Cold Grave (11 page)

‘The impact pushed him to the wall.’ She examined the smears. ‘It looks like Carlos tried to crawl to the door with the shooter still in the room.’ From where she squatted, Anya could see photos of a family on the wall. Five children – three boys and two girls – surrounded an attractive woman with a shy smile. The lower bed belonged to Carlos.

She stood and straightened her back.

‘With the space this tight, the shooter had to be straddling him as he struggled. They weren’t in a hurry to finish the job.’

It could have taken minutes. She remembered the plea in the Colombian’s eyes. The shooter would have seen the same thing.

‘Whoever did this is callous and took their time.’ She pictured the scene. ‘Carlos wasn’t meant to be killed. He was made to stand facing away from the gunman. A shot to the head would have been easy – clean – and Carlos wouldn’t have been able to talk.’ She bent down and saw the small hole in the floor; the second bullet. ‘The knees were the target all along.’

FitzHarris rubbed his leg. ‘We need to find out whether this was payback or a warning to others on board.’

‘Shooting one leg would have achieved the same result. Carlos earned his living on his feet. This is vindictive.’

‘I agree. He’s either seen something he shouldn’t or he’s involved with gangs or drugs, or some other smuggling operation.’

‘He’s unlikely to tell us now,’ Anya said. ‘Whoever did this is powerful enough to know he won’t talk.’

‘Or he still has something they want,’ FitzHarris suggested.

Anya shook her head. ‘Kneecapping was a specialty of the various Mafia and IRA. They’d often use it as a calling card. Taking out the kneecap from behind is incredibly painful. After that, the victims are too terrified to talk.’

Working in England she had seen victims of the IRA as young as fourteen who would forever struggle to walk, even if their legs could be saved.

‘Maybe he was doing the horizontal cha-cha with someone else’s woman. On a ship with 1400 crew away from home for months at a time that pretty much narrows it down.’

‘Where was the room mate when it happened?’

‘Let’s find out.’ FitzHarris checked his watch. ‘Feeding time.’

They left the cabin and he replaced the seal across the door. ‘No one gets in or out. No one!’

‘Yes, boss.’ The guard re-crossed his arms.

Down a long, seemingly endless corridor, they turned a corner into the crew mess.

The place could have been the United Nations. Anya was struck by the female crew – it was as if they had been handpicked from a Miss Universe contest. A perfectly proportioned woman of around six foot with shoulder-length blonde hair and pale blue eyes carried a plate of fruit to a table with five other people. The three seated Asian women had bowls of white rice and soup. A fair-haired man was occupied by his plate of fish and potatoes.

Supplying halal and kosher foods, while catering to very different cultural tastes, would have been challenging. Anya’s mouth watered at the buffet’s aromas. They could have been standing in a Hong Kong market, instead of a ship.

The cacophony of chatter and different language intonations made it difficult to hear FitzHarris.

‘I don’t see him. Let’s try the bar.’

Back out down the corridor and around yet another corner, they passed a mess half-filled with officers. There were no queues and the area was much quieter.

Further on the stench of stale alcohol filled their nostrils. They entered a smoke-filled haze that was the crew bar. The area was double the size of an average living room, crammed with plastic tables and occupied chairs. In one corner, a small man belted out ‘We are the Champions’ at a karaoke machine. No one paid him attention. A series of screens on an opposite wall showed various sports games, one a soccer match with two African teams playing. A cheer went up from one table at a goal. A group of men crowded around controls to a video game displayed on another screen. At a table against the wall, a group of men focused all their attention on a game of cards, despite a porno film playing on one of the screens.

‘Any of these card sharks could fleece a newcomer of a month’s pay in one sitting,’ Fitz commented. ‘Rumour has it Carlos is a pretty slick player.’

It wouldn’t be the first time someone was shot over a gambling-related debt.

‘Maybe he got caught cheating,’ Anya suggested.

Within a closed community like this one, that would have been the ultimate betrayal. His injuries would have been a warning to any other potential scammers.

Fitz nodded. ‘Not what my sources tell me, but let’s go rattle some cages.’

A metal door led to a balcony. Outside, a dozen workers were smoking, some in quiet conversation. The waves were no longer calm. The swell was at least six metres and the air was damp. Away from the light, a couple were engaged in a passionate embrace, oblivious to those around them. Closing the balcony door did little to block out the inside noise. Anya realised they had to be directly below Martin’s internal cabin; little wonder he had trouble sleeping.

FitzHarris approached the couple and tapped the man on the shoulder.

‘Bruno, I want a word.’

The man moved one arm from his partner’s backside and gestured for FitzHarris and Anya to leave.

‘Bruno Vanii, we need to talk to you about Carlos’s shooting.’

The man seemed to freeze and suddenly put distance between himself and the woman. ‘You should go,’ he told her. ‘We will catch up later.’ She shrugged her shoulders, grabbed a half-empty glass and staggered back inside. Anya couldn’t help but notice the large diamond pendant around her neck. It seemed like perhaps some crew members were well paid.

Bruno turned to FitzHarris with wide, dark eyes. Average height but stocky, a short-sleeved pale blue shirt fit snugly around his biceps.

‘I can’t help you.’

‘Maybe you know more than you realise.’

Two giggling women with glasses and cigarettes appeared from the door. They stopped when they saw the head of security, and headed back to the bar. The others on the balcony quickly joined them inside.

Bruno’s eyes darted to the door and back. ‘I know nothing. Carlos and I, we work different times.’ Bruno pulled a cigar from a pack in the pocket of his khaki shorts and offered them each one.

Anya shook her head but FitzHarris accepted. The Italian snipped off the tips and handed one across. He lit FitzHarris’s first, with a gold engraved lighter.

‘How long you been with the company?’ FitzHarris took a few quick puffs and looked out to sea.

Bruno did the same. ‘Five years.’

‘Clean record of service?’

‘Of course, I mind my own business and do my job.’ He glanced sideways at Anya. ‘You did not introduce your attractive friend.’

‘You’re right, I didn’t.’ FitzHarris took another puff before admiring the cigar. ‘You spent two years in the military.’

Bruno’s eyes darted back to the door again. ‘Ah, yes, in national service.’

Anya noticed the carotid artery in his neck pulsate faster.

‘Where were you when Carlos was shot? It was four o’clock this afternoon.’

‘After I finish work, I go back to my cabin for a towel to shower. One of your men was already outside. You can check with my supervisor.’

‘We’ll do that. So where will you spend tonight?’

Bruno drew in on his cigar and let out a slow, deep breath. ‘A lady friend, she makes me . . . welcome. I would give you her name, but you understand . . .’ He glanced at Anya. ‘I am a gentleman.’

‘You mean she’s married, like you.’ FitzHarris didn’t miss a beat.

Bruno tapped his temple with his cigar hand and grinned, showing a gap in his middle front teeth. ‘Ah, I can see we . . . understand each other.’

Anya felt sorry for the poor wife back home. Her husband was shameless. She wondered if Carlos had the same attitude, or if his family meant more to him. ‘Did Carlos understand how much of a gentleman you are?’

Bruno waved his cigar to the side. ‘With him it was all about work and going back home.’

Fitz puffed away. ‘Did you know his wife has cancer?’

Anya hoped to see even the smallest amount of sympathy from the cabin mate.

He merely looked out to sea. ‘We all have problems. On a ship, it pays not to get involved in other people’s business.’

‘Well, you might want to follow your own rule there. That woman you were just with, I hear she’s a favourite of the captain.’

Bruno swallowed hard. ‘She was drunk and upset. I was just . . . how you say . . . comforting her.’

‘Yeah, we get it. You’re a real prince.’

FitzHarris leant as close to Bruno as possible, as if the pair were sharing something very private.

Anya stepped to the side but could still hear despite the music from inside and the ocean wind. The view was now clear to anyone watching from inside the bar.

‘Listen here, your roommate got shot and has had both legs cut off above the knee. You may be involved, or those bullets could have been meant for you. Maybe you banged the wrong woman. Maybe you passed on a little gonorrhoea, or syphilis. For all we know, Carlos was protecting you.’

Bruno’s eyes darted back and forth, and again toward the door. Beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead and above his lips. Suddenly, he cared what had happened to his crew mate.

‘You think so? Then I want protection.’

FitzHarris sighed. ‘Sorry, I don’t get involved in other people’s business, unless they can help me out.’

It was as if the cogs in the Italian’s brain were spinning, trying to think who he could have done the wrong thing by. There was clearly a long list.

‘I don’t know who shot him,’ he said finally, sounding desperate.

The security officer slapped him on the back as if congratulating him. ‘Then I wish you good luck. If there’s anything you can think of, just call.’ FitzHarris blocked Anya, just as what had to be a ten-metre wave lashed the side of the ship, showering the men’s backs.

‘There’s something,’ the Italian ventured. ‘When can I get the rest of my things?’

FitzHarris opened the door for Anya and peeled off his jacket. This time, there was silence as they re-entered the bar. All eyes were on them as they made their way back to the corridor.

‘Right, let’s go check out some trash.’

Out of anyone else’s earshot, Anya stopped him. ‘You wanted everyone to think he told us something.’

‘An uncooperative witness interview is over in a lot less time than that, and the crew knows it. I had to make them think their code of silence was broken.’

‘So you just marked him as an informant.’

‘Nah. He doesn’t know anything, and I think the shooter knows that too. Won’t hurt to make him suffer and maybe pull his pecker in for a couple of days. But it might make one of the others nervous enough to talk.’

Anya had to respect FitzHarris’s interrogation technique. ‘And that bit about the girl being the captain’s favourite?’

‘Common knowledge. He has a few, but it varies from day to day. Did you see that diamond around her neck? It’s career suicide for anyone messing with one of those women.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve just poured some boiling water down the ant hole. Now we sit back and see what comes scrambling out.’

9

Anya and FitzHarris headed back to the I-95.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to check out Carlos’s work area.’

Anya had no objection despite her calves and thighs beginning to ache. By now Ben should be asleep, and she was curious about the inner workings of the ship. Her earlier exhaustion had been replaced by a new energy and she was keen to find out the truth about Lilly.

She stopped to adjust her shoe, this time careful to move to the side and avoid another forklift truck. It whirred past them, along with a beep from the driver. The hum and vibrations from the engines and vehicles were magnified in the grey steel corridor.

‘You OK?’ Fitz asked.

‘I must be more unfit than I realised.’

‘It’s been a long day, and we’ve covered a lot of ground. Most of the workers here don’t bother with gyms. Just doing their jobs can mean walking or running up to ten miles a day. Have to say, some days I struggle.’