Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates

by Phil Kingsman

  Simpers looked up to the davits to identify a number on each of the tenders that he could see: 18, 19, 20. He realised he needed to move towards the rear of the ship to locate Tender number 22. It was now 10.00pm.

  As he made his way through the throng, he saw the ship's crew trying desperately to clear the deck and get the passengers back to the muster stations. Simper noted how professional the crew were, despite the young age of many. He saw no sense of panic, or bewilderment on any of the faces. Instead they tried to listen to the concerns of passengers, many of whom were shouting incoherently. Other crew had their ears glued to their radios seeking clarification or awaiting further instructions.

  As he got nearer to the tender he was seeking, he caught sight of the Deputy Captain. He was stationed immediately next to Tender 21.

  In seconds, Simpers was on him. He launched himself through the mass of passengers and pushed the officer backwards and against the cold steel of the ship. The Deputy Captain looked at Simpers with horror. They struggled to make themselves heard over the shouting and screaming of the frightened passengers.

  'What in God's name are you doing, Simpers. Are you mad? Can't you see what's going on here?' screamed the officer, his face purple with rage just inches from the detective's.

  'It's no use, Cross, I know this, and the diamonds, are down to you. Now, before we do anything else, you going to help me get this alarm turned off?' replied Simpers.

  Simpers pressed the Deputy Captain harder against the wall as the officer tried to resist.

  'If you don't let me go, I'll have you arrested by the ship's security. You’re placing the passengers and my crew at risk by keeping me from my responsibilities. I tell you again, I haven't a clue what you're talking about.'

  'There's the emergency signal for a start,' spat Simpers.

  'That signal has been triggered from somewhere other than the Bridge. We don't know how they’ve done it and we’re trying to trace it. But it didn't come from the Bridge. Neither I nor any of my staff authorised this signal. Now let me go.'

  The Deputy Captain tried to place his two-way radio to his ear and summon help. Simpers, sensing danger, knocked the radio out of his hand. It felt to the floor and disappeared amongst the throng of people moving up and down the crowded deck.

  'You were there when I was nearly tipped overboard. You were there when somebody tried to cut me in two with the bulkhead door. In fact, you seemed to be everywhere I was. And I saw you with the jeweller in Gibraltar.'

  As Simpers screamed at the Deputy Captain, he noticed the officer had suddenly stopped struggling. Instead, Cross was looking past the detective. A mixture of confusion and surprise spread across his face. It was enough to make Simpers loose in his grasp slightly, so that he could turn to see the source of the Deputy Captain's fixation.

  To his own surprise, then horror, he saw someone he recognised but couldn't recall, standing on the running board of Tender 22 as the boat began its descent into the waiting sea. The man was looking directly back at Simpers and his prisoner. The man smiled widely and began to wave. Within a few seconds the man was out of view as the tender continued its descent.

  'Mullock,' shouted the detective, more in anger at his own incompetence than with any suspicions he had held of the Deputy Captain.

  'It's the ship’s photographer. It's him. He stole the diamonds,' spat an exasperated Simpers.

  He turned his attention back to the Deputy Captain and released the man. He was ashamed that he’d got things so wrong. There was no excuse. He felt a sense of deep failure, yet at the same time, a burning anger to rectify things.

  'Look,' shouted the Deputy Captain to make himself heard above the hordes of passengers that continued to mull around. 'There’s no time to discuss this now. I've got to get back to the Bridge to help the Commodore take back control. You need to stop that fellow.' The Deputy Captain nodded in the direction of the descending tender. 'I’ll get as much help to you as I can,' he added.

  Simpers pushed his way roughly through the throng as he travelled the short distance across the promenade deck. As soon as he reached the deck railings and started to scramble on the handrail, he looked down to see the tender about fifteen feet below him. Simpers knew that he had to jump. But for the first time in days, the sight of the sea foaming against the liner's hull filled him with panic. As he hesitated, he focussed on the photographer who was now looking up at him and waving mockingly. He then turned his head back towards the deck. At that moment he saw a woman he recognised, crashing through a crowd of passengers and heading straight for him. She had been the one he'd seen selecting photographs as he hid in the studio. As he watched, helpless, she was on him, her face contorted with rage. She launched herself at the detective. As she came within striking distance, the detective lashed out with a clenched fist and floored her with one punch. None of the panicking passengers paid the slightest bit of attention. Instead they were tearing at him and pleading for the detective to help them clamber aboard the tender. As he pulled back from a passenger who had grabbed his arm, he fell backwards into the darkness.

  Seconds later he hit the running board of the tender with a sickening thud. In a state of semi-unconsciousness, he tried to roll to safety towards the tender's superstructure. To his horror, he realised he was moving towards the edge of the vessel, which had just reached the water. As he tried desperately to hold on, one of his legs folded over the side of the tiny boat as it crashed against the side of the huge liner, adopting a sickening rhythm. His shoe first touched the freezing water as the craft descended in the swell, then his foot slipped beneath the waterline. The coldness of brine on his bare flesh stung Simpers back to consciousness. He managed to roll back towards the superstructure and get to his knees. As his senses returned, he could see the photographer release the last of the ropes that had enabled the boat's decent.

  As Simpers got to his feet, the photographer raced to the tender's controls and brought its engine to life with a roar. He jammed the thrusters to full power and turned the steering wheel, causing the craft to swing violently away from the cruise liner, and roared angrily into the night. Half a mile ahead, the detective could make out the silhouette of a sinuous bridge that sat high over the water, its flimsy structure picked from the night sky by a thousand lights that dotted its frame.

  As the tiny vessel gathered speed, it bounced and swayed violently as it rode the breaking surface of the Bosporus Strait. Simpers felt the nausea building as he looked at the angry water, a familiar sickly warm feeling beginning to take a strangle hold over him. It took all his concentration to maintain his balance, while at the same time make his way to the jeering photographer.

  As the detective clambered over the craft's fibreglass superstructure; its driver rotated the steering wheel violently to the left, causing Simpers to fall back towards the edge of the tender and the menacing sea beyond. The detective pushed his luck by grabbing for a protruding handle which operated the sliding door to the tender's interior. It worked, and saved Simpers from toppling overboard.

  For the first time, Simpers saw the sneering smile fade from the villain. The man realised that Simpers would not be dissuaded from his quarry. The man checked their direction, pushed the thrusters to demand still more speed, and tied off the steering wheel. Now he could concentrate on finishing off Simpers.

  He leapt from the controls and bore down on the still-unsteady detective. Then he was on Simpers. The two men fought like tigers as each sought to dominate the other. One was intent on restraint and arrest, the other on murder.

  As the craft crossed the backwash of a ferry that had intersected the Strait minutes earlier, the tiny craft convulsed as it rode the watery tumult. Simpers fell backwards under the heavy weight of his assailant. Blow after blow rained down on the policeman. Flat on his back, Simpers found it impossible to fight back. He felt his strength failing as his tormentor's fists slammed mercilessly into him. He ceased to feel the pain as the pair moved ever closer to the edge of the
craft; the narrow running board on which Simpers was laying prostrate, offered little protection from the sea. His head now lay over the edge of the craft and was less than four feet from the water's surface. The detective glanced the foaming water as it rushed by, his face burning with pain from the pummelling he was taking. Panic set in as he thought of an earlier time. Memories coursed through his head, taking precedence over the pain. He drew enough strength to turn back to his attacker, who was now standing astride him.

  'It's you - Jenson – you…' croaked Simpers.

  'It took you long enough,' replied his tormentor. 'I should have finished you off last time. I should have drowned you then – I won't make the same mistake this time.'

  Rage erupted through every vein of the detective's body. Adrenalin pumping, his strength returned as he kicked Jenson between the legs. The villain reeled in pain and fell backwards just enough to release Simpers from his hold.

  'You had no way of knowing you hadn't drowned me – you left me for dead in that river you… you, Mullock,' screamed Simpers.

  'Still can't bring yourself to swear, eh, Simpers – you sad fucker,' sneered Jenson. 'Heard your wife walked out on you after that… also heard you were a bit of a bastard to her. Did I give you a bit of that post traumatic stress bollocks, then?' The man gave a belly laugh as he spoke.

  Simpers' blood was up. He swung wildly, trying to land a blow on the man as both continued to be tossed around in the pitching craft.

  Jennings pulled away just enough to scramble into the open-topped interior of the tender. He caught sight of a long pole used by the crew to push the vessel from its moorings. The man grabbed the pole and swung it widely in the detective's direction.

  As Simpers dodged the flailing object, Jenson started to clamber back onto the craft's running board.

  Jenson hesitated, Simpers waited for the renewed onslaught. A voice pierced the cold night air. It seemed to come from nowhere – and everywhere. Jenson swivelled his head, desperately trying to locate the stranger. The last thing he needed was any witnesses to what he was about to do. The villain focussed on the front of the tender, and away from Simpers.

  Just then a figure scrabbled to his feet from the interior of the vessel. It was Jonathan. A split second behind him fumbled Amelia.

  The young man was in a high state of agitation. He seemed disorientated, yet strangely uninhibited. Simpers had seen these traits many times before.

  Jonathan was high on drugs.

  Jenson panicked. He'd forgotten he'd given orders for the two friends to be concealed in a tender. Why did the stupid frig have to choose this one, he thought.

  Jenson turned his attention to Jonathan, who was nearer to him, and therefore, more of a threat, than Simpers.

  The young man's agitation grew as Jenson started to swear at him. And when the villain called Amelia a 'fat cow', Jonathan exploded.

  'Twat face, little dick…' and so the expletives rolled.

  The young man tried to stop himself speaking the words by pushing a fisted hand into his mouth.

  The two men were less than two feet apart as they struggled to maintain their balance. Jenson had the advantage of holding onto the long pole, which he had jammed into the craft's interior.

  As Jonathan's tics escalated, Jenson began to laugh. He mocked the youth remorselessly and began to mimic the young man's verbal tick.

  And then the voice that had pierced the night air a minute or so earlier once again announced its presence.

  As before, Jenson turned his head to the front of the craft in an attempt to locate its source. As he did so, Jonathan let fly with his right arm, despite his best efforts to restrain its upward path.

  As Jenson turned his face back to the young man, he caught the full force of Jonathan's flailing arm. The blow knocked him off balance and into the foaming water.

  Within seconds he was twenty feet behind the vessel as it continued to scream towards the bridge at full speed.

  Within a split second, Simpers took in the danger of the situation, made sure his two friends were safely inside the craft, and reached the steering column.

  As Amelia and Jonathan sat, dazed, on a wooden bench at the back of the craft, Simpers untied the steering column, reduced speed and turned the craft to rescue Jenson.

  The man flailed in the foaming water, its coldness rapidly taking its toll on the villain. His arms stretched upwards and pale face standing out against the blackness, Simpers realised he was about to drown.

  Stopping the craft a few feet away from Jenson to avoid hitting him, Simpers stood on the edge of the craft. Jenson was in no state to cooperate with the detective's plea for him to grab the buoyancy aid he had thrown beside the man.

  There was only one thing for it. Simpers would have to jump in and drag the man out.

  As he braced himself on the running board he couldn't take his eyes of the water as it rose and fell before him. A familiar hot sensation spread upwards from his neck. He began to panic. His fear of water and the movement of the tender had combined to freeze Simpers to the spot.

  As he stood rigid, he moved his gaze to Jenson, who was now almost unconscious.

  Why should he save the man's life, he thought.

  Why should he allow him to live? After all, Jenson had all but ruined Simpers' life.

  'Save him,' said a voice from behind.

  It was enough to snap Simpers out of his self-pity. Simpers looked around to see Amelia standing just inside the threshold of the craft. She stared unseeing, but kept repeating the words. The detective could just make out Jonathan stirring from his seated position to join Amelia.

  Her monologue was enough to distract Simpers' subconscious long enough for him to jump from the vessel.

  Jenson offered no resistance as the detective dragged him back to the side of the tender. Both men were exhausted. Simpers shouted at his two friends to help lift the villain from the water. After several attempts, and more than one slap across the face from Simpers, Jenson roused himself just enough to cooperate with their efforts to save his life.

  Once back on board, Simpers secured his prisoner, who continued to focus his attention on the bridge, which was now less than 500 yards in front of them. Suddenly, a cacophony of sound surrounded their craft. Seconds later, four semi-rigid craft screamed past their position, blue lights flashing. An assertive voice exploded into the night air ordering a boat ahead of them to hold its position. Jenson strained his head to make out what was going on.

  In the distance, Simpers could see that the object of the police hailing had ignored the assertive man's order, and was speeding off into the distance.

  A second order screamed over a loudhailer:

  'Stop or we open fire.'

  Simpers watch with morbid fascination.

  Seconds later the rat-a-tat of sub-machine gun fire rang out. Almost immediately, the night sky lit up as the sound of a huge explosion shattered the relative quiet as the boat splintered into a thousand pieces.

  Simpers looked at Jenson. The man sneered no more.

  The forlorn figure noticed Simpers fumbling for his pocket.

  'Bollocks, don't tell me you still keep that stupid pebble they found stuck in your fist when they fished you out, do you?'

  Simpers was filled with panic for the split second it took him to pat his trouser pocket, then he relaxed. He smiled contently.

  'Oh, you heard about that, did you?' he replied with some pleasure. 'As a matter of fact, no, I don't. Funnily enough, it seems I don't need the thing after all.'

  Jenson looked confused as he watched the detective retrieve a small object from his trouser pocked and hold it up to the light.

  'You didn't think I would leave this in my cabin safe for one of your friends to find, did you?'

  Jenson fumed with hatred, and frustration. Simpers was holding the most valuable of the diamonds the man had been sent to steal.

  'If you hadn't sent me the paste copy and your little note, I wouldn't have thought twice
about leaving the real thing where it was. So, you see, you did me a favour, really.'

  Simpers could not hide his sense of satisfaction.

  Bottoms Up

  'I wanted to invite you all here, to thank you for your contribution to a successful outcome of yesterday's extraordinary events.'

  As the Commodore spoke, seven relaxed figures stood in a semi-circle in front of the officer, sipping champagne from elegant lead crystal flutes. All except one. Simpers, instead, cradled a pint of his favourite Saddleback beer.

  'It seems fitting that we should gather on the quarterdeck, surveying the ship, its passengers and crew. It was these that you have all played such an important part in saving us from harm,' he added.

  The Sir Francis Drake had travelled five hundred nautical miles West in the twenty-four hours since leaving Istanbul. Now in the relative warmth of the Mediterranean, the figures took in the last of a lazy sun as it gifted each of them a parting shard of healing warmth, before dipping below the horizon.

  Although a celebration, it was not one of triumphalism. For certain, each of the Commodore's guests had a personal reason for being pleased with themselves. In the case of Simpers, he had done his duty – and overcome his fear of water. For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable in his own skin. The Deputy Captain had a different take on events. He'd been vindicated from suspicion, leaving his ambition to secure a captaincy intact.

  As for the rest; Amelia, Jonathan, Malin, Joki and Pippa. In the end, they were just glad to be alive.

  'The thing is, Mr Simpers, neither Jonathan nor I can remember a damn thing about yesterday – in fact, after dinner the night before last, well, it's all a blank,' said Amelia.

  'I'm afraid that would be the Rohypnol, Amelia,' replied Simpers. 'From what the doctor told me after examining you both, you were drugged – more than once.'

  'But how the hell did we get into that stupid tender?' asked Jonathan.

  The detective, joined by Cross and the Commodore, broke into a collective, knowing smile.