Cold Pressed (8 page)

"Past?" Doreen's face changed. Her eyes dropped to
her hands, where she fiddled with her antique rings. Then she shook her head
repeatedly, a gesture designed to be emphatically believable, which had the
opposite effect.

"No. Esther and Beryl were both good-hearted, decent
women and everything they did was for the best."

Confused, Nikos said nothing, processing her reaction.
Doreen rushed to fill the silence.

"Not that Beryl’s passing has anything to do with it.
It’s just bad luck and very sad to lose them both so suddenly, that’s
all."

The word came back to him. "Do you know if Mrs Crawford
and Mrs Hodges had made a will?"

Doreen blinked. "Yes, I think we all have. We often
discuss the best way of leaving our affairs in order for when the time
comes."

 Nikos touched her arm. "Mrs Cashmore, are you sure
there's nothing else I should know? Anything from the past that might be
relevant?"

She shook her head quickly and withdrew her arm. "I'm
sorry. I really can't help you." She placed her hand over her eyes, pulled
a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose.

Nikos recognised ham acting when he saw it. "Thank you,
Mrs Cashmore. I think that's all for now. Do you want me to get someone for
you?"

"No, no. The others are waiting outside. We'll be
fine." She got to her feet and snatched up her handbag, eager to get away.

Nikos watched her leave, his mind replaying her words and in
particular, the use of the first person plural.

Chapter 9

Captain Jensson's private rooms were situated right
behind the bridge, to Beatrice's surprise. He stood in the doorway, waiting to
meet her.

"Great minds think alike. I intended to send someone to
find you and invite you to dine with me at the Captain's table this evening.
And I would also like to discuss the issue of accommodation and movement.
Please come in. Shall I arrange tea?"

"Thank you. No, I'm not thirsty just now. But I do have
an urgent question. I've just discovered that Esther Crawford was not the first
woman to die on this cruise."

Jensson motioned her inside, pointed to the L-shaped sofa
past the desk and closed the door. Beatrice, sufficiently intimidated by the
grand surroundings, sat. He pressed a few buttons on the desk phone and came to
sit opposite.

"Have you ever enjoyed a cruise, Detective Stubbs?
Probably not. I expect a detective is always too busy for real escape. And now,
your first encounter with the concept of luxury sailing is to investigate an
accidental death. That is really a misfortune."

"Captain Jensson, my question was..."

"Yes, I understand. The reason I ask is not irrelevant.
Once you have experienced a cruise, you learn something about crowds. About
crowd behaviour. This ship has the size and personality of a small town. I am
not exaggerating. We have the same population as many small towns in Western
Europe. And all that goes with that. Gossip, sickness, rumour and moods sweep
through such a community with astounding speed. There is something physical at
the root of this, of course. So many people in an enclosed space. But far more
powerful is the psychological reason for sudden paranoia."

Beatrice's irritation grew to bursting point. "If you
intend to give me a lecture on discretion, Captain, I will apologise now so we
can get to the point."

He shook his head, his serene features not in the least
ruffled. "No, that was not my objective. The truth of the matter is I find
this collective mentality quite fascinating and hoped to share my enthusiasm.
But I see now is not the time. Your question was about the earlier death. What
do you want to know?"

His affable manner infuriated Beatrice. "For a start,
why were we not informed? A member of the Hirondelle party dies mere hours out
of port and no one mentions it when another one falls off a cliff? Surely you
can see how it might have been helpful to bring this up earlier."

He got up to reach a leather-bound journal from his desk
drawer. After flipping through several pages, he brought it to her. She scanned
the list of names, dates, vessels and causes of death.

"Are these...?"

"The people who died under my captaincy. Although I am
not directly responsible, I still feel a superstitious obligation to remember
these souls. And as I captain ships specialising in pleasure cruises for the
elderly, my book rarely reaches our final destination without another new
addition."

Beatrice fixed her gaze on him. He gazed steadily back. In
the lamplight of the casino, she had assumed his eyes were blue. Now, in the
brightness of the sunlit bridge, she could see they were more of a faded green,
like a dollar bill.

"What has that got to do with crowd mentality?"

"I am very pleased you asked. This is my point. Cruise
ships are an exercise in collective belief. An illusion maintained by mutual
will. We promise the 'ultimate luxury experience' and every effort is made to
deliver precisely that. The crew are trained to anticipate your every need,
catering staff spend months planning menus to suit all palates, entertainers
rehearse intensively to ensure a smooth performance, the procurement department
ensures a steady supply of far too much food and we all uphold the fallacy that
this is the holiday of a lifetime.

“The truth is resolutely ignored and if anyone attempts to
face facts, he or she is simply smiled into submission. Because the truth is,
this is a sparkling, shiny, hugely expensive, floating rat run. You are given
the impression of free will and endless choices, but in reality, you are
shuffled from one activity to the next and gently parted from your cash at
every opportunity while the message is continually reinforced: you are having
such a marvellous time! In exchange for your spending money, you bank images
and anecdotes as currency to distribute on your return home as hard proof that
it was indeed the holiday of a lifetime."

Beatrice stared at him, speechless.

He smiled. "And you know the saddest thing of all? Many
people come back. They like the fact that it's a glorified old people's home
with guaranteed good weather. They are completely content with having no real
decisions to make. They actually believe the hype and fork out another chunk of
their savings to collect another set of photographs, dine with another group of
strangers and buy another load of overpriced junk to foist on friends and
family.

"Now, you asked about crowd mentality. I've just
explained how it usually works. A group delusion keeps us all happy, within our
closed community. As long as we all play the game. But closed communities share
the same flaw. Just like sickness spreads through the ship faster than gossip,
so does discontent. People do not want to be reminded of reality while they're
living the dream. And there is no starker reminder of the fragile and temporal
nature of our dream than dying. When the average passenger age is over sixty,
the spectre of mortality casts a still-longer shadow.”

Reflections of sun on water played a blithe denial of
Jensson's words across the ceiling. The whiteness, the golden light, the
sanitised perfection of their environment... Beatrice could understand the
importance of upholding that mythology of the moment.

"So when a person dies, you try to keep it quiet rather
than upset the apple tart?"

"We try to minimise disruption for everyone on board.
For friends and family, we offer free transfers home and assist with
transportation of the deceased. Dr Fraser is a registered coroner and we have a
ship’s morgue, so if an incident should happen at sea, we can begin the process
of formalising the death certificate. It is in everyone's interests to try to
isolate the distress and grief of those affected. With heart attacks, strokes
or simply passing away in their sleep, that's relatively uncomplicated. Beryl
Hodges was one of the latter. Not only that, but it was early into our voyage,
and one of the easier ones to manage. However, Esther Crawford's fall set the
passengers on edge, even more so when the rumours of homicide came to light.
This is why I'm so keen for you to close the case quickly. This kind of
atmosphere can poison an entire cruise."

"I appreciate that, Captain, but I am extremely
surprised you didn't mention the previous lady's demise to me or Inspector
Stephanakis. You say she died in her sleep?"

"Yes. Fraser may have a complicated name for it, but as
far as I know, she just stopped breathing. I know nothing of her medical
history, but I recorded her death as 'natural causes'. I myself hope for such a
calm departure from this life. People fear change. And there is no change
greater than death."

Jensson's melancholic world-view began to drag on Beatrice's
mood. "I’ll look for Dr Fraser now and get the facts. You mentioned
accommodation, Captain. There's no need, as I have a hotel in Heraklion."

"Yes, that will be convenient as the
Empress Louise
is sailing to Crete tonight. Generally, we only stay one or two nights in each
port, and our delay in Santorini has forced a schedule rearrangement. My
question was whether you would like to dine aboard as my guest and sail with us
this evening. We have fully equipped guest rooms."

It was tempting. She'd never spent a night on a ship, not
even a ferry.

"May I consult with Inspector Stephanakis? I am assisting
him in this investigation, so he might have other plans for me."

"Of course. And the offer also extends to him. I would
very much enjoy your company. You can send a message via any member of the
crew. I believe tonight's menu is shellfish, if that helps persuade you."

On the way back to the casino, Beatrice tried
observing the ship through Jensson's jaded eyes. An older couple dozed on sun
loungers in the shade; a group of ladies played backgammon under an umbrella
and a foursome laughed helplessly as one of their party missed a shot on the
crazy golf course. She looked down at the deckchairs and met the eyes of a
woman around her own age, who was holding a hefty paperback and reaching out
for her cocktail.

She smiled and the woman smiled back, raising her glass. As
shiny rat runs go, it could be worse. She decided to stay for dinner. She was
partial to a bit of seafood.

Chapter 10

Maureen, my girl, this is the last time
.
Never again.
She even said it aloud.

“Never again, I swear.”

No one could say she hadn't tried. She gave it a go but it
wasn't for her. If she had her 'druthers, she'd be on a plane home already. It
wasn't just the seasickness that ruined the trip. Even when she'd recovered
enough to face the others in the dining-room, something she ate upset her
stomach all over again. And then that nurse asking what she'd had for lunch.
She'd held her tongue and just said she didn't actually know what it was, when
what she really wanted to say was 'some foreign muck and rice'. So after a full
ten days, she'd barely left the cabin. Holiday to remember indeed.

After all that, today had just about put the tin hat on it.
Weak as a kitten, she was, and they’d had her traipsing round old ruins in the
midday sun. All she'd said was a cold drink in the shade would be nice and
Audrey bit her head off. Called her a Moaning Minnie. It was all very well for
her; she and Pat were having a marvellous time, gallivanting around with those
jolly-hockey-sticks women, while Muggins was laid up in bed.

Her mouth was dry and her nose half blocked. She sat up and
reached for her glasses so she could see what time it was. Quarter to nine.
She'd missed dinner. Her own fault for having a nap as soon as she got back.
She hadn't really intended to sleep, it was more about making a sulky exit, but
a short lie down these days could last for hours. And now she wouldn't be able
to sleep tonight. It would be an idea to eat something, just to keep her
strength up, but it was very complicated calling cabin service and she had no idea
where her hearing aid might be. Maybe she should just take a sleeping tablet
and get up early for breakfast.

In the tiny bathroom, she had a cat's lick of a wash, put
her teeth in to soak and blew her nose. She took a Benadryl for her congestion,
a Restoril to help her sleep, a vitamin C pill and her blood pressure tablet.
Shake
me and I'd rattle
, she thought. A good night's sleep and in the morning,
she'd apologise to Pat and Audrey for being such a wet blanket. That should
make them both feel guilty. She filled a glass with mineral water from the
mini-bar because tap water was bound to give her the trots.

Back under the duvet, she set her glass of water on the
nightstand, said her prayers and switched off the light. Only another week to
go and she'd be home in her own bed, with Herbie curled up on her feet. She
missed him, funnily enough. But he wouldn't be missing her. Whenever she left
him with Juliet, he came back fatter than ever. She spoilt him rotten. 'I can't
resist, Mum. It's that pitiful miaow he makes.' Yes, he had her wrapped around
his paw, all right.

A light crossed her eyelids. It took a second to register
and she opened her eyes. All in darkness. The ship was lit up like a Christmas
tree all night long, so she always closed the curtains. The room was never
completely dark, the way she liked it at home, because those wretched
floodlights were so bright. She preferred the curtains shut during the day, as
the view of sea, sea and more sea got a bit dull after a while, and the glare
made it harder to see the telly...

Her eyes flew open. She could smell aftershave. She
stiffened and held her breath. Someone was in her cabin. The room seemed full
of shapes that could be human; her jacket on the door, the shadow cast by the
desk chair, that lump at the end of the bed. Then the lump moved.