Read Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) Online
Authors: Alexander Galant
Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery)
DEPTH OF DECEPTION
A Titanic Murder Mystery
By Alexander Galant
Published by Alexander Galant Entertainment
Copyright 2006, 2012 by Alexander Galant
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This e-book is licenced for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously.
Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
http://
www.DepthOfDeception.com
Library of Congress
Cataloging in Publication Data
ISBN: 978-0-9879835-0-3
Cover ill
ustration by Carmen Gillespie Copyright
2012
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Or,
By Story Date:
April 3, 19
8
2 - Chapters 14 - 16
April 4, 19
8
2 - Chapters 17 - 21
April 5, 1982 - Chapt
e
rs 22 - 24
April 6, 1982 - Ch
a
pters 25 - 34
April 7, 1
9
82 - Chapters 35 - 39
April 8, 1982 - Chap
t
ers 40 - 46
April 9, 1982 - Chapters 47
- 53
April 10, 1982 - Chapt
e
rs 54 - 55
April 11, 1982 - Chapters 5
6
- 61
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the 3-Day Novel Writing Contest which first gave me the opportunity to write this story (77 pages) in 72 hours.
My former agent Michele Rubin, for her notes on how to expand my short novella into a full-length novel.
Lana Winter for her 'nitpickery and playful snarkeries'
and Theresa Barrett for the hel
pful suggestions
during the final process of this book.
To my friends Kirk Teeple, JP Gedeon, Denise Brady, and Paul Nadeau for sharing their professional knowledge and experiences for details.
Malcolm Anderson for taking the time to answer my questions about INTERPOL and international policing.
Also, Sara Dymond for the historical layout of Cobh Cove in 1982.
Special thanks to the Titanic International Society and its members for their assistance in some research questions.
As well as Edward Kamuda and Karen Kamuda of Titanic Historical Society, Inc.
I would take this opportunity to thank Mike Scott, Brian Chenault and Ingrid Jurek. As a writer I had their help in the past but didn't have the chance to properly acknowledge them before.
To my Oma (grandmother), who used to read a book a day, thank you for introducing me to your love of books and the power they ha
ve
to travel through history or take you to faraway places. I wish you were still here to read this one.
My wife Carmen, not only for her love, support and unending patience... but for her illustration on the front cover and her dreaded red pen and her ruthless feedback .
This book is dedicated to my daughter, Cynthia. 'You inspired me.'
Also, in memory of the 1,517 souls who perished with Titanic on the night of April 15, 1912.
And to Marion. Sadly, her real killers were never brought to justice.
Note from the author:
After much thought and deliberation, I have decided, wherever possible, that chapters set in the USA and characters who are American will use American expressions and spellings (i.e. gasoline, gray & color), but chapters set in, and with characters from the United Kingdom will use British expressions and spellings (i.e. petrol, grey & colour). Being Canadian, I wanted to accommodate all my readers on both sides of The Pond.
Thank you for your understanding.
April 1, 1982
. . . _ _ _ . . .
(
dit dit dit daah daah daah dit dit dit
!)
Then the radio went dead. Three dots, three dashes, three dots: Morse Code for SOS, the international distress call. Searchlights sliced frantically through the darkness of the North Atlantic, looking for the sinking ship. Nothing. Captain Sadler frowned as he peered through his binoculars into the night. The waxing crescent moon carved through the clouds of the windless night. The Atlantic water was unusually still: not a ripple, as smooth as polished glass.
He looked to the starboard side. On a frigid night like tonight, the seaman wished he were anywhere else but standing outside the bridge blasted by the cold sea air as they patrolled.
"
Still no sign of life,
"
the lookout called, his breath billowing into the frosty air.
Sadler glanced over to James, the port lookout, who announced,
"
Nothing on port side.
"
Sadler cursed under his breath. If this was an April Fool’s joke, then he was not amused. Emergencies at sea were serious matters, especially in this region. The harsh North Atlantic Ocean could be cruel and powerful, demanding of mankind’s respect, and merciless against human ignorance.
Less than a month and a half ago, The Ocean
Ranger off-shore drilling unit
had incurred the wrath of the ocean’s storms and sank off the coast of Newfoundland, resulting in the deaths of eighty-four rig workers. Captain Sadler’s ship, the HMS
McKinley
, had been investigating
a possible illegal whaling ship
and couldn’t reach The Ocean Ranger soon enough. This time, however, they were close. The
McKinley
had quickly arrived at the co-ordinates given in a previous message: Latitude: 41° 46' North and Longitude: 50° 14' West.
He turned to the Lieutenant,
"
Any sign of a ship?
"
"
Nothing on the radar, sir,
"
replied the Lieutenant, never taking his eyes off the green glowing radar screen.
The GIUK listening line had first picked up the call at 00:05 hundred hours. The Greenland, Iceland, United Kingdom (GIUK) line’s purpose was to detect any Soviet submarines trying to pass through the North Atlantic. Captain Sadler sighed as he looked at his watch. He was about to give the order to turn about when a voice in the darkness called out sharply:
"
Man overboard! Man overboard! Off the starboard bow!
"
"
All ahead slow!
"
roared Sadler, then picked up the microphone and barked into it,
"
Rescue Stations!
"
. . .
Able Seaman Donaldson had been at the ready in his neoprene wetsuit, prepared to dive into the icy waters for a search and rescue.
His seaboat was lowered into the ocean and bounced across the surface, speeding towards the solitary body of a woman floating on what appeared to be an old fashioned wooden deck chair. He was disappointed that there was only one possible survivor to retrieve. The chance of survival was slim in these conditions. No one could survive these icy waters for any length of time, especially sprawled out the way she was. Donaldson had been trained to survive in extreme climates. He knew how to prevent hypothermia by keeping his limbs tucked in and as close to his chest as possible. Most civilians panic and try treading water or swimming to keep their limbs moving, thinking the movement would keep them warm. The exact opposite was true: the movement pumps warm blood to the limbs, where it cools quickly, cutting survival by fifty percent. Swimming can also cause debilitating cramps, not to mention uncontrollable shivering.
Though he knew it was pointless, Donaldson plunged himself into the water as the boat neared the woman. In the winter moonlight, this victim had an eerie, almost ghostlike, appearance. She clenched a soggy teddy bear in one hand and a book of some sort in the other. The diver turned the woman’s face towards him. Her dark wet hair, framing her lovely face, contrasted sharply against her alabaster skin. She appeared to be dead. Donaldson had encountered death at sea before but it never got...
She suddenly gasped for air, nearly shocking Donaldson out of his wetsuit.
"
She’s breathing!
"
he hollered, and frantically tried to place the Kisbie ring around the woman. He soon discovered it would be no simple task, as she was wearing a cumbersome, multi
-
layered dress. Donaldson tried to remove the bear and the book from the woman’s grasp, but her fingers would not loosen. He gave up quickly. It was more urgent to get her out of the biting water. The three other crewmen in the seaboat helped to hoist the woman out of the frigid ocean. With every second counting, Donaldson wasted no time by getting into the boat himself. He grabbed the wooden deck chair in one hand and the side of the seaboat with the other, and called out
"
Let’s go!
"
to the crewmen behind the wheel.