It worked—smooth as silk.
I went inside and did the same thing, and then checked the lock. As I had thought, there was no way of securing the veranda door to prevent someone entering from the outside. It was logical, really, now that I thought about it. The only person who should be on the veranda was an occupant of the room. You couldn’t risk someone accidentally locking themselves out there in bad weather, unable to get back inside and raise the alarm, or a child shutting a parent out there in a moment of rebellion, and then being unable to work the lock.
And really—what was there to fear? The veranda faced the sea—there was no possibility of someone accessing it from the outside.
Except there was. If you were very bold, and very stupid.
Now I understood. All the locks and bolts and DO NOT DISTURB signs in the world wouldn’t do any good on my cabin door, not when the balcony offered a clear route to anyone with access to the empty room, and enough upper-body strength to pull themselves over.
My room was not safe, and never had been.
Back inside the suite, I got into my jeans and boots, and my favorite hoodie. Then I checked the lock on the cabin door and huddled on the sofa with a cushion hugged to my chest.
There was no possibility of sleep now.
Anyone could have access to the empty suite. And from there, it was just a short climb across the glass divider into mine. The truth was, I could draw the bolt across my cabin door as much as I liked, but any member of the staff could open the empty cabin with their passkey. As for the guests . . .
I thought again of the layout of the cabins. To the right of mine was Archer’s, ex-marine, with an upper-body strength that made me wince when I remembered it. And to the left . . . to the left was the empty cabin, and beyond that, curving round the ship to the other side of the corridor, was Ben Howard’s.
Ben. Who had deliberately cast doubt on my story with Nilsson.
Ben, who had lied about his alibi.
And he had known about the photos on Cole’s camera before I did. His words came back to me as if in a dream: He was showing them to us over lunch. He had some great pics . . .
Ben Howard. The one person on board I had thought I could trust.
But I pushed that thought away—focusing on the phone, and the stupidity and daring of coming in to steal it while I was in the bath. He had risked a lot to take it, and the question was why. Why now? But I thought I knew.
The answer was Trondheim. As long as the boat’s Internet was down, the perpetrator had nothing to worry about. I couldn’t make a call to land without going through Camilla Lidman. But once we started to draw closer to land . . .
I hugged the cushion harder to my chest, and I thought of Trondheim, and Judah, and the police.
All I had to do was make it until dawn.
WHODUNNIT WEB FORUM—
A DISCUSSION PLACE FOR ARMCHAIR DETECTIVES
Please read the forum rules before starting a thread, and exercise caution in posting anything potentially prejudicial and/or libelous to live cases. Posts that violate these guidelines will be taken down.
Monday 28 September
iamsherlocked: Hey guys, anyone else been following this Lorna Blacklock case? Looks like theyve found a body.
TheNamesMarpleJaneMarple: I think you’ll find it’s Laura Blacklock actually. Yes, I’ve been following it. Really tragic and sadly not that unusual. I read somewhere that more than 160 people have gone missing off cruise ships in the past few years, and almost none of those have been solved.
iamsherlocked: Yeah I think I’ve heard that too. Saw in the Daily Fail that her ex was on board the ship. Theres a big sobby interview wiv him saying how worried he is. He reckons she got off on her own accord. Is it me or is that a bit suss? Don’t they say that a third of women are killed by ex’s or partners or something?
TheNamesMarpleJaneMarple: “a third of women are killed by ex’s or partners or something?” I presume that must be in the case of women who are murdered, a third of them are killed by a partner or ex, not a third of all women! But yes, that kind of proportion sounds plausible. And of course there’s the boyfriend. Something about his statement’s not quite ringing true, and apparently he was out of the country at the time . . . hmm . . . very convenient. Not that hard to get a plane to Norway, right?