Murder on Board

by Mark Rice

  Finally, we set about returning to the ship and walked along the concrete promenade which led almost to the ship itself. Local police have been invisible to us today, yet there is a feeling of being safe about the town. Even the motorists driving huge shiny cars and chrome covered trucks move about cautiously. Lots of polite and courteous behaviour can be observed among strangers.

  But there was one exception to the rule. A tattooed, lean punkish white woman with anger in her eyes cut through the crowd and her eyes lit upon my T-shirt, a white cotton garment carrying a water coloured sketch of green leafed swirling palm trees that stood proud on a small desert island.

  "Fuck your T-shirt," she spat as she swept past me and in that same moment, she grabbed Margaret’s wicker bag, wrenching it from her shoulder.

  Margaret struggled to retain the strap of the bag, but the girl was too strong and was moving away at speed. She dragged Margaret off her feet and along the pavement until Margaret let go of the strap. Once released, the bag and the girl vanished, lost in the swirling crowd, in moments. I stood frozen. My feet were glued to the pavement. I’d been taken completely by surprise.

  Two tourists stepped forward and helped Margaret to her feet. She appeared dazed and with a cut knee but otherwise OK.

  Maybe the girl was on drugs or mentally ill. I'd heard her outbursts of anger earlier in the day, but, in the bustle of a crowded street, I'd not got a glimpse of her. Something snapped within me and I set off after her leaving a shaken and surprised Margaret applying a paper tissue to her bleeding knee.

  “I’ll be back in a minute” I shouted behind me. “Don’t move from here!”

  A tall black man who had witnessed everything waved to me and pointed at the girl, who, because of her distinct dress sense and hairstyle, stood out in the melee of shoppers. She was still on the footpath but about a hundred yards ahead of me. She was calmly now working her way past the slow-moving tourists, confident that she’d lost any pursuers. She probably hadn’t picked on anyone under seventy before because I caught up with her just as she turned off the path and into an alleyway.

  I grabbed her by the shoulder and she spun around, eyes glaring, mouth open and teeth bared.

  “What the fuck do you want?” she spoke, looking blankly at me. She clearly didn’t remember me though we’d met less than a minute earlier. I figured she must be on something.

  “Hand over the bag” I said in a calm voice, tightening my grip on her thin, white shoulder.

  She moved to put the bag out of my reach, stretching as far as she could away from me and dangling the bag by its straps from her long fingertips. The bag hung open, dropping some of its contents onto the dirty ground below. The girl cried out, in pain, as I increased my grip on her skin. digging into her flesh.

  “I’m going to count to five after which point things will get a whole lot worse for you,” I said, surprising myself with my steady yet steely delivery. I reached into my pocket with my free right hand and left it there, clenched tight. She could now assume one of two things and if she assumed wrongly she may not live to regret it. She clearly understood my words and I wondered if she felt lucky today.

  Seconds ticked past and we stood staring at each other. I worried someone would turn into the alleyway and distract me or turn out to be an accomplice of hers and attack me.

  Finally she made the right decision. Margaret’s wicker bag tumbled down and joined most of its contents already lying in the dirt on the alleyway floor. I released my grip on her shoulder and she stumbled backwards, down the alleyway rubbing her arm and staring unblinkingly at me.

  I kept one eye on her as I leaned down and retrieved all the stolen goods. The walk back to Margaret was punctuated with many sudden backward glances but was also thankfully incident free. I found Margaret where I had left her. The good Samaritans had gone their way and she cut a forlorn figure leaning against the nearest market stall. She smiled on seeing me returning with her basket. I passed it over to her and went to give her a hug but she pushed me away. “Never do that again!” Margaret scolded. “I was worried sick when you dashed off. This is so unlike you, Luke!”

  Back in the cabin, we showered and changed for dinner where only Craig and Mary were in attendance. Many tables at the first sitting were missing the majority of their passengers and the waiters had time to chat at their station, a rare feat. There were evening excursions, quite expensive ones that involved an evening of jazz music and food while you travelled the Mississippi River on a paddle steamer or visited a restaurant in New Orleans.

  By 20:30 a New Orleans local jazz combo called Spare a Dime had taken to the stage of the ship's Gaiety Theatre and served up a wonderful performance of traditional jazz. Individually and collectively they were brilliant.

  It was an excellent idea of the cruise line to bring New Orleans onboard to passengers who couldn’t leave the ship. Many of the older passenger couples have one partner who is too frail or lacks the mobility to disembark so these acts brought on board at each port really met a need and ensured the full enjoyment of the cruise for all. Margaret, having walked for hours today and then being mugged, slept through a lot of the show and was sound asleep again within minutes of her head hitting the pillow in our cabin that night.

  Day 19

  Saturday 21st January.

  Still in New Orleans, Louisiana, USA.

  We ate a hearty breakfast before heading off for the day. The shuttle bus dropped us at the Old Mint Museum and we went inside. The mint had started printing coins in the 1820s as General Jackson thought it necessary to boost trade in the city. It was briefly taken over by the Confederacy who printed their own coins before the Union side took it back.

  Then from somewhere in the bowels of the three-storey building came the sound of a jazz piano being played. At first, I thought it emanated from above and we climbed the steps but only found a Jazz Yoga session in mid-flow. Heading down to the ground floor and into the small gift shop, we came across a male uniformed museum guide playing the most wonderful music. He was about to commence a tour and was gathering interested tourists by playing.

  We strolled on into the French Quarter via Decatur Street and there was a definite buzz to the area that was lacking yesterday. All the stalls, shops and cafes were open and busy. We came upon a yard with a set of stalls, one selling just Lego figures, another giant metal grasshoppers, another sold teapots and bone china.

  We returned to the ship and got time on the court to play three games before taking a late lunch. Up top, the weather was changing, and we had a swim before dressing for the Jazz Sail Away party in the Crow’s Nest. By the time we took our seats the rain was hammering against the ship's large windows and lightning bolts flashed across the sky. The band weren't a jazz combo and, as a result, they sang the songs but without the touch needed to resonate with the audience. Jazz without soul is like bread without butter.

  Margaret and I sat next to a window and watched the banks of the Mississippi go by. It had been dark since late afternoon but all along the bank's industrial structures sparkled and blinked like small cities. Periodically we passed ships at anchor, huge container ships and a car ferry, a two-story ship with a flat deck and sloped bow.

  Our dinner table of six were in good form following the New Orleans visit. One couple had gone on the paddleboat steamer for their evening meal and a music excursion. The other couple took a different excursion to a jazz restaurant.

  We exited the Imperial Restaurant and the safety of indoors and were walking outside up the length of the ship on the promenade and into the teeth of a gale. I was able to play my new harmonica, bought in the Mint, to my heart’s content as no one else was stupid enough to be outside in that wind.

  Dean Line, a 34-year-old ex-boy band vocalist and self-taught piano player, took to the stage of the Gaiety Theatre bang on time. Together, Dean and the ships orchestra put on a great show based around the music of Billy Joel, Neil Sedaka, Elton John and many others.

  With the eve
ning still young, we quit while we were ahead and settled for a glass of wine in the cabin.

  Day 20

  Sunday 22nd January.

  At sea and heading for Progresso, Mexico.

  The next morning, Margaret flicked through the TV stopping at the ship’s information channel. "Luke, I’m sure a lot of the officers on board have changed. There seem to be a lot of new names I don’t recognise. Even the deputy captain, the chief mate has changed."

  I wondered whether this was good news for me, that officers familiar with my activities and victims have now left the ship? Would any new officers initiate further investigations or is it all water under the bridge?

  We were now back in the Gulf of Mexico and sailing at 18 knots to Progresso in Mexico which is only one day away. High winds have caused the closure of all decks and pools.

  Lorcan spent almost the entire choir session trying to make the Impossible Dream into something we could perform. No “Gorgeous!” points were awarded but the women were pronounced "Angels," for their heavenly sounding harmonies.

  Sportingly, we lads joined in the praise and applauded the women.

  We dressed for the sixth black-tie dinner of the voyage. Margaret is now having to revisit her dresses. I, however, simply rotated my three dress shirts and two dickie bow ties. I’d only brought one dinner suit. Sometimes being a man isn't that bad a deal.

  We posed for photographs again. This time it was the “Luke the explorer” photograph. You know the one, arm leaning on the balcony looking into the far distance. Then it was Luke halfway down the atrium staircase gazing up at Margaret, my shimmering beauty. And finally, together we stood on the staircase looking lovingly into each other’s eyes.

  We had our full compliment at dinner tonight and the mood was upbeat and playful. I told everyone about the time I crashed my car in a car wash which went down a treat.

  Margaret explained how she was taught to drive over a weekend by Michael, her ex, with a poker and three books to substitute for the car's gear stick and three pedals.

  Roger told a good Prince Charles joke and Frank went on to tell us he'd served on a ship where Charles had been a navy helicopter pilot.

  Apparently, Charles had eaten in the mess with the rest of the men and told a few stories of the hardships of doing royal tours. We parted company and caught the last few numbers played by the ship’s orchestra and the feature act, a consummate cello player.

  Then we walked to the front of the ship where an illusionist performed his first show. He bounded on stage and, with a large pad and marker, drew a circle and wrote the words, bowling ball, on it. Then he shook the pad and out dropped a heavy bowling ball. We were astounded.

  There followed a series of audience participation pieces and he finished by inflating a very large balloon and somehow, gradually, climbing entirely inside it. He did look funny bouncing around, at first with his head popping out the top and his feet sticking out the bottom. Finally, he completely disappeared inside it.

  That was enough for us and bed called to us loudly. The ship had slowed to 11 knots and the banging that had sounded all day had thankfully stopped so we rocked to sleep with the gentle movement of the ship.

  Day 21

  Monday 23rd January.

  Docked in Progresso, Mexico.

  We were booked on the excursion to the Mayan ruins of Chichen Itza and we had to gather in the Theatre Royal at 08:00 for departure.

  Despite setting an alarm, I was up and awake an hour before. Outside, dawn had broken and it was a balmy 24 degrees as I set off for breakfast. The Progresso harbour tugs pushed the ship the final metres to the dock and we disembarked smoothly. Seventeen coaches lined up on the dockside, at least ten taking five hundred passengers to Chichen Itza, over two hours away.

  We swiftly boarded our coach and headed off along the seven-kilometre long wharf of Progresso, a shallow, working port.

  Jose our Mexican guide pointed out that the flat and featureless land is pretty much as the Spanish found it in 1700, dry with rough scrub and jungle. No water sits above ground but sits in a water plate under hundreds of feet of porous limestone rock.

  With a few exceptions such as new houses or garages, the passing scenery was entirely miss-able but the roads were surprisingly modern and smooth going.

  Chichen Itza itself was fascinating—one of the seven wonders of the world. What makes it unique is the complex design of the main building as a pyramid built over and containing two earlier pyramids. Clearly, the Mayans had studied the stars and had worked out the movement of the sun and moon to create a calendar that is accurate and ran to 2012 even though as a race their flame went out 800 years earlier.

  By 13:40 all forty-eight of us were back on the coach which stopped briefly outside Progresso to show us a pink flamingo feeding area. The bird's meat is viewed as a delicacy by panthers who, as it turns out, eat a lot of flamingos. Since both animals are protected species, the authorities couldn't cull either of them. However, they discovered that panthers can be kept away from flamingos by the placing of sweaty human clothes around the flamingos breeding areas and this has resolved the problem.

  We pulled up by the ship, now sharing the harbour with the Carnival ship, Harmony of the Seas. Back on board, we dumped our bags and Margaret got a bit of sunbathing in for an hour before we played some tennis while the Sail Away Party began just feet away from us at the Riviera pool.

  Tonight, the captain announced we were taking the fast route to Jamaica, so we should expect increased ship movement, and there was considerable rocking and rolling as we walked along the deck this evening. An elderly man had toppled off his mobility scooter and was lying on the carpeted walkway surrounded by concerned members of the ship’s crew.

  I assessed the situation and saw there was nothing I could do to help so we kept walking.

  Only six diners attended tonight as Frank and Jill chose to eat Mexican in the buffet restaurant. Roger and Rose had been on our excursion but it says something about the number of visitors because we didn't bump into them once while ashore. The Topstars performed their Night of a Thousand Stars in the Gaiety Theatre tonight. We sat in on the early show and got great seats just two rows back. The show was a tribute to the London Palladium and gave them the opportunity to perform dance and songs from the 1920s through to 1970s which they did with their usual high energy and talented singing and dancing.

  Then it was upstairs to the Crow’s Nest to enjoy a concert by the SS.Azara Orchestra.

  Day 22

  Tuesday 24th January.

  Heading for Jamaica.

  Early this morning, I caught a brilliant red glowing sunrise on the ships forward camera.

  Margaret and I dressed and walked to breakfast across the open deck, enjoying the balmy warmth with no wind. The ship’s movement was now just a gentle sway.

  10:00 found us arriving just in time for the Beginners Bridge Class which today focused on a quiz presenting fifteen scenarios for us to determine what our bid would be. Since none at our table had bothered to attempt the quiz yesterday it was a session of learning fast as Brendan went through each hand and justified why he had chosen bid X over bid Y. Some thought he was moving too fast and most felt we should get to play more hands rather than read notes and carry out tests.

  At Ships Choir another song was added today, Delilah, which becomes our fourteenth song.

  We exit knowing we have one rehearsal date left before we perform for our fellow passengers.

  Sheila Townly, a rather eccentric astroscience lecturer, gave a lecture on, What’s New in the Solar System? Although I found it informative and mildly interesting, I have to admit to drifting off to sleep in the warm, dark theatre. Frequently, I woke up to catch a bit more, before drifting off again. She cut an unusual figure with knitting needles stuck in her hair and periodically she lets loose a Tourette’s type style of yelp that woke me on several occasions!

  Tonight’s black-tie dinner must be the last for some time as the highe
r temperatures normally signal an end to formal dining and the start of Caribbean style clothing. We were a mere six tonight as Craig had come down with a cold and Mary chose to stay with him.

  “When I lived in Nottingham I was asked by one of the local gentry to carry the guns for a Greek shipping magnate at a shoot to be held on his land that weekend,” said Roger. “Well I turned up and the local squire handed me a pair of shotguns and off we went. My gun was identical to the Greek gentleman’s and the weapons and the cartridges were all monogrammed with his initials. Even the hammers on the shotguns were made of gold. I stood directly behind the shipping magnate and when the beaters drove the birds to flight, I would pass a shotgun to him and he simply pointed the gun skyward while staring straight ahead and pulled the trigger. Simultaneously, I fired with the other shotgun aiming and actually shooting the pheasants.

  When the shoot finally ended the Greek tycoon turned to me and asked: “How many have I shot?”

  “What did you say, Roger?” asked Frank.

  Roger smiled ruefully. “I would credit him with all the birds and the tycoon accepted the outcome without question. Apparently, he believed he was such a good shot that he really only had to point skywards to make a kill.”

  “So Roger, it sounds like you’re a good shot” I ventured.

  Tonight Roger was happy to answer. “Yes. I’m handy with rifles and shotguns but you don’t need much skill to hit something with a shotgun. When a shell is fired from a shotgun, the pellets leave the barrel and begin to spread or scatter. They can spread forty inches at a distance of 100 yards. The further the pellets travel, the greater the spread of shot.” He went on. “You see the shotgun barrels have a choke to control the spread so you can adjust that to get the density you want. What’s your weapon of choice, Luke?” His question caught me by surprise and I had to think fast.