was lost the moment they left the open area of lava rock and entered low bushes that covered the slopes of the volcano’s side. The bushes soon gave way to a landscape of dark pools of brackish water fringed by vibrant jungle-green plants that stood out in stark contrast with everything they’d seen up until this time.
The guide stopped frequently for water breaks and to point out the occasional wildlife, usually a small dark-colored bird flitting among the bushes. In Pauline’s eyes, they were all indistinguishable from half the birds she saw at home. A hawk soared above them at one point, a Galapagos Hawk, the guide said. It too looked just like any other hawk to Pauline.
The rest of the group, however, seemed happy enough, if the clicking of camera shutters was anything to judge by. For herself, Pauline felt she would never go on another nature vacation as long as she lived. Not even an African safari with guaranteed lions could tempt her at this moment. The march seemed to stretch out before her, an undulating, sharply pointed, rocky wasteland of time.
“You’re not as excited as the rest of us, Pauline.”
Pauline thought Freda sounded a little bit angry. “I’m taking everything in and storing it away for future memory,” Pauline said. “You can be sure of that.”
“Good, because this is one of the most significant places on Earth.”
“I know, Freddie. I’m not completely clueless,” Pauline said. She was though. Absolutely clueless – when it came to Jose’s death.
Later, back on board and resting in Freda’s cabin, Pauline said, “I had a few minutes quiet time to speak some more with Pedro. He says he saw a man arguing with Jose later that afternoon, just before dinner was served. It’s possible he only says this now, when he must know we’re suspicious of him, to deflect our attention from him to someone else, but we must follow it up. He thinks it was Rod Chalmers, and from the description he gave, I think it was too.”
“Maybe this is what Somerville heard and why he had that interview he never shared with you or the captain.”
Pauline said, “We need to get Rod on his own. I don’t know how, but we must.”
“Shouldn’t you interview him with Somerville? It might make Somerville confess to having already interviewed Rod.”
“Somerville is like a bull in a china shop,” Pauline said. “A man like Rod will not respond well to the detective’s style. I think we’ll do better without him.”
“But you will tell him, won’t you?” Freda asked. “The last thing we need is a feud with Somerville – or the captain deciding you’re untrustworthy.”
“I’ll tell them tonight, don’t worry. Then it will be too late for Somerville to pounce on Rod before we can.”
“The faxes you sent on Pedro Morales,” Somerville said, speaking loudly for the radio connection was fading, “I think there’s something wrong about Pedro.”
Hidalgo’s voice crackled over the faltering connection. “It’s true. The information we had when we hired him was that he was from Lima. The police have found that isn’t exactly true.”
Somerville snorted. “It’s barely true at all. He was born there, lived there until he was six but then lived the next twelve years in the village where Jose lived and which Jose betrayed, before returning to Lima only two years ago.”
“Yes,” Hidalgo said unhappily. “There may well have been a connection. Not that it would have changed our view of hiring him. Pedro had returned to Lima before the massacre and we had no reason to assume he knew or had a grudge against Jose. And we still don’t,” he added but even the static couldn’t hide the concern in his voice.
“Nor do we, Señor Hidalgo,” Pauline said. “It is just another puzzle. For a young man so apparently unconnected with anyone here, Jose seems to have been remarkably linked to many others. Pedro is the third person we’ve discovered with a possible link to Jose.”
“The other two were just angry incidents,” Somerville said. “This is deeper and, to my mind, has far more potential.”
“Possibly,” Pauline said, “but Jose is the only person on this ship to have two angry incidents in the very first afternoon. No one else had any. Jose seemed to invite or maybe just attract problems.”
“I feel we may have gotten a good lead, at last, and your theory may not be as wild as I’d first imagined, Miss Riddell.”
Pauline smiled. “You taking me seriously means a lot to me, Detective,” she said.
Somerville reddened.
“You know what I mean,” he said. “I wasn’t being snarky.”
“Nor was I,” Pauline replied.
“Captain,” Somerville said, abruptly changing direction, “I think we need to talk to Pedro Morales right away. Tonight. I don’t think we should wait.”
“I’ll have him found and brought here,” Captain Ferguson said, lifting the phone.
Pedro was clearly uneasy. He twisted in the chair they’d placed before them and viewed the three, Ferguson, Pauline, and Somerville, with what looked like alarm.
“We aren’t the police, Pedro,” Captain Ferguson said. “We’ve just learned that you once lived in the village where Jose lived, though before the people were massacred. We hoped you might have known Jose or known something about him that would help us get to the bottom of this mystery.”
He paused, hoping the crewman would begin to speak. When he didn’t, Ferguson asked, “Did you know Jose before you and he joined the ship?”
“No, and I didn’t live in the same village. My father was schoolteacher at a village higher up the mountain. We were about five kilometers from where Jose said he lived.”
“So, did Jose say where he came from?” Pauline asked.
“Yes. He spoke more than once of the horrors he’d seen and his escape. He thought we should treat him differently because of what had happened to him. Personally, I think he boasted about what had happened.”
“I would have thought a refugee would want to forget the past,” Pauline said.
Pedro nodded. “I, and others, thought it strange as well.”
“He was a young man,” Somerville said. “While being afraid for his life at the time, after, he possibly thought it exciting and expected others to think so too. Did others think so?”
Pedro shook his head. “I think most who met him among the crew thought him foolish and a…” he struggled for a word.