Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (2 page)

_ _ _

The
night
was bitingly cold despite the many layers he was wearing; Sadler could feel the wind
created by the moving ship
ripping through him and rattling his bones. With a renewed admiration for the lookouts, he tried not to blink as his eyelashes seemed to freeze together, and he felt icicles forming on his greying moustache. He could hear them crunch in his eyebrows as he scowled while the mysterious woman was hoisted on-board. Sadler was hoping that the discovery of this survivor would bring answers to some questions, but her surprising attire and her unconscious state only served to deepen the mystery.

Even as she fell upon the deck, her vice-like fists did not relax to drop their contents. It was as if rigor mortis was setting in.

"
Quick, get her below to sickbay!
"

"
Aye sir,
"
responded two crewmen as they hauled her out of the night air. Sadler turned to Ordinary Seaman Cartier, one of the few female crewmembers on board, who was stamping her feet on the deck to keep warm. Sadler signaled for her to follow.
"
Get her into dry clothes as quickly as possible!
"

"
Aye sir.
"

As the HMS
McKinley
sailed onward, its searchlights continued to scan the ocean. There
had
to be a ship nearby. The woman couldn’t have been in the icy waters for long and had to have come from somewhere. Sadler had already given the order to commence a grid search from this point to try to locate the ship, or any other survivors. He looked at the beech wood folding deck chair that had acted as her floatation device. He recognized the style — his grandfather had had the same design on his yacht. Sadler bent down to take a closer look at the mark emblazoned onto the headboard . A five-point star was carved perfectly into the wood. There was something familiar about it. Suddenly a voice called from the bridge.

"
I’m picking something up on the radar, sir!
"

"
A ship?
"
Sadler hoped.

"
No, sir.
"

Before the Lieutenant could respond, Sadler already knew the answer. Suddenly he could see it, glowing in the night.

"
Iceberg! Dead ahead, sir!
"

"
Sound the collision alarm!
"
cried out Sadler as he raced back into the bridge.

The familiar cry of the action alarm pierced the night air, spurring the crew to the ready. From the bosun’s mate station, the officer grabbed the microphone and roared,
"
All hands brace for impact! All hands brace for impact!
"

As his crew readied themselves, Sadler needed to quickly decide the best course of action. Starboard or Port? What were the better odds?

He flicked the switch to keep the microphone active while he barked the evasive maneuvers,
"
Hard to starboard!
"

"
Hard to starboard!
"
echoed the voice of the helmsman, who was two decks below closer to the stern of the ship.

"
Starboard engine back
full
!
"

"
Starboard engine back full!
"
repeated Helm. Sadler detected a hint of nervousness in the helmsman’s voice. The use of the word ‘full’ for engines was only used in a state of emergency. The helmsman was in a windowless room away from the bridge with only a compass and two engine repeaters. He had no way of knowing what lay before them. This odd placement is traced back to the old wartime days when the possibility of ramming an enemy ship might have been necessary. The Helm Officer might have been less likely to follow such an order if he could see what the bridge saw; hence Helm was stationed where it was.

"
Wheel hard to starboard, starboard engine back full, sir,
"
stated Helm.

Sadler’s eyes were drawn to the ghostly specter looming before them. It was a very large pinnacle iceberg.

"
Wheel hard to starboard,
"
Helm began to repeat.
"
Starboard engine...
"

"
Very good,
"
huffed Sadler curtly. Even though Sadler already knew from the compass and seeing the arrow on the engine repeater settings, the Helmsman was following standard protocol. Sadler, who was in no mood for pleasantries, held his breath as he could feel the ship struggling against inertia to slow down and turn. The Lieutenant and two other officers rushed over to the port wing to gauge their status.

As his hands gripped the rail in front of the console, Sadler realized he was unconsciously sucking in his gut, as he did in his youth as he tried to squeeze through a broken fence to a scrap yard, as if he were willing the ship’s girth to do the same as it edged past the enormous glacial menace.

The Lieutenant turned back to Sadler and with a nod called out,
"
All clear.
"

Everyone on the bridge sighed collectively as the ship moved past the icy monolith, unscathed. The Action Alarm was turned off.

"
Midships, both engines ahead slow,
"
ordered the Captain.

"
Midships, both engines ahead slow,
"
echoed the voice of the Helm Officer. Sadler awaited the confirmation that they were now putting the ship back on course.
"
Rudder amidships, both engines ahead slow, sir.
"

"
Very good,
"
replied Sadler into the microphone, his eyes still drawn to the iceberg that caught them all off guard. Sadler scowled.
How did it suddenly appear out of nowhere?
His eyes drifted to the lookouts. They were not looking at him but rather continuing to scan the sea for any further sign of danger. He couldn't blame them for missing it. Over a dozen crewmembers, including himself, had been staring into the endless horizon looking out for a ship in distress. It might have been a windless night, making the sea a flat calm, but despite the absence of waves breaking on icebergs to aid the visual, the radar should have picked up the iceberg before it was upon them. Strange.

As they moved safely away from the iceberg, Sadler needed some answers. Any answers.
"
Lieutenant, you have the bridge.
"

The captain’s boot
s echoed on the metal ladder as
he descended below deck. In sickbay, the mysterious woman had been stripped of the multiple layers of clothing and was covered by warm blankets and hot water bottles. A stocking cap had been put on her head to retain her body temperature. Her odd costume was dripping from a hook on the nearby bulkhead, the waterlogged teddy bear she had gripped so tightly was resting in a metal bedpan, and the soggy book lay on the table nearby.

"
How is our patient?
"
asked Sadler as he neared the woman.

The ship’s doctor didn’t look up as he shone a light into the woman’s sapphire blue eyes,
"
She’s suffered stage-three hypothermia. Her body temperature was so low that I can only assume that her cellular metabolic process had shut down.
"

"
In layman’s terms, please.
"
Sadler asked.

The doctor peered over his glasses at Sadler,
"
I’m sorry, Sir. At that point internal organs usually fail. I can’t be sure if she’ll ever regain consciousness.
"

After all this, they still might lose their only survivor. Sadler couldn’t bear to think about it. Sadler turned his attention to Cartier who was still trying to wring the water out of th
e woman’s cumbersome underdress
.
"
Did you find any I.D.?
"

"
Not quite, Sir. But she was wearing this,
"
Cartier said as she handed Sadler a gold locket on a chain. Sadler held the locket up to the light to examine it closely. It was quite elegant. On the back was an ornate inscription. Sadler tilted it past the light to make the engraving more legible,

To Myra,

Happy Anniversary!

Archie

December 31.

Myra? Was this woman Myra? Sadler looked again at the locket. As he hoped, there was a small hinge on the one side. He tried to open it. It was stuck. He reached into the pocket of his trousers, taking out his pocketknife. He flicked it open and then proceeded to carefully pry the tip of the blade along the seam. He felt himself sigh in relief as it popped open. Setting the knife down, he
parted
the two halves delicately. There he saw two pictures inside: one was of a young man with the mysterious woman—presumably Myra—dressed in turn-of-the-century costumes. The other photo was of a small baby boy dressed in a cheesy old-fashioned navy suit. Both photos had a sepia tone to them—
no doubt created at some novelty booth at a carnival,
he thought.

"
And Captain, there might also be something here,
"
Cartier said, pointing to the book on the nearby table.
"
Looks like a piece of paper used as a makeshift bookmark.
"

Sadler set the locket down carefully as Cartier held the small hardcover up for him to see. It looked antiquated, like the kind found in old used bookstores. Quite small in size, on first glance it appeared to be about five or six inches by eight inches and quite thin. The grey cloth cover was water damaged but as Cartier gingerly opened the book, Sadler could make out the single title on the spine:
Futility

Futility
? The title was somehow oddly familiar to Sadler, but he could not recollect having read it. Cartier carefully pried the pages open to the marked section. The wet mysterious bookmark was stuck into
the page. Cartier gently set
the book
down
as she looked about and then grabbed the tweezers from the nearby metal pan
. She
carefully began to pry up a corner. Sadler was getting impatient but he could see that Cartier had to move ever-so-slowly so as not to rip it.

She turned it over an
d gingerly unfolded it,
carefully smoothed it out and moved it into the light to take a look. A confused frown crossed her brow. She looked up at Captain Sadler, opened her mouth as if to say something, then looked back down at the paper and continued to stare at it, as if waiting for something to happen.

"
Well? What is it?
"

Cartier said nothing, but backed away so Sadler could inspect the piece of paper. Sadler recognized it immediately; it was an old style ticket for a steamship. In curved text at the top were the bold letters:

WHITE STAR LINE

That was where Sadler had seen that five-point star. It was the old logo of the prominent British shipping company. This was a 'Cabin Passenger's Contract Ticket', which meant 'First Class' but the names that were written in ink were smudged by water damage. He could barely make out: "A__G."

Beneath the illustrated image of a four-funneled 'Cunard Class' Steamer was the name of the passenger ship typed in bold letters. Captain Sadler felt an odd chill as he read the impossible:

British Steamship: R.M.S. TITANIC

Chapter
II

Callum Toughill looked at his wristwatch as he sat in the uncomfortable chair outside of Percy Winthrope’s office. Quarter to nine. Mr. Winthrope was uncharacteristically late to his own meeting. As one of the senior brokers at the head office of Lloyd’s of London, Winthrope was always very punctual.

"
Can I get you a tea while you wait?
"
asked Mr. Winthrope’s new assistant. Callum had met her only once before and was now too embarrassed to ask her name again. She then corrected herself,
"
No wait… you prefer coffee, correct?
"

Callum smiled as he waved his hand dismissively.
"
No, thank you. I’ve had too much already.
"

"
Now then, I’ll be
gain-hand
... nearby, if you change your mind,
"
she said with a smile as she sat back down behind her typewriter. Callum noticed that her accent had strong traces of Yorkshire in it. Callum smiled back
. H
e hated lying to her but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that he didn’t like the coffee at the Lloyd’s head office. This was ironic considering that Lloyd’s of London began in the 1700’s as a coffee house catering to sailors, merchants and ship owners. To make ends meet, the founding Lloyd would set up business meetings and keep up on the latest shipping news. Now the insurance and brokering company not only had offices all over the world but their head office was overcrowded and designs for a new head office down the street were being reviewed.