Day Four (18 page)

The woman had spotted her husband. ‘Gary!’ She flip-flopped her way to his bedside, then turned to glare at Jesse. ‘What’s with the drip?’

‘We need to keep him sedated, madam.’

‘Sedated? Why?’

‘He was agitated.’

‘A steward said that he attacked her,’ the security guard said – unwisely.

‘Huh? Attacked her? She’s lying. Gary would never do anything like that. He’s a lamb.’

‘Calm yourself now,’ Martha said. ‘We have another patient in with him, and we don’t want to be upsetting anyone, do we?’ She smiled at the woman, and she appeared to become less agitated.

‘Gary? Gary, can you hear me?’

‘He’ll be out for a while,’ Jesse said.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘We’re not sure. Does he have any history of mental instability?’

‘No! What are you saying?’

‘I’m just trying to get a clearer picture of what we’re dealing with here.’

‘Well he didn’t attack anyone. No way.’

‘Is he allergic to anything?’

‘What?’

‘Does he have any allergies we should be aware of?’

‘No. No he doesn’t. Oh, wait. He doesn’t like cheese.’

To Martha’s credit, she managed to suppress the smile.

The woman shot a spiked glance at Jesse. ‘Aren’t there any American doctors on board?’

‘Dr Zimri is more than capable,’ Martha said.

The woman didn’t look convinced. ‘You’ll look after him, won’t you?’ she whined to Martha.

‘Yes, ma’am. Go on, now. We’ll get a message to you when he wakes up, so we will.’

‘I’m not staying in my stateroom. I’m up on the Lido deck with friends.’

‘We will make sure that you are contacted.’

Martha ushered her out, the security guard following in their wake.

And this time, Jesse did flop down on the empty gurney. Five minutes, he promised himself. He’d barely slept at all last night. That crazy old psychic woman had rattled him. And he’d spent hours obsessing about Farouka. Building monsters about her in his mind, imagining her with other men, happier than she’d ever been, telling everyone how grateful she was to be out of their marriage. Perhaps he’d spend the rest of his life dragging the wreckage of his old life behind him like a tattered wedding dress.

Weak. He was weak.

‘Can you come, doc?’ This time it was Bin.

‘Is it the steward?’

‘No. It’s the morgue. The laundry workers say they heard a noise coming from inside it.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Doc, I’m just telling you what I heard.’

‘Have you checked it out?’

Bin shook his head. ‘No, doc.’ It struck Jesse that it was the first time he’d ever seen Bin look anything but serene and controlled. ‘I think you should come.’

‘Seriously?’

Bin nodded apologetically.

A cluster of men were gathered just outside the laundry room entrance, talking amongst themselves. They fell silent as Jesse and Bin approached. The morgue itself – a single bay, the door of which resembled a giant metal bread bin – was situated inside a storage area behind a metal door to the right of the laundry room.

Jesse felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him as he heaved open the storeroom door. Space was precious on a ship, and the floor was littered with tins of tomatoes and red hazardous-waste bags that had presumably been kept inside the morgue until it was needed. Unlike the cadaver drawers in most morgues, this one was fitted into an alcove sideways on. Its hatch was firmly shut.

‘Looks fine to me. You sure it was coming from in here?’ Even if someone was hammering on the door (like who?) from inside the storage area, it was unlikely that the sound would carry.

One of the men, a pot-bellied forty-something fellow with smoker’s teeth, murmured something to Bin.

‘He says it was most certainly coming from inside the morgue. They opened the storeroom door and heard it.’

‘Well he must be—’

Bang
.

Jesse flinched. ‘What the fuck?’

Bang.
A long pause and then, this time, a metallic
bong
. They all jumped.

‘We should get Security,’ Bin said, his voice cracking with fear.

‘No,’ Jesse said. ‘It’s the heat down here. Making the metal expand.’ He touched the morgue’s handle, then ran his hand over the front plate. It was cool, but not cold. They hadn’t frozen it yet – the engineers had forgotten, or it was possible it wasn’t connected to the emergency power source.

‘Don’t open it, Jesse,’ Bin whispered. The pot-bellied smoker was muttering what sounded like a prayer under his breath. The others had scarpered.

The lid slid up easily, revealing the body bag. Jesse stared at it, half-expecting it to twitch.

Crazy.

What did he expect to find? The girl alive in there? Bollocks, as Martha would say. He might be a fuck-up, but he wasn’t that inept.

‘They say that she is haunting the ship,’ Bin whispered. ‘That she is a restless spirit. That she is bringing other bad spirits to join her. They say she is bringing bad luck and it is because of her that we are stranded.’

‘Jesus. This is bullshit.’ But despite himself, Jesse unzipped the bag. The reek of decomposition boiled out at him. The girl’s face was slack, her eyes white. Her mouth was open, rigor locked in, revealing a row of old-fashioned cheap fillings in her lower molars. He stood back to let Bin and the laundry guy see for themselves.

‘See? Dead.’ Well and truly
morsdood
.

The pot-bellied man grimaced and backed up. Bin – reliable, level-headed Bin – looked as if he was about to faint with relief. Had Jesse misjudged him all this time? No. He was just spooked. Hell, Jesse was spooked as well.

He zipped the body bag up, unclicked the hinges that kept the lid from falling, and stood back to let it slam closed. ‘Can we all go back and just—’

Bang
.

The Keeper of Secrets

Devi stared up at the metal base of the bunk above him. Madan and Ashgar had papered the walls and the areas above their bunks with lewd photographs, but he had nothing but the scratched ghosts of ancient graffiti to distract him: several versions of ‘Fuck u’, ‘Monica does it doggy style’, and an etched drawing of what looked to be a half-naked woman fused to a Ferrari.

He’d slept for three hours before jolting awake, convinced someone had shaken his shoulder. Since then, he’d drifted in and out of a doze, trying to get his thoughts in order, and breathing in the hum of stale smoke, which drifted off Madan’s coveralls dumped on the floor below. The day had run away with him; he hadn’t yet found the time to double-check last night’s security footage. His time had been eaten up interviewing the singles group and the steward who had supposedly checked the rooms, and patrolling the main and Lido decks. He was exhausted from fielding complaints about the lack of hot food, paucity of information, and the most popular gripe of all – the fact the bars were shut. In Devi’s experience, most passengers couldn’t go without food or drink for more than an hour without misbehaving.

Ram had sent Devi a message via Madan a few hours ago insisting he take a break. His superior had spent much of the day meeting with the captain on the bridge, and Devi hadn’t yet told Ram what he’d learned from the footage. One thing he wouldn’t be mentioning or putting in the report was what else he’d seen – the palm of a hand, a small hand, covering the camera’s lens. It was not possible. The cameras were placed high up on the ceiling. It had to be a trick of the light, interference from another CCTV feed, maybe. There was always a rational explanation. And he still hadn’t spoken to that steward – Althea Trazona.

He closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face. He should clean up and then get something to eat before he went back on duty. He’d need his energy and—

The cabin door opened, and Devi fought to hide his dismay as Rogelio entered the room.

He swung his legs off the bunk and stood. ‘Rogelio, you can’t be in here. Ashgar or Madan could arrive at any moment.’

‘They are not around. I checked.’ Rogelio stepped over Madan’s gear and moulded his body against Devi’s. ‘I had to see you.’ Devi needed a shower, he could smell the sour tang of his own sweat, but Rogelio didn’t seem to mind. He never did. ‘Why did you not come to me last night? I needed you.’

Devi disentangled himself. ‘I had to work. I am sorry.’

‘I’m scared, Devi. This situation is bad. Damien . . . Damien made me promise not to say anything, but he says the captain is very worried. There is still no Internet, Devi. No radio. Nothing is coming in from the ships that must be in the area. They should have come to look for us hours ago after the emergency signal was sent to the radio beacon.’

‘Perhaps there is bad weather in port and they are unable to get to us.’ He glanced anxiously at the door again. He had to get Rogelio out of here. ‘Please, you must leave.’

Rogelio pouted. ‘Why do you always push me away? You are ashamed of me?’

‘No. Of course I’m not.’ If he was ashamed of anyone, it was himself.
Coward
. He knew what Rogelio wanted; he knew he would never be able to give it to him. ‘You know my situation.’

‘And why did you not come and find me to tell me about Kelly Lewis last night? I had to hear it from that horrible Ram, and he spoke to me like I was a criminal.’

‘I’m sorry. It was out of my control.’

Rogelio sighed with his whole body. ‘I am sorry for Kelly. It must have been frightening, dying alone like that.’

‘Did Ram tell you how she died?’

‘Just that she’d drunk too much alcohol. The singles groups always drink too much.’ A shrug. ‘It is sad. A waste.’ Rogelio slid a finger down the buttons of Devi’s shirt. ‘You should have told me.’

‘I know. What was Kelly Lewis like?’

‘She was nice. Quiet. Not like some. You should hear the names I have been called today, Devi. You would be furious.’

Devi toyed with telling Rogelio the truth about how he believed Kelly had died. As a member of the entertainment crew, he interacted daily with hundreds of passengers and it was possible he might recognise the man on the CCTV footage.

Devi’s radio crackled, followed by the sound of Ashgar’s exhausted voice, broken up by static. ‘Come in . . . control . . . Altercation . . . crew bar . . . now.’

‘I must go.’ He managed to usher Rogelio out of the cabin. The corridors were usually busy, with many crew members using them as informal meeting places, but tonight they were empty.

‘Can you meet me later?’

‘I will try.’

Another pout.

Devi let Rogelio walk ahead of him, the knot of trepidation loosening in his chest as they reached the stairwell that led to the I-95. Rogelio blew him a kiss and headed towards the crew mess.

Devi had to put an end to it. Gossip would spread fast, especially through the Indian mafia network, which had ties throughout the entire cruise industry. It was possible that it could get back to his family, he had a cousin who worked in the kitchens on
The Beautiful Wonder
. And then there was what Ram had said last night . . . It was safer to be paranoid. He would end it before they were caught in the act. That was how they’d trapped him last time. He’d let his guard down; taken chances. They’d followed him to Matungas Road Station. Waited for him to disappear inside the bathroom stall. And when he emerged with the boy – a skinny twenty-two-year-old whose face Devi can no longer recall with any clarity – they’d pounced. They’d given him an ultimatum: desist from investigating the rape of the child, or Devi’s family would be told of his proclivities. The boy had fled, barely escaping a beating, and Devi had quit the squad and signed up to be a shippee, preferring exile to the other alternatives. Coming out wasn’t an option. It had never been an option for him. It wasn’t the fear of prosecution – there was a thriving gay community in Mumbai: it was the thought of his parents’ disgust that he couldn’t bear. They were deeply conservative; they wouldn’t understand. His brothers were all dutifully married, busily producing grandchildren. His parents had been aghast when he told them he had signed on to Foveros, just as they had been disappointed when he chose to join the police instead of settling down with a wife and following his brothers into the business. But that would be nothing compared to how they would feel if they knew about this secret part of his life.

The sound of shouts greeted him as he hurried into the darkened depths of the crew bar. Ashgar was pushing against the chest of a skinny white guy, who Devi recognised as the assistant chief of the IT department. Jaco, the ship’s musician, was being restrained by two of the bar staff. On the few occasions Devi had visited the bar, he’d found Jaco to be pleasant and friendly. The tension was getting to them all. A female casino croupier was sobbing in the corner, her hair drenched with beer.

‘Fuck you!’ the IT guy shouted, lunging for Jaco.

‘You should do your job and fix the fucking Internet!’ Jaco roared back.

‘I’ve told you! There’s nothing to fucking fix.’