Dee takes the card from Eino and disappears off down the passageway, but he lingers by the door. ‘You may want to come with me,’ he says.
I follow him out, not even asking what he wants to show me. I can barely keep my thoughts in order. In the space of a few days, everything I’ve worked for has just … disintegrated. And I’m utterly out of my depth. I don’t even know what the procedure is for a death on location.
I’m no closer to knowing who’s responsible for John’s death than I was when he was found. And that piece of pipe, which I stupidly, stupidly put in my pocket, will only convince people further that it was me.
At the time I didn’t care who killed him. At the time, deep down, I was glad he was dead. But if Gaia’s account is right, everything I thought I knew was wrong.
But what difference does it make? By the time I get home, none of it is going to matter.
As I go into the bridge, Eino and Craig are talking heatedly about something on a screen.
‘What’s going on now?’ I ask, the door swinging shut behind me.
Craig takes an at-ease stance, awaiting the explanation with raised eyebrows. ‘Go on. Tell her.’
‘Tell me what?’
‘We have a couple of problems,’ Eino says.
The first, he explains, is that the ship he’d made contact with doesn’t appear to be diverting. He waves an arm towards the rocky claw of the fjord. ‘We are tucked in, so it’s possible they are unable to find us here. We’ve lost contact with them. It’s been several hours now.’
I blink, then laugh out loud. Even I can hear how unhinged I sound.
‘I’m afraid I am not joking,’ he says, as if I needed telling. ‘Stefan is outside right now trying to boost our radio signal, but it is a serious concern.’
‘Good. Great! And what’s the other thing?’
Eino lifts a hand to the console. ‘It’s the keycards,’ he says. There’s something unusual about his posture, a sheepishness. ‘While I was programming the key earlier, I came across an … anomaly.’
‘Like what?’
He clears his throat. ‘From a few days ago.’
‘On the first night,’ Craig says.
Eino coughs again. It’s the first time I’ve seen him looking anxious. ‘Late on your first night on board, it appears that someone programmed an all-access keycard.’
‘Because someone failed to log out,’ Craig says darkly. ‘Which kind of makes the security system slightly obsolete, hey?’
I stare at Eino. ‘As in, a key that could have given them access to John’s room?’
‘Yes.’
‘The key that Wolf got hold of somehow?’
‘Yes. Possibly.’
‘So? Who was it?’
Eino goes back to the monitor. ‘I do not have that information. It tells me when it happened, but that’s all.’
‘We thought maybe Wolf programmed it himself,’ Craig says. ‘But the timings – basically it doesn’t add up. You saw how much wine he drank, he could hardly stand by the end of the night. And this,’ he says, rolling his hand disdainfully at the monitor, ‘is not a simple system.’
‘So who then?’ I ask. ‘You’re saying it can only have been someone who knew their way around how it works.’
‘Which these clowns do not,’ Craig says tightly.
‘What about you, then?’ I say. My enthusiasm for mediation has worn so thin I could make stockings out of it. ‘You’ve probably been on a ship like this before. How do we know you didn’t do it? You don’t exactly have a reputation for honesty.’
Craig glowers, eyes raging. ‘Are you fucking joking me right now?’
‘You wouldn’t have to know ships,’ Eino says.
‘What?’ Craig and I ask in unison, turning to him.
He shrugs. ‘The gentleman who installed it told me it’s a common system on land. Hotels, conference centres.’
From the look on Craig’s face, he has the thought the same time as I do. Hotels.
Marco works in hotels. And after what I saw on the very first night on board, he also has more than enough reason to try to keep me quiet.
*
We find him in his cabin. He answers the knock straight away, barely decent in a towel and nothing else. He’s chewing, holding a duty-free-sized chocolate bar.
‘Need a word, my friend,’ Craig says, unsmiling.
Marco swallows, his face falling. He retreats and sits on a corner of the neatly-made bed. We remain standing.
‘Go on then,’ he says, elbows on knees. ‘What have I done now?’ He glances at me, and I know he thinks this is about the drugs. But I’m in no mood to put anyone’s mind at ease.
Slowly, diplomatically, Craig explains the issue. Eino says nothing. Me, I just watch.
‘And we – Tori and I – recalled that you yourself had worked in hospitality,’ Craig finishes.
There’s a moment when Marco figures out what he’s being told. He clears his throat. ‘So you’re asking me if I programmed that card.’
Craig spreads his hands. ‘It’s the question I’d ask anyone, in the circumstances.’
For a minute, from the way the deep flush rises from his neck into his face so suddenly, it looks like Marco’s going to hit him. His jaw tightens and he looks between the three of us and lands on me.
‘Didn’t I tell you we were all good? But you still think I’m, what? Some fucking murderer?’
There’s something so hurt in his expression that I immediately want to take it all back. I glance at the others, but they’re not seeing what I’m seeing.
Marco drops his head into his hands. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he says to his feet.
‘And that is something you can prove?’ Eino asks bluntly.
Marco mutters something none of us hear.
Craig crouches. ‘Sorry, my friend, what was—’
‘I said I can’t read.’ He lifts his head, but his eyes are gripped shut. When he opens them, they’re wet. ‘All right? I can’t read, and I can’t write. It’s why I was so fucked off with Wolf, that first night. Giving me grief about the book I worked on, and that release form. Course I didn’t write a book. I can barely write my kids a fucking birthday card.’ Bitter shame glows in every word. I have to look away. ‘I couldn’t have programmed shit. So there’s your alibi. That okay, is it? You happy now?’
Craig winces, then stands. ‘I’m sorry, big guy.’ He slaps Marco on the back. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’
‘He knew,’ Marco says. ‘John. Went out of his way to help me. I didn’t even thank him.’ He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and pretends he’s not crying.
‘I didn’t know,’ I tell him.
‘Course you didn’t know.’ He laughs, but not really, then sniffs hard. ‘Not your fault. But I’ve got to say, I do like the way the three of you fuckers hear hotel and go for the meathead bouncer,’ he says, jabbing a finger into his chest, ‘rather than the millionaire owner of a whole bloody chain of the things.’