Cold Grave (16 page)

Anya hadn’t considered a violin bruise, because she had assumed the cello was Lilly’s only instrument. The girl had not been strangled or choked. In one sense, it was a relief she hadn’t suffered that way, but there were still no answers as to how she got to the deck, and why she was so wet. Or what caused the bruises to her legs and arms.

‘Where is the rest of your family?’

‘My mother has been busy calling people and making . . . arrangements for Lilly. My cousin slept in my aunt’s bed. I went to the library but people were playing cards in there. I just wanted to be alone.’

Anya felt nauseated. She, Martin and Ben had been moved to a luxurious suite, yet the Chan family had been kicked out of their own beds. Lilly might not even have brought the GHB onboard, someone could have spiked her drink.

‘Come with me,’ Anya gestured. ‘We need to get you warm.’

Anya took Jasmine back to their suite and ordered room service. Coffee, hot chocolate, cereal, toast, eggs and fruit would do for a start. She collected a clean long-sleeved shirt and some leggings from her room and laid out a towel.

‘My son and his father aren’t due back for at least an hour. You can have a shower here if you like, or just change for now. It’s up to you. I have to go out for a short while, but I’ll be back. Before you do anything else, please contact your mother and let her know you’re okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can. You’re safe here. Just lock the door. The butler will bring the food.’

Anya left the suite and headed straight back to David FitzHarris’s office. She didn’t care if he was busy or not.

‘Forgot something?’

‘How the hell could you kick that family out of their cabin? Without any of their belongings and nowhere else to sleep?’ Anya stood, hands flat on the desk. ‘They have every right to sue—’

‘Whoa, hold on.’ FitzHarris rose, hands open. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘The Chan family. Someone ordered Lilly’s room be sealed as a crime scene, which left the family literally out in the cold!’

‘Shit!’ He looked up at the ceiling and sat back down. ‘They were supposed to
move
the family.’

‘I just found Lilly’s sister sleeping in the park section, freezing.’

FitzHarris’s shoulders slumped. Dark rings around his eyes made him look drawn.

‘Where is she now?’

‘Back in our new suite. Her mother is apparently sharing a bed in her aunt’s cabin. They could have been moved to the ones we vacated. You know, we didn’t ask for an upgrade.’

‘Yeah well, someone was trying to say thanks.’ The colour in FitzHarris’s cheeks deepened.

Anya moved a pile of memos from the spare chair and placed them on a corner of the table before sitting.

FitzHarris dropped back into his chair. ‘Those cabins could already be assigned to passengers coming on board in Fiji in a few days time.’ He picked up his phone and punched in a number. After a stilted conversation in which he said little apart from stating the accommodation problem, he slammed the handset down.

‘I’m told a liaison officer will board in Fiji and her job is to take care of the family until they get back home. In the meantime, you may have saved the company a lawsuit.’

‘These people are grieving half a world away from home, and have no idea why Lilly died. I don’t care about litigation—’

‘I know.’ He rubbed his temples. ‘I’m just grateful you were there to find her, and she was safe.’

‘There are other cabins you could be searching,’ Anya commented.

FitzHarris riffled through some papers and pulled out his notebook. ‘Those men you mentioned. I haven’t had the chance to find any of them yet. But if they’re using drugs, they’ll be kicked off at the next port.’

Anya sat forward. ‘Wait. That’s it? They just get put off the boat? What about the police? They’ll need to interview them.’

FitzHarris’s elbow was now on the desk and he rested his forehead on a hand. ‘I’ve been interviewing crew about the shooting half the night. The rest of the time, I’ve been on the phone trying to get outside help. We don’t know what time Lilly Chan was given the drugs, and we’d need to pinpoint exactly where we were at the time to ascertain whose jurisdiction we were in.’

Anya had been under the impression that the FBI would send agents. ‘Didn’t you inform the Hawaiian coastguard, who involved the FBI? A young girl died in suspicious circumstances, and time is going to destroy what little evidence there may be.’

He let out a deep sigh. ‘The Chans are travelling on Chinese passports; the daughters were born in Hong Kong. Chan is the mother’s name, only the father is a US citizen. The most we have to prove suspicious death is that bruise on her neck.’

‘About that . . .’ Anya moved back in the seat. ‘The sister confirmed that she had the bruise before boarding. It’s from the violin rubbing against her skin while she plays.’

FitzHarris placed his left hand near his shoulder. ‘Isn’t it on the wrong side?’

‘Not for a left-handed violin.’

The words hung for a moment.

‘So she’s an overdose as far as we know. Even if we find out who gave her the drug, all they have to do is say she took it voluntarily and no one’s left to argue any different. If Lilly had survived, it would just have been her word against his. Shit, ODs are a dime a dozen, and we both know sometimes the first-timers are the ones who luck out.’

‘But if Lilly was a US citizen the FBI would be more likely to investigate? We set sail from the US. This ship is full of American passengers, some of whom are implicated in a suspicious death.’

Anya felt her face redden and the back of her neck began to itch. How could police involvement be selective? Investigators in a country didn’t get to choose what crimes they took on. Were passengers informed that there were different standards of protection depending on which country they came from? That it was easier to get away with killing a non-American on a ship? The cruise line owed every passenger the same duty of care, or should disclose otherwise.

‘It’s not just her nationality. For US citizens, there still has to be something more than “he said, she said” for the FBI to become involved. The neck bruise was the most suspicious finding. And now you say it had nothing to do with her death.’

Anya couldn’t believe they were going to do nothing. ‘What about the carpet burns on her back and the other bruises?’

‘I’m guessing a number of women on board have marks like those. Alcohol increases the desire and can make performance pretty awkward. They aren’t enough.’

‘Then what about Carlos? How does Colombia stand with the FBI?’

The expression on FitzHarris’s face gave her the answer. He ripped a page from his notebook, scrunched it up and aimed for the bin. ‘My hands are tied.’

She summarised, to make sure she understood. ‘So the shooter gets away with ruining Carlos’s life and is perfectly free to carry on shooting whomever he wants. The only proviso is that he limits himself to foreign nationals. Anyone gets to drug and rape with impunity, so long as he picks on women with non-US passports.’

‘I don’t like it any better than you do. Interpol hasn’t even got back to me. I’ve managed homicide investigations, but you need the proper equipment and trained manpower. When I took this job I was led to believe that I had more resources and investigative powers. We’ve got an LRAD on board, for Pete’s sake.’

Anya raised her eyebrows. ‘A what?’

‘An anti-terrorist Long Range Acoustic Device. It channels sound into a narrow beam, kind of like a flashlight does with light. It’s been used on pirates. The sound is painful to humans and, when directed at them, they have no alternative but to flee.’

‘So pirates are discouraged, but if they walk on via the gangway to rape and pillage passengers and staff, it’s business as usual.’ Anya’s voice rose with frustration.

After a prolonged silence, FitzHarris conceded, ‘One of the reasons crimes are committed is because criminals think they’ll get away with them. All I can do here is offload the offender at the nearest port.’

‘Some disincentive.’

He ignored the comment. ‘If Carlos’s shooter is an employee, and I assume that’s likely, given where he was shot—’

‘Maybe whoever shot Carlos and harmed Lilly is already aware of your lack of powers. But what if they’re not? There may be a chance of catching them out.’

FitzHarris studied Anya’s face. ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

14

FitzHarris appeared keen to catch the men involved in Lilly’s death and made a call to someone he said might be able to help. He sat upright when his office door opened.

‘Is this
Groundhog Day
?’ A thirty-ish woman in deck whites entered. ‘You look like—’

‘Laura! Company . . .’ FitzHarris sneaked a look at the front of his long-sleeved shirt – the same shirt Anya had seen him in yesterday – to the woman’s amusement.

‘Thought we might need some nourishment.’ Laura wheeled in a two-tiered trolley stocked with sweets and fruit, an urn, mugs, teabags, instant coffee and a jug of milk. She parked near the back wall, which was the only bit of floor space left.

FitzHarris’s stomach rumbled.

‘Laura Zississ.’ She extended her hand. ‘From IT.’

Anya shook her hand.

‘This is Doctor Crichton.’ FitzHarris looked over the trolley. ‘Are we trying to impress the good doctor?’

‘Just something I whipped up at no notice.’ Laura pretended to buff a red nail. She had long black hair tied in a plait, and brown eyes with long lashes. The uniform and skirt flattered her petite shape. Judging by the paleness of her face and arms, Anya imagined she spent most of her time inside an office.

‘Hey, I read about your work with the Jersey Bombers. Didn’t used to be a fan until I saw what you did with them. Did you see they romped home by twenty points yesterday?’

Anya was glad the Bombers were doing well and had attracted more female devotees.

Fitz wasted no time helping himself to a coffee. He bent down to plug in the urn’s cord, but faltered. His right leg seemed stiff.

‘I’ll get that.’ Laura moved in and completed the task.

‘Surveillance is her hobby.’ FitzHarris gestured to Laura. ‘She’s normally bogged down in office work, but I’m hopeful she’ll be able to help us pin down where Lilly Chan spent her last hours.’ He rattled the spoon around the mug and returned to his seat. ‘Help yourself.’

‘I’m fine, thanks. May I use your phone?’ Anya dialled the cabin. Jasmine had already showered and was resting on the lounge.

Fitz filled Laura in on Lilly’s suspicious death, her drug and alcohol results and how some unknown men had supposedly bragged about being with Lilly Chan the night before she died.

Laura grabbed a croissant and sat on the corner of the desk closest to FitzHarris. ‘Do you know what deck they’re on, if they booked in as a group or individually?’

‘So far, it’s unsubstantiated hearsay. No names or descriptions.’

Laura didn’t seem perturbed. ‘Anywhere you want me to start?’

‘Her sister said she went to Centennial Garden to read, about ten thirty that night,’ Anya said.

‘Right. I’ll start with her room key charges.’

FitzHarris vacated his chair and Laura slipped past into position. She quickly piled papers to the side, cleared access to the keyboard, and re-adjusted the chair and screen height. She was clearly efficient. Within a minute, she had accessed the records.

‘OK. At seventeen-fifteen there was a gift-shop purchase with her room key. Eighteen dollars. Lip balm and a travel journal. There’s nothing near Centennial Garden, and there are loads of clothes shops along that mall.’

‘What woman or girl doesn’t go crazy with a charge card? That’s why they use room keys for all the extras. Saves having cash on board, to reduce crime,’ FitzHarris said with a mouth full of cake, seemingly oblivious to the irony of his comment. ‘Is that it for the night?’

‘Hold your horses, Fitz.’ Laura looked up. ‘You can’t rush my kind of art. You’ve got a little frosting on your . . .’ She pointed to her top lip.

FitzHarris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.