Cold Grave (13 page)

For a brief moment, it felt as if the craziness of the world had stopped and for once they were a normal family.

‘You know, Annie, it always amazed me how calm you are in a crisis. And how much you care about people.’

The cold water felt good in her dry throat. ‘I thought it annoyed you. How I couldn’t switch off.’

Martin shoved a hand in his jeans pocket. ‘Well, I might have grown up a bit since then. Being a parent does that, you know.’

He really was an adult version of their son – curls, expressions, dimples and all.

‘You’re doing an incredible job with Ben. Sounds like he was a hit with the club counsellors.’

He looked out to sea. ‘He can’t wait to go back in the morning. But I said we’d have to ask you.’

Anya flicked his shoulder. ‘Great, make me the bad guy if I say no.’

Martin became serious. ‘I figured that security guy might want your advice tomorrow and it might even come in handy if anything goes wrong with our gunshot patient.’ He put the glass down on the white plastic table. ‘I get that you can’t turn your back on these people.’

Anya thought of Jasmine Chan and the promise she’d made to herself to find out more about Lilly. She wanted to spend more time with Ben too though – she hardly ever had the chance to be with him all day.

They sat in silence as the wind whipped around them. Dark clouds buried the moonlight. The sound of the ship hitting waves became louder. The storm the captain had forewarned them about was starting to hit.

‘Better batten down the hatches,’ Martin finally said. He stood and let Anya return to the room first. ‘It could get rough out there, but the way the stabilisers are on this ship, we’ll be unlikely to feel it.’ She felt a little queasy but his words were comforting.

He closed and locked the sliding door before making sure the curtains were pulled shut. Within seconds, rain pounded the balcony.

She showed him to the door.

He patted a shirt pocket for his room key and yawned. ‘I’ll be off to bed then.’

Just like Ben, Martin’s energy had expired.

‘Will I see you in the morning for breakfast?’ he asked.

She glanced at their son. ‘Let’s see what time sleepy boy wakes up.’

Martin grinned and headed out the door. ‘Sleep well, and do me a favour: deadlock the door when I go. Whoever did that to Lilly is still out there.’

‘Night.’ She closed the door and clicked the bolt. She changed into an oversized T-shirt and curled up under the covers. Using the remote control, she scanned the television channels and stopped at one highlighting the facilities on board, which quickly drifted into the visual equivalent of white noise. The sound of rain outside and furniture scraping on the deck above filtered into the background.

Her mind replayed the day’s events. Martin finding Lilly, her body in the morgue, FitzHarris referring to Anya as a whistleblower. Her thoughts drifted to Carlos. She sat up and checked the phone. No messages.

There was a knock at the door. Martin must have forgotten something. She climbed out quietly, not wanting to disturb Ben, and pulled on jeans. Without a peephole, she had no option but to open the door. Standing outside was a female officer carrying a large brown envelope. Anya’s first thought was that Carlos’s condition had deteriorated.

‘Ma’am, I apologise for the interruption. This was left at reception and I was asked to deliver it to you asap.’

Her badge read Nuala, Florida.

‘Thanks.’ Anya accepted the envelope.

The woman glanced at both sides of the corridor. She seemed to be waiting for something from Anya.

‘Do you need a response?’

‘No, ma’am, it can surely wait until morning. Once again, apologies for disturbing you so late.’ Nuala smiled broadly and headed down the corridor.

After closing and re-locking the door, Anya opened the envelope by the light of the television. It contained a number of pages with headings:

Anderson Cruise Lines – the Ocean’s Richest Pirates

Flags of Convenience

Third
World
Wages

Corporate Tax Evasion

Eco Vandalism

Raping and Pillaging is their business

Each title was followed by two pages of websites and references. At the bottom, an unsigned handwritten message immediately drew her attention.

‘Where you are guaranteed to get away with rape and murder . . . Trust no one.’

A burst of air from the air-conditioner made her startle. She sat on the bed and clicked on the bedside light. Ben didn’t stir as she closed the curtain partitioning her bed from the lounge area. Re-reading the note, it seemed like someone had a major gripe against the company.

She wondered if Nuala was handing them out to all the passengers. Feeling exhausted, she removed her jeans and climbed beneath the covers. It was late and her eyelids were heavy. She clicked off the light. The handwritten message repeated in her mind. ‘Guaranteed to get away with rape and murder.’ Gut instinct told her the note wasn’t random. It had to be from someone who knew about Lilly, and maybe even Carlos.

Was it a warning? Or could it be a threat? Nuala would be long gone by now. She listened to Ben’s heavy breathing, before collecting her laptop and logging on to the internet.

She began with the term, ‘Flag of Convenience’. Comprehensive definitions explained how many large corporations, like cruise lines, were registered in Panama, Liberia and Bermuda – known tax havens – despite conducting most of their business in and around the US, with American owners and managers.

A quick search for
Paradisio
found it had been registered in Panama, along with Anderson Cruise Lines. Sports stars were well-known for seeking havens like Bermuda and Monaco to avoid paying tax, so it made sense that companies would do the same. One of the references took her to a website that contained articles on the cruise industry. By registering offshore, Anderson avoided paying US company tax, and was immune from labour laws and most US regulations, including minimum wages.

Anya shoved a pillow behind her back. She had long forgotten how late it was. Minimum wages in America were shockingly low, it seemed. Someone working two to three jobs could still be below the poverty level. In Australia, tips, superannuation and holiday pay were factored into minimum wages. If the cruise lines were paying below even basic rates, they were no better than sweat shops. Fixed terms of employment meant companies avoided paying for leave, or medical care for families. What was to stop the company lowering the pay rates with subsequent contracts? Karen had said even low pay was better than what crew members could earn in their own countries.

The ‘fun cruise’ suddenly took on a new dimension.

From the smiles on the faces of the crew, it hardly seemed possible.

Anya thought of the subclass down below she had seen that night, and the large number of staff from developing countries living and working like Cockroach in the garbage disposal area.

Eight to ten months of living in cramped, hot conditions with no daylight would be a challenge for anyone, especially so far from your family. The air-conditioner spluttered again, and Anya felt a pang of guilt. She was free to control the temperature in her cabin. The workers on the decks below appeared to have no power over their lives while on board. They weren’t even given sufficient time to sleep.

Rain pelted the balcony and windows, and Anya pulled the covers up higher. She typed in ‘wages, housekeeper’ and ‘cruise ship’. The results showed an abundance of agencies advertising for staff, and the job descriptions read like holiday brochures where crew could visit the world’s most famous cities and enjoy five-star facilities. She wondered how many places Cockroach and Carlos had actually seen.

The recruiting companies listed were based in the Philippines, Indonesia, India and the Caribbean. Searching for blogs by employees was more difficult. It was as if a code of silence existed among former workers.

She typed in ‘cruise ship workers union’. No result. Out of frustration, she tried the catchphrase ‘United Nations of crew’. This led to the Anderson company website.

‘We pride ourselves on being a non-discriminatory, welcoming, international family. To ensure we employ people from every possible country, we hand-select our staff from all parts of the globe, to give our passengers a truly multinational experience.’ As an example, various countries – again, developing countries – were listed along with the percentage of staff representing each area. She looked down the list. India, twelve percent; Malaysia, six percent; China, eleven percent; Costa Rica, five percent; Philippines, fourteen percent. The percentages seemed low given the recruiting companies were based in areas of high unemployment and poor education.

Anya unscrewed the lid on the bottled water by her bed, and wondered if there was an absence of unions because the company had a ceiling on the numbers from each nation. That would ensure every employee belonged to a minority group. With the exhausting working hours, they would not have time, energy or even the multi-language skills required to organise a union.

Passengers were totally oblivious to what went on out of their sight.

She took a few sips of water and listened to Ben mumbling in his sleep before resettling. The bedside clock glowed 2 a.m. The humming of the cabin was becoming hypnotic.

Anya did one last search: Anderson company profits.

The annual report described the company as four times the size of McDonald’s, the fast food doyen. Only McDonald’s paid taxes. It took her a moment to process the comparison. Cruising was far bigger business than Anya had ever imagined.

Despite record profits, crew welfare didn’t seem to be a company priority.

She wondered if investigations into drugs, sexual assault and shootings were.

The contents of the envelope played on her mind.

Trust no one
.

11

Five hours later, she woke up with Ben snuggled close beside her, his hair tousled. He had climbed in around four o’clock when the storm had intensified. She stretched her free arm and bumped the headboard. Ben stirred and buried his head deeper into her shoulder before opening his bleary eyes.

‘Is it morning yet?’

She swept the fringe from his forehead. ‘Yep, you had a pretty good sleep.’

He sat upright and stretched his arms. ‘Is kids’ club open?’

Anya’s heart sank a little. She had hoped to spend the whole trip with her son, but he obviously loved the activities and interaction with other children. It seemed selfish to spoil his fun.

‘I thought we could have breakfast with your dad before you go anywhere.’

Ben launched himself onto the floor, slipped out of his pyjamas and pulled a clean pair of underwear from the drawer. ‘Is he coming?’

Anya laughed. ‘Yesterday all you wanted to do was swim in the pool. And hey, don’t leave those on the floor.’

He picked up the discarded clothes and shoved them into a drawer before removing a blue T-shirt and green elastic-waisted shorts. ‘Should we get Dad?’

He was already fully charged and energetic.

‘Can you please slow down, I haven’t had a shower or even woken up properly yet, or had a hug.’

‘Maaahhhaaahhhaarrrmmm!’

Children had a knack of inserting multiple syllables into a three letter name, making Mum sound like a profanity. He jumped onto the bed and threw his arms around her. She lingered as he twirled a piece of her hair around his finger.

‘I won’t be long.’ She climbed out of bed. ‘And I don’t want you answering the door to anyone except your father.’

‘Uh huh, can I please watch TV?’

Anya had no objections as she headed for the shower. Washing more of yesterday away felt good, and with the storm still lashing the balcony, a couple of hours in the kids’ club would be fun for Ben. Then they could all go and see a movie or do any number of onboard activities.