TWO CREWMEN, wearing hard hats and overalls, met the detectives at the top of the gangplank. One looked Malaysian, the other had dark, Mediterranean features.
Jane reached for her badge, turned to the Malaysian and said, ‘We’d like to speak to the ship’s master please.’
The swarthy one answered, ‘Why you want the Captain?’
Definitely Italian, thought Jane. He was 5’9” tall with the strong, stocky build of a rugby player. His dark brown eyes were hard and cold. There was nothing for giving or soft about his features. His severe short black hair, could barely be seen under the hard hat. Jane took half a step forward, deliberately invading his space.
‘The Master’s office is on which deck?’ she demanded. The Italian didn’t reply. He made her feel edgy. Why were they being so deliberately obstructive?
She tried again. ‘I’m here to speak to the Master. Take me there, now.’
The Italian did not blink. Finally the Malaysian spoke, quietly and reluctantly, ‘This way. I take you.’
*
The Spaniard shook his cabin mate awake. He had been on the duty watch all night and struggled to collect his senses, but there was no mistaking the urgency in the Spaniard’s voice.
‘You’d better come,’ he hissed. ‘Two officials have just come on board. A man and a woman.’
‘They could just be from the Port Authority,’ said his pal, resting on one elbow in the cramped bottom bunk.
‘No. Too well dressed,’ said the Spaniard. ‘They were police. No doubt about it. It’s got to be about Will. Why don’t they keep their noses out of this? We can’t afford any trouble, particularly now we’re so close.’
Swinging his legs out of bed, the Spaniard’s companion pulled on his trousers in one quick movement. They locked the cabin and headed towards the crew mess room, deliberately taking a long way round. Over the long months on the boat they had become familiar with every corridor and room on the ship. It didn’t take the pair long to find the two detectives, still being escorted to the Captain’s office. The tall man led the way, talking to the Malaysian about the ship and its cargo. The woman had fallen behind, stopping occasionally to have a close look in rooms off the maze of corridors.
The Spaniard turned to his cabin mate, ‘You’d better keep an eye on the Italians. You know how jumpy they’re getting. Especially Francesco. I think he’s using.’
His companion looked startled. ‘Then we really have a dangerous situation on our hands. A drug user with a gun will do anything.’
Jane sat facing a brown-haired man in his late fifties. He had the world-weary expression of one who had seen everything and for whom life held few surprises. Her eyes flicked to his huge hands clasped on top of the desk and then to the broad shoulders. His physique seemed almost at odds with his quiet Scottish accent, the hard edges softened from years abroad. He was probably originally from Greenock, Jane noted.
‘There really isn’t much more I can tell you about the lad,’said Captain Iain Robertson. ‘He was generally well liked and got on with his duties.’
‘What were his duties?’ Jane asked.
‘Supervision of the loading and unloading of cars, checking of the holds and, while we’re at sea, general watch and maintenance work. Will often spoke about his parents in Cambridge. That’s why I arranged with the authorities at Tilbury to have his body sent there.’
‘Did you realise he had a drug problem?’ Steve asked.
The Captain kept looking straight at Jane. ‘I see all of life onboard this ship and I’ve learned not to make assumptions or ask too many questions. Though I have to confess, I was very surprised when the lad was found dead.’
‘Where was he found?’
‘Car Deck Four. It costs £20,000 a day to keep this ship going. We couldn’t afford to put into a French port when we were so close to Tilbury. So, we wrapped the needle in foil and kept him the best way we could, in the deep freeze. As it happens, we’re losing money because we’re still here. We should have been turned around in twelve hours.’
The Captain appeared to be genuinely concerned for the lad.Jane could not understand why the boy’s death was so obviously playing on the mind of someone who saw crew members come and go at almost every port the ship docked.
Jane got to her feet. ‘Thank you for helping us. Would it be possible to see Deck Four, the boy’s quarters and to speak to anyone on board he may have been friendly with.’
‘You’ll want to speak to the young Greek lad, his cabin mate. He seemed to strike up quite a friendship with our two Spanish crewmen as well. I’ll have one of my men show you around.’
The dead boy’s cabin was barely ten feet by eight. Two bunk beds hung from one wall with a tiny desk underneath a small window. The only other furniture was one chair and two tall, grey lockers. One of them had Will’s name on the door. Steve opened it. Most of Will’s possessions had left the ship with his body but his clothes, shoes and overalls still hung there. Jane poked her nose into the tiny bathroom, which was far too small for a bath. Instead it had a small shower on one side, a toilet, sink and mirror on the other.
Jane thanked God that when she’d been in the Navy, women did not go to sea.
‘I’ve seen prison cells with better facilities than this,’ she exclaimed.
Steve had been going through the pockets on one of Will’s shirts. He held up a small red notebook filled with comic drawings.
‘Our lad was obviously a bit of a cartoonist’, Steve said, handing the book to Jane. Underneath some of the sketches were hastily scrawled passages, the letters slanted towards the top right hand corner of each page.
Holding a page open for Steve to see, she said ‘This kid had an interesting imagination.’
They heard the buzz of a heated conversation going on out in the corridor. Jane turned. A boy of about eighteen or nineteen stood in the doorway. He was tall with jet-black hair. Puberty had left its punishing scars, his dark olive skin was badly pock-marked. This was obviously Will’s cabin mate, she recognised him from the photos on the cabin wall.
‘Can you speak English?’ she asked the young Greek.
‘Yes. We all have to speak English on board. I’m Demos Katsaris.’
‘How long have you worked on board?’ Jane asked.
‘I’ve only been on this ship eight months now. When it heads back to the Mediterranean I’m getting off and going home to Athens.’
‘Why?’
The boy went to say something but stopped himself. Fear flashed in his eyes.
‘Were you and Will good friends?’ Jane added, deliberately switching the conversation.
‘We had some good times when we got a few hours shore leave.’
The boy was obviously wary of saying too much. She tried another tack.
‘Do you work long hours?’
‘When you’re trapped on board a ship, there isn’t much more to do. We work twelve, fourteen, sixteen hours a day sometimes.’
‘Those are long days for a young man.’
His eyes flashed again, this time with indignation. ‘I’m nineteen next month. I’m as strong as anybody else here. I can take care of myself.’
‘I’m sure you can, Demos. It must be hard losing your cabin-mate. Did you realise he was a heroin addict?’
‘Will never took anything in his life. He wasn’t a drug user.’
His eyes darted across to the crewman stood in the doorway.
‘I’d better get back to my duties,’ the youth said, struggling to hide his emotions.
Steve took out his wallet, removed a business card and placed it on the table.
‘If you can think of anything else, give us a call.’
They watched Demos turn and walk quickly out of the room.
On the way to Deck Four, Steve paused, letting the crewman pull six or seven feet in front.
‘Why did we stop questioning him? He obviously knew something,’ Steve whispered.
Jane hit back. ‘That kid was scared. He wasn’t going to say anything else in front of our guide. Maybe we’ll get the opportunity of speaking to him some time later on his own.’
Almost as if he sensed he was being talked about, the crewman turned to Jane and Steve. He was obviously annoyed that they were lagging behind again. He also resented the fact he’d had to cut into his shore leave to show them around.
‘This way.’
It wasn’t a request.