Dead Calm (A Dylan Scott Mystery) (5 page)

Chapter Seven

After saying good-night to Ruby, Dylan stayed in the bar. Although he didn’t spot anyone who looked like a killer, he did see a crew member taking cigarettes from his pocket as he headed outside. Dylan followed. He pushed open the door and a blast of icy air nipped at his face. He instinctively looked up, but clouds had rolled in and there were no stars, no moon and certainly no aurora borealis to be seen. The only lights visible were those dotted along the Norwegian coastline.

“Another smoker?” the chap asked. “Good to see us outcasts sticking together.”

“Me? No. I’ve just come out for a breath of fresh air. You’re English then?”

“Welsh. And proud of it.” He grinned at Dylan. “I’ll forgive you the mistake though because I haven’t lived in Wales since I was eleven years old. Mike Lloyd at your service, but you can call me Taffy. Everyone does.”

He was mid-thirties, Dylan supposed. A grubby jacket showing the shipping company’s logo on both sleeves kept the elements at bay, and workmanlike boots gave him a good grip on the deck.

“It’s still good to hear a familiar accent,” Dylan said. “I assumed the crew was Norwegian.”

“Most are. There are three Brits—me, Jimmy Simpson and Gerry the chef. There’s one German but, other than that, all Norwegian.”

Dylan leaned on the metal railings and peered a long way down to the icy waters below. “It must be a great job if you like this part of the world. I suppose you’ve seen the northern lights a few times. Most of us are paying for the privilege of possibly
not
seeing them.”

“I’ve seen them once, but I’ve only been working with this lot for a month. Before that, I was doing river trips on the River Avon. Stratford-upon-Avon to the Arctic Circle. It’s a bit different.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Before that, I spent six years on the Dover to Calais ferries,” Lloyd explained. “This is good though. The pay’s a lot better than I was getting in England. It means spending a lot of time in Norway, but I’m prepared to put up with that for a couple of years. I’ve got no one at home so the travelling suits me.”

He flicked the butt of his cigarette high into the air where the wind snuffed out the dim glow.

“The woman who died,” Dylan said, deciding to get to the purpose of this chat before Lloyd returned to his duties, “what happened? There are a lot of rumours going round.”

“I can’t talk about the passengers.”

“Ah, I suppose not. As a raw recruit, I don’t suppose you’d know anything anyway.”

“Oh, I know all right.”

Dylan had hoped that insulting his level of superiority would work.

“There’s not a lot to say though.” His companion couldn’t have looked more disappointed if he’d tried. “She’d booked a morning call and, when she couldn’t be raised, we got into her cabin and found her dead.”

So at least that particular rumour was true. “We? You went into her cabin?”

“Not me personally. No.”

“She had the cabin next to mine,” Dylan said.

“So?”

“So I feel as if I knew her. We only chatted for a couple of minutes but she seemed healthy enough last night.”

“Nah. She had heart trouble.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

“It was on her booking form. She had to have special food.”

That made sense. Hanna Larsen was the type to cause havoc if she wasn’t fed properly. And it was another rumour confirmed.

“So what happened when she was found?” Dylan leaned back against the railings, trying to appear nonchalant, which was damned difficult with the temperature threatening him with hypothermia.

“What do you mean, what happened? We radioed the shore—we were only twenty minutes off berthing anyway. The police contacted her family and had a hearse organised to take her to the local mortuary. What else could happen?”

Insulting his level of superiority had made him irritable. Now he was trying to make Dylan look stupid.

“Oh, I just wondered. I suppose there will be a postmortem then?”

“I suppose so. I dunno. What difference does it make?”

“The thing is, I heard noises last night,” Dylan explained. “At about three o’clock this morning, I heard someone leaving her cabin. And no, it wasn’t her. It was someone heavier. I’m sure of it.”

“Someone leaving her cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Nah. You must have imagined that, mate.” A sneer curved Lloyd’s lips. “Are you telling me she got lucky? You do know she was pushing eighty?”

“I’m telling you she got
un
lucky.”

Lloyd stared at Dylan for long moments. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. Sorry, it’s Dylan. Dylan Scott.”

“Right, then, Dylan Scott. For a minute there, I thought you were trying to tell me she’d invited a bloke back to her cabin.” The sneer returned. “What you really think is that someone broke in? Had you been drinking, is that it?”

“No.” Not enough to make him start hallucinating.

“No one got into her cabin. It’s just not possible. Only the chief has the master card and he’d die rather than let it out of his sight.”

“Presumably the cleaners have them.”

“Not at that time of night—morning. You can’t have cleaners going in and nicking folks’ belongings, can you? Security’s tight, mate. The cleaners are supervised and they all hand back the cards at the end of their shift.” He took a long breath. “Look, she was pushing eighty. She had heart trouble—the ship’s doctor and anyone in the kitchen will tell you that.”

“She looked pretty damn fit to me last night.” He was about to say
angry,
but if he did, Lloyd would suggest her annoyance with the crew had overtaxed an already weak heart. “And as I said—”

“You heard something. Yeah, I know. But it could have been anything or anyone. There’s a lot of work being done when the passengers are sleeping. Everything has to be ready for morning. Tell you what though, I’ll mention it to the powers that be. They can pass it on to those who need to know. Okay?”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate it. I’m sure there will be a postmortem so that will tell us how she died.”

“Yeah. A heart attack.”

“Let’s hope so. It would be awful to think she didn’t die from natural causes.”

“She was pushing eighty,” Lloyd said again. “How else is she going to die?”

“There are countless ways. She might have been poisoned, suffocated, strangled—anything.”

“I’m telling you she had a heart attack. Still, if it makes you feel better, I’ll mention your worries to them upstairs.”

“I’d be grateful. You never know, do you?”

“Yeah, you do. Still, I’m happy to help. I hope you’ll sleep easier in your bed now.” He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, extracted one, turned his back to the water and lit it. “I may as well have another. I’m not on duty till morning.” He inhaled deeply, sucking in each droplet of tar and nicotine. “I’d like a decent pint to go with it, but it’s not allowed.”

“That’s tough.”

“Company policy.” He winked at Dylan. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make up for it when I hit shore.”

Dylan returned his smile. “I don’t blame you. Well, I’ll leave you to enjoy it.” He needed to get back inside before frostbite set in. “If you could mention—”

“Consider it done. Don’t spare it another thought. Sleep well.”

Chapter Eight

Dylan’s peace and quiet the following morning was shattered when his mother sought him out. He made a mental note to enjoy his coffee behind the huge potted palms in future.

“I’m going out on deck for a smoke,” she said. “Come with me, Dylan. I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I’m sure it’ll wait till you’ve finished.”

“No.” She tugged at his sleeve. “Come on. The fresh air will do you good.”

Fortunately, he had his coat with him. He shrugged it on, emptied his coffee cup and followed her onto the deck. It wasn’t light yet although there was a hint of colour on the horizon.

“Your theory about Hanna Larsen,” she said.

“Sounds ridiculous. Yes, I know.”

“It does, but not quite as ridiculous as it did earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

They’d chosen the most sheltered spot but it still took her four attempts to get her joint lit and she wasn’t about to waste her breath on anything else until she’d pulled a sufficient amount of the drug into her body. When she finally exhaled, she gave a satisfied smile. “That’s better.”

“Everyone else’s mother is enjoying a nice cup of Earl Grey. Mine’s exposed to the elements doing illegal drugs. Great.”

“Hark at you. Anyway, it’s barely illegal. Even in the UK you only get a warning and it’s probably legal on this ship. The Scandinavian countries are far more sensible. Just think yourself lucky I’m not mainlining.” Cackling with laughter, she inhaled again. “And I’m not alone. I shared a joint with a lovely couple last night. Perhaps you’ve seen them. They look like students. Both have dreadlocks.”

“I haven’t noticed them.” Dylan buried his hands deep in his pockets. “So what have you dragged me out here for?”

“Don’t ask me why, but I went for a swim this morning. Heated pool? It was freezing. Their definition of
heated
is employing someone to break the surface ice.”

“That’s fascinating, Mum.”

“It is. You see, I came out of the shower afterwards and, while I was in the cubicle getting dressed, I overheard a conversation between a couple of women.” She lowered her voice. “They were talking a mix of English and Norwegian, Norwegian mainly, but I caught enough to learn that they both knew Hanna Larsen. I got dressed quickly and was in time for a chat with them. Well, it seems that quite a few people stand to benefit from her death.”

“Like who?” Dylan felt a ripple of curiosity stirring.

“Your Hanna Larsen lived outside Bergen,” she explained. “Some company, and I couldn’t catch the name, wanted to put a road across her land to make access to a factory easier and cheaper. There were four houses affected so the company decided to buy them out. Three of the owners were happy to take the cash. They sold up and moved into the village.”

“But not Hanna Larsen?” Dylan guessed.

“No. They offered her a fortune for her home but she wouldn’t budge. Apparently there’s been a bitter battle going on for quite a while.”

“That’s interesting,” Dylan said.

“There’s sure to be something on the internet about it.” Bangles and beads chinked as she leaned in to whisper. “That’s not all. The company is owned by a chap named Jorstad, right? Well, his sons are on board this very ship. Right now.” She blew cannabis-laden smoke in his face. “That’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

A huge fucking coincidence.

“I couldn’t find out any more,” she said, “because they were getting a bit annoyed by all my questions. One of them was especially snooty. She kept asking me if I worked for Jorstad’s company and why I was so interested. I didn’t really have any plausible answers. I just said you were interested because you’d met Hanna Larsen.”

“Well, well. I’ll see what I can find out from the internet.”

“It’s like that film, isn’t it?” she said. “The Hercule Poirot one. You know the one I mean, Dylan. Lauren Bacall was in it too.”

“I haven’t the remotest idea what you’re talking about.”

“
Murder on the Orient Express,
that’s it.”

“What?” Christ, he despaired. “That took place on a train. There’s a clue in the title.”

“Well, yes, but it’s similar. Wasn’t Poirot approached by someone who’d been receiving death threats?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“I’m sure that’s the one.” She was enjoying this. “Poirot refused to help and, bingo, the chap’s found dead.”

“So there are no similarities at all,” Dylan said. “Unless Hanna Larsen had been receiving death threats.” Which perhaps wasn’t as farfetched as it sounded. “Right, while you dice with hypothermia, I’m going to find a computer.”

“Hypothermia’s right. I don’t understand why they can’t have a small area inside the ship for people to smoke.”

Dylan left her complaining to herself about how unhealthy it was to venture into the cold air when she could pull evil smoke into her lungs in warmth and comfort.