Cold Pressed (12 page)

“The sort of swelling-up and can’t-breathe effects?”

“That’s part of it, yes. Asthmatics are a particularly
high-risk group. Dr Fraser performed tests on her lungs to ensure there was no
inhalation of toxic fumes but did not test for symptoms of anaphylactic shock.
To be fair to him, it would have required laboratory conditions and a full
post-mortem. He said it was unnecessary and saw no need to add it to the
report."

Beatrice put down her pad and thought. Then she walked over
to the examination table in the spotless nurse's station.

"Sister, I am going to lie down here and I want you to
attempt to force something into my mouth. Let’s do this in slow motion.
Remember, I am old and feeble and probably asleep. How would you do it?"

Sister Bannerjee stood, blinking for a moment. Then she
exhaled sharply with a nod.

"OK. First thing, Mrs Hodges had an interior cabin on
B1. That means her bed was against the cabin wall. You need to turn the other
way. If I was going to attack her, I would have no choice but to come at her
from the right." She placed herself at the foot of the examination table.
"One minute please, I need to lower it. This table is much higher than the
beds on board."

Adjustments made, she gestured for Beatrice to get into
position.

"She would have been sleeping on her side. I think. On
the back is the worst way for someone with her condition to sleep. Now, I come
into the cabin and..."

She pulled Beatrice's shoulder gently, rolling her onto her
back. Beatrice opened her eyes. The nurse pressed her left arm against
Beatrice's windpipe and used her right hand to steady Beatrice's jaw. She
lifted her left hand and prised Beatrice’s teeth apart, picked up an imaginary
object and poked it into her mouth. Beatrice, in character, bulged her eyes,
struggled weakly and began to choke. Sister Bannerjee used her body weight to
hold Beatrice down and brought her right knee up to press on her victim's
chest. They made eye contact and the nurse's fierce expression of concentration
dissipated. She released Beatrice and stepped back, straightening her uniform.

"Perhaps I should have locked the door before
attempting to kill a police detective," she said, an awkward smile
surfacing.

Beatrice swung her legs off the table and sat up.
"You're right-handed. Any marks made by your fingers would be on the
left-hand side of my face."

"Yes, but anaphylaxis rarely works that quickly. It
depends what allergies Mrs Hodges had, but if that is what killed her, it is
far more likely she was stung by something or ingested a trigger at least an
hour earlier. Leaving her time to get up, inject herself and call for help.”

“So why would someone need to hold her face?”

The nurse opened her palms. “I just don’t know. She might
have even made the marks herself. Who knows? Now it’s too late to do a complete
post-mortem examination.”

"Perhaps. Thanks for your assistance, Sister. I think I
should talk to the senior physician again. One last thing..."

She shook her head. "No. Dr Fraser is
left-handed."

Captain Jensson did his best to persuade Beatrice to
stay another night on board, dangling the offer of a place at his table, but
she remained steadfast in her determination to return to her hotel. Even lamb
kebabs could not sway her. There was the meeting with Nikos's superior to be
navigated, she had several phone calls to make and if the truth were told, the
atmosphere on board was stifling. As she followed Nikos down the endlessly
looping gangway, she reflected on the ridiculousness of such a feeling. On a
ship where she'd got lost twice, she felt boxed in. It was purely
psychological, she knew, but the sense of lightness as she stepped onto the
dock and into the police car was absolutely real. The
Empress Louise
would sail at midnight, destination Rhodes. Beatrice and Nikos would join them
tomorrow, hopefully finding the same number of passengers as when they'd left.

The journey though Heraklion – the frenzied traffic, errant
mopeds, graffiti on corrugated tin, blasts of music from passing cars, the
scent of a fish stall, a jumble of vegetables outside a shop, children chasing
each other round a fountain, an unruly cypress tree reaching out from a park –
all grounded Beatrice with a reassuring sense of real life unpredictability.
Here, anything could happen and she felt all the safer for it. When a rain
shower spattered the windscreen, she rolled down the window to inhale the
smell.

Meanwhile Nikos relayed the limited results of his
interviews with the housekeeping crew, outlined Dr Weinberg’s opinions and
shared his own reaction to the showdown with Fraser.

"Anyone who works on the ship can access those cards.
The only record they keep is who signed for which card for security purposes.
If there are any accusations of stealing, for example. The card used to open
Maureen Hall's room had not been signed for and it hasn’t been returned. No
surprise. Weinberg has very little respect for Fraser, although he was
complimentary about the nurse. As for Fraser's behaviour, I'm not sure if it's
his professional reputation he's trying to protect or if he's hiding something,
but he behaves like a guilty man. Did he apologise for being so rude to
you?"

"Eventually, and with bad grace. Yes, you’re right to
say he has something to hide, but as to whether it's connected to criminal
activity or just incompetence, I'm not sure.”

Nikos flipped open his notebook again. “Something else that
doesn’t add up. He said he went back to his cabin. I checked. His access card
was used to enter the infirmary at 21.53. He didn’t return to his own cabin
until 22.37.”

“Good thinking,” Beatrice said, in with genuine admiration.
She hadn’t thought to check the doctor’s alibi. “Right, I want to talk to
Fraser again tomorrow and I’ll also ask Jensson about him. There’s something
unhealthy about the captain's unquestioning acceptance of everything Fraser
does. If both Weinberg and Bannerjee doubt the doctor's methods, Jensson really
has a responsibility to take it seriously. But he allows himself to be bossed
and bullied by the man."

"Yes, he does. But you don't," said Nikos, with an
amused respect in his tone. "I think you made both of them very nervous by
saying they were still under suspicion."

"So they should be. Heads in the sand, hoping the
problem will go away. Unless they wake up to what is happening and start to
cooperate with us, both their careers are likely to end in under a week.
They're typical of people who've been in a job too long. Bored and resentful,
going through the motions, wishing they were somewhere else..."

She stopped, aware how cynical she sounded. "Now, tell
me about Inspector Voulakis. What kind of man is he?“

Nikos looked out at the activity on the street for a few
seconds.

"He's been in the job too long. He's bored and
resentful and going through the motions, wishing he was somewhere else.” Nikos
echoed Beatrice’s words with a rueful smile. “He’s deadened by administration –
always hoping for a bit of action, as long as it doesn’t involve hard work. He
sometimes likes to divide people or encourage tension between his officers. I
don't know how he will react to you, Beatrice. He’s a real Anglophile
but..."

“But what? How do you advise me to play this?” Another
battle with someone else’s baggage was the last thing she needed.

He shrugged, with an apologetic grin. "One one hand,
you are exactly the kind of exciting challenge he loves. On the other, you
represent a whole pile of problems."

She grinned back. "Story of my life, Nikos."

Chapter 14

Rose was right, it was time to get out. Maggie knew
her reluctance to leave the cabin was becoming unhealthy. After two days of
sympathy and room service, she’d sensed Rose's patience beginning to fray. Even
Joyce Milligan’s kindness in visiting twice, as a representative of the
Hirondelles, only made it plainer that life went on. Rose was bored, and if
Maggie were honest, so was she. There was only so much entertainment to be
gained from people-watching, and as their inner balcony overlooked the pool the
scenes below had grown repetitive and dull. Rose told her they were turning
into curtain-twitchers. Time to get out and do their duty, she said. Detective
Inspector Stubbs needed their help, she said. Rose could be very persuasive.

"Between five and seven is the best time to venture
out. The excursions have returned and will be either resting or refreshing in
their cabins.” Rose made it sound like an adventure. “Fewer folk on deck. The
crew tend to use the facilities more at that time, so we can keep our eyes
peeled for someone of the right height and build. The man we're looking for is
tall..."

"Yes,” Maggie agreed. “A good six-footer. Although
Esther was a tiny woman. He may have looked bigger beside such a wee thing. But
tall and strong, of that I have no doubt.” She suppressed the image of the
jerky body in freefall.

"So we go for a walk, greet anyone we meet, keep our
opinions to ourselves and watch. Avoid the Hirondelles if at all possible, and
dine at The Sizzling Grill. We'll find none of those biddies in there."

"Don't be rude, Rose. I hope I have as much energy as
Joyce Milligan when I’m her age. And we're not far off biddies ourselves. I'll
just say again, if it feels too much, if I start to feel panicky, I’m coming
back here. No arguments."

Rose sat in front of the dressing table, dabbing lipstick
onto her bottom lip. "Yes, of course, but that's not going to be necessary.
You're the observer, collecting information on all the male crew members on
this ship. You're the only one who's seen this man. You have to give DI Stubbs
something to go on. Especially after Maureen Hall."

Maggie, standing by the door, gathering all her courage,
stepped back into the room and sat down on the ottoman with a thump. Maureen
Hall. That poor elderly, infirm and ailing woman, smothered in her sleep.
How
could anyone, why would anyone...?
her thoughts began the same futile
circuits as before, so she called a halt. Rose was right. Time to get out.

The heat came as a surprise as did the brightness and
the noise. Squeals and shrieks of laughter from a group of youngsters in the
pool competed with a group singing
Happy Birthday
from the deck above.
Maggie recoiled, only to meet the resistance of Rose's guiding arm and positive
voice.

"Fresh air! I feel better already. So, let's start with
a walk around the deck – right or left?"

Maggie pointed away from the pool and Rose led the way. A
few people dozed on the loungers and chairs, paperbacks or magazines propped on
their chests. Maggie’s paranoia subsided as she saw that no rubber-necking mob
of ghouls was camped outside her cabin. In the first few minutes, no one took
any notice of her at all. Maggie relaxed her shoulders, raised her head and
gazed out to sea. The sun sank, filling the sky with ripples of colour;
tangerine, violet, blush and scarlet reflected in a mercury sea. An outrageous
display enjoyed by covetous eyes for the briefest of moments, but never
captured. Like the flash of a Moulin Rouge underskirt.

She looked at Rose. "The world doesn't care, does
it?"

Rose's optimistic expression faded.

"No, no, I mean that in a good way. Whatever tragedies
and dramas we endure down here, the world turns, the sun sets and life goes on,
relentless and oblivious. As it should be." Maggie reached out to squeeze
Rose's hand briefly. "I know I've not been much fun these past few days.
So I'm giving myself a good shake. Look."

She shook herself from head to toe, wobbling her cheeks for
comic effect. "From this moment on, I stop feeling sorry for myself and do
everything in my power to identify the man I saw. It's the least I can do for
Esther, for DI Stubbs and for you. Shall we start by the staff pool?"

Many staff and crew members used the quiet period
between passengers' daytime activities and evening entertainments to swim,
sunbathe or use the gym in their own private, less well-equipped section of D
deck. Rose and Maggie positioned themselves in the shade and watched the high
jinks as waiters, maids, chefs, entertainers and sailors let off steam in the
water. The age-old signs of flirtation had not changed, Maggie observed, as she
watched the interaction among the young. A bunch of men organised an impromptu
water volleyball match, hastily unrolling a net across the pool and yelling
instructions at each other.

A great hairy individual Maggie didn't recognise clambered
out of the water and fetched a ball. She assessed his build and height, and
nudged Rose. "That's about the size of him."

"That one? But he has a beard. You'd have spotted that,
wouldn't you?"

"I'm not saying it is him. But he was about that size.
And at that distance, I couldn't see his face at all clearly, although I can't
picture a beard."

Rose pulled her sunglasses down her nose to observe the big
man leaping into the pool after the ball. "Some people have more than
their fair share of hair."

Maggie looked over her shoulder and recognised a passer-by.
"And others were at the back of the queue. That language fella should
either wear a hat or put some sunscreen on his bald patch. I'll mention it at
dinner."

They both watched Mr Martins walk along the deck, jacket
over his arm, purposefully making for the Reception Area.

Rose spoke. "Make that breakfast. By the look of him,
he's off out for the night. Plus you and I agreed on The Sizzling Grill for
dinner, to avoid any nosey parkers and... Oh hello, Captain Jensson!"

Maggie jumped at the unexpected presence of the captain.

"Good afternoon, ladies. I'm very happy to see you out
and about. How are you both?" The captain's smile was as glittery as the
pool.