Midway through the walk, she stopped and looked out over the horizon. She squinted her eyes and blinked. What was that she was seeing? Was it some of the floating garbage that unfortunately found its way into these waters? Maybe, but something appeared to be moving back and forth.
About twenty feet from her was an older man standing with his arm around a woman near his age. Around his neck was a strap holding a pair of binoculars.
“Excuse me, sir, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Kim Volpone.”
“I’m Ralph Mittl, and this is my wife Mildred.”
“Would it be possible, Ralph, to borrow your binoculars?”
Reluctantly, he agreed. “Please be careful,” he admonished her. “They’re very expensive.”
“I will be,” Kim promised absently, as she took them from his hands. She put the strap around her neck and adjusted the lenses. When she focused on the moving object, she caught her breath. It appeared to be an arm flailing back and forth. She gasped, pulled the strap from around her neck, and handed the binoculars back to their owner.
“Look over there,” she said as she pointed. “What do you see?”
Surprised at the urgency in her voice, he took the binoculars, readjusted them to his vision and directed them toward the horizon. “There’s someone out there,” he exclaimed and turned back to her.
“I’ll keep watching,” he said. “Go tell a crew member to call the Captain. There’s someone in the water. He’s trying to signal our ship.”
Ten minutes later, a boat with four crewmen aboard had been lowered and was speeding toward whoever was in the water.
64
Captain Fairfax and John Saunders had answered Morrison’s shouted commands to come to his suite at once. “How did that story leak out?” an apoplectic Morrison demanded. “Who told them what happened?”
“I can only assume that the Man with One Thousand Faces was the source,” Saunders answered.
“How about Dr. Blake? How about the butler?”
Captain Fairfax stiffened but tried not to let his anger show.
“If my life depended on it, I would say that Dr. Blake would never reveal that information. As for Raymond Broad, as I told you, I am not even sure he was aware of the fact that Lady Haywood was the victim of foul play. If I were to make a guess, I would agree with what Mr. Saunders just said. This is likely another example of the Man with One Thousand Faces bragging to the media.”
“Wait a minute. What about that guy, the detective from Interpol? What’s his name?” Morrison said, the creases in his forehead deepening.
“It’s Devon Michaelson, sir,” Captain Fairfax replied.
“Tell him I want him to get up here now. And I mean right now,” Morrison thundered.
Without answering, Fairfax reached for the phone. “Ring me Devon Michaelson’s suite,” he said. Three rings later he picked up. “Mr. Michaelson, this is Captain Fairfax. I’m in Mr. Morrison’s suite. He wants you to come up immediately and meet with him.”
“Of course. I know where it is. I’ll be right there.”
For a long three minutes there was an uncomfortable silence. It was broken when Devon Michaelson tapped on the door and opened it.
Morrison wasted no time on pleasantries. “I hear you’re with Interpol,” he said abruptly. “We’ve had a murder and a piece of priceless jewelry stolen. Weren’t you supposed to prevent that?”
Michaelson did not attempt to hide the anger in his face. “Mr. Morrison,” he said, his tone icy, “I assume you will provide me with the security tapes from the dining area and the hallways leading to where Lady Haywood’s suite is located.”
Captain Fairfax answered, “Mr. Michaelson, you are probably not aware of the situation on most cruise liners. Because we value the privacy of our guests, we do not place cameras in the hallways.”
“Well, that means you are also protecting the privacy of a thief and a murderer. Did it occur to you that with the valuables your guests have in their very expensive suites, it might have been appropriate to have a security guard present at all times?”
“Don’t you tell me how to run my ship,” Morrison snapped. “Guards everywhere! I’m running a luxury liner, not a prison. Now, I’m sure that you are a very fine detective and by now you have solved this case. Why don’t you tell us all what happened?”
Michaelson’s tone was equally icy. “I can tell you that I am taking a very close look at several people.”
“I want to know who they are,” Morrison demanded.
“Experience has taught me to first focus on the individual who found the body. Very often that person is not saying as much as he knows. I am probing further into the background of your butler, Raymond Broad.”
“I assure you that every employee on this ship was thoroughly investigated before being hired,” Saunders insisted.
“I’m sure they were,” Michaelson said. “But I assure you that Interpol’s investigative resources vastly surpass those available to you.”
“Who else?” Morrison asked.
“There are several other passengers whose backgrounds are of interest to me. For now I will share the name of only one. Mr. Edward Cavanaugh.”
“The ambassador’s son?” Fairfax asked with dismay.
“Ted, as he calls himself, Cavanaugh, travels extensively in Europe and the Middle East. I have reviewed his flight records, passport stamps and hotel records. By coincidence or otherwise, he has been in close proximity to the scenes of the Man with One Thousand Faces thefts over the past seven years. And he has openly indicated his interest in the so-called Cleopatra necklace.
“And now having answered your questions, I will take my leave.”
As the door closed behind Michaelson, Captain Fairfax said, “Mr. Morrison, another matter. I have been inundated with calls and emails from the press seeking comment on how Lady Em died and if the Cleopatra necklace has been stolen. How do you want me to reply?”
“We stick to our story that Lady Em died of natural causes, period,” Morrison shot back.
Fairfax asked, “We do know that the Cleopatra necklace is missing. Should we not warn the passengers to be careful with their valuables?”
“Not one word about missing or stolen jewelry,” Morrison snapped. “That’s all.”
The two men took that as a dismissal and left the suite.
Even though it was only ten o’clock in the morning, Gregory Morrison went to the suite bar and poured himself a generous glass of vodka. He was not given to praying, but he was thinking, Dear God, don’t let it be an employee who killed her.
Ten minutes later Morrison received a call from his firm’s public relations office. He was told that in addition to the rumor that Lady Em was murdered and her necklace was stolen, there were news reports saying that because of the story in People, Celia Kilbride was going to be questioned by the FBI again over her involvement in a hedge fund fraud. Since she was a guest lecturer on Queen Charlotte, he and the Captain should be ready to respond to questions from passengers.