34 - The Queen's Jewels (19 page)

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Where is Richard now?”

“I don’t know. He was in a bad mood.”

From my limited observation of him he seemed always to be in a bad mood.

“Look!” She jumped up and ran to the rail.

The moon had slipped from behind a cloud, and a pair of dolphins had surfaced, swimming in the reflection, the moon’s rays catching their silvery shapes as they dove and surfaced, keeping pace with the ship.

“How beautiful,” I said, coming to lean on the rail next to her.

“I was hoping to see dolphins or whales,” Marcia said absently.

“Well, now you have,” I said, “and so have I.”

A small smile played on her lips and she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

I breathed in the salty air and made a decision. “Marcia, I’d like to ask you a question.”

She nodded.

“I assume you’ve heard of the theft of a precious blue diamond called the Heart of India. It happened in London last week.”

Because our sides touched, I felt her stiffen.

“There’s a British insurance company, one of two companies that insured that diamond, a firm called Kensington. Does Richard have anything to do with that firm?”

She said nothing.

“You may have heard that there’s been a death aboard this evening. It appears that it was murder.”

“It’s terrible,” she said. “I know who it was. That Chinese man.”

“Korean. Mr. Kim Chin-Hwa. He was a business partner of the man who owned the Heart of India, the one who was killed during the robbery.”

She looked up at me. “Why are you talking about those things with me?”

“I suppose because I’m interested in seeing murderers brought to justice. I thought that maybe Richard was on the ship on behalf of the insurance firm that shares his name. If so, he might have something to offer the authorities who are investigating.”

“Why would he?” she snapped. “And what do you have to do with this?”

“I don’t mean to upset you any more than you already are, Marcia, but I’m afraid that I’ve been drawn into the nasty things that have been going on.”

“Richard doesn’t know anything!”

I read her emphatic denial to mean that he most certainly did.

I expected her to excuse herself and leave. But as much as she appeared to be annoyed with the topics I’d raised, she simultaneously seemed to want to continue the conversation, and I was willing to accommodate.

After an awkward lull, she said, “You don’t know how it is.”

“How
what
is, Marcia?”

“How—” She turned and leaned her back against the railing. “Richard will be furious if he finds me talking about this to a stranger.”

“I’d like to think I’m not a stranger,” I said. “We are, after all, both passengers on this lovely ocean liner, and we did have dinner together one night.
And
a murder of one of our fellow passengers has been committed. I think we all have a stake in seeing justice done.”

“You seem like a nice person,” she said.

“I try to be.”

She wrapped her arms about herself and shivered.

“Cold?”

“Afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“I—”

We never saw him coming until he was upon us. Richard Kensington grabbed Marcia’s elbow and spun her around.

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded.

“I was—I was getting some air.”

“I’ve been looking all over the damn ship for you.” He put out his hand.

“I don’t want to go,” she said.

“You’re coming with me, Marcia.” He yanked her arm, but she resisted, grabbing hold of the rail.

“You’re hurting her,” I said.

“You stay out of it,” he snarled.

“No, I will
not
stay out of it. You have no right to force her to come with you.”

He let go of her and brought his face inches from mine. “You watch yourself, lady. You mind your own business.”

“Abusing a woman is everyone’s business, even if she is your—your girlfriend.”

“What have you been telling her?” he demanded of Marcia.

“Nothing, Richard, I swear it.”

He pulled her away from me and dragged her down the deck toward a door. I watched as he flung it open, pushed her through, and followed her inside.

What a volatile young man, I thought. She’d best think twice about marrying him, if that was ever in the cards to begin with.

My initial reasoning why they claimed they were married no longer satisfied me. There had to be more to it than that, particularly since he’d erupted over her having admitted to me that they weren’t married. This wasn’t a matter of wanting to establish propriety. He wasn’t concerned about what others might think of their living arrangement, certainly not in this day and age, where cohabitation before marriage is hardly unique.

But why was he so angry? Why the big fuss over something most people would ignore?

Did it have to do with the British company whose name was the same as his? I couldn’t see any clear connection at that juncture, but my instincts told me that there had to be a link.

As I returned inside the ship, I said a silent prayer that his temper tantrum didn’t result in injury to Marcia. She was frightened and vulnerable, something I hated to see in any young woman.

I rang for the elevator, and when the door opened, I came face-to-face with Harry Flynn.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, chuckling. “I’m just on my way to Churchill’s Cigar Lounge.”

“I didn’t realize that you smoked cigars.”

“Only occasionally,” he said. “I hope the smell doesn’t put you off.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “My late husband, Frank, was a pipe smoker.”

“I’ve enjoyed pipes, too, although I never did get the hang of all the rigmarole that goes with it. Why don’t you come with me? You look like you could use a friendly ear.”

I debated for only a moment before agreeing.

In Churchill’s we sank down into two overstuffed leather chairs, as Harry fired up the biggest cigar I’d ever seen. He puffed contentedly for a moment, then leaned over, careful to hold the cigar away from me at arm’s length. “What have you learned about the murder?”

“Not very much. Have you seen Betty LeClair, Mr. Kim’s friend?”

“Can’t say that I have. It
was
Kim who was killed?”

“Yes.”

“And what about Mr. Jones?” he asked. “Why did that officer call him Michael?”

I sighed and pressed my lips together. Now that Haggerty had come out of the closet, as it were, I saw no reason to not speak freely of him. “It’s a long story, Harry. Michael—his real name is Michael Haggerty—is a retired member of British MI6, the intelligence agency. Actually, he’s come out of retirement because of the diamond theft and murder in London last week, something to do with money from jewelry thefts being funneled to terrorist groups.”

“My goodness,” he said, sitting back and drawing on his cigar, “I had no idea that I’ve been sharing the dinner table with someone that important.”

I smiled. Haggerty would have been pleased to hear that said of him. “He’s involved in the shipboard investigation of Mr. Kim’s murder,” I said.

“A good thing someone with his credentials is on board, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is. He’s very good at what he does. Have you picked up any scuttlebutt around the ship about the murder?”

“A few people have mentioned it. One woman was quite upset at the news. I suppose you can’t blame her being concerned that a killer is aboard. Interesting term, ‘scuttlebutt.’ Do you know the origins of it?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” I said, “compliments of Harry Flynn.”

He laughed. “I sometimes forget what stories I’ve told,” he said. “Sorry. It comes with age.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, Harry puffing away on his cigar, me engrossed in myriad thoughts pulsating in my brain. I looked into the Commodore Club through the glass doors and saw Dennis Stanton walk by. I sat up abruptly.

“Oh, there’s, um, Bill,” I said.

“Why don’t you go have a talk with him while I finish my cigar?” Harry said.

“Are you sure, Harry? You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Go! I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

“Thanks.”

He started to get up, but I placed my hand on his arm. “No need,” I said. “See you in a few minutes.”

I entered the club and saw that Stanton had joined Jennifer Kahn and Kiki Largent at a far window. I glanced back to see that Harry seemed content to be working on his cigar, and judging from the size of it, he’d be there a while.

“Mind if I sit with you?” I asked the threesome.

Stanton looked up. “Please do,” he said. Kiki’s expression said that she wasn’t happy about my intrusion. Jennifer smiled and gave me a cheery hello, but added that they were about to leave.

“Terrible what happened tonight, isn’t it?” she said.

“The death of Mr. Kim?” I said, not sure if she knew it was a murder.

“Oh, is that who it was? We heard a rumor that someone drowned in a whirlpool. Yes, it is terrible,” Jennifer agreed. “He seemed like a nice man, although I barely met him.”

“Did you know that he was the partner of the man who was killed in London last week during the theft of the Heart of India?”

“No!” Jennifer said, coming forward in her chair for emphasis.

“You didn’t know about that?” I said.

“About the theft and murder?” Jennifer replied. “Of course I knew about that. You couldn’t escape it. It was all over the news, not to mention talked about endlessly by everyone in the industry. But I had no idea Mr. Kim was involved in that case. He was a partner of the slain man, you say? That means—well, that certainly points to there being some connection, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say that’s a good possibility,” I agreed.

“Have they ever determined who stole that diamond and killed the owner?” she asked.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Stanton, who’d said nothing during this exchange, shifted in his chair, ran his thumb and index finger down the razor-sharp crease in his slacks, and commented, “I read somewhere that there could be a link between that robbery and the rash of heists that took place in London around the same time.” He directed the comment directly at Jennifer, who stared blankly at him.

“I mean,” Stanton said, “it’s what I’ve read. You’re a jewelry designer, Jennifer. What’s your take on all these robberies and murders that have taken place?”

She sat back and smiled. “I design jewelry,” she said. “As far as I know, every gem I’ve handled has come from legitimate sources. I really know nothing about the underworld of jewel thieves.” She looked at me. “It’s pretty ironic that Mr. Kim was killed, considering he had those two large men with him,” she said. “I assumed they were his bodyguards.”

She looked at Kiki, who shrugged. “Let’s go,” she said to Jennifer.

Just then, Michael Haggerty walked into the club. He spotted us, hesitated, and came to where we sat.

“Hello,” I said. “I thought you were retiring for the night.”

Haggerty plopped down and released a rush of air from his mouth. “Cozy little group,” he said.

“Having a good evening, Wendell?” Stanton asked.

Haggerty looked at me before responding. “I’m not sure I’d call it that,” he said. “It looks like you’ve been busy.”

Stanton looked at him quizzically.

Haggerty ignored him and said to Jennifer, “Getting tips on San Francisco real estate?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said.

“Forget it,” Haggerty said, giving Stanton a mean look.

“I’m leaving,” Kiki said.

“I think I’d better leave with you,” Jennifer said.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Haggerty said. “I’m sure that you and your real estate adviser have more to talk about.”

“What’s this all about?” Stanton asked.

I knew what was behind Michael’s foul mood. There was little doubt that he’d developed strong feelings for Jennifer Kahn, and viewed Stanton as a rival for her affections. And my revelation about her true nature apparently hadn’t sat well.

Haggerty looked at me. “Maybe you should tell Jennifer what you told me, Jessica.”

“Perhaps you have something to tell Jennifer yourself,” I replied.

I certainly wasn’t about to get into a discussion about Jennifer being an international jewel thief. And it was doubtful Haggerty had confessed his true identity to the object of his fascination. I couldn’t envision her sitting quietly in the company of an intelligence agent for MI6 who’d come out of retirement to track down jewel thieves and their possible connection to terrorist-group funding. Surely she would have said something. But I didn’t know for certain. Now that the ship’s staff knew who Michael was and had enlisted his help in the murder investigation, he should come clean to his companions. But that was his decision.

“I think I’m going to get a cup of tea,” I said. “Anyone else?”

Everyone declined. I went to the bar to see if the staff would make me a cup of tea, and was delighted to be given a choice of several varieties. I chose chamomile, hoping that at least a few hours’ sleep would be afforded to me before the night had fled altogether.

Jennifer and Kiki had left, passing Harry Flynn on their way out. Haggerty and Stanton sat alone, glaring at each other.

“I hope it wasn’t something I said,” Harry joked as he joined me at the bar, and ordered a Cognac. “Those ladies seemed to be in a rush to leave.”

I smiled. “I’m sure not. It’s late. They probably want to get some sleep, as all smart people should.”

When Harry and I arrived back at the table, Stanton and Haggerty were in a spirited discussion.

“I can’t believe this, Jessica,” Stanton said. “Why didn’t you tell me that Wendell Jones here isn’t Wendell Jones, that he’s Michael Haggerty from British intelligence?”