A Mersey Mariner

Chapter 3

Chapter 3First Impressions

Andy Ross took an immediate liking to Captain George Gideon. The no-nonsense, down to earth attitude and open personality gave the captain an air of dependability and trustworthiness in Ross's mind.

“So, nobody saw or heard anything unusual from Senhor Gaspar's cabin in the hours leading up to the discovery of his body?” Ross asked the captain as they sat together in Gideon's stateroom c*m office. Ross and Drake had taken a quick look at the scene in Cabin 6 and then left Nugent, Lees and Booker to do their jobs without them cluttering up the small berth. They'd return and take a closer look when Nugent had completed his examination, so now was a good time to talk to the ship's master.

“Not a peep, Detective Inspector,” Gideon confirmed. “I've already spoken to the deck steward responsible for Gaspar's cabin; he swears he last saw Gaspar at around eleven o'clock last night when he took him his usual nightcap. It seems Senhor Gaspar was partial to a cup of hot cocoa at bedtime and Sal Romero, his steward, delivered it at the same time each night.”

“I see, and is this Romero Portuguese also, Captain Gideon?”

“No, he's Italian and he's been with me for two years. He's solid and dependable with those dark Italian good looks the ladies like, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand,” Ross smiled. “So, he's a hit with the ladies, then?”

“Right on, he is,” Gideon replied, his terminology a brief giveaway of his Australian background.

“You're not British yourself, I take it, Captain,” Drake stated as she also noticed the Captain's turn of phrase.

“Australian, Sergeant, like the old girl herself. Well, Australian owned and registered anyway. She was built in Glasgow, but she's had a few owners along the way.”

“Okay, back to your passenger,” Ross returned to the dead man. “What do you know about him, if anything, Captain?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Gideon replied. “He arrived on the day we sailed, quite a late arrival, with a bona fide ticket purchased that day from the agents in Rio. His passport was in order, so he was shown to his cabin, where as far as I know, he spent most of the voyage.”

“He didn't mix with your other passengers?” Drake asked.

“I don't think so. You'd have to ask them, I'm afraid. He did show up in the dining saloon a couple of times, I believe back at the start of the voyage, but Romero told me he preferred taking his meals in the privacy of his cabin. One of the attractions of the Alexandra Rose is our cuisine, Sergeant. She may not be much to look at compared to similar ships but we have two Cordon Bleu chefs aboard and we have a reputation for serving up superb food, so it's rather odd that he didn't take advantage of that.”

“Maybe he just wasn't much of a gastronome,” Ross commented.

“Or he had something to hide, or was afraid of something or someone,” Drake added.

“That's quite a leap to make just because he didn't eat in the dining saloon Sergeant,” Gideon said to Izzie Drake.

“Just theorizing, Captain,” Drake replied.

“Do you have his passport, Captain?” Ross asked.

“No, Inspector. We have no need to hold on to our passengers' passports. Once they clear customs at the port of exit, it's up to them what they do with such things. It'll probably be in his suitcase in his cabin, or maybe he put it in the safe in there. We provide our passengers with a small wall safe in each cabin. Nothing elaborate, just a simple key operated lock, but then again we don't expect a rash of burglaries on board a ship of this size.”

“Of course not, Captain,” Ross agreed.

“Can I ask you a question?” Gideon said to Ross.

“Of course, Captain. What is it?”

“Well, we're lying at anchor because of the fog at present but our passengers will be expecting to make port once it lifts. What happens if you find or suspect foul play? Will they have to remain on board? And there's the crew to think about too.”

“I really can't say at present, Captain. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. This fog is supposed to linger for a while yet, I've been led to believe, which will be helpful as we are going to need to talk to your passengers and crew about Gaspar's death of course.”

Gideon groaned. “I had my first officer check the long-range weather forecast earlier. They reckon this fog will last anything up to another forty-eight hours. It's blanketing the whole West Coast and most of the Western Atlantic up to three hundred miles out to sea.”

“That could work to our advantage,” said Ross. “Have the other passengers been informed of Gaspar's death yet?”

“No. I've deliberately not announced it. I wanted to give you the chance to confirm death by natural causes first.”

At that moment, a knock on the door was followed by the arrival of Patrick Neary, closely followed by Miles Booker.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” Neary said to Gideon, “but Mr. Booker said he needed to speak to Detective Inspector Ross right away.”

“That's okay, Mr. Neary. Please come in. You too, Mr. Booker.”

Booker wasted no time and immediately addressed Ross, as though the captain and first officer weren't in the room.

“Looks like we have a murder for you to solve, Andy,” he said, quietly. “Nugent found a very small puncture mark on Gaspar's arm. He believes someone injected the man with some kind of fast acting poison but he's reluctant to try and name it at present. He detected a faint aroma of something sickly sweet around the man's lips and mouth, but again he's no idea what's causing it and neither have I, before you ask. I did find something interesting though, while I was searching the cabin for any trace evidence while Nugent and Lees were working on the examination of the body,”

“Do tell, Miles,” Ross said as he waited for the Crime Scenes Investigator to go on.

“There's a small safe in the cabin, and the key was tucked in the rear pocket of Gaspar's wallet which had somehow found its way under the bunk. When I opened it I found these.”

Booker took his hand out of his right-hand pocket where it had been since he entered, revealing not one, but three passports.

“Ah,” said Ross. “It would appear our Mr. Gaspar is not quite what he seems.”

“That should be was, sir,” Drake chipped in.

“Okay, okay, pedantic as ever, Sergeant Drake,” Ross replied. “Can I see those please, Miles?”

Booker passed the three documents to Ross who spent a minute examining them before passing them to Drake, who read aloud for the benefit of Captain Gideon.

“Doctor Alvaro Gaspar, Portuguese citizen, Doctor Emilio Sanchez, Spanish, and Doctor Leonardo Barras, also Portuguese. Seems whoever he was, he liked to be known as Doctor, but doctor of what, I wonder, and which one is the real one, if any of them are?”

“Well, we haven't seen the body up close yet and already we have a mystery,” Ross said, thoughtfully. “Why would he need three passports unless he was involved in something shady?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Booker agreed. “His clothes didn't give me any clues, no monogrammed shirts or name labels to be found. There were no business cards in his wallet, no address book in his belongings, and cash-wise, his wallet contained around ten thousand Brazilian reals and a few hundred dollars in American Express traveller's cheques. If he has any credit cards, I haven't found them yet.

“This is turning into something of a nightmare,” Gideon commented. “Just who the hell was he?”

“Don't worry, Captain. We'll find out before long, I'm sure,” Ross replied, as another knock on the door heralded the arrival of the ship's second officer, Robert Gray.

“Sorry to butt in, Captain, but the doctor is asking if Detective Inspector Ross and Sergeant Drake can join him in Senhor Gaspar's cabin.”

“You'll excuse us, please Captain?” said Ross as he and Drake made for the door. “Lead on please, Mister…?”

“Gray, sir, Robert Gray.”

“Are you Australian too, Mr. Gray?” Ross asked.

“No sir, I'm from Liverpool.”

“No Scouse accent, eh?” Ross commented.

“No, sir. The accent wouldn't go with the job, but I can lapse into it if I need to in company with the lads at home I grew up with.”

“Right, let's go. You'd better come too, Miles,” Ross said to Booker, who joined the two detectives as they hurried off to join Nugent in cabin 6.

The corridor housing cabin 6 had been sealed off by the time Ross and Drake returned to talk with Nugent. All passengers had been asked to vacate their cabins and were assembled in the ship's main saloon, awaiting questioning by the police. Gideon had informed them, through their stewards, that a passenger had passed away unexpectedly, and the police wished to speak to them all. Though disgruntled, the small contingent of passengers grudgingly complied.

William Nugent was seated in the armchair situated in one corner of the cabin. Lees was taking photographs of the body from every possible angle.

“You summoned us, Doc?” Ross said as he and Drake entered the cabin, followed closely by Miles Booker. Gray diplomatically stayed outside, keeping unwanted onlookers away.

“Aye, Inspector Ross. I knew ye'd be wanting to know my preliminary findings as soon as possible.”

“Indeed, I do, Doc. So, what have you discovered?”

Nugent rose from his seat and walked across to the bunk where the dead man lay, now covered with a white sheet that Nugent pulled back in order to show Ross and Drake his findings.

“Come and take a look,” Nugent beckoned them to draw closer. “Look here at his right arm. There's a definite tiny puncture mark, do you see?”

Ross and Drake nodded, and Ross asked, “A needle mark, Doc?”

“I'd say so,” said Nugent, “and before you ask, I can find no evidence the man may have been diabetic and taking insulin. If that were true, your man Booker would have found evidence of it and both Francis and I have searched the cabin thoroughly also. There is no insulin, no supply of hypodermic needles; nothing at all to indicate a diabetic was travelling in here. Plus, a diabetic would usually inject themselves in a more accessible place, the upper arm for example, not in the crook of the elbow, which seems like a desire to try and hide the puncture mark from someone like me.”

“You're a mind reader, Doc. I was going to ask that very question.”

“Aye well, no mind reading at all, but I do know how your mind works, Inspector. We've known each other long enough, and worked together so often over the years, ye can be a wee bit predictable.”

“Predictable huh?” Ross grunted.

“I think that was a compliment, sir,” Drake said, trying to prevent Ross becoming too irritated with the pathologist. “Doctor Nugent has obviously studied your habits and methods over the years and is now able to second guess you at times, isn't that right, Doctor?”

“What, oh aye, of course, Sergeant. That's what it is. Now, do ye want to hear the rest, or nae?” His accent betrayed his own irritation again. Ross had always found it amusing that his Scottish roots only really showed at times of anger or frustration as a rule.

“Of course, please, do tell.”

“Lint, cotton fibres, Inspector, right here,” Nugent indicated the dead man's nostrils.”

“Lint?”

“Aye, in all probability from his own pillow,” Nugent indicated the white cotton pillowcase under the dead man's head.” Someone held it over his face, either to stifle his screams, or to suffocate him as his killer waited for any d**g used on the man to take effect.”

“A bit of overkill, wouldn't you say, Doctor, poisoning him and then suffocating him to make sure?” Drake commented.

“Whoa, Sergeant Drake,” Nugent quickly corrected her. “I've nae said for sure that yon chappie was poisoned. Poison is a possibility I grant you, but equally, the killer or killers may have administered a d**g to render him unconscious, or even some sort of recreational d**g to incapacitate him while they killed him.”

“My apologies, Doctor Nugent,” Drake said. “But you also just raised the possibility of two killers working together, did you not?”

“Aye, well, that's just speculation. It's up to you and the Inspector to fathom it out, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is, Doc,” Ross butted in. “We need to get you and the corpse back to your lab so you can conduct a full autopsy as soon as possible. Izzie, would you go and see our friends on the launch? Tell them to be ready to transport Doctor Nugent and Mr. Lees back to shore with the body. Miles, can you arrange for your forensic people to meet the launch and come out here to carry out a full examination?”

Drake nodded in response and walked out of the cabin, up to the grandly named promenade deck from where she called to Sergeant Beswick, who ran up the gangway steps to confer with her as she made the necessary arrangements. Booker meanwhile called his senior duty forensic technician, Darren, (Daz) Osborne, who would pull together a team of four operatives and enough equipment to carry out their examination of the crime scene. Four would be enough, Booker decided, not wanting to overload the police launch with unnecessary personnel and equipment.

“Thank you, doc,” Ross said to Nugent. “You've given us quite a bit to go on from a preliminary examination of the body. I appreciate the diligence and speed at which you've worked. It can't have been easy in such cramped surroundings.”

From past experience, Andy Ross knew it never hurt to massage the ego of the senior pathologist who now positively glowed in response to the Inspector's compliment. Ross knew now that Nugent would pull out all the stops to carry out the autopsy as quickly as possible.

“Aye, well, you know it's always a pleasure to help you out whenever we get the opportunity, isn't that right Francis?”

“Yes, of course, Doctor,” Francis Lees replied. Always a man of few words, Lees said no more as he concentrated on packing away his camera and other equipment, ready for the voyage back to shore. Ross hoped the man would fare a little better on the return voyage, and then had an idea.

“Mister Gray,” he called to the officer who still stood like a sentinel just outside the cabin.

“Yes Inspector,” Gray replied as he stepped just over the threshold, staying well away from the main interior of the cabin. “Can I help you with something?”

“You can indeed. Doctor Nugent and Mr. Lees will be leaving soon with the body of Mister Gaspar. Before they go, would you please run and ask your ship's doctor…what was his name again?”

“Doctor Hanning, sir.”

“Yes, of course. Please ask Doctor Hanning if he has something Mr. Lees can take before he leaves to help him to combat his lack of equilibrium once the launch is in motion? I'm sure the doctor has to help the occasional passenger with similar problems from time to time.”

“Oh yes, of course he does. I'm sure he has something Mr. Lees can take that will act quickly and help with his sea-sickness.”

“Thanks,” said Ross. “Quick as you can please, Mister Gray.”

“Oh right, of course,” said Gray who got the message and disappeared quickly to find Doctor Hanning, returning just five minutes later with two small, purple coloured pills in a tiny plastic dispensing tub, just like the ones Ross had seen many times in hospitals over the years, together with a bottle of still spring water and a plastic tumbler. He knocked on the cabin door, not wanting to intrude on the crime scene, and Izzie Drake, by now returned from making arrangements for the transfer of the body to shore with Nugent and Lees, took them from him.

“Doctor Hanning sent these for your Mr. Lees. He assumed you wouldn't want anything in the cabin touched so he sent these too,” he said, holding out the bottle of water and the tumbler.

“Very thoughtful, thank you, Mister Gray,” Ross called to him from within the cabin, “and please convey my thanks to Doctor Hanning.”

“Right sir, I'll do that,” Gray replied, pleased to have been of help.

“The launch is waiting,” Drake now said. “I took the liberty of asking Mr. Neary to provide us with assistance in getting the body from the deck to the launch. Better that we have help from people used to negotiating that ramp-like stairway, not wanting to slip and fall and maybe drop the body overboard. There'll be four seamen waiting for us on deck.”

“That was smart thinking, Izzie, well done, quite right,” Ross smiled at his sergeant, always the model of efficiency.

Ten minutes later, Nugent, Lees, his sea legs chemically reinforced by Hanning's tablets, and the remains of the unfortunate though mysterious Doctor Gaspar/Barras/Sanchez, whichever he may be, if any were his real name, were on their way back to Liverpool, where Nugent would soon begin a comprehensive examination of the body, assisted by Francis Lees.

After ensuring that cabin 6 was securely locked and that he was in possession of the key previously possessed by Gaspar, (that name would do for now, as it was the one he'd travelled under, Ross decided), the spare key being locked in the captain's safe, Ross, accompanied by Izzie Drake and Miles Booker were escorted back to the bridge by Robert Gray, leaving two crewmen to guard the passenger deck, ensuring nobody gained unauthorised entry to the cabin or indeed any of the passenger accommodation.

“So,” George Gideon said after being informed of William Nugent's preliminary findings, “you're saying it's almost certain we have a killer on board, is that correct, Inspector?”

“It certainly looks that way, Captain, I'm sorry to say.”

“Blood and sand,” Gideon cursed, uttering an old fashioned turn of phrase that Ross hadn't heard in many a year. Maybe it was rather more prevalent in Australia, he surmised. “That's all I need,” the skipper continued. “The b****y owners are going to be damned furious at the delay.”

“Yes, well, I'm sure I don't have to remind you, or the owners, that a man is dead, Captain Gideon, and we have a duty to investigate his death and apprehend his killer who, it seems virtually certain, is on this ship even as we speak.”

“b****y hell. Of course you're right, Inspector. A killer, loose on board my ship? What can we do to help you, Inspector Ross? Just name it.”

“Just do as you are at present,” Ross replied. “Cooperate with us, give us whatever assistance we need, and with luck, we can solve this case without causing too much delay and disruption to your crew and passengers' plans and of course, to your ship's sailing schedule.”

“You've got it,” Gideon said with firm resolution in his voice. Ross liked him even more. He saw George Gideon as a man of action, decisive and not easily shaken, a man who'd be useful to have at your side in a fight. He hoped of course that no fighting would be necessary when they identified the killer or killers, but one never knew. Gideon continued to speak even as Ross was thinking these thoughts. “So, what do we do next, Inspector Ross?”

“Next thing we do, with your permission, Captain, is visit the main saloon as you call it. It's time Sergeant Drake and I spoke to your passengers.”