Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates (3 page)

'Detective Inspector Simpers, delighted to meet you. Do come in.'

Commodore Brinton crossed the rich, deep carpeted floor of his day room. He extended his hand with the bearing of a man with supreme confidence and well practised understated authority. The Commodore sported a full set of well cared for whiskers and had a waistline that had seen leaner days. Simpers hadn't realised that such people existed outside the back-lot of a film studio.

The day room and the Commodore's private quarters were immediately below the bridge, enabling him to be on hand at all times should the need arise. Dominating the central space of the day room was a majestic conference table with seven carver chairs arranged on each side. A more ornate chair placed at one end of the table left no doubt who was in charge.

To one end of the room rested a sumptuous set of leather lounge chairs. Attached to the ceiling in front of the chairs was a large flat screen monitor. This displayed a range of numbers and graphics that meant nothing to Simpers.

The Commodore took note of Simpers' curiosity.

'That screen tells me everything I need to know about the operation of the ship. What the bridge sees, I see on that screen, there is also a duplicate screen in my sleeping quarters. You might say that I have an all seeing presence.'

The Commodore's emphasis on his last sentence left Simpers in no doubt of the man's power, and that he knew how to use it.

'Now, take a seat, my good man, how about some tea?'

As Simpers settled into a deep leather armchair, a herbal concoction in fine bone china arrived via a steward. The young man wore an immaculate white uniform. Simpers couldn't work out from where the steward had appeared. It was as if he materialised out of thin air.

'Milk or cream, sir? And sugar?'

The young man spoke with a distinctive accent that placed his origin as the Indian sub-continent. Even so, his precise diction would have put many whose first language was English, to shame. Simpers couldn't help but notice the small crucifix tattooed on the base of his right thumb.

A look of confusion, not to say mild panic spread across Simpers' face. He wasn't used to what he regarded as fancy drinks. The thought of cream in tea reminded him of the tinned sweet milk some of his neighbours drank on the council estate he grew up on. The smell of the stuff still made him wretch.

The steward interpreted Simpers' discomfort immediately and, without fuss, added the merest touch of milk and two lumps of sugar. With a tiny nod of his head, he lowered his knowing eyes from an embarrassed Simpers. As the steward handed Simpers his drink, the detective became aware of a small piece of paper between the saucer and the steward's gloved palm. The young man gave Simpers an earnest look. Instinctively, Simpers covertly slid the paper into his jacket pocket. An appreciative smile crossed the steward's face as he completed a 360 degree turn to offer the Commodore refreshments.

'Thank you, Malin. Please offer my compliments to the Purser and ask him to join us.'

The steward acknowledged the order, took two steps backwards, then seemed to vanish into thin air.

'Excellent chap, Malin, he's been with me for a couple of years now. His father also looked after me, too many years ago to mention.

'You notice the tattoo on the back of his thumb? He comes from Goa; a lot of chaps from there are Catholics. They have a tradition of identifying themselves with the tattoo you noticed.

'Of course, things are changing, and we now recruit from all over the world… and it's a double edged sword.'

'How so?' replied Simpers.

'Like it or not, people from different cultures sometimes don't behave well towards each other. What you need to understand, Detective Inspector, is that a ship is a small place. Misunderstandings and minor arguments can get out of hand if you don't jump on them. As you might expect, I maintain firm discipline; no exceptions made.'

The light atmosphere that had prevailed up until then evaporated. Simpers took note of how the Commodore's demeanour had changed without effort. Also, how his assertiveness came to the fore. Simpers recognised the same trait in his own superior. He concluded that the ability to switch persona at the drop of a hat was common to those of senior rank. It wasn't something he recognised as part of his own make-up. With him, people got what they saw, though he accepted this was as much a weakness as strength. The tension of the moment passed as the Purser entered the room in the same manner as the steward. It was as if its walls were porous, allowing those in the know to pass through its structure at will.

'Good afternoon, Commodore.'

'Good of you to join us, Purser.'

The Purser turned in Simpers' direction, smiled and offered his hand as he did so.

'Detective Inspector, welcome aboard.'

The Purser here looks after everything to do with passengers,' offered the Commodore, his previous hail fellow well met smile now having re-emerged.

Simpers knew that although the two men carried the same number of gold strips, they were in no way equal. The subservient demeanour of the Purser towards the Commodore served to reinforce his assessment. Pleasantries over, the Commodore gestured the men to join him at the conference table. Its construction matched the exquisite quarter cut veneered panelling that lined the room. Several picture windows punctuated its starboard wall, flooding the space with light. The reflection of rippled water dancing across the room's wood surfaces had a soporific effect on Simpers. It didn't last long, courtesy of the Commodore's authoritative voice.

'As you know, we have information that leads us to believe certain valuable items we are showcasing on this cruise are at risk.'

Simpers' mind wandered for a moment at the thought of two weeks on water. With this would come myriad opportunities for the oceans to play havoc with the contents of his stomach. Then there was his vertigo to deal with. Being tied up in the shelter of Westbay Sound was one thing, but once the ship entered open water, he knew things would be different and it would be open season on his senses. Simpers had been taking a close interest in the shipping forecasts. He knew that a force ten gale and heavy swell awaited him as the evening progressed. He had no choice about being on board. What he couldn't understand was why otherwise sane adults handed over enough money to buy a small car to a cruise line. In return, they might expect at least three days tossed around like a bottle cork before they got anywhere near calmer waters.

'What makes you think the threat is real, Commodore,' Simpers responded.

'Eight years ago, we received a warning about a similar collection of Charles I miniatures. Although we stepped up security, the collection disappeared. As you know, they've not been seen since. It demonstrated that it was possible to remove items from what others might think a secure environment.'

'…And because of their provenance, there was no fuss made,' said Simpers.

The Commodore fixed him with a stare that gave him his answer, and precluded any invitation for further enquiry.

'So we are in your hands, Detective Inspector. You will receive our full cooperation and any resources you may need. The only people who know who you are and why you are here are in this room, plus, of course, my steward. I ask only that you remember that we are in the holiday business. We would appreciate it if your work remained as low key, with as little fuss made, as possible.'

'I understand,' replied Simpers.

Two thousand passengers with nothing to do but complain that cruises weren't what they used to be, might make this difficult. Then there was the matter of eight hundred crew members, he thought.

'Right-o,' boomed the Commodore, 'we sail in two hours. You'll have access to all areas, so it's a full ships tour for you to make sure you're aware of all possible hazards, what to do in an emergency and so on. Over to you, Deputy Captain.'

'Sir,' snapped Cross.

'Gentlemen, I suggest we meet in two days time over breakfast so that you can update me on progress. Ken will make the necessary arrangements,' snapped the Commodore.

Simpers and Cross left the Commodore's day room, and once more entered the public face of the magnificent vessel. Simpers noted for the first time how quiet his surroundings were. All was quiet, yet the ship seemed to be alive. He became aware of a slight, but constant throb that permeated the vessel, accompanied by a low pitched hum. The combination of the two had a reassuring effect on Simpers; something he hadn't been expecting. Cross seemed to sense Simpers' thoughts.

'Every ship is different, you know. Each one has its own engine sound and rhythm. Its known as 'resonance' – remarkable isn't it. Now, let's get on.'

As they walked down a long, narrow corridor, the Deputy Captain gestured to an opening that Simpers hadn't noticed. Cross brushed aside a waist height horizontal bar marked 'access for staff only'. As they began to descend the stairs, an altogether different world unfolded before them. Gone were the sumptuous carpets and decorative hangings. These were now replaced by cream painted surfaces and procedural safety signs. Deck by deck they descended, an indistinct hubbub increasing as they progressed. Reaching the foot of the stairs, they crossed a small, claustrophobic space and turned a blind corner.

A long, wide corridor at least ten feet wide stretched into the far distance, which seemed to run from the bow to stern of the ship.

'We're now on F Deck, and roughly level with the dock side. We call this area Watling Street.'

'Watling Street?' quizzed Simpers.

'You know, Roman Road, long, straight, that sort of thing.'

Simpers kicked himself for not having made the connection, but was too caught up in the energy of the place to make too much of it.

'Almost everything we need to run the ship passes along this corridor. It's also the quickest way for the crew to get from one end of the ship to the other,' said the Deputy Captain.

Simpers couldn't help thinking that the ship had conquered science. It seemed larger on the inside than its immense exterior hinted at and he was mesmerised by the sights, sounds, and smells assaulting his senses. Chaotic it may have appeared, but there was a distinct purpose about the place. The corridor had markings of various colours that separated foot traffic from mechanical trolleys. These carried a myriad of supplies. The volume of provisions stored astounded Simpers.

'Think of it this way,' said the Deputy Captain, 'on a two week cruise, each passenger will, on average, put on over half a stone. We'll get through around seven tons of beef, five tons of fish and twenty-five thousand eggs. You don't gain that sort of weight by eating carrots all the time you know!'

As the two men reached the midpoint of Watling Street, the Deputy Captain stopped in his tracks.

'Immediately above us is the medical centre. It's always situated low down and midships to counter any movement of the vessel in rough seas.'

The mention of rough seas made Simpers take a sharp, silent, intake of breath through clenched teeth. He closed his eyes in an involuntary action. Simpers mind projected an unwanted image of mountainous seas on the back of his eyelids.

'Oh, I see,' replied Simpers. He mused that Cross's comment and his self-generated imagery were doing nothing for his vertigo.

'That's also why these are here.'

Simpers looked puzzled. The area looked exactly the same as the rest of the vast thoroughfare. Cross pressed a button marked 'M lift' on a section of enamel painted panelling behind Simpers.

To the detective's surprise, the panelling opened with quiet efficiency. It revealed a space measuring about eight feet by four.

Cross pointed to an otherwise nondescript panel to one side of the elevator. Taking a key from his pocket, he inserted it into a small opening covered by an escutcheon plate, just above head height. Turning it to the right, Simpers heard a discrete 'click' as the panel opened. The Deputy Captain swung the panel open to reveal three empty shelves around three feet wide at around two foot intervals. At the same time Simpers felt a stream of cold air brush across his face.

'It's a sad fact that people sometimes die while on-board. Inconveniently, they don't always time their demise with a port visit. The days of packing them in barrels of rum went out with Admiral Nelson. And anyway, it's too expensive now, and, of course, health & safety regulations wouldn't allow us to re-use the rum.'

Simpers observed the glint in the officer's eyes as he delivered a well practised line.

'So you see, we are completely self-contained on board. Should the worst happen, we have a medical centre and operating theatre. We also have the means to store those who can't make it ashore under their own steam, so to speak.'

'Yes, I see, of course,' Simpers replied, trying hard not to look surprised, though in truth, he hadn't thought of the need for a mortuary while afloat.

'OK, let's move on. In here we have the crew eating and social area.'

As they walked through the various dining rooms and crew lounge area, Simpers hesitated.

'Why two different kitchens?'

'Historically, we've had staff from different cultures doing different jobs. They have different food requirements. Over the years we've found it works best to have separate kitchens to cater for their needs, using their own specialist cooks.'

'Sounds expensive,' Simpers responded.

'Not as expensive as a restless crew.'

Simpers got the point.

'By the way, Detective Inspector, please don't come into these areas, even if invited by a crew member. Unless, that is, you are with a senior officer.'

'Why?' responded Simpers.

'Well, the vast majority of crew do not have deck privileges.'

'Deck privileges?' quizzed Simpers.

'Yes, apart from officers and a small number of other staff, crew are not permitted in public areas once they are off shift. So you can see that just as they are not allowed in passenger areas, they don't like it if passengers enter their world.'

This sounded fair, Simpers thought, but concluded that it might get in the way of things for a copper working incognito.

Having descended several further flights of stairs, the two men found themselves in a narrow corridor. Crew cabins punctured both sides of the wall.

'No windows or port-holes?' Simpers asked.

'Not a lot of call for them below the waterline,' replied the Deputy Captain.

For the second time in a few minutes, Simpers felt stupid.

He couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the thought of water being both around and above him. To him, it wasn't a natural state of affairs.

'It's a world of its own down here, isn't it,' said Simpers.

'Yes, and if I had a pound for the number of times passengers ask me where the crew go after they've finished work for the day, I'd be a rich man.'

Simpers looked at Cross, trying to judge if this was another of his well practised throw-away lines.

'Believe it or not, some passengers think that the crew somehow leave the ship overnight. Heaven knows where they think they go!

'I've brought you down here to show you how the watertight doors – we call them bulkheads, work. You know, in case of emergency.'

Simpers' mood wasn't improved having to think about such things.

'Why so far off the floor.' Simpers asked.

'To keep the water contained before the bulkhead closes,' responded Cross.

'There are two types of door, automatic and manual. The manual type can be closed by anyone – but the Bridge can override their operation if required. So, if you need to, you can open and close the door by using the handle – we call them 'dogs'.

The reference to dogs intrigued Simpers, but he kept his counsel. He wasn't going to look stupid for a third time by asking a question Cross was waiting for him to pose.

'Now, here's an example of an automatic bulkhead door.'

They were now standing twenty-five feet or so from their previous location. Cross asked Simpers to stand back from the opening as he radioed the Bridge. Cross requested the closure of watertight bulkhead AD03, then to re-open it immediately. The Deputy Captain explained that only the Bridge could close and open automatic doors.

A second or so later, Simpers heard a loud clunking sound as the locking bolts on the heavy steel door released. The intimidating structure began its slow but deliberate path as it slid from right to left. Simpers had almost tripped passing through the up-stand on the earlier bulkhead. He suspected all the doorways below the waterline would be difficult to navigate in an emergency. Simpers supposed this was not a problem, since if he was around with water coming in, his feet wouldn't touch the ground or any other surface as he made his escape.

'Once the door starts to close, can you stop it,' asked Simpers.

'As I said, only from the Bridge,' replied Cross.

'…But what if you trip half-way through?'

The Deputy Captain gestured for Simpers to watch the door as it completed its journey. As it did so with a solid thump, three locks snapped closed.

'You don't mean to say…'

'…Afraid so,' replied Cross. 'Safety of the many at the cost of the few and all that. But don't worry too much; we have CCTV cameras covering every watertight door on the ship. So, as long as somebody on the Bridge sees you, you should be fine.'

'One important point to remember. If you're down here and the doors close, you can check what the emergency is by placing your palm against the door surface. If it's hot to the touch, you'll know there's a fire on the other side.'

'What if it's cold,' enquired Simpers.

'It's the sea.' The Deputy Captain wasn't smiling.

The two men continued down the service passage for another twenty feet before Cross' radio crackled into life. He strolled in front of Simpers, leaving him to ponder which outcome would be the lesser of two evils. A cold, wet end, or hot and dry demise. Hobson's choice, he thought.