Cold Grave (9 page)

‘He was not rational with the pain,’ Doctor Novak snapped. ‘He will have time to discuss more surgeries once he is at hospital. Now, we save his life.’

‘I give you all the authority and indemnity to do whatever procedures are necessary,’ the captain announced.

The issue had not occurred to Anya. International waters were a medico-legal minefield if anything went wrong with the surgery.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Doctor Novak is right. There’s no other option. We’re going to have to do a bilateral amputation.’

Martin and Karen had already begun to roll the patient onto his back. He had gone quiet after the last dose of morphine.

Reluctantly, she moved to the head of the bed and placed the rubber mask on Carlos’s face. Martin prepared the anaesthetic agent. Anya would intubate once Carlos was fully asleep.

Suddenly, his body tensed and the fear returned to his eyes. She removed the mask and bent down to reassure him.

‘Kill her . . . Stop . . . him.’

7

At the bar on the pool deck, Anya ordered a lemon, lime and bitters and thought about Carlos’s words. The shooting could have had something to do with what he knew about Lilly Chan. Then again, he could have just heard about her death and been hallucinating with the morphine.

Anya took a sip of her drink. She was too tired for anything stronger and wanted to rehydrate. Years ago she had learnt that dealing with stress through alcohol was counterproductive. It only temporarily numbed emotions, which would predictably erupt later, at the most inopportune time.

Martin joined her. ‘Well, Ben’s in the middle of pirate night and begged to stay. I didn’t have the heart or energy to argue.’

Anya was glad. Martin deserved to unwind after the horrors of the day, particularly as it had been so long since he had dealt with patients or handled an emergency. He had been confident and purposeful during the procedure with Carlos, but now he looked weary.

The sea breeze was nippy, but the fresh air on her skin was refreshing. Thankfully, the deck was still quiet and relatively private. An entertainment crew was preparing lights and a disc jockey was setting up his equipment under a small rotunda. Many of the passengers were still divided between the second dinner sitting and one of the theatrical shows.

Somewhere onboard was a gunman. Possibly the same person who had been involved with Lilly’s death. She looked around at the other people on deck. It was unnerving. Any one of them could be a killer. But when she rationalised it, this ship was like a town, with a population in the thousands. Shootings tended to be crimes of passion, drug or gang related, so the shooter didn’t stray far from their usual home. Carlos was not randomly shot. He had been targeted for a specific reason, possibly even racial.

‘I don’t think anyone’s planning on shooting us tonight,’ Martin said, catching her look.

Anya smiled. ‘No.’

In reality, whoever left Lilly Chan to die was far more dangerous. When Carlos was conscious, he could be questioned. Maybe he knew what had happened to Lilly, and who was involved.

Karen arrived and requested a mango mocktail, which sounded more exotic with her southern American accent. With their drinks, they headed for a quiet table behind the dance floor. ‘God, what a day.’ The nurse slumped into a chair and kicked off her sandals. She had changed into a nondescript pale shirt and jeans after showering Carlos’s blood from her skin while Anya and Doctor Novak sewed up the wounds. Her short hair was wavy when wet, which made her look younger than her years.

‘I’m used to occasional emergencies onboard, but nothing like today. I’ve seen old people die in their beds. It’s the way some of them want to go.’ She pushed the straw to the side and sipped from the glass. ‘Who would believe the cost of constantly travelling on cruises is comparable to buying into a nursing home?’

‘I know where I’d rather be,’ Martin announced. ‘No pureed food or unidentifiable slops for five o’clock dinner.’

‘The cruise lines are starting to clamp down on it. Too much of a drain on the small medical teams. Did you know the line employs older men to dance with the widows who travel alone? They’re a significant part of the entertainment. We have one widow who’s a regular livewire – she’s eighty-four and can samba with the twenty year olds. The sixty-year-old escorts can’t keep up with her.’

Anya laughed. She could see her own grandmother being like that. She twisted the ring on her right middle finger, which had once belonged to her favoured Nanna.

‘Never underestimate an octogenarian with dancing shoes,’ Martin quipped.

‘That will be me in a few years,’ Karen said, only she was not smiling. ‘Atlanta, Georgia, doesn’t have the same feel I’m afraid. Unfortunately, Carlos’s days on ships are over. And that poor girl from this morning . . . I need to check the blood results after this. With everything that happened this afternoon, I haven’t had a chance.’ She took a bigger sip of the mocktail. ‘You know, some of the crew are saying this cruise is cursed. There’s a rumour that not one, but two albatrosses have flown around the ship. Superstition says that one albatross means that the ship will be dogged by misfortune. Two of them have the older crew members really rattled . . .’

They were still days from port.

Anya asked Karen, ‘Who will notify Carlos’s family?’

‘Thankfully, not Doctor Sensitive.’ The nurse stared into the distance. ‘Head office will do that. These men are away from home for up to a year. They’re in close quarters with people who often don’t speak the same language as them or share the same basic beliefs. Hundreds of years of ethnic pride and tribal fighting aren’t easy to leave onshore. Guess I shouldn’t give Novak such a hard time. Who knows what he’s had to live through.’

‘Is ethnic fighting something you see much of?’ Martin probed.

‘Well, it isn’t surprising when you combine long hours, alcohol and confined spaces for lengthy periods. Anyone caught fighting is automatically sent home from the next port. Guess you have to give credit to the staff that relatively few incidents occur.’

Anya thought that there might also be a wide variation in what constituted appropriate sexual behaviour and treatment of women. In certain cultures, men could feel entitled to sex, and in close quarters, there was a greater chance of incidents between crew. A crew member could have been with Lilly last night.

The barman delivered a plate of antipasto, french fries and fresh bread. Martin tore open a bread roll and filled it with french fries. ‘Sounds like a tough life working onboard. Why do it?’

‘Money. It’s why most people are here. Earn money, see the world.’

Not to get shot and lose both legs, Anya thought. ‘What happens at the end of all those months?’

‘We go back to where we came from and rest. If we’re good at our jobs, and stay out of trouble, we’re offered another contract. Officers tend to work three months on, then have a couple off, but crew can do eight to ten months before getting a break. Still, most of our guys keep coming back year after year.’

‘Is the money really worth it?’ Martin asked.

‘Tips can make it lucrative. And they’re an incentive to work harder for the guests.’

Anya was curious, ‘What happens if the passengers refuse to tip?’

‘That’s the crunch. If the cabins are half empty, or if the guests don’t have the great time they imagined, tips don’t get paid. Other passengers spend up big on board, get the bill at the end and can’t afford to tip. It’s hospitality, so it’s unpredictable.’

Martin seemed fascinated. ‘How easy is it to stay in touch with family?’

‘Easy, but it isn’t cheap. This cruise line blocks Skype or video-chatting because of the massive downloads involved. I write out all my emails in a Word document, then cut and paste them. Saves a mint on internet charges. I’m lucky the medical centre has twenty-four-hour access to anywhere in the world. The rest of the crew have to line up for hours just to get online.’

Martin pursued the point. ‘Surely the company can spring for calls home?’

‘Would you want to be paying international calls for fourteen hundred crew members a day? I don’t blame them; they’re trying to run a business.’

It had to be difficult. Anya thought of Junta and her baby in Jamaica. ‘But it’s not as if the staff have a choice being so far from home.’

‘This is the thing. They do.’ She sat forward. ‘Working on a cruise ship is a way out of poverty, and gives the next generation a better life. We all want that for our kids. Carlos probably lined up for days to get the chance to work here. There are hundreds who would take his place like –’ she snapped her fingers ‘– that. For him it was the opportunity of a lifetime. A few years on cruise ships would have paid for his home, and probably the education of his children.’

Martin sipped his beer. ‘If there are hundreds of able-bodied employees wanting to take his place . . .’

The three sat in silence while the DJ played a 1970s medley.

Passengers had begun to filter up to the deck. Some women were dressed in full-length ball gowns, and a number of men wore dinner suits. ‘Why would you come on holiday to dress up like a penguin when you probably wear suits to work?’

Anya imagined it was the women’s preference. With few formal occasions, this was the chance to dress up and feel glamorous. Martin preferred casual at every opportunity.

Karen laughed. ‘You Aussies are so laidback. These guys get two weeks off a year and make the most of every minute.’

A toddler waddled past in a tiny three-piece suit and slipped. A girl of around ten, in full make-up, maxi dress and heels, picked him up.

Karen’s phone rang as she finished off her drink. ‘Excuse me, I have to get this. And it’s about time you two had some fun,’ she said.

‘Let’s get this party started!’ the DJ enthused. Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Dancing in the Dark’ pumped through the speakers. A group of middle-aged women squealed like teenagers and ran onto the dance floor. Their men stayed behind. Anya found herself tapping her fingers to the beat while Martin bobbed in time. There was nothing more they could do for Carlos and it was supposed to be a holiday. The last thing she wanted was for Martin to accuse her of being a wet blanket. He always thought she spent too much time working.

‘This takes me back,’ he said. ‘Remember when we first met?’

Anya smiled. ‘There was a lot of good music back then.’

The opening bars to ‘Footloose’ played.

‘You used to love this.’ Martin extended a hand. ‘Shall we?’

Anya wasn’t really in the mood. She wanted to pick Ben up from the club and go to bed. ‘I’d only embarrass you. All arms and legs. Remember?’

‘Maybe you could teach me the praying mantis moves.’ With a cheeky grin, he grabbed her hand and led the way to the dance floor.

Anya didn’t have the energy to argue. She assumed one song would satisfy him, and then they could get Ben and go back to their cabins. The women on the dance floor cheered when they saw a man had joined them. Slowly, other men took the plunge. The mood was infectious, and Anya forgot her fatigue and self-consciousness by the time ‘I’m So Excited’ came on, followed by A
bba
’s ‘Does Your Mother Know’. Martin spun her in and out, and they laughed when she squashed his toes. After a lively set, the DJ changed tone and played a Michael Bublé ballad. Women dragged partners to the floor, and Martin slipped his right arm around Anya’s waist and held his left out. She was perspiring and her heart was pumping, but it felt good to forget the day’s events for a few minutes. She placed her right hand in his and her left on his shoulder.

‘I didn’t know you could dance like this,’ she managed.

He had an impish expression. ‘Annie, I’ve changed a lot since our divorce. And . . .’ He spun her around the floor. Her feet followed blindly. ‘I have a lot of new tricks!’ He finished the move with a dip.

She looked up at him and saw a different man. Martin had changed. He was more responsible and thoughtful. He had grown up a lot in the last four or so years.

A blinding white light went off. One of the ship’s photographers had flashed in their direction.

Karen suddenly stood alongside them. Anya lifted herself upright.

‘Can we speak?’

Anya straightened her shirt and wiped her hands on her jeans.

They followed Karen back to the table.

‘Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted you to know. The blood tests on our dead girl from this morning are through. She had a low blood alcohol level, but she also had a significant amount of GHB in her blood.’