Cold Grave (15 page)

‘The envelope she gave me contained references to websites. Nothing I couldn’t have found on the internet myself.’

‘Did you catch her name?’

Anya was loathe to disclose the officer’s identity. What if she was merely doing her job and had no idea about the documents?

‘So this woman comes to your cabin at night. Either she’s just an unsuspecting courier, or she wanted to connect with you. Otherwise, why not slide the information under your door in the night?’

He had a point. Although, an anonymous package might make Anya defensive and suspicious. There was nothing on the envelope to instruct hand delivery. All it had was her name and cabin number.

‘What do you mean by connect?’

He lifted one hand. ‘We care about a cause if we have a personal connection to someone involved. It sounds like she could have some axe to grind and her visit obviously caught your interest. You say it’s nothing you couldn’t get off the net, but you kept the stuff instead of throwing it out.’

Fitz was good, she thought, although she didn’t like the way he made it sound as if she had been played.

He added, ‘She didn’t just happen to come across one of only two passengers who happened to be there to help out with Lilly and Carlos. You were her target. Or did Martin get a visit as well?’

‘Not that I know of.’

The woman’s uniform looked genuine, as did the badge. Someone went to a lot of trouble, and risked being caught, just to give her information that was readily available. It seemed more than a little coincidental that all their other belongings had been moved to the new suite, but the envelope and its contents had been discarded. She could not imagine Junta doing anything to compromise her job or only means of supporting her family.

‘What sort of uniform was she wearing? I assume—’

‘Yes. Officer’s.’

‘What colour epaulettes?’

Anya thought back. ‘Black.’

‘Then she was deck crew. If they’re caught passing on company information or harassing guests with their own agendas . . .’ He breathed out. ‘I’m just saying, no one should be violating your privacy at night. Someone wants you to push their cart, and I don’t want to see you being used.’

Fitz was more than astute. Documents wouldn’t mean the same coming from a room steward or someone in overalls.

Anya wondered if she had underestimated him. He was making her feel foolish for having brought up the missing envelope.

‘OK, humour me. Give me a first name and I’ll tell you if it belongs to an officer. If it fits, I’ll drop it. We’re still off the record, remember?’

‘Fine. Her badge said Nuala.’

Fitz returned to his chair and tapped away on his keyboard. A few minutes later, his left eye was squinting again.

‘No officer with that name. If a badge is lost, it costs eighty dollars to replace. Sometimes staff use each other’s badges to save paying the money.’

He typed some more and, from where she sat, Anya could see his eyes darting from side to side across the screen. His frown deepened.

‘Not one crew member with that name. I’ll go back a bit further, in case it’s an old badge passed on as a spare.’

Anya held her breath.

‘There used to be a Nuala. Cabin steward, she finished her contract two years ago and didn’t renew. Your Nuala isn’t who she claims to be.’

The anonymous woman could have been someone with a personal gripe against the company, but if she was pretending to be crew and knew her way around the ship, she could easily gain the trust of passengers. That concerned Anya, particularly in terms of children on board. She thought about Ben at the kids’ club.

‘We’ve got a significant problem if someone’s impersonating an officer. But just in case one of our officers has lost her badge . . . It’s an offence, but much less of a crime.’ He tapped away some more.

Maybe she was actually an officer, Anya thought, but chose not to reveal herself for fear of recriminations if her superiors found out she had been giving potentially damaging company information to passengers.

‘Would you recognise her again? Off the record. You don’t have to tell me which one she is if you find her.’

Anya was sure she could identify the woman.

‘All right then, there are fifteen female officers who would wear that white uniform.’

Fitz pulled up the dossiers on his computer, one at a time. Anya moved around to look at each photograph. She studied them all. No one resembled the woman she had met, even accounting for changes in hairstyle and colour.

‘I can’t show you the passengers’ mugshots, confidentiality and all that. Besides there are thousands of them on the system. If you run into her again, will you let me know?’

Anya agreed to call him as soon as she saw the mystery woman again. She wondered how Nuala had known what cabin to knock on that night. She must have had access to passenger lists, or had followed Anya to the cabin. Either way, it proved she had been targeted.

‘It doesn’t make sense.’ Fitz picked up a pen, clicking it once, twice and again as he spoke. ‘We’re in the middle of the ocean. No one can get on or off the ship. In the dead of night, some stranger hands you an envelope. Reminds me of a Hitchcock movie.’

Anya immediately thought of
The Birds
and the sailors’ albatross superstition. ‘You think I imagined it?’ Face flushed with irritation, she turned to leave. ‘Sorry to have wasted your time.’

FitzHarris tilted his head and sighed. ‘Wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m getting a lot of heat from above on the death and Carlos’s shooting. If news gets out, we could have mass panic on board.’ He discarded the pen and rubbed his eyes. ‘There’s an old saying on the sea: “You’re only ever two square meals short of anarchy”. The medical team tell me it’s almost unheard of to fill every hospital bed, but we managed within hours of setting sail. Somehow, I got a feeling we’re not over the worst of it. A power failure, a viral breakout, or any other incident and we could just get to anarchy stage. God help us if that happens.’

‘There is something else you should know, this time on the record.’

He rubbed one eye. ‘What’s that?’

‘Carlos may have some information on what happened to Lilly Chan. He said “Kill her. Stop him” just before the surgery.’

FitzHarris’s face became pale as he moved to open the door. ‘He would have heard the ship’s gossip. The guy’s a father. Add in the heavy-duty drugs you gave him . . .’

‘You’re right,’ Anya lied.

Carlos did have a cocktail of drugs in his veins, but he was desperate to tell her something. He could have pleaded for his legs, or named the shooter. Instead, he had begged for whoever harmed Lilly to be stopped from doing it again.

FitzHarris’s expression belied what he was saying about Carlos being delirious. Either he was out of his depth, or he didn’t want a connection made between the shooting and Lilly’s death. Anya had to tread carefully. Trust no one, the note had said.

13

Alone, Anya admired the two-storey view of the ocean. White-tipped waves competed for space and height and rain curtained as far as she could see. The water in the pool on the outside deck sloshed and slapped over the edge. She still hadn’t felt seasick.

The beauty and power of nature astounded her. She wondered how many people were up and about to appreciate it. Her mind was still turning about what Carlos had uttered and FitzHarris’s reaction. The two women, Bec and Emma, claimed some men were bragging about an Asian woman dying. Hearsay meant nothing unless one of the men admitted to what had happened.

Female passengers like Bec and Emma deserved to feel safe on board. Whether they were looking for love, casual sex or just fun, made no difference. How many other women had been intimidated or harassed? How many other people had those men bragged to about Lilly? David FitzHarris had limited resources until the FBI arrived to take over.

FitzHarris would have had a long night. There were drunken groups to contend with, not to mention a shooting victim to protect and question after the anaesthetic wore off, and Lilly’s death to investigate.

Anya decided to clear her head with a walk, this time under shelter. She collected a sick bag from under the sink and folded it into her wind-jacket pocket – just in case.

The cruise brochures advertised the beauty of nature, the ocean, islands, different cultures and people; yet the ship was focused on drawing people inward. Malls, bars and casinos pulled people to the ship’s centre, away from any natural light, sounds or sights. Cabins that overlooked the city-like promenade seemed as popular as those with an ocean view. This was a floating fishbowl; a mobile Las Vegas. Alcohol and gambling had to be profitable for the company.

Anya explored the undercover mall. At first glance, the number of designer stores seemed odd. Like her, many passengers would shop regularly at outlets and discount department stores and not even consider buying designer labels. Along the retail strip, expensive brands lured passengers with windows featuring gold and crystal displays, and the offers of specials during days at sea. ‘You deserve it’ was the theme.

Not coincidentally, bars and brasseries peppered the ‘district’, so patrons had to pass shops on their way back to their cabins. Families could indulge in three courses three times a day without worrying about the cost. It was easy to see how everything took on an artificial value.

Like house mice, cleaners worked quickly and quietly, while the majority of passengers were still asleep or having a leisurely breakfast.

Three decks above, the equivalent of sideshow alley included hot dog stands, carnival games and a video arcade. Toward the aft, was a sign that said ‘Centennial Garden’. Anya followed the path to an oasis of greenery. Despite the rain, mist sprinklers sprayed ferns, flowers and greenery. She picked up an umbrella from a stand at the entrance and opened it. It felt good to be away from all the noise and chaos. She bent down and smelt the leaves of a rose plant. Planted alongside were impatiens, petunias and daisies. Wooden garden chairs provided privacy and sanctuary for those wanting to enjoy the quiet. Cold air filtered through the area and sent a chill through her.

Meandering along the path, Anya saw a figure lying motionless on an undercover bench, beneath what looked like pool towels. Her pulse rate accelerated and she caught her breath.

‘Hello, are you all right?’

No answer.

To her relief, the towels moved and a mop of dark hair appeared. The young woman’s eyes were swollen and her clothes crumpled.

‘Jasmine? What are you doing here?’

Lilly’s sister sat up and pulled the towels around her shoulders. ‘They locked us out of our cabin last night.’

Anya sat beside her. ‘Who did? Why?’

‘The purser said it was a crime scene. We don’t understand. What’s happening?’ Jasmine buried her head in Anya’s shoulder and sobbed.

Anya imagined the cabin had been sealed off because of the drugs in Lilly’s bloodstream. Someone had ordered the room to be searched and, if security were busy, it would have been relegated to another time. How could the management be so incompetent? The family had lost Lilly, and now they were being mistreated.

‘Your cabin isn’t a crime scene, but Lilly had a bruise on her neck.’

Jasmine looked up, her eyes drawn and hollow. ‘I know.’

Anya sat back. ‘You knew about that?’

Jasmine nodded.

‘How did she get it?’

‘It’s a hickey.’

If the bruise was from consensual behaviour it made a big difference to suspicions about how Lilly had died.

‘You said she didn’t have a boyfriend.’

Jasmine’s fine-boned fingers pushed her hair behind her ear. ‘She didn’t. It’s a violin hickey,’ she explained. ‘Most people think you hold it up with your arm, but it sits on your collarbone and the lower part of your jaw keeps it in place. Every student knows you’re supposed to be able to hold it there with no hands. Sometimes, a player gets a hickey. Look.’ Jasmine pushed her hair back to reveal a similar but smaller mark on her neck.

Anya was still confused. Lilly had calluses on the pads of the fingers on her left hand.

‘You said she couldn’t play the violin so took up the cello.’

Jasmine shook her head. ‘I meant she couldn’t play the violin with her right hand. A while ago, she found one for left-handed players. She has been teaching herself to play since. She’s very good, although the cello is her love. Because the violin is so small, she brought it in her luggage. It’s in our cabin.’