Murder on Board

by Mark Rice

  An ancient church organ, operated by stops, that were pulled in and out, stood to the right of the altar. A massive wooden chandelier hung from the ceiling half-way down the centre aisle.

  I knelt alongside Margaret and said a small prayer of thanks for letting me dispense with Richard Chad in such a speedy and painless manner. I’d had no time to worry or doubt my actions. My victim likewise had been given no time to contemplate his fate. I have to point out now that I’m not religious other than having a lingering fear that there just might be a great all-powerful being, so bending a knee in this holy place, might be a moment well invested.

  At the bus stop, the coach was collecting more than dispersing. It was now mid-afternoon and the tired passengers were returning to the ship. We motored back along the flat terrain and I took a few shots of the SS Azara, that being our first opportunity to see her from a distance since boarding and she gleamed in the setting sunlight.

  At dinner, the couples split up again around the table and I sat with Roger and Craig on either side of me. I must say the conversation flowed as did the stories and jokes.

  “I had to visit my local bank branch recently to collect some cash for this cruise” said Roger, “and I found just a row of machines lined up along the wall. I looked around for a human being, a bank official, but couldn’t find one. Now I may be in my eighties but I’d like to think that I’m pretty computer literate. I had a look at the terminals but I was damned if I could find the machine I needed to use. ”

  “So what did you do? asked Craig.

  “Well, I stood by the customer service desk and tinkled the bloody bell for a couple of minutes until this young chap appeared and approached me.”

  “I hope you gave him a right telling off!” I interjected.

  “I said I’d like to speak to some human being and not just these bloody machines.” Roger gestured wildly as he probably did on the day. “And he said,” continued Roger. “You are in a bank sir and not attending a counselling service. Please use the machines provided. If you want to talk to someone, I recommend you ring the Samaritans!”

  A collective gasp sounded from around the table.

  “I damn near clocked him” said Roger, the colour rising in his cheeks. He took another sip of his whiskey “I was banking with this crowd before he was born, and I told him so.”

  “Cheeky Devil,” Frank added smiling broadly.

  Craig then spoke up “Aye, they shut the last bank in our village, six years ago and this year the post office is about to close. If it goes then the supermarket and petrol station’s days are numbered. The last thing to go will be the village pub which has been open since 1754. It’s only open in the evenings now as it is. It wouldn’t take much to snuff out the last bit of life in the village. Sure the churches are three-quarters empty and there are precious few young people staying around the Highlands these days. Rural life is dying.”

  It was the truth. I could see the same erosion happening in my own village in Ireland. Farming is now a one-man job. In decades gone by, teams of labourers and farm hands would have been employed for months in the autumn during the harvesting of crops. Now one man with a tractor and the right bailing equipment can cut, gather in, wrap in black plastic, and store away thousands of bails of grass for use as fodder for animals in the winter months. Similarly, one man can dig furrows, spread seeds, water and harvest acres of vegetables. Rural life is now a very solitary existence.

  “What did you all make of Praia Da Victoria?” I asked.

  “We didn’t bother getting off the ship” answered Roger. “We’ve been around the island a dozen times before, so we stayed on board and enjoyed a few hours by the pool when the sun came out.”

  “You didn’t miss much,” added Craig. “We ate in a Spanish restaurant in the town, but a lot of the shops were closed. It might have been that they were closed for lunch but we didn’t hang around to find out. T’was a bit of a sleepy old place.”

  Throughout the meal I gently probed my companions to see if any fallout had reached their ears about the missing crewman. It appeared there wasn’t as much as a whisper that anything was amiss and I left the table marginally more assured that his absence would be a matter not communicated to passengers anytime soon.

  The Gaiety Theatre was eighty per cent full tonight for the first show from a Liverpudlian comedian, Roy Flem. He made the most of his ability to mimic regional British accents and to tell one-liners. Roy came across as very self-assured and motored through the performance never quite hitting the heights that Richie Rowe had achieved.

  After the show, we walked with Brian and Anita to the mid-ships Pelican bar and ballroom dancing where the now familiar Lorcan Bond Jazz Trio were playing ballroom dance standards. Together we watched the experienced couples float around the floor, always in a clockwise direction and always looking assured and graceful.

  Margaret and I decided on an early night and started off towards our cabin. It was 22:00 and the ship was humming along nicely.

  As we descended the graceful swirling stairs of the bejewelled atrium, the sound of a piano being played, a floor above, wafted towards us on the breeze. Another activity-packed day had gone by.

  I lay awake in bed thinking, just thinking. Richard Chad was dead, but no one seemed to care. I scanned the newsletter, listened to the ship’s announcements and watched the crew going about their duties. I felt sure by now his absence had been spotted, his bunk left un-slept in, his duties undone. The ship’s management would have furtively carried out a thorough search of fifteen decks and all storage areas before stopping and turning the ship about. I would imagine a protocol exists for that type of occurrence and in it, orders were no doubt laid down that passengers are not to be made aware of its occurrence, which suited me fine.

  I’d done a little research before leaving home and had found, that deaths at sea are rarely reported on in the national press or online websites. Not unless it’s truly sensational in form, for example, Body in a suitcase found floating in the sea, Husband kills wife and is stopped at the airport with kids about to fly home. No, I am talking about the more humdrum deaths, like the passenger whose body just gave out during the holiday, the heart that stopped beating, the brain that stopped processing, the lungs that stopped pumping. Those types of deaths have never been communicated to fellow passengers during a cruise. The cruise lines have taken the decision to keep deaths on board a secret from passengers.

  So, the SS Azara, carrying 2,012 passengers with an average age of seventy-three, would surely expect to lose several of them through natural causes over the duration of a standard cruise.

  .

  Day 6

  Sunday 8th January.

  At Sea sailing to Bermuda.

  We planned to have breakfast and skip the Bridge class in favour of the church service, but this morning didn't work out as planned. We ended up staying as Brendan Flood covered the scoring mechanism for bridge and boy is it complex.

  With my head wrecked by bridge rules and protocol, it was on up to the netted tennis court where three men, Bill, Alan and Phil awaited us.

  Margaret played the first short tennis doubles match but didn't enjoy the extra person standing by and watching so she left the court to us four men and sat nearby.

  I played rather too long and with no time to change clothes, I attended the choir practice sweaty and with my shirt sticking to my back. It was in the Atlas Lounge this time and Lorcan added two new numbers to our repertoire. A Les Miserables song Do you hear the people sing and the Beatles standard Let it be.

  “I want passion” said Lorcan, conductor baton in hand, leaning out over the podium and surveying the golden oldies choir before him. “Give me passion!”

  “Don’t we all,” muttered Arthur in reply, rather louder than he had intended. It got a few belly laughs from the pensioners around him. Passion is at a premium when you reach deeper into old age. It’s a case of saving your supply and using it sparingly. The voices unified and got
into the Les Miserables song which was a marching tune, strident and loud. Everyone knew the Beatles Let It Be. It’s an anthem of a generation, probably looking at this lot, their children’s generation!

  We changed in our cabin and walked to the pool at the stern of the shop. Margaret went ahead of me and climbed down the steps to enter the water leaving her white towel on a nearby sun lounger. She was a strong swimmer which was fortunate as the pool water she swam in began to change its form and shape dramatically. Looking back on it I can only guess that the ship’s captain altered the course of the ship for, without notice, the SS Azara now sailed forward, crashing into the waves and rocking from side to side rather than slicing smoothly through them.

  The water in the pool, once calm and placid now massed at one end before rushing to the other like a mini tsunami. It crashed into the far end sending a wall of water high and out of the pool and far across the deck. Then back it came with equal force but in the opposite direction! Another spray of water was flung far and wide across vacant sun loungers.

  Initially, Margaret, bobbing in the pool, seemed oblivious to the change of circumstance. Then she sought a safe handrail to hang onto but within seconds she found herself sucked down to the pool floor in a swirling mass of water that was picking her up and slamming her against the sides of the pool.

  Margaret managed a startled cry of, “Help!” before swallowing a mouthful of water and being pulled under again.

  I ran to the pool and threw her one end of a towel. I retained the other and slowly I pulled her to the side of the pool and then out of the water. Together, shaken and panting, we sat on deck chairs and watched the raging sea that was now being replicated in the on-deck pool.

  We returned again to the cabin and got changed for cards with Brian and Anita. The bridge games went un-eventfully and everyone had a moment when they played well. Brian and Margaret are by far the better players, but bridge empowers those with poor hands to make the good cardholders fight for their tricks. We played as long as we could and left to get ready for another formal night of dining. Margaret wore the grey dress she wore at her daughter’s wedding last summer. With sparkly grey shoes to match, she looked gorgeous.

  We posed for several of the ship’s photographers and had shots taken at the table before enjoying the best meal so far. Normally I don’t comment on the food. but the main course featured a serving of lamb shank to die for. All eight diners chose it from the menu and weren’t disappointed. The meat just fell from the bone and really you didn’t need teeth as it dissolved in your mouth. The table continued to change their seating order and the conversation was the better for it. I sat next to Rose, Roger’s wife.

  “So, Rose, how did you guys meet?” I asked as I stretched across the table for the wine decanter and refilled my glass.

  “Well, I’m sure you’d expect me to answer something like, in a bar, or at a party, or through mutual friends, but we actually met online through a singles club. No-one was more surprised than me that it worked out. My sister had been at me for a few years to get active online and find someone. You’re not getting any younger she’d say and I’d fob her off. Anyway, one night when we’d had a few glasses of wine she created a profile for me and there I was, added to this club.

  “How long ago was this?” I probed.

  “Lord! It must be twenty or more years ago,” she answered. She went on to tell me they had both been married previously, for decades, so this story taught me two things. One, never neglect your partner as you age and two, there is always the chance of love no matter how old you are.

  “So what is your story?” Rose shot back. “We know so little about you and Margaret. When did you both meet?”

  “Oh, it was much like yourselves really,” I answered. “We met late in life. I’d been living and working in London for years when Margaret was seconded into a twelve-month IT project that I was already working on. We bonded over many late nights in the office and then, after work, got to know each other over a few drinks and voila! Here we are.”

  We are served each night by two youthful and charming waiters of Goan descent. Ali, our chief waiter, and Hamoud his junior. It took me many days to realise that these guys appeared in different uniforms throughout the day—in the various restaurants and buffet bars on the ship. They always recognise me before I spot them as their different uniforms throw me. Daphne, our wine waiter, also mans the security desk at embark/disembarkation so they all work longer and harder than I initially suspected.

  After dinner, we walked down to the Gaiety Theatre where a female violin duo called Electric presented a modern twist to classical musical standards. They shared the stage with the SS Azara orchestra creating a fantastic tribute to Irish folk music and finished with a medley of James Bond theme tunes. The two young girls were warmly applauded off stage. We passed them outside where they were available to speak with any of the passengers leaving the theatre. Brian gave them our praise for the skilful delivery of the Irish songs, not easy music to play.

  We could have sampled the second show from the Harmony Twist (a classical piano and violin duo) but we preferred the Lorcan Bond Trio in the Hawks Inn and Brian and Anita joined us there.

  Day 7

  Monday 9th January.

  Three days from Bermuda.

  The clocks have gone back an hour for the third time. I have decided to drop the Russian dancers from my list. I now recognise it’s only my own issues with dancing that brought them onto the list in the first place and not some gross act of cruelty or evil on their part. Omission or failure to act perhaps, but I’m big enough to acknowledge when I’m wrong.

  10:00. Beginners Bridge Class

  The session was notable, only for Brendan’s instructions, issued at the end of class. That and the, by now, inevitable early arrival of our table’s next occupants, the intermediate class members. They, particularly the women, stood behind my back chatting loudly and drowning out Brendan’s voice.

  “Please can each table place all the cards back in the plastic trays, as I have detailed, on the board to my right?” He shouted to make himself heard.

  “Make sure the cards are in the sequence shown on the board. We will use these sets tomorrow when both the beginner’s class and the intermediate class will play an identical hand. Remember, beginners are free to attend the evening bridge classes held in this room each night and can partner up with experienced players.”

  So tomorrow the intermediate class were to inherit our table and chairs and cards, set exactly as we had received them.

  This set me thinking. The cards were held in a plastic tray with four sections, North, South, East and West. My table partners had returned all the cards, as originally dealt, and had placed them back in the plastic tray. I offered to return them to Brendan while the other three gathered their things, getting ready to leave. But I didn’t pass the cards up to Brendan. I slipped the tray into my bag and then rejoined Margaret outside Lawton’s room. I had a plan.

  Up on deck the tennis court was set up and ready to use and Margaret joined in with the lads for a couple of games before I took her place. I partnered with a new player, Glen, who was morbidly obese and very slow moving. He'd been watching the earlier games and been encouraged by some of his friends to give it a go.

  "I last played when I was fifteen years old,” he said to me.

  I'm afraid it showed. He even had trouble bending down to pick up the ball so thereafter I made sure to hand them up to him. We did well enough and he played three games in all. He was panting heavily by the end. I guessed he was approximately forty-five years old, but he was in terrible condition for a man of such a young age.

  12.15. Ships Choir

  I found Arthur in good form and discovered Geoff, the Welsh singer’s name. I wrote it down in an attempt to retain it.

  We added a new song to our repertoire today, Bette Midler’s The Rose and managed to squeeze another, "Gorgeous," out of choirmaster Lorcan before the end.

  Th
e choir numbers seemed lower than in previous days, but it was to be expected with the first sustained burst of sunshine appearing out on deck. The sun loungers had made their first appearance too.

  We ate a light snack and had a coffee before sneaking up to the tennis court and getting a good game in for about an hour while others took lunch.

  That evening we attended the theatre and enjoyed Josh Lacey, the Wisconsin born juggler, who made the very most of his talent juggling balls, cones and hoops while balancing a guitar on his chin. He rounded up several members of the audience for various tricks and he went down well with the audience.

  The Captain had been on the PA system earlier warning that we are in for a couple of stormy days and to secure everything in the cabin, such as bottles of alcohol and anything breakable.

  Within minutes on climbing into bed, Margaret was snoring.

  I walked into the bathroom with my bag and closed the door behind me, switched on the mirror light and donned a pair of disposable surgical gloves. Running the tap, a small pool of water formed in the basin. I tilted the talcum powder bottle and let fall a small quantity of white powder onto the tissue spread across the bathroom counter. Removing the cards and tray from my bag, one by one, I held the cards across their centre, pinched between my forefinger and thumb and ran their narrow edges through the water. I then dipped the card in the powder, rotating it so that each of the four sides was liberally coated by the poisonous substance. Within the enclosed bathroom the cards dried almost immediately. Therefore, I’d managed to attach a small quantity of poison to the edge of each card. Having coated the cards I marked them with a pen, a little dot in the corner and placed them back in the tray. I knew I’d need to find them again after their job was done.

  I tidied up the bathroom storing the remaining powder in my Talcum Powder bottle, within my bag. Then I flushed the tissue and gloves down the toilet and far away into the bowels of the ship. Finally, I stored the tray and cards in a plastic bag within my bag and slipped into bed beside Margaret.