Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates

by Phil Kingsman

  'Now, who's for a photo? We have a great offer on this evening. Just £16.00 for a ten by eight including free souvenir cover.'

  Before anyone could agree or demure, the man began snapping each of the new table companions in turn. As he did so, Jenny Smeeton turned her attention to Simpers.

  'Now then, Mr Simpers, you never did get around to telling us your first name, did you?'

  Simpers knew she wasn't going to let this one go.

  'It's just Simpers. Everyone calls me Simpers,' he replied.

  Jenny persisted. 'But that's daft; no one just goes by their surname – except for posh people who haven't grown out of their time at boarding school. Did you go to a boarding school, then?'

  'With my accent. What do you think,' he said, while raising an eyebrow and slicing a carrot with undue harshness.

  Yes, I can see, or rather hear, what you mean,' reflected Jenny. As she spoke, she played with the remains of some ratatouille on the side of her plate.

  'You're not a policeman or in the army, are you? Officer types often use just their surnames, don't they.'

  Simpers shot her the merest glance, but it was enough.

  'Well, which is it? What on earth is a bobby doing afloat – I do hope you intend to make good use of my taxes.'

  Simpers twitched. Twice in as many hours, ladies sharp enough to cut themselves on had rumbled him. This, because he favoured his surname. And then there had been the badge, of course. Perhaps, Simpers thought, if it's that easy to spot an English bloke abroad, it’s also easy to clock a copper.

  'Now, that would be telling wouldn't it? Perhaps I'm a member of the SAS on a secret mission.'

  'Are you?' replied Jenny.

  Simpers was enjoying this. He felt more comfortable being in control of both the situation and conversation.

  'Well, Mrs Smeeton. That's for you to find out isn't it? What I will say is this. People who get too close to me don't always think themselves that lucky, if you know what I mean.'

  The more Simpers teased the woman, the more excited she seemed to become. Also, the rate at which her leg caressed Simpers' calf increased. He began to think a visit to the medical centre would ensue to treat his friction burns.

  'Now you've got me thinking, Mr Simpers,' interjected Amelia. 'If I was a betting woman, and I am, my money would be on you being a copper.'

  'What makes you say that?' replied Simpers, not sure why he was encouraging speculation since it could affect the safety of both him and those around him.

  'I recognise something in you, and I like to think I'm a bit of an amateur sleuth myself, you know. I'll be watching you, Mr Simpers, and if I can help, you only have to ask.

  'Take this photographer chappy,' continued Amelia, as the man with the camera continued about his business. 'I would say he is also an expert swimmer, and would be a good man to have around in an emergency.'

  Simpers groaned before doing his best to change the subject and enter into the spirit of the table banter he detested so much.

  'So, you also picked up that our friend is a member of the British Swimming Association. Do you know that to be a member, you also have to qualify in resuscitation techniques?'

  'Well. That clinches it for me, Mr Simpers. Who else would notice such things?'

  'Well, Amelia… you did,' replied Simpers, trying his best to throw the woman off her line of thought.

  'You are a fascinating man, Mr Simpers. I think we are going to get on rather well,' interrupted Jenny with a strange look that Simpers found disconcerting.

  ***

  As the meal progressed, Simpers realised that the ship had begun to roll from side to side with a rhythm that he didn't like one bit.

  '…You feeling all right, Mr Simpers?' quipped Jenny. 'If you don't mind me saying you look a little green around the gills. Is it something you've just eaten?' she added with a broadening smile spreading across her cheeks.

  'Are you telling me none of you feel the ship rolling around?'

  'Oh, you'll soon get used to it,' offered Amelia. 'Nelson suffered from seasickness all his life, you know, and look what happened to him.'

  'You mean he lost an eye and an arm… and got a lift home in a rum barrel?' replied Simpers through gritted teeth as he tried to keep the contents of his meal in his stomach.

  'No, no, Mr Simpers. He made admiral, of course. As for the seasickness, well, he just got on with it.'

  'Well, luckily for me, I'm not an admiral and I'm just on holiday, so if you don't think it rude of me, I'll call it a night and retire to my cabin.'

  Simpers acknowledged the nodding heads and sympathy from his table companions. He did his best to keep his dignity as he stood up with one hand to his mouth, and the other hanging onto the chair back for all he was worth.

  'You'll have to let go of that thing at some point if you want to get to your cabin. Unless, of course, you intend dragging the chair with you?' offered Jenny Smeeton before continuing, 'I have no intention of letting you drag that stupid thing behind you. Here, lean on me and I'll make sure you get back to your cabin safe and sound – should I get you a sick bag?'

  Feeling too ill to refuse the offer of help, or sick bag, he leaned into a more than receptive Jenny. As they left, they did a perfect impression of two drunken sailors making their way back from a successful night ashore.

  ***

  'Now, let's get you undressed and into bed.'

  Simpers was beyond fighting off the woman. He would do anything asked of him, so long as it meant he could lie down. By now the ship's movement had developed into a sort of elliptical rotation. It rolled from side to side, then up and down. The down bit included a thunderous bang as the bow of the ship hit the water having ridden yet another huge wave.

  'That's it, let's just slip your trousers off, don't worry, I'll hang everything up neat and shipshape,' she said.

  The same didn't apply to Simpers. That said, he welcomed the woman's helping hands as she pulled the bed linen down. Now a pale looking Simpers could collapse onto the bed. In his stupor he sensed Jenny climbing in beside him but felt too ill to complain.

  'Well, here we are, let me just hold on to you so that you don't move around so much. Trust me, it will help you to stop feeling so sick.'

  Simpers thought he was beyond help. As the woman started to spoon him, he began to feel the contents of his stomach making their way to the back of his throat. His only thought now was to reach the bathroom. If the glint in her eye and open mouth was anything to go by, Jenny misunderstood Simpers' move in turning over to face her.

  'That's right, Mr Simpers, come to Jenny. See what I've got for you.' At which point she rolled away from Simpers to expose her bare and ample breasts to the bewildered policeman.

  'You don't understand…' was all that Simpers could manage to say before sharing the contents of his evening meal with a breathless Jenny.

  He slid from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Jenny shot to her feet. She was now deflated and surprised in equal measure as it dawned that she hadn't closed her expectant lips fast enough. She caught her hoped-for paramour's projectile vomit full on.

  Simpers re-emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. He was now lighter in weight, if not in spirit. Meanwhile his erstwhile partner had disappeared. The only evidence of her ever being near him was a trail of paper tissues that had seen better days.

  In his haze, Simpers scanned the cabin knowing something had changed. He had trouble determining what, or who exactly had been in the cabin, but which was now absent. Instead, he obsessed on the trail of crumpled tissues which marked the path to his bed, and sanctuary. Meanwhile, the ship continued to heave with merciless repetition. When Simpers was about four feet from the bed, he plucked up the courage to let go of the wall. He now performed a half decent Fosbury Flip as he hit the centre of the bed with a thud. He also hit the back of his head on the headboard, letting out a deep throated moan as he did so. Nevertheless, he judged it worth the pain to once more be horizonta
l. Simpers spent a few minutes tossing and turning to find a position that minimised his head spinning in time with the ship's movement. At last successful, he slipped into a state of semi-consciousness. As he slept, he let out a series of quiet groans. These were now less about his crown having hit the headboard, and more about the satisfaction of the room not spinning quite so much.

  A few minutes later he half opened an eye, grimaced and cursed that he had forgotten to turn out the cabin lights. In his stupor he pondered the relative merits of a dark cabin, against the risk of vomiting again should he dare move his head.

  As he continued to mull over the conundrum, Simpers became aware of the door to his cabin opening. Unwilling to raise his head, he could just make out, through half open eyes, what appeared to be a disembodied hand. He watched only half interested as it made its way around the door frame and along the wall. A second later the room plunged into utter darkness as the hand traced its way to the light switch. Simpers moaned in satisfaction. He assumed Joki had turned out the light, as if by some telepathic understanding of his charge's needs.

  As the detective began to sink back into unconsciousness, he could just about make out the frame of a tall man. His silhouette was backlit against the light of the corridor for a brief moment. The cabin door closed. The room was once more plunged into utter darkness, except for a narrow shaft of light that danced across the floor. Simpers mumbled his thanks to the man. He relaxed, then fell into a deep sleep.

  In an instant, the tall silhouetted figure bent over the now comatose detective. The long, unnatural elegance of a hypodermic needle glistened. Simpers let out an unconscious moan as the stranger rolled him onto his side. A gloved hand plunged the needle deep into the helpless detective's right thigh causing him to pronounce a second, deeper moan.

  Now it was quiet.

  Bling Bling

  Simpers woke to the motion of the ship still tracing the elliptical heaving that he had fallen asleep to. His senses returned and he strained against a shaft of light that traced its way around the edges of the curtains. Simpers realised that although the ship was still heaving, he felt no need to do so.

  He was sure that the remaining contents of his stomach would stay in their intended location. This being the case, he felt confident enough to sit up and rest back against the headboard. For a fleeting moment he thought he remembered hitting his head the previous evening. He confirmed this by rubbing the affected spot on his cranium. His investigation resulted in a sharp intake of breath as his fingers caressed a distinct crown on his scalp.

  After a few seconds he concluded that although the injury was real enough, its cause remained a mystery. He just couldn't remember anything after leaving his table companions the previous evening. That was, except for a vague recollection of a woman retching and a sharp pain in his right buttock. Then again, perhaps he had been dreaming. A touch of his buttock confirmed the latter had been no dream. Puzzled, he summoned courage to swing his feet out of the bed and place them onto the rich piled carpet.

  As he did so, he heard a sharp knock on the cabin door as it opened to reveal Jenny Smeeton and Joki standing immediately behind her. In his panic, Simpers retreated beneath the safety of his Egyptian cotton bed linen.

  'Now, Mr Simpers, don't go all shy on me. I've come to see how you're doing and to take you to breakfast.'

  Simpers' mood improved. Despite Jenny and Joki swaying in unison to counteract the movements of the ship, it caused him no adverse reaction.

  'Isn't Joki clever for having come into your cabin while you were asleep to tidy things up. You did leave things in a bit of a mess last night, you naughty boy, but at least I managed to get you into bed. So that's something isn't it?'

  Unsure to what Jenny was referring to by way of a mess, her reference stirred a vague memory of paper tissues littering the floor. He looked at the cabin steward, who seemed confused at the accolade.

  'But, sir, I didn't…'

  'Now, now, Joki. Don't be so modest. It couldn't have been pleasant at all picking up all those nasty tissues full of…, well who knows what. I'm certain Mr Simpers is most grateful. Now, I'm sure you've got lots to do, so we'll just say thank you so much, won't we, Mr Simpers?'

  Simpers lowered his eyes back to the floor. He then glanced at the still confused cabin steward. Next, he fixed his stare on Jenny Smeeton, who appeared all too keen to get rid of Joki. The woman's fixation on the paper tissues began to clear some of the fog that lingered in Simpers' brain.

  'Mrs Smeeton, last night… did you… er… did, well… I don't remember getting undressed. But I'm sure you…'

  'What are you suggesting, Mr Simpers. Are you saying I climbed into bed with you, you naughty policeman, or SAS hero, or whatever you are. Such a cheeky thing to suggest.'

  Jenny had a glint in her eye – and continued with her suggestive lip licking routine. Simpers also remembered the friction burns suffered the previous evening, courtesy of the woman. All things considered, he was now convinced she had done more the previous night than just escort him back to his cabin.

  He also knew that Joki had no more rid the cabin of the tissues, than Poseidon had a weekend job selling airline tickets when he tired of making passengers throw up. That just left Jenny in the frame, not just for the tissues, but all that led up to them ending up on the floor. Simpers shuddered at both the thought, and vision, that filled his head.

  'Well, anyway, I just popped in to check if you were feeling any better after the doctor gave you that injection. My husband swears by it, you know. He says a long sharp prick is good for the constitution when you're feeling a bit under the weather.'

  Simpers had long since lost patience with the woman's innuendos. That said, it did at least explain why he now felt the need for food, rather than to vomit. It also cleared the last remaining bank of fog in his brain as he realised the pain in his buttock was real, and not imagined.

  'Now, I need to be out and about. Hubby has met a wonderful couple, so we’re having a foursome in the whirlpool… No, you naughty man, I know what you're thinking, but we'll be on deck with five hundred other people, so it's all clean fun…'

  Before Simpers had time to respond, Jenny Smeeton was out of the door. That just left him to deal with the horrendous vision the woman had planted inside his head.

  ***

  Simpers followed his fellow passengers down a wide corridor as he made his way to the exhibition. Like them, he took two paces forward and one sideward to counterbalance the movement of the ship as it battled the heavy seas. He could only hope he now had more colour in his cheeks than those he was observing pinned to the wall of the corridor. The absurdity of the situation came home as the ship’s tannoy rang out.

  'Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, this is the Commodore speaking. I would just like to bring you up to date on the weather situation. I hope you will agree with me that the ship is performing with magnificence as she makes her way through the continuing heavy seas. We expect the weather to moderate as the day progresses, and by evening time, the sea conditions to be much calmer. The good news is, we expect to arrive in Madeira on time. But for the next few hours, please continue to take care as you travel around the ship. Good day to you all.'

  Simpers found it hard to accept the Commodore's comment that conditions were improving. Not least when he passed the entrance to the orangery cafe. Inside, the noise was deafening from piles of plates cascading from the hot presses onto the hard surfaces of the tiled floor. He also observed passengers sliding in their chairs from one side of the dining area, then back again as the ship rolled. He decided to give breakfast a miss.

  'Ah, Simpers, glad to see you are up and about. A little bird told me you were feeling under the weather last night, and now I see you've come to check up on us.'

  'Is seems there are no secrets on board, Deputy Captain. Yes, I have to say, I've had better evenings than yesterday. No matter, your clever doctor did his magic and I'm here, not, of course, to check upon you, more a c
ase of security matters in general.'

  The Deputy Captain briefed Simpers on the security arrangements to protect the gems. As he did so, both were well aware that they were part teasing, part testing each other. Simpers was in no mood to fail at the game.

  'Well, Inspector. I leave you to get on with your job. If there's anything you need to know please, do ask.'

  With that, the Deputy Captain exited the room, leaving Simpers in the world of his own. To anyone happening upon the detective, they would see a man talking to himself. His hand gestures would add to their puzzlement as he scanned every surface of the room. Simpers took particular interest in the layout of the glass cases. Their contents displayed a king's ransom in diamonds and precious stones. Simpers was returned to the real world by a commotion from an anteroom just outside the exhibition space. He recognised the voices involved.

  'I'm sorry, sir, madam. The exhibition is not yet open and passengers are not allowed in this room for operational reasons.'

  'Well, I'm sorry for that, but as we passed we saw our good friend Mr Simpers and had just intended to say hello. If I may say so, I find your manner most officious and not conducive to good customer service.'

  As Simpers rounded the corner, his suspicions of who owned the voices proved correct. The Deputy Captain appeared flustered, not to say irritated. A challenge by an assertive Amelia was not a pleasant experience.

  'Madam, I am just informing you that…'

  Simpers could now see Amelia was not alone. Jonathan was close at hand and was becoming agitated at the confrontation. The detective deduced what was about to happen. He decided to hold back rather than intercede on the hapless Deputy Captain's behalf.

  'Fuck face, bugger, fuck face, don't you talk to my friend, limp cock, like that…'

  Jonathan tried to control his wayward left arm with his right hand. As he did so, the Deputy Captain tried to push between Amelia and the flustered Jonathan. This dislodged the young man's grip on his wayward arm. It traced an upward arc, which Amelia avoided with a deft duck of her head. Jonathan's accelerating left hand was now free. It smacked the hapless officer across the bridge of his nose with a sickening thud.