Trusting Viktor (A Cleo Cooper Mystery) (9 page)

Collecting my hard hat, I went first to the radio operator to have my name added to the POB—personnel on board—list and be assigned a lifeboat station. Then I went to find Captain Duncan Powell to let him know I was aboard.

I didn’t have to go far. Powell was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading from the helipad, having what seemed like a tense discussion with Braxton Roberts, the company man. They stopped talking and stared at me as though drawing a blank as to who I was.

Saving them embarrassment, I put my hand out to the hawk-nosed captain and said, “Cleo Cooper, I’m—”

“Oh, right, you’re Bud Cooper’s wife, the wellsite geologist.”

“Ex-wife,” I said. “And Elton Patterson’s the wellsite geologist. I’m just helping out.”

“Glad to have you aboard,” he said. Giving me a pat on the shoulder, he explained to Roberts, “She’s basically here to calm Phil Gregson by making sure he gets the information he needs when he
needs it.”

“Yes, glad to have you aboard,” Roberts said. Terse but polite.

“Well, speaking of that,” I said, “I’d better get to work. Nice to see you both again.” As soon as I walked away, headed for the logging lab, I could hear their heated discussion start up again. It seemed the relationship between the company man and the site manager was a fractious one.

One of the most important tasks of the mudlogger is to record in real time the lithology, or mineral makeup, of the rocks in the well hole. They mostly accomplish this through analysis of rock chips returned to the surface in the drilling mud and sifted out in large shaking screens. If the drill is penetrating a soft rock, it moves faster, and samples have to be collected and analyzed very quickly. Since Phil wasn’t happy with the daily readouts he was receiving, my job was to identify the problem, correct it, and facilitate the flow of information.

I entered the trailer and introduced myself to a crew-cut, middle-aged mudlogger from Texas named Charlie. We looked at the newest samples to come up in the mud, and I collected several to study at home later. When I asked him how things were going with Elton, he looked a little annoyed. “Well, some of them guys in the crew think it’s kinda funny to scare somebody.”

Uh-oh. “What do you mean?”

“Well … Elton was up on the derrick—I’d say about forty feet—checking the kelly-height sensor. I don’t know who was on deck holding the other end of the cable he was harnessed to. Anyway,
somehow
he … lifted and swung out a little. They lowered him right away, but not before he screamed like a girl. I think it might’ve embarrassed him a bit.”

My eyes must have looked like they were about to pop from their sockets, because he hastily added, “There’s no way he was ever in danger. He had on a safety harness.”

That explained Elton’s obsession with safety and knowing every possible way off the ship. Poor man. Curbing my impatience with such stupid guy tricks, I asked, “Did he complain about it or make a report to Mr. Powell?”

“No ma’am,” he said.

“Then let’s not mention it again, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Gathering my samples, I quickly made my way to Elton’s office, where he was working on his daily report. After we’d gone over what had occurred downhole and what type of rocks had been drilled during my absence, I took a breath and said, “I know about what happened with the crew and your trapeze act.”

He stared at the floor waiting to hear what I was going to say next.

Feigning the impatience of a mother with a daredevil child, I admonished him, saying, “I know those types of antics don’t scare you guys and you need a little something to fight boredom. But understand they
do
scare me, so find some other way of staying amused.”

“Uh, yes ma’am.”

“That said, I very much approve of your safety station checks. Mr. Gregson mentioned what a swell job you’re doing there.” I checked my watch. There was still an hour before the crew boat departed, leaving plenty of time for a visit to the ROV platform. “Well,” I said, standing, “that’s about it. I’ll be in touch later tonight.”

Elton stood as I left and, while I couldn’t be sure, I thought I detected a whiff of cockiness that hadn’t been there before.

As I climbed the stairs to the platform, I was relieved to see no one was working with the ROV. I walked around it again much as I had the night of the attack, only this time I looked to the glass control box at the top of the crane. It was unoccupied now. I walked to the edge of the platform and looked down at the water so far below. A chill crept over me remembering the night of the attack—those feelings of desperation and terror so intense I’d rather have jumped than submit, even though the consequences would probably have been fatal.

Had it just been a strange twist of fate that preserved me, or human intervention? Would I ever know? I knew confronting Bud was step number one in finding the answers I needed—but I couldn’t do it. What if he
had
killed this Nuvuk Hunter? What would I do then?

And, if all that wasn’t enough, I’d let the gambler in me—the same one who dwells in all prospectors—take over and run roughshod over my common sense. What I’d failed to tell Bud was that I’d gone way out on a limb on this deal. I had actually put up the future royalty income I was set to receive from my quarry deal as collateral for a loan hefty enough to allow me to play with the big boys.

While my contribution to our investment group was certainly nothing like Bud’s $15 million, and a pittance when compared to our group as a whole, it was big bucks for me. Moreover, the possibility existed that everything—and I did mean
everything
—I’d saved would be gone. I’d used my $1.5 million along with $3.5—borrowed from the same friendly banker who’d given me the money to clinch the granite deal—to reach the nice round number of $5 million. While I wouldn’t be out on the street if we hit a duster, I’d definitely be back on a boloney-and-cheese diet for years and years.

No granite quarry income, no retirement account, no real savings.

Usually investor groups like ours partner with major oil companies through large investment institutions such as banks, trust funds, and hedge funds. But that means buying into the hedge fund and not necessarily buying a particular deal, thereby diluting the profit. In our case, Bud was the managing partner of our fund, and we were investing directly as working interest holders. While that meant a much higher return on our investment, it also guaranteed that hitting a dry hole would constitute a complete loss of our money.

But the worst part? Bud would know I’d been foolhardy. I couldn’t have that. I’d been very proud that he hadn’t questioned me about the size of my investment. That meant what he’d told me after I’d cobbled together the financing for my granite quarry—that he’d been impressed at my ability to put together such a complicated deal—had been true. I didn’t want to do anything to erode the real progress we’d made toward the new post-divorce equality we seemed to be reaching.

I inhaled deeply, drinking in the beauty of the day, the far horizon, the gentle lift of ocean swells against the ship. Sea birds dove hungrily into schools of bait fish that swarmed in the turbulent currents created by the ship’s giant thrusters. Just then, an air return came on below me and caught my attention. Looking down through the grating, I spotted, on top of the ventilation housing, the metal wheel I’d been trying to pry loose the night of the attack. But as I started back down the stairs, my iPhone vibrated in my pocket.

Pulling it out, I checked the screen: Detective Sergeant Pierce. I decided to return the call later when I’d be sure of uninterrupted service. At forty-five miles from shore, as the crow flies, I was at the maximum reach for cell transmission. I shoved the phone back in my pocket and went after the wheel.

That’s when I heard footfalls on the catwalk above me. “Cleo!” a voice shouted.

Nine

“Stay there, I’ll come
to you!”

Struck speechless, I gawked as the last person in the world I would have expected to see rushed headlong down the stairs to me: the young Russian I’d met in Louisiana. Before I could stop him, Viktor Kozlov grabbed me and gave me an exuberant hug.

“Whoa,” I said, politely pushing from his embrace.

“I can hardly believe this … the way we keep meeting,” Viktor said. “And look at you. Even more beautiful than I remember.”

Work duds, no makeup, and a hard hat. Yep, a regular Aphrodite. I scanned the area. Fortunately, no one was nearby. Some of the things I’d done with this kid came to mind, and I knew I was blushing. That really ticked me off. I struggled to regain my professionalism. “What on earth are you doing here?” I blurted.

His smile broadened. “I work here. Don’t you remember, I told you I had resumes out with ROV companies?”

Past conversations, in fact, were
not
what I remembered about him, but I didn’t say so. Instead I said, “Yes, so you said, it’s just I never expected you’d actually get a job, you being a student and all.”

“Actually, being a student worked in my favor.”

“How’s that?” I asked skeptically.

But he ignored my question and instead, his eyes getting all dreamy, he said softly, “I have to say, I’ve missed the way you called me … Vic-
ter
that night we were together. It was so charming, so …
what’s the word … rural?”

“I
hope
the word you’re looking for is
Southern
, as in a Southern accent,” I said dryly.

“Yes,” he laughed his wonderful laugh. It was almost enough to pull a smile from me, but not quite. “That’s probably the word I’m looking for. But what about you? I didn’t expect to find you in the employ of Global too.”

“Oh, I’m not,” I said. “I’m just here consulting.”

An uncomfortable silence bloomed between us. He must have sensed my anxiety because he took a few steps back, leaned against the ROV’s cage, and studied me. I studied him back. God, he was hot even in an orange jumpsuit and hard hat. I gave up trying to remember any past career discussions. “So who are you working for?”

Viktor stepped away from the ROV, answering with a nod in its direction.

Duh. “Oh, right, Voyager.”

“Yes. They called me last Wednesday and said they needed someone who could come out here right away and would be interested in working only on a job-by-job basis. Of course this is perfect for me, as I’ll be working on my dissertation during the winter months. That’s what I meant when I said my being a student is an asset.”

I nodded my understanding.

“So,” he said, extending his arms in a here-I-am gesture. “I flew to their headquarters in Texas, went through training, and Saturday was transported out here.”

“What about your other job?”

“With the geophysical surveying company? Yes, I’m glad you remember.” Viktor now grinned. “Mr. Duchamp was sad to see me go, but he understood. And, after what happened to the guy I’m replacing—he fell overboard in the middle of the night, did you hear?—and because his sons make up the rest of the team, I think he wanted me here. Maybe to help watch out for them.”

“His twin sons? The ones I met at the party?”

“That’s right.”

“They work for Voyager too?”

“Yes,” Viktor said. Then, abruptly, he shifted gears. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You left so very quickly …”

Now there’s one for the books
, I thought
.
It’s not every day your last one-night stand turns up unexpectedly replacing the guy who died trying to rape you. I had to ask, “Did you know the … fellow who fell overboard?”

“No. I’m told he was from Alaska, where he’d been dragging seismic cable. Duchamp met him up there and offered him a full-time job if he came back to Louisiana, so he did. After several years he quit Davy and was hired by Voyager, where he learned to be a pilot. The twins said he was a good worker but”—he spoke as if remembering their exact words—“couldn’t hold his booze. We don’t know the details, but it’s being said he got drunk and fell overboard.”

The last bit was spoken as though it were a secret, but it sounded like a stupid rumor to me. “Hell, you can’t even have a lighter on board, let alone alcohol.” Which didn’t stop Bud from tying one on with the boys over poker that night, so who knew?

Viktor just shrugged. “Sad to say, but one person’s tragedy is another’s opportunity. Well, enough of that. Come. The twins will want to say hello. They are in the galley—we’re on a break.” He put his arm around my shoulder and began to usher me to the stairs.

Slipping out from his casual embrace, I said, “I’ll meet you there. First I need to go, um … take care of something I forgot to do … in the logging lab. I only have a little while before I have to catch the boat back to port.”

“Then hurry, Cleo,” he said, cheekily. “See you in the galley.”

I made my exit into the maze of aisles created by stacks of supplies and equipment. After a few moments, I checked to make sure Viktor was out of sight before returning to retrieve the strange little metal wheel. I quickly pocketed it, then hurried to the galley.

“Cleo,” Viktor said, standing and pulling out a chair for me. “You remember Tim and Dean Duchamp?”

“I certainly do,” I said, shaking their hands as they stood to greet me. They were of average height and build, their brown hair parted and combed identically. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to your coworker,” I said. “Was he a good friend?”

The young men looked at each other with obvious discomfort before Tim spoke up. “I wouldn’t say that. Dad sometimes put us on jobs with him. Then, fortunately, he went to work for Voyager a couple of years ago.”

“Fortunately?”

A sheepish expression crossed Tim’s face. “It’s just that he wasn’t the brightest light in the hall and he … well … he was downright mean sometimes.”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” Reminding his brother of this, Dean turned to me. “He was an experienced pilot. That’s why they put us with him for this job as Team One. It’s the first time we’ve worked with him since the Voyager deal.”

“Team One?” I said.

“The one in charge of the ROV during the spudding process. Voyager leaves a first team in place until routine drilling starts. By Monday, we’ll have been out here for two complete rotations.”

“Are you guys pilots too?” I asked.

“No,” Tim said. “We both have engineering degrees. But Dean has a double major in computer sciences, so he does the programming of the unit. I specialize in welding, pipe fitting, deployment, that type of thing.”

“And now that Nuvuk is gone, Viktor’s our pilot,” Dean said. “He’s got lots of experience.”

I looked at Viktor. “Yes,” he said. “Back in Russia I was a pilot during the daytime, a student at night.”

There was plenty I didn’t know, but it also was no time for catching up on Viktor’s resume. I felt my cell vibrate. Retrieving it, I checked the screen—Pierce again—and said, “What made you guys decide to become ROV techs?” I put away the phone.

“Working for our dad,” Tim said, laughing. “We’ve done every type of job SeaTrek offers, and he didn’t like the way we did
any
of them.”

Dean chimed in. “We decided to get jobs somewhere else—”

“—but we didn’t want to leave the ocean—” Tim continued.

“—so we decided on working in the very diverse ROV industry,” Dean said, finishing the sentence.

“Oh, come on,” Viktor said. “Your dad’s great and you know it. He is simply … demanding.”

“That he is,” Dean agreed. “Well, break’s over, and Captain Powell runs a tight ship. It was nice to meet you, Miss Cleo.” He rose from the table in unison with his twin. They pushed their chairs in and left.

“I must go as well,” said Viktor. As we scooped up our hard hats and headed for the door, he added, “Not to worry, though, I have your address over on the beach. As soon as I finish my rotation, I’ll come by to see you. We’ll do something fun.”

Figuring now was as good a time as any to set things straight, I stopped at the door. “Viktor,” I said, being careful to use the proper Russian pronunciation, “about that. While I had a lovely time with you in Port Fourchon, that was then and this is now. I know you care as much about your professional life as I do, and since this ship is our workplace, you have to agree that it would be a bad idea to … engage in any more … fun things.”

He totally ignored my attempt to let him down easy. “Now that the well is completely spudded and drilling is underway, the teams will go back to regular fourteen-day rotations. Ours ends Monday when a replacement crew comes in. We’ll get together then.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

Viktor opened the galley door for me. The roar of diesel engines and generators mixed with the deafening hiss of a sand blaster, making conversation difficult. To add to the cacophony, the loudspeaker bleated three chimes, the warning to be at the crew boat in five minutes or be prepared to spend the night.

“Listen,” I said, trying to raise my voice above the din, “I’ve got to run. That’s my boat leaving. Remember, next time we see each other … strictly professional, right?”

Viktor donned his hard hat, lifted mine from my hands, put his lips to my ear, and said,
“Ne boysya, milaya moya.”
He then planted my hat back on my head, squeezed my shoulder, and left.

“What?” I called after him, but another wave of the sand blaster blew my words to the wind.

On the way back to Morehead, I tried to return Detective Pierce’s call but only reached his voicemail. I left my name and number, unable to quell the queasy feeling I got wondering why was he trying to reach me. Had the medical examiner ruled on the cause of death? I’d become convinced that the corpse I’d seen had been my attacker and was fervently hoping for a finding of accidental drowning. That would be one less complication to deal with. Maybe that pesky Pierce would even write off the scrap of material as work related and I wouldn’t have to worry about Bud living out his days in the slammer because of me.

When I got home late Wednesday afternoon, the black Crown Victoria parked in my drive told me my new little friends, Detectives Pierce and Myers, were back and the day was about to get longer.

Down by the dock Tulip yelped a greeting and hopped out of Henri’s boat, where she’d apparently been keeping Will company. He had the cover off of the outboard motor and was working on it. He looked up as she loped across the yard to greet me. I tossed him a wave. “What’s up?” I called.

“Not much. Just setting Henri’s timing!” He bent back to his task as I went inside.

A laughing Henri sat at the kitchen table, batting her eyes and flirting shamelessly with the detectives, regardless of the fact that both guys were old enough to be her father. Oh well. As far as I was concerned, softening them up before they questioned me again couldn’t hurt. Both men rose courteously from their seats at my entrance.

“What’s going on?” I asked

“Oh, hi, Mom,” Henri said. “These very nice policemen came to see you. I told them you’d be back soon, and here you are. I’ve been keeping them company.”

I’d had experience with cops once before when a body turned up on a piece of property where I was doing exploration work. In that instance, the sheriff and his deputies were fairly amenable. These detectives on the other hand … well. I slipped my poker face snugly into place.

Pierce cleared his throat and said, “We need to talk to your mom now, Henri. Thanks for your time. And for your hospitality.” Both men, I noted, had Cokes in front of them.

“No problem,” Henri said, then looked at me, “Mom?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Go check on Will. He’s working on your boat.”

“What? I told him to leave that motor alone.” The door slammed and she was gone.

Pierce pulled out a chair for me, and they reseated themselves.

“We just wanted to let you know the ME has done his work. The preliminary ruling is drowning”—my heart soared as Pierce paused to pull his trusty little spiral notebook from his pocket—“following trauma to the back of his skull by a blunt object.”

My heart sank. “What?”

“Yeah, apparently the crack in his skull wasn’t obvious when he was first brought in because the body had been in the water.” Both men stared at me, looking, I assumed, for a reaction. When I just stared back, Pierce asked, “So does hearing about the killing, that it was a blow to the back of the head with a blunt object, jog your memory? Give you any … insight? Any clarity?”

“No.”

Pierce looked at Myers, who said, as if on cue, “Well, the toxicology report isn’t back yet. Maybe we’ll know more then.”

“Right,” added Pierce. “We’ll keep you abreast of any information in the case as we get it.”

I gave him a what-the-hell-for look.

“After all,” he said with feigned patience, “we’re still trying to jump start your memory of that night, aren’t we?”

I nodded but wondered if this indicated some manipulative police psychology. Make the suspect think they’re helping with the investigation, then catch them in some kind of stupid slipup.

“For instance, we ran Mr. Hunter’s name through NCIC and he popped up right away. He was charged twice in Alaska with rape, but both times the charges were dropped. The victims changed their minds.”

Jeez. How could a guy like that get employed on a drillship? It didn’t make sense.

“Thoughts?” Myers asked.

“Actually, I’m wondering how he got employed with a rape record.”

“He was only
charged
with rape, not convicted. And the only reason I can think of why an employer probably didn’t feel it necessary to do a criminal background check is because someone pulled strings for him.”

“More thoughts?” Myers chimed in again.

“What now, is all.” Then I shrugged.