Murder Ahoy!

by Fiona Leitch

  “Maybe Bella could read your book?” Doris suggested, a sly grin on her face. Awkward.

  A tip for all you writers out there: never ask another writer to read your book, not unless you’re friends and you’re at basically the same level in your careers. Because if one’s more successful than the other, and they say no, then they’re stuck up, they’ve forgotten where they came from, and they don’t remember what it’s like to struggle…but if they say yes, what then? If the book’s terrible, what do you say? And if it’s good, what are you supposed to do about it? Yes, I can ask my agent if she’ll read it, but she’s busy and she hates being asked personal favours for exactly the same reason. I can’t get it published for you. And if I do something nice for one writer, I’ve kind of got to do it for others.

  I know all of this. But I still opened my mouth and said, “Send it to my agent, she’s always on the lookout for new talent.”

  Sarah looked even more embarrassed. “I already did.”

  Oops. Well I wasn’t hanging around to find out if Susie had rejected her or just not got back to her yet. I put on my best, most encouraging smile, and said, “Just don’t give up. I had a ton of rejections before I got anywhere. Remember, someone out there once rejected the Beatles and Elvis and Harry Potter - not the same person, obviously, that would be weird…” Aware I was babbling, I began backing away and was relieved to see Zoé waving at me from our table. “Oh look, it’s my turn to sing now. Nice talking to you!” And with that I made my escape.

  “I thought you’d got lost,” said Zoé, eyeing Sarah across the room with suspicion as I joined her. I laughed.

  “Just don’t ask…”

  And then it really was time for Zoé and me to sing. I stood on the stage and looked across the club at the crowd; at the people chatting by the bar, and others sitting at their tables, waiting for us to start. Most of them don’t even know who I am, I thought, or if they do, they don’t care. That made me feel much better, although I still felt very exposed, up there in the spotlight. Thank God Zoé was with me.

  The familiar strains of ‘Dancing Queen’ came over the loudspeaker. I allowed my foot to tap. Then my hips began to sway…

  Zoé had a surprisingly strong voice. She was sometimes so quiet - timid, even - when talking, that I hadn’t expected her to be able to belt out a song, but she could. She stayed in tune, knew all the words and even did a bit of a dance. Dark horse, I thought approvingly.

  I squinted at the screen next to us at the side of the stage, which was showing the words (unlike Zoé I needed a helping hand remembering them). Behind the screen, black curtains closed off the wings, no doubt hiding cabling and stuff like that. I was momentarily distracted as I spotted something sticking out from the bottom of the curtain, but I couldn’t make out what it was so I carried on singing. It looked like a shoe.

  Next to me, Zoé did a little shimmy. The crowd went wild, and she blushed, and did it again. She gave a little twirl but disaster struck; her feet got tangled in the microphone lead somehow, and she put out her hand to steady herself on the screen.

  The screen, which was on a flimsy metal tripod, toppled over and crashed through the black curtain. Everyone laughed, except of course Zoé, who clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “It’s alright,” I said, as the MC rushed over to rescue the screen. “No harm done…” But my words caught in my mouth as the MC pulled back the curtain to untangle the tripod from it, and Zoé let out a scream.

  Sylvia had been at the karaoke all along, but she was in no fit state to sing. A plastic bag had been forced over her head, pressed hard against her stricken face, forcing the air out of her lungs. Her eyes bulged unseeingly through the clear plastic, a nasty gash on her forehead smearing gore onto the bag.

  That was bad enough. But the thing that made me feel dizzy, that made me stagger backwards and almost fall off the stage, was what was tied around her neck, keeping the bag in place.

  It was long, thin strip of silky material, a beautiful turquoise colour patterned with colourful peacocks and embroidered with tiny golden butterflies. The Japanese influence was obvious. It was the missing belt from my kimono.

  Chapter 22

  To say all hell broke loose would be something of an understatement. Zoé lost it completely and ran from the stage, screaming and crying. Heather ran up the stairs and almost threw the MC bodily out of the way in her haste to get to her friend, tearing at the plastic bag in a panic, hoping against hope that if she could just get some air back into her lungs… But it was far too late for that. Heather sank to the floor, with Sylvia’s head cradled in her lap, and sobbed heavily; I knew she was thinking about the last time they’d spoken. They’d argued. About me. Something else for me to feel terrible about.

  Harry Carter shouldered his way through the crowd that had swarmed towards the stage, all wanting to know what was going on, followed by a couple of security guards.

  “Clear the dance floor, please!” he shouted. “Stand back, let the doctor in, nothing to see here!”

  “Has someone been taken ill?” an elderly man asked no one in particular.

  “You could say that,” I said. Will joined me and took my hand, then looked at me in shock as he spotted the belt. We shared an unspoken oh shit.

  Harry looked at me, thin lipped. “Ms Tyson, here you are, right on the spot again. What a surprise,” he said sardonically. I opened my mouth to protest, but what could I say? I had been present at the discovery of two dead (or dying) bodies.

  I cleared my throat. “I know, what are the odds?” Will jerked his head around sharply and looked at me, an expression on his face that I could only describe as ‘light bulb moment’.But I never got a chance to question him, as Michael, at the foot of the stage, turned to Harvey and spoke loudly.

  “I told you it was weird, the way she disappeared like that,” he said. Others in the crowd, which was showing no signs of dissipating despite Harry’s command, were beginning to look over at the newly weds.

  “Stop it,” said Harvey.

  “No!” Michael shook his head and looked straight at me. “The last time anyone saw Sylvia alive, she was accusing her of murder. Look at the two of them! They were furious with her, Will even threatened her - ”

  “No he didn’t,” I said, trying to sound calm. I didn’t want to sound panicky, or as if I was protesting our innocence too much, even if that was how I felt.

  “You both told her to shut up and go back to her cabin,” said Michael. “And then no one saw her after that! Is that what happened? She went back to her cabin and you followed and shut her up before she turned everyone against you?”

  “Of course it bloody isn’t!” I said.

  “This is not the place to be discussing this,” said Will. Harry raised an eyebrow and Will huffed in annoyance. “Do your bloody job, man! Get this crowd out of here and preserve the crime scene, if you can now that half the bloody ship’s trampled all over it.”

  Will’s words stung the man into action, and he and the security guards had soon cleared everyone out of the club apart from the MC, who had waddled off into the wings and thrown up; Zoé, who was sitting on a chair Will had brought her with a dazed expression on her face; and Heather, who was still slumped on the floor of the stage. Will had gently persuaded her to let go of Sylvia so the ship’s doctor could take a look at the body, and he had soon turned his attention to Heather herself, who was in deep shock.

  Carter took statements from us all. I told him the belt around Sylvia’s neck was mine - I didn’t want him working it out for himself and jumping to conclusions - but to my surprise he didn’t gloat; if anything, he looked a bit put out. Maybe he was still shocked by Sylvia’s grisly appearance, which, although far less bloody than Louise’s, was rather more disturbing. It was too easy to imagine the poor woman struggling for air, fighting for every last breath until finally slowly, painfully succumbing… The look in her eyes was enough to haunt anyone, and I couldn’t
understand how anyone could watch that terrified expression cross someone’s face and carry on squeezing the life out of them.

  Will and I stood to one side. I didn’t want it to look like we were colluding or anything, but I was desperate to find out exactly what revelation had occurred to him.

  “You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” I whispered. He nodded and opened his mouth to speak, then stopped as Zoé, who was starting to get some colour back in her cheeks, joined us.

  “Mr Carter says we can go,” she said. She shuddered. “I can’t stop seeing poor Sylvia’s eyes, staring at me through the plastic bag…” She swayed and Will gallantly thrust out an arm to catch her.

  “Steady there,” he said softly. “Maybe you should sit down again. Or better still, go and have a lie down in your cabin.” She shook her head.

  “I can’t! I just know that every time I shut my eyes I’m going to see her face again!”

  I desperately wanted her to bugger off so Will and I could talk, but the poor girl had had a terrible shock. I’ve seen a few dead bodies in my time - mostly for research on a book, but occasionally down to being in the wrong place at the wrong time - and it doesn’t really get any easier; although, perhaps surprisingly, the bodies I’ve seen at wakes and funeral homes have creeped me out more. I think it’s because they’re laid out in nice clothes, made up with their hair done, like they’re sleeping or something, but at the same time they are so obviously and completely devoid of life, of what made them them - it just feels so wrong. In a weird way, an untouched corpse is somehow more honest; something horrible happened here, Death happened here, and no matter how you try to dress it up, this person is no more. They’re not sleeping; they ain’t waking up any time soon.

  Honest or not, this was doubtless the first time Zoé had seen a murder victim - maybe even the first time she’d seen a dead person - so it was bound to affect her. I should probably have felt more sympathetic towards her, but I did at least hide my irritation.

  “How about some fresh air?” I suggested. She nodded and grabbed my arm, linking hers through it.

  “I knew you’d understand!” she said, and she looked so grateful that I couldn’t tell her I’d meant for her to go on her own. I looked at Will and he smiled, resigned.

  “Let’s all go,” he said.

  We went out onto the deck. The wind was picking up, and the sea, which up to now had been placid and calm, was being whipped into frothy peaks under the moonlight. But the ship maintained a steady course, ploughing through the growing waves and barely rocking.

  Zoé stood at the rail, looking out to sea, taking deep breaths. I took Will’s hand and led him as far away from her as I could without it looking rude.

  “What were you going to say?” I asked, but he shook his head.

  “Not here. I don’t want to mention this to anyone yet, not even your friend there…”

  She’s not my friend, I nearly said, but stopped myself. She clearly wanted to be my friend. She seemed to be the only one (other than Will) who was utterly convinced of my innocence; Heather had been, but whether she would still feel the same after Sylvia’s death was anyone’s guess. I wasn’t in a hurry to find out.

  “Is she all right?” said Will, snapping me out of my thoughts. He nodded towards the rail, where Zoé stood, her shoulders shaking. “I think she’s crying.”

  I walked up behind her and put my arm round her. She jumped.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. Are you okay?” I peered at her face, a sympathetic expression on my own.

  “I’m fine,” she said, “I just keep thinking about Sylvia. Who would do such a thing? And why? What enemies could a woman like Sylvia have?”

  That was something I would have liked to know.

  It was chilly up on deck, so after about ten minutes we persuaded Zoé to go back to her cabin. It was getting late by now - it must’ve been after 10pm - so we walked her back to her cabin on deck 5, then headed back to our own.

  I sat on the bed and took off my shoes.

  “So that’s me done, isn’t it?” I said. Will looked confused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, everyone’s going to be convinced it was me now, aren’t they? They were already starting to believe Sylvia, and then lo and behold she bloody cops it too, and with my belt round her neck. It’s like Michael was saying - it looks like I did it to shut her up.”

  “Or we did it,” Will pointed out. “But that wouldn’t be a very clever thing to do, would it? It’s such an obvious motive for murder that it makes a less convincing case for it being you.”

  I looked at him. I was tired and I didn’t get it. “What?”

  He smiled. “Sylvia was making such a song and dance about it earlier, and, yes, I did make it worse by having a go at her. I couldn’t help it. That makes us such obvious suspects that we would have to be complete imbeciles to then go and actually murder her, wouldn’t we? And we’re not complete imbeciles.”

  “I dunno, I sometimes feel like I am,” I said morosely. He shook his head.

  “Self pity doesn’t suit you.”

  “I was going more for self deprecation.”

  He laughed. “What I mean is, it’s a ridiculously clumsy attempt to make you look guilty - so ridiculously clumsy that they’ve shot themselves in the foot. No detective worth their salt would believe you could be so stupid, and using your belt is the icing on the cake. The murderer has already tried to tie you into Louise’s murder by using a method from one of your books. But anyone who’s read your books will know you’re far too devious to be that blatant.”

  “Hmm…” I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered about being called devious, but I went for flattered.

  “This is what occurred to me earlier,” said Will. I’d almost forgotten his lightbulb moment. “When that - that - ”

  “Muppet?” I supplied.

  “Oh yes, good one. When that muppet Carter pointed out that you’d been at the discovery of both victims, you said ‘what are the odds?’” He looked at me triumphantly.

  “Um…yeah?”

  “Well exactly! What are the odds of you stumbling across two dead bodies on a ship with 3000 passengers and crew aboard? It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

  “That muppet clearly agrees with you. That’s why he thinks I did it.”

  “But we know you didn’t,” said Will patiently. “So what is the only other explanation?”

  I looked at him, not sure what he was getting at. And then suddenly it hit me.

  “The bodies were left for me to find…”

  “Yes! So instead of looking for someone who had a grudge against Louise, maybe we should be looking for someone who’s got one against you.”

  Chapter 23

  Will’s words left me reeling. It seemed unlikely, but equally there didn’t seem to be any other explanation. Out of a boat-load of people, I had been the one to discover (or jointly discover) two murder victims. Sylvia had said it had always bothered her, how I was able to gain access to Louise’s cabin, and it was that that had finally convinced her I was the murderer. Will and I had missed the significance of that unlocked door. We’d accepted it, even if it didn’t quite feel right. I’d told myself (as unlikely as it might be) that the murderer had been disturbed or in too much of a hurry to shut the door behind them properly; but any homicidal cruise passenger with an ounce of common sense would have taken an extra 10 seconds to make sure the door was secure, so that they had plenty of time to put some distance between themselves and the scene before the body was discovered.

  If the murderer had wanted me to find Louise, though… It suddenly made perfect sense.

  “But who could have a grudge against me?” I said. “I mean, that’s a pretty bloody big grudge, if it’s led to someone killing two people. You’d think I’d know if I’d pissed someone off that much…”

  Will shrugged. “Who knows? The
sort of person who could kill two people just to get back at a third is quite possibly a little - ”

  “Over-sensitive? Bonkers?”

  “Both. What they see as a slight - real or imagined - a non-bonkers person would probably not even notice.”

  “Which is interesting but no help to man nor beast.”

  “Nope.”

  Will got up and paced up and down the cabin.

  “You definitely don’t recognise anyone else on this ship?”

  “No,” I said, firmly. “The only people I’d seen before this cruise were Joel and Louise.”

  He looked at me. “Could Joel be trying to get back at you for kicking him out?” I shook my head.

  “No. As much as I have spent the last few years hating him, I couldn’t say that he’s capable of murder. And he - ” wants me back. I choked off the rest of the sentence.

  “What?”

  I sighed. “You heard the song. He doesn’t want me locked up.”

  Will didn’t speak. He turned and opened the mini bar, which was well stocked with alcohol.

  “No point looking in there, we don’t have a corkscrew, remember?”

  He held up a miniature bottle of vodka in triumph. “Screw top.” He unscrewed it and took a swig, then grimaced.

  “We have got to get off this ship before we become alcoholics,” I said lightly, and he laughed softly.

  “I have drunk more this week than I have in the last year,” he admitted. He sat next to me and I took the bottle from his hands. I sniffed it, screwed up my nose and drank, finishing with a splutter. He laughed again. “Shall I make some tea?”

  “I’ll do it,” I said.

  We sat and drank tea in companionable silence. I could’ve killed for a Hobnob - we’d planned on having a late dinner after the karaoke, which of course had been completely forgotten about - but I thought that, with the amount I’d eaten on this cruise, I was hardly likely to fade away.