Cold Pressed (15 page)

Nikos looked at Beatrice, but she gave a minuscule nod for
him to take the lead. So he did.

"DI Stubbs received news last night that Beryl Hodges
died from anaphylactic shock, very likely a reaction to seafood complicated by
her asthma. This may be coincidence, but we have to keep in mind the
possibility someone knew of her allergies. Our plan is to search for links
between the dead women and identify potential suspects. We'd like to interview
their companions, talk to you and your team once again, and we will need to
speak to Dr Fraser at some stage. Do you mind if we use the casino again?"

"The casino is available for today, but then we will
need to make other arrangements. As for another interview, I'm not sure what
more I can add. I rarely do more than pass the time of day with most
passengers. And the Hirondelles, travelling as a group, would not be invited to
dine at my table. Not out of any kind of prejudice, but we don't like to split
up a party.”

“Did you meet Beryl Hodges?” asked Nikos.

“No. The Hirondelles arrived in the afternoon, held a
birthday party in one of the restaurants for Mrs Crawford that evening, and
unfortunately, the Hodges woman died during the night. I never even saw her.”

Beatrice jumped in. “Do you know which restaurant they chose
for their party? It could be relevant, given cause of death.”

“If I remember correctly, that would have been The Sizzling
Grill. Esther Crawford told me she had a particular fondness for the Sticky
Chicken Wings.”

Nikos wrote ‘grill’ and ‘chicken wings’ in his notebook and
would find out how to spell the other words later. “Did you have any contact
with Maureen Hall?”

“Mrs Hall was sick for most of the voyage. I'm afraid I
hadn't even spoken to her."

"But presumably Dr Fraser had seen her, as she would
have been a patient?" asked Beatrice.

Jensson frowned. "Usually the nurse sees to everyday
problems such as nausea and blood pressure issues, so I doubt it."

"Well, that's something we can check with him
personally. We'll let you get on, but perhaps you might find time for us later
this afternoon?" Beatrice's voice, while polite and friendly, contained an
underlying firmness Nikos admired. A fleeting frown crossed Jensson's face.

"Detective Inspectors, I don't mean to be difficult and
obviously I want this situation resolved. But I have received a succession of
visits since you left us in Crete. Firstly our Human Resources manager,
delivering a series of complaints from staff about police intrusion. Then Nurse
Bannerjee, representing herself and Dr Weinberg, whose workloads have increased
substantially. Apparently, many passengers no longer wish to be treated by Dr Fraser
as he seems to be the focus of the enquiry. Finally, the head of entertainment
would like to have the casino back. He has not been able to keep up his regular
maintenance and cleaning since you've been here. Morale amongst the staff is
visibly low, everyone has their suspicions and the atmosphere is becoming sour.
I urgently need to demonstrate some progress before this gets out of
hand."

Nikos resisted the urge to look at Beatrice. "Believe
me, Captain, our aim is to solve this as fast as we can. But we cannot
demonstrate progress if we don't make any. We can give you an update later
today if you like."

A uniformed crew member hovered behind Beatrice, trying to
catch Jensson's eye. When he succeeded, he pointed to his watch.

Jensson raised a finger in acknowledgement. "I have to
go. My afternoon break is at 15.30. I can see you then."

Nikos watched him walk away and return the sailor's salute,
back straight and head high. One of those men who had an innate authority and
commanded respect without even trying. Nikos wondered if he would ever get to
that stage.

One of the worst things about interviewing friends and
relatives of the recently and suddenly deceased is ascertaining the root cause
of their guilt. Because they are all guilty. In Beatrice's experience, that
guilt could be as pertinent as having wielded the murder weapon or as
irrelevant as being less than complimentary about that morning's pancakes.

Audrey Kean and Pat George, the travelling companions
accompanying Maureen Hall, were most definitely guilty. They outdid each other
in self-recrimination, seeking and finding more reasons to feel terrible about
their friend's unfortunate end. But they didn't kill her. Beatrice knew that
from the outset. What she had to do was assume the role of grief counsellor
while plucking the occasional useful nugget from the cascade of
self-flagellating misery.

Maureen, a widow, had lived her entire life in Yorkshire.
She had no connection with Esther Crawford or Beryl Hodges and had met none of
the Hirondelles. Seasick, and probably homesick, for the majority of her first
cruise, she'd been cabin-bound for almost a fortnight. Her only trip ashore was
on Monday. The heat and exercise were too much for her and she’d complained.
Which, according to Audrey, led to 'words'. The threesome had parted ways on
their return to the ship. That was the last time they saw her.

After the women left, tearful and wretched, Beatrice took a
few minutes to order her impressions and knowledge of the facts. Cabins of the
deceased in completely different areas. Two women belonging to the same party,
the third with no connection. Two very different methods of killing, one very
narrow age range. But was this really a serial killer? Or simply a series of
coincidences which made two deaths and one murder appear connected? Beatrice
lay back on the banquette, covered her eyes with her hands and started all over
again.

The ship's records on who was aboard and who
disembarked at each port had been rigorously maintained. Nikos ran several
reports on the data and noted the vast majority of passengers who left the ship
at every port joined official excursions. A tiny percentage chose to make their
own way, including Rose Mason and Maggie Campbell, a small group of architects
and a few individuals, such as Oscar Martins. For each possible murder, Nikos
cross-checked the locations of the individuals concerned. Everyone was aboard
when Beryl Hodges expired. When Esther Crawford plummeted into the sea, the
tourist buses were parked outside the tavernas, the architects were attending a
lecture on archaeological reconstruction, Rose and Maggie were picnicking, and
only Oscar Martins was somewhere on the island alone. No one else remained
unaccounted for. When someone smothered Maureen Hall, most people were dining
in the ship's restaurants, including the architects. Oscar Martins was in the
Club Room with Beatrice, and Rose and Maggie had ordered room service in their
cabin.

But that only narrowed down passenger movement. The person
who took the housekeeping key card to Maureen Hall's room knew where to go and
what to get, indicating a level of inside knowledge. And as for who was where
and when in terms of staff and crew, Nikos needed help. He stood up and looked
across the silent expanse of casino to Beatrice. No one there. She hadn’t
passed him so she must have gone to the bathroom. He folded up his laptop,
tucked it under his arm and set off for the bridge.

A deadly combination.

Lying down in a darkened room, with a firm cushion beneath
her after nights of insufficient sleep, it was no wonder she'd dozed off.
Beatrice blinked up at the ceiling, massaged her face and checked her watch.
11.40. She'd only been asleep for around twenty minutes and just hoped her
catnap had not involved snoring. Still, Nikos was far enough away not to have
heard. She held her breath and listened. Not a sound. She lifted herself onto
her elbows and peered across the room. No sign of him. He’d obviously taken a
break.

She flopped down onto her back and tried to relocate her
thought-process regarding connections between the killings. But her stomach
released a creaking, snapping groan, as if an alligator had opened its jaws. A
scanty breakfast of yoghurt and fruit at six in the morning was barely enough
to keep body and soul together. She was starving. Another creak, this time from
the end of the room. Good. Nikos was back. She'd propose an early lunch over
which they could share notes. She shoved herself upwards again, her eyes at
table level and blinked into the darkness of the casino.

A man, much taller than Nikos, was pacing silently along the
bar. He scanned the room and bent over Nikos's table, turning some papers to
face him. With a brief check back at the door, he then withdrew a phone from
his inside pocket. Beatrice squinted but the light from the bar rendered the
individual nothing more than a large silhouette. He tilted the phone over the
table and Beatrice understood.

"Can I help you?" she yelled, the volume of her
voice even scaring herself. The man shot backwards and was out the door before
she'd even got her feet on the ground.

She hurried after him and burst out into the corridor,
startling an elderly couple walking past.

"Sorry, didn't mean to alarm you. A man just came out
of here, did you see him?"

They looked at each other, back to her and shook their
heads, like nodding dogs in the negative.

"Did someone pass you? In a hurry? Someone tall?"

They shook their heads once again. Then the woman spoke.
"We didn't see anything. All we heard was a lot of noise. Just now, down
there." She pointed at the opposite end of the featureless corridor.

Beatrice ran, assessing the risk of leaving the casino, her
laptop and notes, against getting a description of whoever wanted to photograph
police evidence. She turned the corner to see a maid collecting the contents of
a cleaning trolley from the floor and muttering in some Eastern European
tongue.

"What happened?"

The maid's irritation segued into apology. "Sorry,
madam. I leave my trolley here and someone comes round this corner too fast.
Knocks everything all over the floor. I am in the cabin, changing the towels
and I hear a big crash. So I come out here and look at this mess! Nothing wrong
with my trolley. This is correct parking according to housekeeping rules."

"Did you see who it was? Can you describe the
person?"

"No. He is gone when I come out. Hear feet running. Big
man, for sure, and he says a lot of bad words. Some passengers don’t know
nothing about good manners."

She picked up her feather duster and mini-shampoos, shaking her
head in disbelief or disgust or possibly both.

Beatrice thanked her and returned to the casino.

Coincidence could now be ruled out. Whoever had targeted
these three women was on the ship and not only aware of the investigation, but
watching them. How else did he know Nikos had left the casino?

On her return, the cavernous, shadowy room was quiet and
suddenly sinister. The shadows and recesses now made her skin prickle and she
wished for Nikos's reassuring presence. His table was empty, but all his papers
were still there. She didn't touch anything, aware of the possibility of
fingerprints, but bent to see what had interested their visitor so. The
uppermost page listed the Hirondelles: name, age, home address and cabin
number.

Chapter 17

Rose had been waiting forty minutes by the time Nurse
Bannerjee called her name. In that time she'd grown increasingly uncomfortable
among so many sickly faces, most with a greyish pallor.

An elderly man with a dressing over one eye released regular
sighs, the hairy chef held a bandaged left hand against his chest while using
his right to press buttons on his phone, two middle-aged women with dyed blonde
hair held a whispered conversation, interrupted frequently by the smaller of
the two's frame-shaking cough. All eyes assessed Rose with curiosity, as she
appeared perfectly healthy. She jumped to her feet on hearing her name and left
the waiting room in relief.

"Come in, Mrs Mason. Close the door. How is Mrs
Campbell today?"

Rose folded her hands in her lap. "Much better. I feel
bad for taking up your time when I can see you're rushed off your feet, but
Maggie needs some more sleeping tablets. She's doing fairly well during the
daytime, but still having restless nights. It's only a repeat prescription I'm
after."

The nurse made a note on the pad in front of her. "She
couldn't come herself?"

"She slept badly, partly to do with the rough crossing.
She's getting some rest, so I said I'd come on her behalf."

"I see. Mrs Campbell is Dr Fraser's patient. Shouldn't
you see him?"

Warmth crept up Rose's throat. It would be tactless to say
she didn't want to bother him, but she could hardly tell the nurse the truth –
that Dr Fraser was rude and aggressive and she hated dealing with him.

She cast around for a suitable reply, but Nurse Bannerjee
didn't seem to expect one.

"I'll get her files from his office," she said.

"There's no need, I know the sort she takes. I brought
the packet with me."

"I'll need to record it, Mrs Mason. Wait there."

Rose did as she was told, feeling more uncomfortable than
ever. She hated to be a nuisance. The nurse was usually cheerful and pleasant,
but today she seemed uncharacteristically short-tempered. After last night's
crossing and the stream of patients, that was to be expected.
It's not all
about you, Rose
, she told herself.
You're just the latest in a long line
of irritants.

Sister Bannerjee took a long time and Rose found her
thoughts wandering, so that when the door swung open, she actually jumped.

"Sorry for the delay, I couldn't find the file. But Dr
Fraser has signed a prescription for your friend's medication and agreed to
release it to you. Here you are."

The scrawled handwriting was difficult to decipher, but Rose
could read it well enough to see the name was different to the packet she had in
her hand.