Murder on Board

by Mark Rice

  "Yes, yes indeed" I said scanning the store's shelves. "Can you throw in some of that cream for insect bites and two packets of chewing gum?"

  He did as requested and calculated what was due.

  "That's 25 dollars."

  "Thank you, sir." I handed over the dollars in crisp new notes. "And there is my wife, so I must run, thank you again." I imparted this over my shoulder as I left in a hurry with the bag. The cream and chewing gum were for Margaret and would cover the bag’s other contents that I would hide in my bedside locker once on board.

  We walked on uphill and found the town's Methodist church, where we were able to sit and rest our feet. It was an unusual church in that the pulpit stood high above the altar. There were no stations of the cross, naturally enough but large chandeliers’ with electric lights hung from the wooden ceiling and across the central aisle. To the right and left of the altar were two mounted fifty-inch flat-screen-televisions. Above the altar, blocking out some of the colourful stain glass, windows that beamed in sun, hung a large projection screen. Perhaps the church is used for other purposes during the week, other than prayer? The rows of dark brown benches stood without kneelers, row after row facing the altar. The overriding colour in the church was a light blue, which in my Roman Catholic church at home, would be synonymous with Saint Mary, the Mother of God.

  It was gone 13:00 and our feet were complaining from the hours of walking. We turned back towards the ship and retraced our steps noting the poor state of the footpaths and the presence of huge rain drains, some over a foot deep and just as wide, that ran alongside the footpaths. It would be easy to slip and fall into these trenches. Actually, we found later that Mary had done just that and was lucky to only cut her hand, which she had thrust out, to break her fall.

  We revisited Massys and picked up several bottles of lemonade and cola to act as mixers. I threw in a small bottle of rum. It all came to less than $10 US dollars. The change was given in local currency so Margaret gave it to three Rastafarian types who sat hunkered on the path, beating out a catchy rhythm from small tin cans. They flashed smiles in her direction.

  My overall impression of the capital city was that it had a busy prosperous centre but there also lay a great deal of poverty, just feet away, in the back streets and run-down alleyways.

  A new airport is due to open on the island on St Valentine’s Day this year and the locals are looking forward to it as planes will be flying in direct from the USA and UK and landing more tourists. Hopefully, the money will trickle down to the poorest of the poor.

  We made it back on board and later attended the Sail Away Party, a non-event, as the heavens opened, and rain poured down. We hung about in the Crow’s Nest where a pianist kept the music going to the waiters and half a dozen passengers.

  That evening we dressed casual and attended dinner with our table colleagues. Roger and Rose strongly recommended the Octavian Cruise excursion in a catamaran to the island of Mustique where they’d lay on an exclusive private beach for two hours before sailing to a small town of Queen Elizabeth. All day, they were fed royally and had many glasses of rum, too many to count.

  Another talking point over the meal was when we were discussing astronomy and Sheila Townly's lectures and I asked, purely for scientific reasons, that, if it's a given that mankind is going to populate other planets, has anyone yet made love in space?

  "What sort of space had you in mind?" asked Frank and thereafter the tone of the conversation went downhill as we visualised the making of love in a weightless environment where you set off with high hopes but end up drifting helplessly past your partner.

  Our wine waiter, Daphne, announced this evening that she is leaving the ship the next day. Rumour has it two hundred of the nine hundred staff are leaving the ship in Barbados. Ruth will be taking her place. Of course, these are Anglicized names and God only knows what her real name is. Both Ruth and Daphne are from the Philippines but from different islands.

  We left the restaurant to catch the Cantons band playing ukuleles, in the Gaiety Theatre and I have to say they were brilliant and funny in equal measure. Sitting in the front row we were blown away by their performance. Then it was onto the final performance by Red Rose Girls where we were lucky enough to get seats for their Stage and Screen show, accompanied by the brilliant SS Azara orchestra.

  Since we’d had the afternoon snooze we weren’t so tired this evening so we pressed on to the open deck where a Hoedown Party was in progress. There was a demonstration of line dancing and country and western music to match which was led by two of the fleet-footed entertainments team. I could only admire their energy.

  Day 29

  31st January.

  Docked in Bridgetown, Barbados.

  The ports are coming thick and fast now that we are in the Caribbean. Today we are in Bridgetown which is the capital and the largest city of Barbados.

  The ship docked in the deep water harbour which is a good fifteen-minute walk to the harbour gates and from there, a further ten minutes’ walk to the Kingstown city centre.

  We took the free shuttle bus from the long narrow pier, which today plays host to three enormous cruise ships. Two of the ships are taking on board rations so container trucks are lined up alongside them. Lined up also and waiting patiently to board our ship, are the new crew members replacing those who are leaving for home. Six or nine months on board await the newcomers, people mainly from Goa and Mumbai in India but also some coming from islands as far afield as the Philippines.

  The shuttle bus dumped us at the duty-free shop complex. A tourist information official suggests a twenty-minute walk to Brandon’s Beach which is quiet and has a shop. We set off on foot and declined numerous taxi drivers and offers from tour sellers as we trotted along the bayside path. However several sellers did warn that we were heading to a dangerous beach. Who can you believe?

  One of those was Randolf, who chatted to us as we walked and persisted longer than any other seller of services. He suggested a much nicer, safer beach on the far side of town and offered to take us both there for $10 US, in his Chinese made, bright red Tuk-Tuk taxi which he called Manchester United.

  We liked his smile and his English was good, as he spends six months a year in England. Our maps didn't show the area he proposed in enough detail so we accepted his offer and climbed aboard Manchester United and made it to the beach in ten minutes.

  He dropped us at a restaurant called Lobster Alive. Before departing he showed us the changing rooms and pointed out the glorious white beach, which was visible from the moment we arrived and drew Margaret towards it like a magnet. We paid for two sunbeds and an umbrella and purchased three half-price drinks from the restaurant.

  The sun came and went as the clouds passed overhead and we settled into our ideal location. It really was a stunningly beautiful beach, straight off a postcard, a postcard normally received by me from some other lucky sod.

  We were approached by several local peddlers. One was selling a large slice of watermelon which we bought after the mandatory haggling over the price. Another tried to sell me clumps of the Aloe Vera plant, that looked as if he had just broken off a bit from a whole plant growing in someone’s garden. He’d probably picked it on whilst walking down to the beach! He, and his plant looked decidedly dodgy.

  "You buy Aloe Vera?" he asked, leaning over me, the strong smell of Cannabis, wafting up my nostrils while he waved the plant about in his left hand. "It's the natural version," he drawled in his deep Caribbean voice.

  Since we have twenty pots of the plant in our sun lounge back home I declined his offer.

  Another hopeful with a bright yellow T-shirt and an even brighter smile offered us a chance to snorkel with turtles and to visit a shipwreck. We’d travel there, he said, in a glass-bottom boat for an experience that lasted about an hour.

  I wasn’t interested as I’m a poor swimmer but, to my surprise, Margaret leapt at the chance and she was gone from me in a matter of seconds. She ran to the
edge of the shore and was helped on board a small white boat, littered with diving equipment and playing loud reggae music The boat cruised up and down the shallow water along the bay as a team of salesmen rounded up interested tourists. It was clear the boat went nowhere until the requisite number of customers were onboard.

  Finally, they gathered enough passengers and the boat moved away from my view. When Margaret returned over an hour later, she was buzzing with the experience. She explained how she swam wearing a snorkel and safety jacket while passing within feet of several large turtles. One swam past her with a blue fish attached to his shell. All around her brilliantly coloured seaweed, fish, and plants fought for her attention. It was sensory overload.

  Once she’d settled down, I ordered a large Lobster Bisque and a beer which was delivered to our sun loungers. The soup was deliciously spicy but the amount of lobster in the bisque was minimal. I'd hate to think what the "small" version of the bisque contained.

  By 15:00 we’d had our fill of swimming in the beautiful clear water and were ready to move on. We declined many offers from taxi drivers and walked into Kingstown centre, across Independence Bridge and out of town, stopping on the way to look inside an Anglican Church.

  Outside, a funeral was in progress and some of the long black mourning limousines flew what appeared to be government flags. Uniformed chauffeurs sat silently behind steering wheels, engrossed in their smartphones.

  The mourners themselves had finished the funeral service and had moved outside, en masse, to a corner of the graveyard where the coffin rested for blessing before being placed in the already dug grave.

  Smartly dressed mourners stood on mounds of soil and other ancient graves listening to the reverend’s words. I’m afraid the wind didn’t carry his message of comfort to us.

  We walked inside the church and noticed many of the people had left handbags, parcels and smartphones on the wooden benches. What a trusting bunch! We stayed a respectful distance from the large gathering and left the church with the burial still progressing.

  Walking on back to the ship we boarded and changed in time for dinner with just four of the usual suspects. Frank and Jill were on a submarine excursion that was late back so they missed the meal. Roger and Rose had taken the catamaran excursion. Craig and Mary simply wandered about town, on their own.

  The meal finished, we walked up on deck to watch our ship ease its way out of the harbour and then pirouette 380 degrees to swing the bow around to face the open sea. It’s still amazing to watch an extremely nimble, fourteen storey building rotate and exit small ports at night.

  Downstairs in the Gaiety theatre the Topstars presented their Reel to Reel show based on the British film successes of the last fifty years and it had already started by the time we had arrived. Inevitably a James Bond medley was included but they also performed You Can Leave Your Hat On from the film The Full Monty, where at least one of the male troupe stripped naked, his blushes saved by a strategically placed hat. Margaret recognised at least three of the troupe had been snorkelling with her earlier in the day.

  We traversed up the stairs to the open deck where a Tropical Music quiz was in progress, run by the Entertainment Team. It's so nice to be up on deck at night with the universe twinkling above you and the temperature still in the high 20's. With two entertainment team members allocated to each side, the competing teams had to outdo each other in various games to win huge value, totally worthless points. Put your hands up when certain words are sung, drum the table when requested, play an invisible guitar, form a conga line, you get the idea. I was surprised by just how many people actually participated but it all came to an end when Sweet Inspiration, a four-piece band took over from the entertainment team. They managed to clear the dance floor in seconds and have people calling it a night in the first ten minutes of their set. We stuck it out a bit longer but their sound simply lacked any edge to it and the blandness failed to engage folk, especially those tiring after a long day of hot sunshine.

  Day 30

  Wednesday 1st February.

  Docked in Tobago.

  The shuddering of the ship as it completes the docking usually wakes me up most mornings, but this morning I misread my watch and I had us up and ready thinking it was 08:45, but I was two hours ahead of myself. Half an hour later, the thirty minutes of vibration started and channel 16 showed the bow camera was now pointed into the sunrise, the sun’s rays glistening on the ebbing water that rolled on and on to the distant skyline. Already the temperature outside is 26 degrees centigrade. It's going to be a hot one.

  Tobago is the last stop on our Caribbean island hopping schedule. We will be at sea for four days, starting tomorrow, before reaching Manaus in Brazil and commencing the Amazon leg of the adventure. Tobago is the smaller of two islands that make up Trinidad and Tobago, neither of which we had visited before.

  We headed to the tennis courts after breakfast and in scorching sunshine, Margaret and I played a lively game before showering and heading down the gangplank and off the ship.

  We reached the terminal building on foot and met blue T-shirted men selling taxi services around the island.

  Margaret had picked up a map and Pigeon Point had been mentioned as a good place to go so she identified it as our destination. The prices on display were vague, showing value but not whether it was per person, per trip or a return price. It turned out to be $25 per trip but this could be shared by four people. Also, the driver will return at an agreed time to bring you back to the ship for the same fare.

  We buddied up with an elderly Swiss couple who agreed to share a taxi and off we went. The driver, Godwin, drove an Infinity car and kept it spotlessly clean. He told us his wife and one of his sons were school teachers and the other son a swimming instructor. We chatted away as he drove.

  Pigeon Point is a government-developed beach complex. We paid to enter and that gave us the use of the beach, toilets and access to bars and restaurants. There was also a charge for the sun loungers.

  Waving goodbye to Godwin we made our way along the beach. I was amazed to find that so many SS Azara passengers and crew members had been able to find this spot, which was a good twenty-five minutes drive across the island.

  In front of our loungers, lying on the white sand were most of the Topstars dance troupe. We got chatting to them and they told us they'd spent fourteen weeks’ rehearsing in Southampton before joining the ship, in Hamburg. They'd completed nine distinct shows for the winter season.

  "You'll see them all on this cruise," one young girl said. The troupe now relaxed in the shallow water and shade of the palm trees. I’m sure these sorts of days making all the hard work seem worthwhile to the youngsters.

  The beach itself was idyllic, covered in classic white sand, broken coral and limestone rocks. Tall palm trees swayed gently in the breeze. Some large, black shelled crabs sunned themselves on the rocks nearby and seemed to sense our presence and communicate such to each other. As soon as one ran for cover, under the rocks, they all did. How could they know we were there and that we were a danger as the waves continuously hit the rocks spraying the crabs with water and sand? They couldn’t hear us or see us until we stood right next to them and yet they sensed our presence.

  Several small shrimp-like transparent fish came close to shore and darted about under our feet. The shallow water stretched sixty feet out and a safety rope and buoys secured the area for swimmers and bathers only. Lifeguards, a first during this cruise, sat by watching over the tourists. Beyond the cordoned area jet-ski’s, spouting fountains of water, sped past as did several small boats playing loud music.

  We met two very friendly local police officers, one male, one female, and they seemed so pleasant I began to wonder if they really were police officers at all. They wore cycling helmets, open-collared short-sleeved blue police shirts and dark blue lycra shorts. They sat astride two sleek mountain bikes and carried mobile phones clipped to their waists.

  “How are you, man?” said the male
cop. His dark eyes surveyed me from head to toe. “Where are you from?”

  “Ireland,” I answered.

  “You enjoying your visit to Tobago?” he asked.

  “We sure are, officer” I replied. “We are just off the ship, which only arrived this morning and right now are about to experience your stunning beach and seas. Anywhere you’d recommend for lunch?”

  “Shaggy’s bar over there.” He pointed a gloved hand. “They do a mean chicken stew but he doesn’t start cooking till noon. Have a beer for now and he’ll be ringing a bell when the food’s ready for dishing out!” He smiled broadly his gleaming white teeth showing for the first time. Then he pushed down on the bicycle pedal and slowly both police officers resumed their patrol riding through the palm trees along the sandy path.

  My name and picture clearly hadn't been distributed by Interpol as they treated me without suspicion. I looked, for all-the-world, like a typical tourist and I made certain that nothing I said or did altered that impression. The absence of any suspicion about the deaths on this cruise was still a surprise to me. If anyone, like the ship’s doctor, had spotted a link between the deaths on board to date it has not resulted in either alerting the staff or apparently carrying out an investigation. I thought back to the conversation I’d had with Persel, our helpful cabin steward, just this morning. I’d asked him if the ships doctor was busy as Margaret was thinking of dropping by the medical centre for some painkillers for her back.

  “Dr. Matthews is always busy Mr Luke” he’d answered. “We have a lot of old people on this ship. Sometimes they run out of medication, sometimes they fall and hurt themselves, sometimes they get tummy upsets and die.”