'Aha, success. I have a couple of novels set in that part of the world, plus a non-fiction reference work. Which would you like?' she said.
'The reference book, I think,' replied Simpers.
'I'm impressed. After all, you're on holiday, so I'm surprised you're after such heavy reading,' she said.
'Oh, geography and history are a hobby of mine,' said Simpers, none too convincingly.
A few seconds later, the librarian had identified the book's location, retrieved it, and handed the hefty tome to the detective.
Simpers settled himself into his task. He went straight for the index and looked for pages that contained any information on Yalta, and its surroundings. The next twenty minutes were spent making a list of anything that looked like a pattern, which could be tied back to the letters and numbers Simpers had seen on the map.
The going was made all the harder because of the place names spelled out in Russian. Simpers was frustrated that although he recognised several of the letters, none of them were used in the same context as their English counterparts.
'Mr Simpers. So you managed to get out of that jail, did you? Are we to call you a criminal now?'
Simpers irritation at being disturbed was tempered by the sight of two people he now regarded as friends, something the detective wasn't accustomed to doing. Amelia's greeting raised his spirits.
'What on earth was all that about in the restaurant last night?' asked Amelia.
'I'm as much in the dark as you, Amelia. I know I didn't give that taxi driver any torn currency. Anyway, I'm pleased to say we managed to sort it out, though not before I spent an uncomfortable night on a stone slab. Not to be recommended, I tell you,' replied Simpers, working hard to keep the conversation light, without revealing anything he knew might put Amelia and Jonathan in danger. After all, he thought, the last thing he needed was for Amelia to launch into one of her amateur sleuth-type escapades again.
'Well, that's as may be, but what are you up to now. This all looks very serious,' replied Amelia as she spotted the detective's notepad on the table.
Simpers knew he had a choice. He could spin Amelia a line to deflect the woman, or show her what he was trying to decipher. He took the second option.
'Now let's see,' said Amelia, as she leaned over the atlas, 'the first thing that springs to mind is that we need to find a connection between the graffiti, and its position on the map.'
'Yes, that had occurred to me. The problem is, I can't make the connection,' replied Simpers.
'Is this any good?' said Jonathan, as he handed Simpers what looked like a pamphlet.
'It's just a port guide, Jonathan,' said the detective as he quickly scanned the document's main title. 'I'm not sure that this gets us any further – but thanks anyway.'
Unwilling to accept Simpers' dismissal, Jonathan pressed his case.
'You're not listening, Mr Simpers. While you two have been talking for England, I've been looking through a pile of guides in that cupboard over there. See, they're all laid out the same way,' said Jonathan, as he showed Amelia and Simpers several examples to reinforce his point.
'They all have a map of the port area where the ship docks. Then they have a list of things to see and do, and they all include some local phrases. You know, like, 'where is the post office', and stuff like that,' added Jonathan.
'Yes, yes. I see that,' replied Simpers, trying hard not to show his frustration with Jonathan. As far as he was concerned, it was a distraction from the task in hand.
'You're still not listening, are you? In the one for Yalta – that's the place you're looking at, isn't it?' Simpers nodded as Jonathan spoke. 'As well as all the other stuff, this one includes some stuff on the Russian alphabet. Can't you see, some of the letters are the same. It's got to mean something, hasn't it?' added Jonathan, excitedly.
'Here, let's have a look at that,' said Amelia, before continuing, 'You might just have something, Jonathan.'
The young man looked suitably pleased with himself in thinking he was directly responsible for cracking the code Simpers was struggling with.
'Do you now, Mr Simpers, young Jonathan here isn't as daft as he looks,' said Amelia as she winked at the young man. 'My husband played the Moscow State Variety Theatre, years ago. We got talking to one of the Russian acts about the language and, funnily enough, just the point Jonathan has made about some of the letters looking the same. Here, have a look at that, Jonathan.'
Amelia took the port guide from the young man and placed it next to the graffiti on the atlas.
'Is it making any sense to you, Amelia?' asked Simpers, willing the woman to get a move on.
'Well, let's see,' replied Amelia, before continuing, 'the V from the graffiti could be transcribed as L in Cyrillic – that's what the Russian alphabet is written in, you know.'
Simpers glanced at Amelia, not sure whether to thank the woman for her contribution, or be irritated at what sounded like a lecture.
'Then there's the 'n'. Now, the nearest letter in our alphabet to that is P. As for the '2', well, I've no idea. But the Cyrillic for H is N – or near enough, anyway.' Does that help? said Amelia.
Simpers took the pad from his friend, then rearranged the letters she had written down in the order they appeared on the atlas.
'So, we have, N2LP,' said Simpers.
'Sounds like a postcode to me,' said Jonathan, thinking he'd just cracked another important part of the puzzle. This time he was to be disappointed.
'It isn't any postcode I recognise,' said Simpers, 'it's double Dutch. It doesn't make sense.'
'No, it's nothing to do with Holland,' said an unfamiliar voice from the corner of the room.
The three companions turned around. The librarian got up from her chair and walked across the room to join the three of them.
'I'm sorry for interrupting you, and I hope you don't think I'm being nosy, but languages are a hobby of mine – and so are puzzles. So I just couldn't help myself,' said the woman.
Amelia and the two men stood back from the table, allowing the librarian to pore over the atlas. As she did so, she picked up the notepad Amelia and Simpers had been working on.
'Have you still got that port guide, young man?' she said.
Jonathan held the guide above his head and waved it.
'Excellent, can you read me the list of tourist attractions it contains.'
'Er, yes, he we go. The Alexander Nevsky Cathedral; Nititsky Botanical Garden; Oreanda Restaurant…' offered Jonathan.
'No. no, none of them. That's not what I'm looking for. Are there any more?' said the woman.
'Alupka Palace; Livadia Palace; Crimean…' continued Jonathan, before being interrupted.
'That's it. That's the one,' exclaimed the librarian.
'What's this got to do with the Crimea?' asked Simpers.
'Absolutely nothing at all. Don't you see, Livadia Palace, get it? L.P?' said the woman in a triumphant tone.
Simpers suddenly had a spring in his step. He'd realised the librarian had stumbled on a possible solution to the puzzle.
'Yes, yes. I get that. But that doesn't solve the first part of the puzzle. What about N2?' said Simpers, as much to himself, as the others gathered around the table.
'That's easy,' said the librarian, before continuing, 'The Livadia Palace was a summer residence of Czar Nicholas II – and the Cyrillic for N, is, H, or as near as damn it. The number 2 on the graffiti clinches it. Look let me write it down for you.'
The woman took Simpers' notepad, then relieved Amelia of the pen she'd been holding and started to write.
H = (Czar) Nicolas
2 = the second
V = Livadia
n = Palace
'Of course, I haven't a clue what it all means. But I assume it works for you, what, with your interest in geography and history – yes?' said the librarian.
Simpers looked confused for a second, before he remembered the explanation he'd given the librarian, when he asked if she had any books on the region.
>
'Oh, yes, of course. It will help greatly with my history project,' replied Simpers in the most solemn tone me could muster.
In his excitement at having cracked what he assumed was a code, a doubt still rattled around his head. He had no idea whatsoever if what was, after all, just letters and numbers that could be years old, scribbled in an atlas, had anything to do with anything. He told himself he would need all his self restraint to avoid red herrings. He knew only too well how much of a distraction his library escapade could turn out to be.
'Wasn't that great fun,' said Amelia, 'will it help you solve the case, Mr Simpers? '
'I think it was just that, Amelia. Great fun,' replied Simpers, working hard to make light of what had just taken place. 'Oh, by the way. I'm having dinner with the Commodore this evening. Can you give my apologies to the Smeetons?' added the detective.
'Now, Mr Simpers. You are one for namedropping, aren't you,' teased Amelia. 'Yes, of course I'll pass on your apologies – now, Jonathan, do you fancy a shandy?'
Jonathan needed no further encouragement to follow Amelia as she sauntered out of the library.
Simpers wandered over to the librarian and thanked the woman again for her help.
'That's quite all right, sir. It was great fun,' she said as she closed the lid of the laptop, placed it in its cloth case, and joined Simpers as he left the room.
'All that investigative work has made me thirsty, I'm off to my break now. Please do enjoy the rest of your day, sir.'
The only remaining occupant of the library was a man who had been reading his paper all the time Simpers and the others had been poring over the atlas. Now he closed his newspaper, folding it neatly into quarters, before placing it on a small table beside his chair. The man then lifted the handset of a phone next to the paper, and punched in a four number sequence.
'Time for you to prepare that little sedative for me… Be quiet… I don't care. Just do it. You wouldn't want the world to know about your little sideline in pick-me-ups, would you?'
The man replaced the handset with delicacy, sat back in his chair, and resumed reading his paper.
All That Sparkles
'It's all right for some, isn't it,' said Jonathan, 'having dinner with the Commodore and all that.'
'Wasn't having to put up with the Purser the other night bad enough for you?' replied Amelia. 'Believe me; all officers are the same, and the senior ones, worse. All they want to do is talk, talk, talk about their careers and the three stories about passengers they've told a thousand times before.'
Jonathan shrugged his shoulders and walked towards the balcony bar terrace, above the Riviera Pool, where the pair had paid a supplement to dine. The event had been advertised as 'A Turkish Dining Extravaganza'.
'This had better be worth the thirty quid I paid, Amelia. What is a Turkish Extravaganza, anyway?' asked Jonathan.
Amelia gave him one of her more dismissive looks as she confirmed to the maitre d' they had a table for three booked.
'Here, Jonathan. You take Prince Cedric while I sought the table out. He wants to put us by the engine ventilation grill. Well, he can sod off with that for an idea. I want the one overlooking the pool.'
Amelia thrust Prince Cedric under Jonathan's arm, then buttonholed the maitre d', ordering him to follow her. Wise man that he was, he obeyed.
'There, that's better, isn't it,' said Amelia as the two friends looked through the stainless steel balcony rail and down onto the pool.
'You can tell how calm the seas are tonight, can't you,' said Jonathan, 'look at the water in the pool, it isn't moving at all.'
'Still not my cup of tea,' replied Amelia. 'Folks do some strange things in swimming pool water, and I've got my complexion to think about.'
Jonathan gave Amelia a quizzical look, but decided not to push the point.
For the next ten minutes or so, the pair busied themselves eating the breadsticks they'd been given as an appetiser. They watched as around twenty other passengers took their seats, the area having been roped off to deter anyone not having paid the supplement.
'Will Mr Cedric be eating this evening, ma'am?' asked the waiter as he offered Amelia a menu.
'Please, Marcel, Prince Cedric, if you don't mind,' said Amelia as she winked mischievously at Jonathan.
'Do forgive me, ma'am. Will Prince Cedric be dining this evening?' The young man expertly devoted his attention to the ventriloquist dummy, which sat on Amelia's right.
'I'll have the roasted red pepper hummus to start, and glazed lamb chops with couscous to follow, please. Will you have the same, Prince Cedric?' said Amelia.
'I shall have the paprika lamb kebab wraps, if I may. No starter for me, thank you, I am on a diet,' replied the Prince.
Amelia nodded her head in acknowledgement.
Marcel took the order without batting an eyelid.
Jonathan smiled.
A young couple on the next table applauded.
'And for, sir?' asked the waiter.
Jonathan scanned the menu, before replying, 'I'll have the same as the lady, thank you.'
As the waiter moved to a nearby table, Jonathan bent forwards to catch Amelia's ear.
'What is couscous, anyway?' asked the young man.
'Basically, it's semolina. Then…'
'Semolina… I hate semolina. You should've seen the muck they served us at school, yuck!'
'Well, you've ordered it now, so you just have to eat it. Anyway, it'll have a sauce covering it, so just pretend it's rice,' said Amelia sternly.
'But it's not rice, is it,' replied Jonathan, in an overacted, prepubescent tone.
'Oh do stop going on, Jonathan. Anyway, what do you think to this afternoon's escapade in the library with Mr Simpers? Fascinating, wasn't it?' said Amelia, determined to move the conversation on from couscous.
'I don't think I've ever seen Mr Simpers so excited,' replied Jonathan. 'To be honest, that seemed a bit odd – for a policeman, anyway.'
Amelia's ploy to take Jonathan's attention off the couscous worked. As they ate their starter and main course, the young man remained gripped by the events of the afternoon, particularly since he judged himself to have a played a major role in solving the conundrum.
'So, why do you think Mr Simpers was so interested in those letters and numbers? And then there's the Livadia Palace,' asked Jonathan, as he finished the last of his couscous with relish.
As Amelia listened to her young companion, she noticed a small man of around fifty, watching them from a table some eight feet away. She acknowledged the man with a nod of her head, and a conservative smile. He responded similarly. Amelia assumed the gentleman was somebody she may have come across socially as she moved around the ship, though she couldn't place his face. Amelia took particular notice of his well cared-for black brogues shoes. She liked a man who looked after his footwear.
'Well, what do you think?' asked Jonathan.
'What do I think about what?' replied Amelia, now agitated with her companion.
'The Livadia Palace. Why do you think Mr Simpers was so interested in it? You're not listening to me, are you?' asserted Jonathan.
'Don't be daft. Of course I was listening to you. I said you would like your couscous, didn't I.'
'Couscous? What's that got to do with the Livadia Palace?'
'It hasn't got anything to do with anything,' replied Amelia, becoming more irritated by the second. 'Anyway, what are you having for dessert? It's Zerdi, for me. I had it once at a Turkish wedding I went to, you know.'
'I give up. Is it something to do with your age?' replied Jonathan, as he downed the last of his table wine, then turned to watch the Entertainment Team preparing for a sixties disco around the pool below them.
***
'Do hurry up, Jonathan. We'll be late for the show.'
'Who did you say this bloke was, anyway?' said Jonathan, as he hurried to keep pace with Amelia as she disappeared through the open entrance doors of the theatre.
'I've told
you, it's Mike Templeton. He was always on TV during the 1980s. He was a really big star, you know.'
'I wouldn't know, Amelia. I wasn't even a twinkle in my father's eye,' said Jonathan.
'I thought you said you didn't know who your father was?'
'I didn't,' responded the young man, 'but whoever it was, he must have had a twinkle somewhere at the time, sort of thing.'
'I really do wonder what goes on inside that head of yours some time, Jonathan. Now, come on, let's squeeze in here, there's two seats in the middle of the row,' said Amelia. She pushed Jonathan in front of her, by way of encouraging those already seated, to stand up and let them pass.
'So, this comedian bloke. If he was so famous, what's he doing on a cruise ship, then?' asked Jonathan.
'Because I said he WAS a big star back then. I suppose when the work dries up you still need to earn a crust. At least he and his wife will get a free cruise out of it, and he gets to stand on stage telling old jokes into the bargain.'
Just then, Amelia felt the back of her chair being hit hard. She turned to see three or four passengers making their way along the row behind her to their seats. As she did so, she saw the man who had exchanged smiles with her over dinner. He was sat behind, and just the right of her. Once more, the man acknowledged her. What a coincidence, she thought.
As the lights in the auditorium dimmed, the hubbub from the audience subsided until just the odd cough remained. The last of the stewards delivering drinks cleared from Amelia's line of sight, just as the sound system boomed into life:
'And now, as seen on the London Palladium, and his hit TV show; Are You All Right, Missus… here he is… It's Mike Templeton.'
'I thought you said he was famous thirty odd years ago. What's this about the Palladium?' whispered Jonathan to his friend.
'The announcer didn't say when he played the Palladium, did he…' replied Amelia, touching her nose with a finger in a conspiratorial gesture.
As the comedian's act unfolded, he made constant reference to his 'old bones' and 'dodgy back'. He blamed the latter on his wife's constant demand for lovemaking.
'People of his age don't do it, do they?' asked Jonathan, as he leant towards Amelia's left ear, so she could hear him.
Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates Page 22