Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates

by Phil Kingsman

  A second or so later, Simpers heard a loud clunking sound as the locking bolts on the heavy steel door released. The intimidating structure began its slow but deliberate path as it slid from right to left. Simpers had almost tripped passing through the up-stand on the earlier bulkhead. He suspected all the doorways below the waterline would be difficult to navigate in an emergency. Simpers supposed this was not a problem, since if he was around with water coming in, his feet wouldn't touch the ground or any other surface as he made his escape.

  'Once the door starts to close, can you stop it,' asked Simpers.

  'As I said, only from the Bridge,' replied Cross.

  '…But what if you trip half-way through?'

  The Deputy Captain gestured for Simpers to watch the door as it completed its journey. As it did so with a solid thump, three locks snapped closed.

  'You don't mean to say…'

  '…Afraid so,' replied Cross. 'Safety of the many at the cost of the few and all that. But don't worry too much; we have CCTV cameras covering every watertight door on the ship. So, as long as somebody on the Bridge sees you, you should be fine.'

  'One important point to remember. If you're down here and the doors close, you can check what the emergency is by placing your palm against the door surface. If it's hot to the touch, you'll know there's a fire on the other side.'

  'What if it's cold,' enquired Simpers.

  'It's the sea.' The Deputy Captain wasn't smiling.

  The two men continued down the service passage for another twenty feet before Cross' radio crackled into life. He strolled in front of Simpers, leaving him to ponder which outcome would be the lesser of two evils. A cold, wet end, or hot and dry demise. Hobson's choice, he thought.

  Trapped

  Deputy Captain Cross moved around the corner to continue his confidential exchange. At least Simpers assumed that was what it was. The ship's diesel turbine engines fired up as the vessel commenced its pre-departure routine. Simpers recoiled in shock at the sudden cacophony of sound.

  The noise made Simpers crouch. Moving away from its source, he tripped over the raised threshold of the bulkhead he was attempting to pass through. Dazed, he winced from a searing pain in his left ankle as his foot caught on a snag of metal on the raised threshold. He let out an involuntary cry as he recoiled backwards and extended both arms behind him in a futile effort to break his fall.

  'Mullock,' shouted Simpers.

  Mullock was one of the phrases that his grandfather had used during times of acute stress or frustration. He had endured a hard life down the pits, but as a committed Methodist, his grandfather would have no truck with foul language. A habit the detective tried his hardest to imitate. As the pain began to subside, a strange, pleasant feeling washed over Simpers. It reminded him of the after-effects experienced as a child having eaten his ice-cream too fast. Simpers' mental meanderings passed in an instant as he regained an awareness of his surroundings. He heard a now familiar 'clunk' that signalled a bulkhead door was on the move. It was only when he sensed an involuntary movement in his right arm that he realised the door to the opening he was stuck in was on the move. Although not known as one to panic, Simpers grasped the horror of the situation.

  As the door began its onward path, he knew his immobile lower limb would in no way hinder. A searing pain raced through his arms as they strained against the solid mass. His futile efforts failed to halt the door's progress.

  'No, no,' he spat through clenched teeth.

  'Oh dear, Inspector Simpers. That does look painful.'

  The stranger's voice came from immediately behind Simpers. The man stood too close for him to see his tormentor. But he was near enough for him to feel the man's breath on the back of his neck.

  'I know why you are on board, Inspector. I will take the greatest of pleasure observing you trying to catch me. You will, of course, fail…again…but it'll be fun watching you.'

  Beads of sweat trickled from Simpers' forehead as he tried in vain to catch sight of the man. His voice sounded familiar, or rather the mocking tone did… but from where, when?

  Simpers' attention returned to the dreadful progress of the bulkhead as it continued to bear down on his trembling body. This can't be it, he thought. After all he'd been through in the line of duty, the scrapes he survived in nicking villains. He'd always thought it would be a bullet, or a knife that did for him. Instead it was to be a nondescript steel monolith in a dingy passageway. More than that, the last words he would hear came from some bloke who hated him.

  Simpers knew he had a choice. He could fall back and watch the door sever his leg from his body. The alternative was to push himself upright and run the risk of the door crushing him to death.

  Decision made, he rested onto his elbows and lay on his back. Simpers could feel his heart thumping through the walls of his chest. He didn't want to look, but morbid instincts took over. He braced himself for the pain that he knew was coming. Now there was no noise. It was if he was floating above his body and watching with the nonchalance of a passer-by observing somebody else's misery. He clenched his teeth and tensed as the bulkhead came within two inches of his ankle.

  'Bridge – emergency stop – MD04 – Immediate.'

  The door came to a shuddering halt in less than three seconds, its unforgiving metal surface kissing Simpers' stricken foot. All he could do was to look up at the Deputy Captain. Words somehow seemed inadequate.

  'Where is he,' Simpers hissed.

  'What are you talking about?' replied Cross, a quizzical look spreading across his face.

  'Him…the psychopath that pressed the close control. You must have seen, or heard him; he stood behind me, spoke to me…he had to have passed you on his way out?'

  'I neither saw or heard anyone, other than you. Are you sure you aren't imagining it?'

  'And I suppose I'm imagining the state of my ankle, am I?' spat Simpers. 'I tell you there was someone here. Either that, or you pushed the close control.'

  'I didn't,' replied Cross with all the indignity he could muster.

  A hostile silence enveloped the space between the two men as they glared at one another.

  'Perhaps, Detective Inspector Simpers, you pressed the control. After all, policemen are inquisitive aren't they? You know, throw a stone in the pond and see what happens.'

  Simpers recognised mockery when he heard it. And it was the second time in as many minutes. He concentrated on Cross' voice. Was it the same as the stranger's? With so much adrenaline still pumping through his body, Simpers couldn't distinguish the two. He decided that there would be time for reflection later.

  '…And I suppose I got my foot stuck before I pressed the button to see how much it would hurt, do you think?' Simpers replied.

  'If you didn't, who did?' replied the Deputy Captain as he eased the detective's ankle from its prison.

  'Well, if it wasn't the man who doesn't exist, who, indeed,' replied Simpers.

  He kept his own counsel as his mind raced. The bulkhead door was of the manual type. He hadn't touched the close control and there was no one else in sight …but there was the voice. Perhaps someone on the Bridge activated it. After all, that's where Cross said all the CCTV feeds ended up, wasn't it?

  ***

  Now released from the bulkhead opening, Simpers managed to stand as the Deputy Captain opened a heavy metal-faced door. The two men, with Simpers still limping, passed from the utilitarian world of 'below decks'. They now found themselves in a room of rich wood panelling decked out with elegant oak furniture.

  'Welcome to the officers' mess and please accept my apologies for what must have been a most terrifying incident. Leave it to me; I'll get to the bottom of why that door went live.'

  Simpers interrogated Cross's eyes and demeanour. He wasn't convinced of the man's conviction.

  'Now, time for a drink, I think. What will you have?'

  'Have you any Saddleback bottled beer?' replied Simpers, as he hopped his way to a ruby-red leather carver.


  Cross sat in an identical chair opposite the inspector. His beer appeared from a white gloved hand resting under a polished silver serving tray. As in the Commodore's day room, the steward had appeared out of thin air. Nor did the Deputy Captain appear to need to order either Simpers', or his own, preferred tipple. How do they do that? Simpers pondered.

  'So, you think you can stop our thief,' said Cross before knocking back his whiskey and dry in one slug.

  'It might be a big ship, but for as long we are at sea, our would-be criminals won't be able to get far.'

  Some might have thought Simpers' response arrogant, but from his point of view, he was just stating the obvious.

  'Well, the best of luck to you, my friend. If the officers or crew can be of any help to you, do let me know. Oh, and by the way, no need to bother the Commodore with details. Fill me in when you have anything to report and I'll make sure he remains briefed. Now, let's get you to your cabin. We sail in an hour and I'm sure you will wish to unpack and get yourself settled in.'

  A copper's instinct told Simpers that there was more to the Deputy Captain than met the eye. He determined that he would get under the officer's skin to find the answers he needed.

  A Second Coming

  Simpers closed the door to his cabin, pleased to be shutting out the rest of the world. He noticed that his suitcase had arrived and been placed on top of one of the twin beds. May as well get this lot unpacked, he thought. He retrieved a small bunch of keys from his left trouser pocket. It had to be his left pocket. Slipping the miniature key into its target, Simpers realised that the case was already unlocked. Puzzled for a moment, he interrogated the logical side of his brain to convince himself that he must have forgotten to lock it.

  Trouble was, he knew that, as was his custom, he had checked it on three separate occasions before he'd left his flat. Who on earth would want to rummage through a case that had seen better days? He concluded that there were three scenarios worthy of consideration.

  One: That he indeed was having a senior moment and had forgotten to lock the case.

  Two: An opportunist thief had been trying their luck.

  Three: Someone who knew he was boarding had targeted the case, and was looking for something specific.

  Simpers dismissed the first scenario, since it was against his nature. He also disregarded opportunism, since the cabin number shown on the label attached to the case didn't shout 'I'm rich'. This left Simpers with the only conclusion that seemed logical. Someone was aware of his movements who didn't wish him continued good health. But what were they looking for, he thought. A cold bead of sweat emerged across his forehead as he reached for his hand luggage. Grabbing at the zip fastener, he yanked it sideways and rummaged around the bag's contents. Retrieving a buff brown folder, his stress levels began to subside.

  He ruminated over recent events. Since he didn't believe in coincidences, Simpers now knew what he had already begun to suspect. One or more undesirables were onto him, and he didn't like it.

  Simpers tried to forget the pain from his unequal tussle with the bulkhead door. He did what any copper worth his salt would do and retraced in his mind every second of what happened below decks with the Deputy Captain. Could the officer have activated the door on the control panel? After all, Simpers had seen him disappear around the corner to take that radio call. Then again, he wouldn't have heard the man return because of the noise from the door moving – and his own howls of pain. But if not Cross, then who? And how did the man appear from nowhere, then disappear into thin air? To complicate matters, Cross had explained that the Bridge could work those doors by remote control. But how could they have known to activate the one he just happened to be stuck in. Simpers concluded that for the moment, there were too many imponderables. He knew he would have to distil the facts, then identify something that didn't fit. This, he knew from experience, would lead him to the answer. Simpers also knew from long experience that that answer would have unpleasant consequences. These would not confine themselves to the criminal class. Military folk, he mused, liked to call it 'collateral damage'. He called it misery.

  ***

  Clothes stored in their allotted positions, Simpers explored his cabin. He pulled out a drawer, then opened a cupboard door. His admiration for the designers growing with each new discovery. How did they cram so much into such a small place, he pondered.

  Feeling what he thought was the sensation of the ship moving, his automatic response was to head to the bathroom. He thought, better safe than sorry. After a few minutes and having taken the necessary steps to relieve his bowels, he reached for the flush handle to dispatch the product of his exertions. Simpers found it puzzling not to find the handle where he had expected it to be. Perhaps, he thought, those clever designers had moved the position of the flush. At last he triumphed, despite almost pulling his arm out of its socket as, still seated, he reached behind the toilet lid.

  Ha, ha! he thought. Found it. Simpers pressed the button in triumph. In an instant, his world went hazy. In his pain, surprise and confusion, he was aware of an dreadful sound such as he had never heard before. He felt sucked into the sort of black hole that astronomers talk about. He reached down to his nether regions, convinced they were gone from his body. He now knew, he thought, how it was to be 'racked' in the Tower of London. As the pain subsided, Simpers relaxed on discovering his bits were safe and sound. He was also content that despite a sensation of numbness, he had not suffered the penile extension some men paid good money for.

  After a minute or so, he felt able to get to his feet and arrange himself for public view. He wasn't sure which hurt more, his ankle, which still throbbed, or his genitals, which also throbbed.

  Only then did he notice the warning signs located around the bathroom, including one next to the button he had pressed.

  The toilets on board this ship work on a vacuum system. For your own comfort and safety, please do not flush the toilet while in a sitting position. Close the lid, then press the button marked 'flush.

  Relieved, Simpers exited the bathroom with the greatest of care and headed for the balcony. He slid aside the glass door and leant on the handrail. This also had the benefit of giving him the greatest of comfort in taking the weight off his sore ankle, and other parts.

  He observed the flurry of activity taking place on the dockside as various workers made the ship ready for sail. Simpers also noticed the Deputy Captain having an animated discussion with a second man. The unfortunate individual was on the wrong end of a tongue lashing from the agitated officer. Could this be the same man that had presented such a calm air of command as he escorted Simpers around the ship? Curious, he thought.

  Simpers' mental gymnastics was brought to an end on hearing a gentle knock on his cabin door. Limping across the room, he opened the door to reveal a smartly dressed young man of around twenty three.

  'Good afternoon, sir, I am Joki. I have come to look after you. I'm your cabin steward,' said the beaming young man.

  'Oh, yes, of course. Well, you'd better come in then,' was the best he could by way of a response as he returned to a more conscious state.

  'What a fascinating name,' offered Simpers.

  'Thank you, sir. It means 'He whom God has set up', or at least that is what my Mother says,' replied the steward with a ready smile.

  Simpers drifted off into an imaginary world. Had God sent his fixer to take a special interest in an undeserving copper?

  The detective noticed a tattooed crucifix on the steward's thumb as the young man handed over a copy of the ship's daily newsletter.

  'I am from Goa, in India, sir,' commented the steward as he noticed the interest Simpers had taken in his tattoo. 'It's the tradition of my faith where I live,' he continued.

  'Fascinating,' replied Simpers, trying not to sound patronising.

  'What time do you wish to awoken, sir,' continued Joki without breaking eye contact with the detective. 'Would you prefer tea or coffee with your biscuit?'
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br />   'Well, erm, 7.00 am, please – and tea will be fine; any chance of a chocolate shortcake with it?' Simpers asked.

  'Of course, sir.'

  Simpers felt uncomfortable and couldn't help thinking he was reliving a scene from the days of the Raj. Then again, he knew that the steward would expect a tip at the prescribed rate per day before Simpers disembarked. After all, the cruise business did provide a great deal of employment, he thought. It seemed a fair business transaction for services rendered. At least that's how he preferred to rationalise the situation.

  'You are on second sitting for dinner, sir; table 33 in the Royal Restaurant, which commences at 8.30 pm. Tonight the dress code is 'casual'. You will hear an announcement over the ship's public address system confirming when the sitting is about to start. I hope that is satisfactory for you?'

  'Yes, thank you, Joki,' Simpers replied. He couldn't believe what he had just said.

  'Now, sir, let me help you unpack.'

  Before Simpers had time to react, the steward opened his suitcase, lifted out a charcoal lounge suit, and had it hung up in the wardrobe.

  'Please, there is no need for you to do that, I'm happy to do my own unpacking,' said Simpers, more out of a need to control his own unpacking than a vote of thanks for the young man.

  'Are you sure, sir?' replied Joki, 'I am quite happy to assist you and just to say, sir, please be careful when opening the wardrobe door. It is most sticky and I have reported this to my manager. He has promised that he will have it fixed.'

  'Yes, yes, thank you for letting me know. I'll be careful. Now, I'm sure you have other guests to see to…'

  'Well, if that will be all, sir, please enjoy the rest of your day, and if there is anything I can do, please let me know…'

  'Thank you, Joki. You have been most attentive.'