34 - The Queen's Jewels (20 page)

“I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,” I said, shooting Michael a look. “I’ve only just told Harry, but that was because he overheard the staff officer call Michael by his right name.”

“I’m sure everyone appreciates that you’re here to find the murderer,” Harry said.

Haggerty seemed unsure of what to do or say. Since he’d revealed to Stanton his real name and profession, I looked at Stanton to see whether he’d reciprocate. He hadn’t yet, because Haggerty referred to him as “Bill.”

“Mind a question?” Harry asked Haggerty.

“Shoot.”

“I realize that this is none of my business, but I wondered whether you’d considered the possibility that Mr. Kim was killed by someone in his party.”

“Every possibility’s on the table, Harry.”

“Those two large men who’ve been accompanying him,” Harry said. “I heard one of them in the gym say to the other that he wouldn’t mind seeing ‘the boss’—that’s how he referred to him—wouldn’t mind seeing ‘the boss’ get it ‘the way Yang did.’ That’s exactly what he said.”

“You heard him say that?” Haggerty asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“Interesting,” said Haggerty.

“Of course,” Harry said, “as Jessica pointed out to me when I told her this, it was probably only idle talk, you know, the way people say they would like to see their boss killed. I’ve heard my share of that sort of talk when I was captaining freighters. Sailors can be a disagreeable lot—never satisfied, it seems. If they meant it every time they said they’d like to kill me, I’d have been gone long ago.”

“Does anyone know much about Kiki Largent?” I asked no one in particular.

“Why do you ask?” Haggerty said rather abruptly, as though annoyed at my question.

“I just wondered,” I said. “She seems—well, she seems somewhat mysterious, doesn’t say much, stays close to Jennifer’s side.” I was thinking, of course, of having seen her rendezvous with someone on the deck during the storm. I’d told Haggerty about that incident, but he seemed uninterested.

“Forget about her,” Haggerty said. “She and Jennifer aren’t on my radar.”

I took a sip of my tea to shield my smile. No doubt about it, Michael Haggerty had fallen for Jennifer Kahn. That he would allow his emotions to override his investigative efforts surprised me.

Harry checked his watch. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I’d like to get in a last few minutes at the casino. I feel lucky.”

It was tempting to suggest that he keep his winnings from previous forays to the craps table and not risk giving it all back, but who was I to throw cold water on the man’s pleasure? I wished him luck. He reached for Haggerty’s hand and said, “It’s a distinct pleasure to shake hands with a man like you, Mr....”

“Haggerty.”

“Yes, Mr. Haggerty,
Agent
Haggerty.”

Harry saluted Stanton and me, and walked off in his usual jaunty style.

“I have to go, too,” Haggerty said, standing. “See you both at breakfast.”

“Before you go,” Stanton said, raising a finger. “In the interests of fair play and all that, there’s something I should tell you. I’m not who I said I was either.”

Haggerty frowned.

“Name’s Dennis Stanton. I’m a private investigator for a large insurance company in San Francisco that is a coinsurer of the Heart of India diamond.”

Haggerty looked at me as though expecting verification.

I nodded. “Yes, I knew who Dennis was,” I said. “We’d met years ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Haggerty asked.

“I don’t breach someone’s cover when they ask me not to say anything. Besides, there was no need to, Michael. But now that you know, the two of you working together might make some headway.”

“I, ah—I’ll have to think about that,” Haggerty said.

He walked away and exited the club.

Stanton changed chairs so that he sat close to me. “Why didn’t you tell me who this guy really is?” he asked.

“It wasn’t my place to do that, Dennis.”

“Did you clue him in about Jennifer Kahn?”

“That she’s a jewel thief? I told him that someone alleges that she is.”

“And?”

“He didn’t believe me. You might have noticed that he’s smitten with her.”

“Yes, I picked up on that. Did you say that you got your information from me?”

“Of course not. But since he knows who you are, I imagine he’ll figure out where I got the information. I suggest you tell him yourself. Maybe he’ll believe it coming from you.”

“I will. I want to stay close to him, Jessica, now that I’ve learned that he’s involved in the investigation of Kim’s murder. You might want to know that I’ve been back and forth with London and San Francisco today via a couple of e-mails and a phone call. I made some queries about this guy Richard Kensington. Listen to this, Jessica.” He unfolded a sheet of paper he’d drawn from his pocket. “Richard Kensington is the only son of Kensington’s founder and chairman. The son and the old man have been on the outs for a long time. According to my source in California, the kid doesn’t work for the firm any longer.”

“And he’s not married and on his honeymoon,” I put in.

“How’d you find that out?”

“A conversation I had this evening with the young woman traveling with him. Her name is Marcia.”

“What’s he up to?” Stanton asked. “Why the lie?”

“Beats me, Dennis, but I suspect they know something about the Heart of India. She became very defensive when I raised the topic.”

Stanton digested this before asking, “What about Kim’s lady friend, Betty LeClair?”

“I haven’t seen her. I meant to ask Michael if he had, but it slipped my mind.”

“Damn!” Stanton muttered. “We’ve only got two more days at sea. Kensington has investigators working the case in London. They don’t think the diamond is on this ship. Neither does my home office. They’re really putting the pressure on me. They think I’m wasting my time making this crossing. I’d really love to prove them wrong.”

“Well,” I said, unsuccessfully stifling a yawn, “there’s obviously a lot to be accomplished in two days. I’m going to my cabin.”

We promised to meet for breakfast, although I had no illusions of how I’d feel having to get up in time. I headed for my stateroom and hopefully a good night’s sleep, as abbreviated as it would be. I was halfway down the corridor from my stateroom when I noticed, far ahead, that the security officer was still posted outside Kim’s door. As I watched, another man stepped into the hallway. He’d come from Kim’s cabin, and there was no mistaking who he was, not with his size. It was Uri. He didn’t see me and walked in the other direction. I picked up the pace, but he’d already disappeared around the corner in the direction of the elevators and staircase.

Frustrated—I’d intended to confront him—I fumbled for my key in my pocket and had just inserted it when I heard a door open behind me.

I whirled.

It was Rupesh.

I
drew a deep breath and smiled. “I’m relieved to see you,” I said.

“Good evening, madam.”

“I was worried about you. I saw you leave with the security men and—”

He raised a finger to silence me and glanced at the guard, who seemed disinterested in our conversation.

“Come in. I was intending to call you,” I said, adding for the guard’s benefit, “There’s something wrong with my TV.”

Rupesh extended his arm, and I preceded him into my stateroom, stopping only to pluck a message from my mail basket as I passed by. I glanced at the envelope. MRS. FLETCHER was typed on the front. The lettering looked the same as the previous message I’d received.

I turned and held up the envelope for Rupesh to see. “Do you know who delivered this, Rupesh?”

“No, madam,” he said, allowing the door to close behind him.

I opened it. The typewritten message was: “LIFE WAS MEANT TO BE LIVED, AND CURIOSITY MUST BE KEPT ALIVE.” ELEANOR ROOSEVELT.

He must have seen the concern on my face. “Is something wrong, madam?”

“No, nothing wrong, Rupesh.”

I swung around the desk chair so that it faced the small couch, and sat in the chair. Rupesh perched on the couch’s arm.

“When we first met, I said that I’d like to find time for us to have a chat. Is this a good time for you? I know it’s late and—”

“No, it is not too late, Mrs. Fletcher. I would like very much to speak with you.”

It was the first time that he’d used my name.

“I have many questions, Rupesh.”

“I understand.”

“You know about the murder of Mr. Kim tonight.”

“Yes. I was informed.”

“I have a feeling that you know more about it than having simply been ‘informed.’”

When he didn’t respond, I added, “And I also suspect that what you know might have come from a friend of mine, Wendell Jones, although that’s not his real name.”

“I know Mr. Jones’s real name, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“I suppose you do,” I said. “I saw you with him earlier this evening.”

“Mrs. Fletcher, I mustn’t stay long, but there is something I need to say to you.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge how I know certain things, but it is enough for you to know that there are bad people on the ship, very cruel people.”

He had my full attention.

“Mr. Jones—Mr. Haggerty works for the British intelligence agency MI6. He is on the ship because of these people.”

My immediate reaction was surprise that this room steward would so blithely reveal to me that Haggerty was an intelligence agent. But he quickly explained. “Agent Haggerty has told me that you and he have worked closely together in the past, and that I am to trust you.”

“He told you that?”

“Yes, madam.”

“I suppose I should be flattered but—”

“At first I suspected you might have been the one to kill Mr. Kim.”

“Me?!”

He nodded. “You were very interested in Mr. Kim’s cabin and its contents. You asked me to tell you if he had a computer and printer.”

“Oh, yes, but that was because—”

“However, Agent Haggerty also told me that you have certain—how shall I say it?—that you have certain ideas about some of these people, certain insights.”

Why Haggerty would have said that was but one of many questions I had at the moment, the most pressing of which was why he would be sharing things with Rupesh. Had this young man come upon some information that was helpful to Michael in the investigation? As a room steward, he would be privy to what went on in his area of responsibility, including passengers Kim Chin-Hwa and Betty LeClair. If that was the case, I was naturally curious to see what it was.

I asked again about the scene in which Betty was crying in her cabin. Rupesh had said it had to do with something, or someone, missing.

“The lady claimed that someone had entered her cabin without her permission and taken some papers.”

“What sort of papers?”

“That I do not know.”

“Rupesh,” I said, “when I approached my cabin a few minutes ago, I saw a man leaving Mr. Kim’s stateroom. He was a heavyset man with a beard. He wears a skullcap.”

Rupesh paused before answering. “That man is working with Mr. Haggerty.”

“Have you met him?”

“Yes, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“He’s another intelligence agent?”

“I am not at liberty to speculate on that.”

I didn’t press. I didn’t have to. I already knew that his name was Uri—at least that’s what Haggerty had told me—and that he worked for Israeli intelligence.

“I appreciate your candor with me, Rupesh,” I said, “but I’m afraid I don’t understand your involvement with Agent Haggerty, or with this other man, whose name, by the way, is Uri.”

“Then you know him.”

“I only know
of
him.”

He got up, went to the glass doors, and stood looking out for what seemed a long time. When he turned to me, he smiled. “There are things I cannot share with you at this moment, Mrs. Fletcher, but I hope to soon. In the meantime, I must go. I have final chores before going to my cabin for some rest.”

“Of course,” I said as I walked him to the door. “Is Ms. LeClair next door in her cabin?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Where is she?”

“With the staff captain and his security officers. They are questioning her. She will not be returning to her stateroom.”

“Where will she go?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Is Agent Haggerty with them?”

“I believe so, but I cannot be certain. I must go, Mrs. Fletcher. I hope you have a restful sleep.”

He was no sooner gone than my phone rang. “Jessica? It’s Michael. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No such luck.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No, as a matter of fact you didn’t wake me. I was just having a conversation with my cabin steward, Rupesh. I understand you’ve been talking with him.”

“I’d like you to come to the officers’ wardroom.”

“Now?”

“I’d really appreciate it, Jessica. But if you’d rather not, I—”

“No, I’ll be there. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Any thoughts of enjoying even a few hours’ sleep were rapidly dissipating. I freshened up and headed out again. I could easily have begged off, but the lure of adding to what I’d learned so far about the Heart of India diamond, jewel theft in general, and the murder of Kim Chin-Hwa was too compelling. The old adage “In for a penny, in for a pound” came and went as I walked the length of the hallway and eventually arrived at the wardroom, where the staff captain, Michael Haggerty, and the Israeli intelligence agent Uri were seated around a conference table. The captain and Uri stood as I entered, and Haggerty raised himself but settled back down immediately.

“Thank you for coming,” the staff captain said. “Please, have a seat.”