Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates

by Phil Kingsman

  The man instinctively looked to Simpers to protect him from the Commodore's wrath.

  'I'm telling you the truth. What have I got to lose now? I'm finished and I don't see why he should get away with it.'

  'Go on,' said Simpers. The Commodore had the good sense to keep his counsel.

  'Three years ago, the Purser told a member of the team I was responsible for, to clean out the compactor. I knew it was dangerous and it was against company procedure. We were in port and it had to be fixed. The maintenance crew they were flying out to mend the machine had been delayed.'

  'Then why did you climb into the compactor?' asked the Commodore, his voice now calm and measured.

  'Because it was against company rules for anyone to have gone in. I wasn't prepared to see one of my staff either injured, or disciplined. I told the Purser and he wouldn't listen. He said it had to be fixed before we sailed, and that if I wasn't prepared to send one of my staff, then I had to do it. What could I do? If I'd disobeyed him, he would have sacked me, put me ashore and flown me home. With no money, job reference, my family would have starved. What would you have done?'

  Simpers and the Commodore had no response.

  'When I recovered from having my leg amputated, I contacted the agent to see if there was any sort of a job for me. To my surprise, the Purser contacted me and arranged to fly me to pick up the ship. When I boarded, he told me about his racket in taking money from crew members for good job positions. He knew I could do nothing and wouldn't tell anybody. He said if I helped him, he'd give me a cut of the money and find me a good job onboard. Three years later and I'm still cleaning out blocked sewage pipes in the bottom of the ship.'

  'How did you find out about my presence on the ship and what I was here for?' said Simpers.

  'The Purser told me. He said the Commodore had briefed him and the other senior officers why you were onboard. He was worried that once you started to poke your nose into things, you might stumble across his racket.'

  ***

  'Sir, the security officer is here to see you,' said Malin.

  'Thank you for joining me, Mr Farringdon. Please detain this man at Detective Inspector Simpers' pleasure,' ordered the Commodore.

  'Yes, sir,' said Farringdon.

  'Also, detain the Purser, pending his removal at Port Said. I will join you both shortly,' added the Commodore.

  A Tip Too Far

  'It's very kind of you to take the blaggard to Cairo Airport. Our people spoke to Westbay police overnight. There should be two officers waiting for you and the Purser at the terminal check-in. If you would be so kind as to hand your man over to them, they will take responsibility for getting him back to the UK,' said the Commodore, his voice filled with the suppressed rage of a man betrayed.

  Simpers gestured for the Purser to turn around. With practiced skill, he discreetly placed his prisoner's wrists into handcuffs.

  'I suppose I should feel a small measure of sympathy for the man. After all, his career is over, and he'll have some explaining to do to that wife of his,' said the Commodore.

  'Commodore, this man is responsible for almost killing my cabin steward a few days ago. I have absolutely no doubt that, if pushed, he is quite capable of ordering murder if it suits his ends,' replied Simpers, his voice devoid of any emotion.

  The three men stood on the quayside as the winter sun shone down from a cloudless sky. As they waited for a private taxi that would take Simpers and his charge to Cairo, the detective noticed a flurry of activity a hundred yards to his right. As in other ports that they'd visited, a neat line of coaches awaited the passengers. Just then, a familiar voice rang out.

  'Jonathan and I are off to the pyramids. Would you and… isn't that the Purser? …didn't recognise him out of uniform. Anyway, you're both welcome to join us in our taxi?' said Amelia.

  The Commodore couldn't help but smile, and turned slightly to avoid embarrassing Simpers.

  'That's very kind of you, Amelia, but we've already arranged transport. Anyway, I'll be spending the night in Cairo, so I'll see you back on board at some point tomorrow,' replied Simpers.

  'What a coincidence. Jonathan and I are also staying in Cairo overnight. Well, enjoy your day, and I do hope the Purser and you manage to take in the sights,' added Amelia.

  Simpers looked at the prisoner standing nonchalantly at his side, the man's hands secured behind his back. His gaze was focussed on the magnificent outline of the liner. Perhaps, Simpers thought, the fellow was lamenting what could have been if he'd made a different life choice.

  'Good, here's your transport,' said the Commodore, before continuing. 'Now, I presume we've furnished you with local currency and his travel documents. Make sure you have your passport and customs dispensation to hand so you can get out of the dock gates, said the Commodore, still unable to bring himself to look at the Purser.'

  Simpers felt like a child waiting as his father ran through a checklist, before allowing him to leave the house.

  As the Commodore finished speaking, Simpers' eyes widened as the truth of his transport revealed itself.

  'Limousine for you, sir. Very best quality. Very reliable,' said an elderly man of around eight stones as he closed the driver's door with a clatter, and approached Simpers. The detective noticed the old man's head had a distinct crick to the left, which, he assumed, was a result of some industrial injury. Out of the passenger door sprang a much younger man, whose purpose was unknown to the detective.

  The object of the driver's lyrical description was a battered 1963 Rover 95. Simpers knew the model intimately, since it had been his father's favourite car. He also remembered pushing the heavy beast on several occasions as a young teenager, during what his father always described as their 'little adventures'.

  'Well, my man. I'll leave you to it. Do have a safe trip. And don't worry, the security measures you want kept in place for the other matter are being maintained,' said the Commodore as he waved a hand at Simpers and walked back to the ship at a brisk pace. The Purser made no attempt to engage the Commodore.

  Simpers looked at the car and couldn't decide if the Commodore's comments were sincere, or if he had a good line in parody.

  'Come, come,' said the wiry driver, as he gestured Simpers forwards to the open rear door. The opposite door was being held ajar by the younger man. Simpers gently took hold of his prisoner's handcuffs and applied pressure to the small of the Purser's back. He obeyed Simpers' signal to begin walking. The Purser winced from catching his manacled knuckles on an exposed metal rod at the junction between the seat and seat back. Satisfied the man had come to no lasting harm, Simpers made his way to the other side of the car and sat on an exhausted section of upholstery. He took particular care to watch out for the metal rod that had ensnared his prisoner.

  As the young stranger claimed the front passenger seat, the old man shut the rear doors with a final upward flick so that the catch engaged properly. Simpers immediately became aware of the heat building in the closed space of the ancient contraption. He remembered back to his father's 'adventure days' how the engine heat permeated the inside of the car. It may have been a December day in Port Said, but the sun streaming through the dusty windows still managed to do its work.

  The driver settled in to his position with a bounce, which Simpers put down to the fifty-year-old seat springs. Looking in the rear-view mirror, the old man noticed Simpers running a finger around the neck of his collar in an effort to gain some relief from the heat.

  'Air-conditioned limousine,' said the man brightly, as he pointed with obvious pride to a point just above his right ear on the car's roof upholstery.

  Puzzled, Simpers followed the man's finger until his eyes rested on a small plastic fan about two inches in diameter. A second later, the detective heard a distinctive 'click' of a switch being thrown, at which point the fan started to rotate, lazily at first, before gathering pace and moving the dust of the car's interior through the air with mild efficiency.

  'Air-condit
ioning,' repeated the old man, his face beaming at a less than impressed Simpers.

  'Wonderful,' replied the detective, trying his best to sound enthusiastic. 'How long will it take us to get to Cairo?'

  'Is… er… two hundred kilometres… three hours. Very reliable limousine,' responded the old man as he turned the ignition key. The engine coughed into life.

  Resigned to his fate, Simpers sat back, before giving the Purser a once over. The man had his eyes closed. Much to the detective's surprise, he looked remarkably calm. It was a calmness that worried Simpers.

  Minutes later the car spluttered its way through the port’s security code on and out onto the streets of the city. Simpers expected them to be on the desert road to Cairo after fifteen minutes or so. Instead they were disappearing into a maze of narrowing side streets. The detective began to take note of the twists and turns the driver was making. The Purser's eyes remained shut but his look of serenity continued to unsettle Simpers. His senses told him something was wrong.

  The young man in the front passenger seat began speaking to the driver in a rapid, excited tone. Simpers knew he had to be careful. It was all too easy to get the wrong end of the stick, and in particular, misunderstand cultural differences.

  As Simpers' concern reached a crescendo and he was about to confront the driver, the car suddenly stopped.

  Is this some form of kidnap attempt?

  Was someone about to spring the Purser free?

  The detective's mind raced. As he glanced at the Purser he realised the man was making no attempt to move. In fact he was relieved to hear the man quietly snoring. He was comatose.

  Simpers glanced widely from side to side, surveying the busy streets for any sign of danger. He realised the driver and young man were staring at him with a look of bemusement.

  'You okay?' said the old man, 'air-conditioning good for you?'

  Simpers felt foolish and began to relax. Why had he got it into his head that they were about to be attacked. He felt ashamed at paying too much attention to TV news reports over the years.

  'Tip, for me,' said the young man.

  Simpers was confused. What was the man talking about?

  'Tip, for me, sir. For my children… I go now.'

  Simpers looked at the young man, then moved his attention to the driver, who was smiling and nodding his head slightly, as if willing the detective to understand the young man's words. It dawned on him that the young man expected payment for whatever part he'd played in furnishing the 'limousine' and its driver. Struggling to pull his wallet from his rear trouser pocket, he opened the leather enclosure and separated the notes between finger and thumb to check their denomination.

  He pulled a note with the figure five in one corner and handed it to the young man. The driver's companion looked at the note, then at Simpers. The detective, thinking that was quite enough for a tip, looked at the older man. The driver lifted both hands, clenching them closed, then open, twice, indicating twenty would be a more reasonable amount. As the detective indicated to the old man that he understood, the driver smiled and looked back at the front passenger. Simpers concluded this wasn't the place to argue, so took the balance of the tip from his wallet and handed it to the young man. Satisfied, he opened the car door and disappeared into the throng. The driver got out of the car, walked to the passenger side and lifted the door back into its closed position. Perhaps, Simpers thought, only the old man had the skill to secure the taxi's doors.

  For the next three hours, the car coughed its way down the Al Ismailia desert road towards Cairo. Apart from an occasional cluster of spartan buildings, nothing existed beyond the edge of the tarmac, except desert.

  As Simpers dozed and tried to stay in the flow of churning warm air from the inadequate fan, he was startled by the old man sounding his horn as he tried to overtake a huge lorry in front of the car.

  He watched with growing alarm as a driver thrust his head out of the side window, pulling the car in and out of the lane as he tried to overtake. At last, the old man made his move. He swung the car wildly to the left as he made his manoeuvre. In an effort to clear an array of flailing straps attached to the lorry, the old man swung the car still further to the right until the passenger side wheels threw up a cloud of dust as they momentarily left the tarmac.

  Instinctively, Simpers grabbed the back of the seat in front of him, waiting for the driver to lose control altogether. Within seconds the car had returned to its correct lane. The driver turned to Simpers sporting a beaming smile.

  'Professional driver.'

  They were the only words the man had uttered since leaving Port Said. Simpers, unimpressed, at least now knew why the old man's neck had a crick to the left. He spent his days hanging out the car's window in a perpetual effort to overtake whatever vehicle happened to be in front of him.

  By mid-afternoon the car was approaching the outskirts of Cairo. The bleakness of the desert landscape gave way to, at first, sporadic buildings, then disorganised clusters of houses and commercial compounds, before entering the outskirts of the city proper. Suddenly, the car was surrounded by thousands of others as it joined the melee to reach its destination.

  As Simpers roused his prisoner from his stupor his attention was drawn to the driver, who had turned in his seat and was smiling at the detective.

  'Tip for driver,' said the old man, his right hand stretched out towards Simpers, instead of doing its job on the steering wheel.

  Simpers was filled with a sense of déjà vu, and quickly concluded there was no point remonstrating with his erstwhile chauffeur. The man's smile broadened still further as the detective got out his wallet, making the calculation that the driver would probably expect around twice the amount that had been handed over to his young companion in Port Said.

  The old man's eyes widened as Simpers handed over the cash. The detective was relieved that for the first time in around ten seconds, the driver was looking in the direction that the car was travelling.

  ***

  'Thank you, Simpers. We'll take your man from here. Rest assured he'll be waiting for you when you get back to the UK,' said one of two plainclothes officers charged with returning the Purser to Westbay, and into custody.

  'Thank you, Detective Sergeant,' replied Simpers, 'I don't envy you getting him through this place.'

  The Purser stood passively as the three detectives surveyed the chaos around them. Simpers couldn't stand airports at the best of times. The noise and sheer volume of travellers scuttling around the terminal did nothing to alter his opinion.

  Thirty minutes later, Simpers was beginning to regret his decision to wait in the terminal until the three men had cleared security. They were only now reaching the head of a line that had snaked its way to the check-in desk. It was then that all hell let loose. There appeared to be no evidence of queuing etiquette. Instead, half a dozen people were spread along the check-in desk, each of them shouting at a uniformed officer. As far as Simpers could tell from his position, the man had given up on any attempt at keeping order, and instead had his head in his hands wishing, suspected Simpers, that he was anywhere but in that place at that moment.

  At last, the two detectives and their charge disappeared and Simpers had an overwhelming urge to breathe in fresh air. As he exited the terminal building, he stood for a moment to take in the warmth of the early afternoon sun. He reckoned it must have been around 19° or 20° which, he thought, was decidedly better than the wet snow he'd left behind in Westbay.

  'Limousine for you, sir,' said a familiar voice.

  Simpers turned to see the old man standing at the curb-side, holding one of the old Rover's passenger doors wide open. Simpers concluded that had the old man let go of the thing, it would have fallen off. The detective considered his options. He wanted to take a quick look around the city centre before checking into his hotel. Trouble was, the centre of Cairo was around 20km from where he now stood. Did he take up the offer from his erstwhile professional driver? Or did he hail
a taxi, whose driver might posses even more eccentric driving habits than the old man.

  Decision made.

  'Is your air-conditioning still working?' asked Simpers with a smile.

  'Working very well. Just for you,' replied the old man with an even broader grin.

  Simpers hadn't bargained how long it would take to cover the 20km. By the time the car came to a standstill in the metal mayhem of the traffic, the detective thought his kidneys would explode if he failed to find relief imminently. After several failed attempts, and some distinctly odd looks from his driver, he finally made the old man understand what he wanted. A few minutes later the car came to a spluttering halt. The old man pointed to a small, square, dishevelled brick building in the middle of a paved concourse. Unwilling to waste time negotiating the taxi fare, he threw several notes at the driver, who, seeing the denominations of the money wafting towards him, appeared extremely pleased with himself.

  Unseeing, Simpers entered the public lavatory to be confronted by a hot, airless space around ten square feet. Three walls were lined with urinals that had seen better days. The remaining wall cradled several wash hand basins that had also seen happier times. Simpers was oblivious to this detail as he headed for the one space available. His relief was exquisite as he exhaled with a deep, throaty groan, interrupted by an occasional wince as his kidneys protested at having been worked so hard.

  As the detective emerged from his semi-unconscious state of momentary bliss, he realised that, amongst the throng of men in the tiny space, he was the only one wearing a suit. All others wore the Galabeya, a long shirt type covering traditionally worn by men in the region.

  As he approached one of the wash hand basins, he noticed a young boy handing out tiny pieces of soap to the men with one hand, and an equally small crushed ball of tissue paper with his other hand. After use, the men handed back the soap square and gave the boy some loose change in thanks for his service. It was only then that it dawned on the detective that he didn't have any coins.