Cold Grave (41 page)

Anya and FitzHarris had met him when they visited Carlos’s workplace.

‘So what do the two different logs mean?’ Martin pressed. ‘Is it a misprint, sloppy practice?’

Jeremy’s face was pinker than before. ‘We have to keep meticulous records. I countersign them every week. I always thought this was Carlos’s writing.’ He looked at the one signed by Cockroach. ‘It goes into my in-tray at the end of every day.’

Martin stood over him. ‘Are you signing off on the real or faked logs?’

‘Why would I risk my job approving fraudulent records?’

‘Money,’ Martin said. ‘If environmental rules aren’t followed, the cruise line faces fines that run into millions of dollars. And you must save a packet by discharging rubbish and sewage into the ocean. Much lower disposal fees at the other end. Fudge the figures here, pocket the difference.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Jeremy stammered. ‘I don’t even manage the budget, and I’m not on any commission. I get the same salary ever week, like any other officer.’

‘You’ll keep for now,’ Fitz announced. ‘Our first priority is to get to the ballast tanks before some clean freak destroys any more evidence.’

43

On the way to the ballast tanks, FitzHarris used his cellphone to notify the captain of the crustacean and how they suspected it had got into the body. Anya accompanied him in silence. The most likely scenario was that Mishka Valencia had been collecting a sample of water and somehow fallen into the tank. The other was that she had been pushed. If someone was falsifying waste records, they had a lot to lose if caught. That could have been the reason for Carlos being shot, especially if he were selling the documents showing the real figures to Mishka.

They left the tourist-filled halls and entered the crew elevator, down below the I-95. The vibration from the engines was amplified, and the humming more intense than the deck above. The corridor was narrower than on other decks, and the heat suffocating.

Fitz’s hair was damp and curled at the back of his neck.

‘The captain said there are four large tanks down here. They fill and empty them according to needs. It’s how this ship can handle forty-foot waves without a waiter tipping a glass. Well, normally anyway.’

The place seemed deserted. ‘Not a lot of need for staff. They’re only cleaned when empty so we could be in luck.’

They climbed over a tall lip into the first tank room. On the floor was a square metal latch door, half the size of an average desk.

‘Can you lift it open?’ he asked.

Anya hesitated for a moment. It would leave her in a vulnerable position. She could not trust anyone that much right now.

‘All I want to do is see if you can move it. Mishka was roughly your size and weight.’

It made sense. Anya unbolted the latch and pulled. Once the initial resistance was broken, the task became easier. She lowered the hatch to the floor. The odour from the tank was foul.

‘I’ve smelt some pretty disgusting things at crime scenes, but this takes the cake,’ Fitz said, looking around. On the wall were reusable breathing masks.

Anya covered her mouth and then pulled on the mask Fitz gave her. After fitting his own, he released a flashlight mounted on the wall and switched it on, directing the beam of light inside the black hole. Anya knelt down, keeping her centre of gravity away from the hole as best she could. She could make out the rungs of a metal ladder.

Fitz moved the torch around, light reflecting off the water, roughly three feet below.

‘If Mishka had tried to get a sample, she could have easily toppled forward when she reached.’

Fitz squatted, knees not making contact with the floor. He looked back to the door. ‘Or if someone had seen her, it wouldn’t have taken much to push her off balance. Someone that size would fall straight forward.’

Anya tried to visualise the situation. Bent over, it was possible Mishka could have fallen forward and hit her head on the wall, except Anya had found no signs of fracture or bruising in the examination. There hadn’t been any signs of scratching to the fingers either to suggest she might have tried to climb out by the ladder rungs.

‘But if she was turned around, and someone pushed, she’d go in backwards or in a half roll. Close the hatch and she’s in pitch black. It would be easy to become disorientated. She might have never found the sides and the ladder rungs, despite being inches from them.’

‘That could explain the absence of any head trauma,’ Anya said.

‘I heard about a guy dying once in one of these. He had no safety gear and they said he suffocated while treading water.’

Anya took the torch. ‘There’s rust everywhere. It’s possible that’s where the oxygen is used up. He could have dry-drowned: held his breath until his heart gave out, so he was dead before he could inhale any water.’

That didn’t seem to be the case with Mishka.

Fitz examined the interior side of the hatch and the floor around them. ‘No signs of a struggle here.’

Anya’s head began to pound with the heat, noise and enclosed space.

Once back in the corridor, she ripped off the mask and took a few deep breaths.

‘Let’s try number two. It’s further along.’

A worker stood to the side to let them pass. ‘Where you off to?’ Fitz spoke loud enough to be heard.

The man pulled a pack of cigarettes from his top pocket and popped one between his lips. He didn’t stop for a discussion.

‘If she did fall, or was pushed,’ Anya said, ‘that still doesn’t explain how she ended up in the morgue.’

‘Maybe it was an accident,’ Fitz said, ‘and they panicked.’

‘Why not just throw the body overboard?’

Fitz looked up. ‘It’s a long way to a balcony from here. A lot of people might notice you. The morgue’s closer.’

Inside the second room, a man in blue overalls was mopping the floor. He startled when he saw them, the ambient noise must have drowned out their footsteps.

His features were familiar. The greasy hair – Cockroach. Anya’s pulse raced. He had a brush and was now on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor.

FitzHarris shouted, ‘Mind if we take a look around?’

Cockroach slowly stood and dropped the brush into a bucket. The knees of his clothes were soaked, and he had leftover suds on his right hand.

‘Can you move to the side?’ Fitz ordered, with an outstretched arm. ‘Stay there.’

This time he opened the hatch himself, eyes on Cockroach the entire time. As soon as he shone the light, Anya saw the string. FitzHarris moved between the worker and Anya as she bent down and cautiously lifted it with a finger. It was two metres long and tied to a small plastic jug.

Cockroach, now with hands in pockets, leant past FitzHarris for a view.

‘Can you untie it carefully?’ Fitz shouted. ‘Could have prints on it.’

Anya bent down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cockroach charge at FitzHarris, knocking him off balance. They wrestled, and Anya reached for the hatch door to close it. Cockroach broke free and kicked Fitz hard in his bad leg. Fitz screamed in pain. Anya moved to help him and was met with a gun in her face.

‘Get up slowly,’ Cockroach yelled. ‘Or I shoot you and the pig.’

Heart drilling in her chest, Anya did as she was told. Cockroach snatched her hair and pulled her toward him.

He stuck the gun in her neck and shouted at Fitz. ‘You.’

She felt the cold steel digging in and tried not to breathe or do anything to panic him.

‘Get into the tank. Now! Or I blow her head off.’

Fitz had both hands up and slowly pulled himself toward the open hatch, his eyes on Anya.

Cockroach tightened his grip on her. ‘I will shoot. Get in!’

Fitz manoeuvred himself into the opening and lowered himself down the ladder, still keeping his eyes on Anya. She hoped he had a plan. So far, she had nothing. The soles of her shoes were soft, not hard enough to ram down Cockroach’s shin and force him to release his grip. All she had was the plastic jug and string in her hand.

The rest of the room was filled with vertical and horizontal white pipes with circular valves at eye level. One wall was full of lights, switches and computerised gadgets. She strained to see if there was an alarm button. Anything to alert others on the ship they were in trouble. Fitz’s head disappeared out of sight.

‘Let go of the woman,’ a voice shouted.

Cockroach turned, Anya moving with him. Standing in the doorway was the chief engineer, Alessandro. The Italian who likened himself to Alexander the Great. He stepped toward them, arms outstretched. ‘Put down the gun.’

‘It’s out of control,’ Cockroach said, one clammy hand still holding her shoulder. The barrel of the gun moved to her temple.

‘That’s why I’m here. To fix everything,’ Alessandro announced. ‘Just trust me.’ A pipe made a clunking sound, distracting Cockroach, and Alessandro pounced, wrestling the gun from Cockroach. Anya stepped away and took a deep breath. They were safe.

Alessandro slammed a wall button with his elbow as Anya moved to the hatch to help Fitz. Help was on its way.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire ripped through her ears. She turned her head to see Cockroach on the floor, his body twitching. He had a hole in his chest spurting blood. Alessandro turned the gun in her direction.

‘You. Inside.’ He mouthed.

All Anya could hear was the echoing inside her head.

Calmly, Alessandro stepped forward and placed the gun against the back of her neck.

Anya had no doubt he was serious. She shouted, hoping the words were loud enough. ‘He attacked you,’ she lied. ‘I saw it. You had no choice.’

The pressure on her neck increased. Anya slowly climbed down the ladder rungs. Fitz held out his hand. Before she lowered herself in, she flicked the open length of string onto the floor. If the hatch closed, it was the only thing that could point to them inside.

FitzHarris held the belt loop of her jeans as biting cold water enveloped her lower body.

Surging adrenalin could not prevent either of them shivering.

By waist level, the echoing in her ears had eased.

As long as the hatch door remained open they had a chance.

Fitz tightened his grip. ‘If we can get him to come closer . . .’

‘Someone had to hear the gunshot.’

The light cast a shadow on the lower half of Fitz’s face.

‘Too much engine noise . . .’ He inhaled and coughed, shaking his head. ‘The others could be in on it.’

She took some deep breaths. Diesel fumes were preferable to the fetid odours in the tank.

Fitz released his grip on her jeans and hauled himself higher. His injured leg couldn’t take weight it seemed.

‘We get one chance. Don’t let go of the rail . . .’

Anya swallowed and nodded. She eased to the side of the ladder, fingers beginning to cramp. Letting go of the ladder meant almost certain drowning, especially if Alessandro closed the hatch.

‘Wait!’ they both pleaded.

No response.

‘Hey! I have a diamond ring,’ Anya bellowed. ‘Worth thousands. Here on my hand.’

The Italian appeared above them, inches away from the opening.

‘Show me.’

Anya flicked a glance at Fitz who blinked ‘yes’ with his eyes.

Clinging to the rail, she revealed her grandmother’s engagement ring on her right hand.

‘It’s over a carat of diamonds,’ she lied.

‘Take it off. Then we talk.’

She retracted her hand. ‘No, we need to make a deal first.’ Her body shuddered in the cold.

He responded by aiming the gun directly at Fitz’s head.

‘Wait! I can’t get it off. It’s stuck.’ She pulled again but it didn’t budge. ‘It won’t go past the knuckle.’

Their captor glanced around then quickly moved from sight. Anya strained to hear if he had left. The hatch was still open.

‘Maybe someone’s coming.’