My mood at breakfast was savage. I felt as helpless as a skier in the path of an avalanche. This was Thursday morning. When the Clio sailed up the Thames Saturday morning, Scotland Yard would take Jimmy into custody. I ate quickly, tasted nothing. I had two days and then the Riordans would return home, safe and rich. Very rich, the overseeing stepmother wielding power no longer. I speared a sausage, paused to listen as the PA system sounded: “This is Staff Captain Glenn. Any passengers near or on the sundeck last night between twenty-two and twenty-three hundred are requested to contact my office. Thank you for your assistance.”
I put down my fork. The announcement was interesting. Very interesting. This was Glenn’s effort to see if anyone had observed Ingrid with Jimmy on the sundeck. But what intrigued me was what he hadn’t said. There was no announcement that a crime had occurred and that ship officers had, in their judgment, apprehended the criminal. I picked up my coffee, drank, welcoming the strong dark brew, the infusion of energy, and the burgeoning of an idea.
I was at the ship’s information desk at precisely 0800. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Glenn had declined to see me, but in a moment the trim young woman at the desk nodded at me, her dark eyes curious. “Mr. Glenn will be out in a moment.”
As she spoke, the door opened and Glenn stepped into the lobby, ramrod straight in his white uniform. His dark hair was neatly brushed, but his narrow face was pale and lined.
I moved quickly toward him. I was careful to appear conciliatory. “Mr. Glenn, I appreciate your seeing me. I will only take a few minutes of your time.”
He looked as immovable as a mountain. “Mr. Lennox will not be permitted to see visitors.”
“I understand. The matter I wish to discuss is entirely different.” I glanced around the lobby with its thick red carpet and urns filled with fresh flowers. There was the usual clutch of passengers clustered at the purser’s office, some paying up accounts, others changing money.
An imperious woman with a mound of snowy hair and piercing blue eyes stared down at a harried clerk at the information desk. “Since I’ve decided on the Phoenician cruise, I must insist upon Cabin 7005. If it is already booked, you must move them to another cabin.”
I gestured at the eddy of passengers. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Glenn, I would like to speak with you privately.” Once again, my voice was pleasant.
I don’t know whether it was my nonconfrontational demeanor or whether Glenn simply was exercising the courtesy to passengers which is so much a part of luxury cruising. Whatever the reason, he looked at me gravely and nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Collins.”
Once again I stepped through the unmarked door from the elegant passenger center into the beige-walled, functional world of the ship’s interior. I knew the way to his office now.
His small square domain looked as it had on my last visit, with nothing to hint at the loss of lives, the intense effort that had been made to search for Sophia, or the painstaking investigation of Jimmy’s cabin.
When I was seated, he settled behind his desk. His dark eyes were not encouraging, but neither was his gaze hostile.
I kept my face pleasant, my hands relaxed in my lap. “I heard the announcement at breakfast asking passengers near the sundeck last night to contact you.”
He made no response.
I looked at him inquiringly. “There was no announcement of Ingrid’s murder.”
His face was grave. “That is correct. It seemed unnecessary to alarm the passengers. There is, of course, no danger to them or certainly they would have been alerted. May I ask if you have mentioned her death to anyone?”
“I have not.” I looked at him steadily. “Mr. Glenn, will that information remain confidential?” Here was my prayer, my hope, the linchpin of my campaign to free Jimmy. As long as the murder was not revealed, the Riordans would have no way of knowing. One of them, of course, knew only too well. Surely official silence would seem odd and ominous. Surely the murderer would wonder and worry.
Glenn’s long face was impassive, but his eyes considered me warily. He was trying to determine why I wanted to know, what I sought. “We do not plan an announcement.”
I didn’t change expression, though this was what I desperately wanted to hear. “Is the crew generally aware of what has happened?”
He spread out his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Very likely most of the crew know by now, although we asked those involved not to discuss the matter. But…” He shrugged.
I understood. Too many people had been involved last night for Ingrid’s murder to be kept secret from the crew. There were the security officers, the ship’s doctor, whoever carried poor Ingrid away from the cabin. “Mr. Glenn, Jimmy Lennox had nothing to do with Ingrid’s death. I have every intention of trying to find out who committed the crime.”
His fingers moved in a soft tattoo on his desktop. “Your course of action is entirely your decision.”
This was not the moment to try to convince him that Jimmy was caught in a trap of another’s making. I’d told Glenn last night what I was sure had happened, what must have happened. I hoped he’d think through the circumstances and realize that Jimmy, if guilty, could easily have escaped detection by throwing Ingrid’s body overboard. Jimmy, if guilty, would never have notified Glenn.
“If any member of the Riordan family inquires about Ingrid, will you inform me?” Would the murderer feel compelled to find out?
His gaze was somber, but I saw sympathy and understanding in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Collins. I can’t discuss confidential inquiries made by other passengers. However, I believe”—he spoke slowly, picking his words with care—“that it would not be inappropriate to decline to discuss ship personnel with any passenger. Any inquiry about a change in service staffing would be explained by saying that the staff in question was unable to perform duties at the present time.”
I wondered if he saw the glint of tears in my eyes. He’d given me what support he could, but more than that, much more, I felt he was telling me that he had reflected on the oddly law-abiding actions of a man who was suspected of committing two murders, that he too had doubts about Jimmy’s guilt, that he would let me do what I could do.
The Clio was encountering a choppy sea. The lift and plunge as I held to the handrail in the corridor outside Sophia’s door was eerily reminiscent of Friday night. I’d knocked on Sophia’s door at about ten o’clock Friday night. I’d seen no one, certainly not Ingrid. But it was later that Ingrid must have been here. To be precise, Ingrid must have observed the opening of Sophia’s door at 11:03. In his investigation, Glenn had asked all the occupants of nearby cabins if they’d seen Sophia or anyone entering her cabin. The answer had been no.
I looked toward the two small interior cabins. Glenn had said they were not occupied this cruise. Not occupied…
I looked from the empty cabins across the corridor. Sophia’s door was fully visible from either of the unoccupied cabins. Ingrid must have been in one of the cabins that night. She opened the door and saw someone unlocking Sophia’s door.
Why didn’t the murderer see Ingrid?
Because Ingrid didn’t want to be seen, couldn’t afford to be seen. I felt as elated as if I’d pulled a slot machine lever and three red cherries locked into a row. I knew I’d hit the jackpot. Ingrid opened the door, saw the figure at Sophia’s door, and immediately closed her door. She didn’t want to step into the corridor and be seen. That meant she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, that she felt constrained to hide her presence in the empty cabin. So it wasn’t work that brought her to that cabin late on Friday night.
A pretty girl in an empty cabin…
I whirled away from the corridor with its ghostly images of a distraught Sophia and a deceptive Ingrid and walked fast.
I rang the bell for my stewardess at shortly after ten. When I opened the door, I said pleasantly, “Monika, please come in for a moment.” I held the door.
It never occurred to her to refuse. “Yes, ma’am.” She stepped inside. Her gentle face was pale and strained, her eyes red-rimmed.
I moved to stand in front of the door.
She looked at me, puzzled, her kindly face attentive, ready to be of service.
I gently touched her arm. “Was Ingrid a good friend?”
Her face puckered into grief, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Here.” I gently led her across the cabin to the sofa. “Please, sit down.” I handed her a box of tissues, poured a glass of water, held it as she struggled for composure.
“I’m sorry.” She swiped at her face, started to get up. “I mustn’t stay.”
“Take a moment, Monika, please.” I handed her the water. “Tell me about Ingrid.”
She held the glass tightly in both hands. Her green eyes blinked nervously. “We aren’t supposed to talk about what happened.”
“I don’t want to talk about last night. I want to talk about Ingrid. Had you known her long?”
Monika sniffed. “I was the one who helped her come to work on the Clio.” Tears welled again. “We grew up on the same street in Hamburg.”
“I’m sorry.” There is a special place in our hearts for childhood friends. Old friends are best friends. “I hope you can always remember the happy days. Ingrid was very pretty.”
Monika’s lips trembled. “The prettiest girl on our street, always. When she was in school, she always had a boyfriend, but her mother and father were so strict. If a boy wanted to go out with Ingrid, he had to have dinner with the family, meet her grandmother.”
I smiled. “I imagine she had her pick of boys even so.”
Monika nodded jerkily. “She laughed so much. She always had a special friend.” There was no jealousy, only pride in her voice.
“I’m sure she had a lot of admirers on board.”
Monika brushed back a dark curl. “Gustav adored her. She thought he was going to ask her to marry him. And now…”
“I’m terribly sorry.” For Monika, for Gustav, for stricken parents in a small house in Hamburg. “I’d like to give you some money for her family. To help with the funeral expenses.” I reached for my purse, slipped a hundred-dollar bill from a zippered pocket. “I want to speak with Gustav, also. Perhaps I can give him a donation for flowers for the funeral.”
She looked at me in wonder. “You are so kind.”
I wasn’t kind, but perhaps ultimately I could offer those who grieved for Ingrid the justice that should be hers. “I want to help.” I did in a way that Monika couldn’t imagine. “How can I speak with Gustav?”
“He works in the purser’s office. I can tell him you want to see him.”
“I’ll meet him when he gets off work. Have him call me, please.”
When the call didn’t come by late afternoon, I knew Gustav was either too grief-stricken by Ingrid’s death or suspicious of uncommon generosity from an American passenger he’d never met.
I gathered up assorted currencies and set out for the purser’s office. When a young woman with strawberry blonde curls greeted me with a smile, I looked past her. “Is Gustav here? He helped me the other day.”
“Yes, ma’am. Just a moment.” She turned away.
In a moment a tall thin young man moved to the counter. He looked gangling and not quite fully grown. He’d likely manage another inch or two in height and a good thirty pounds. Thick horn-rim glasses rode a beaked nose beneath a widow’s peak of bushy black hair. He looked at me politely. “Ma’am?”
“Gustav, I’m Mrs. Collins.”
He scowled. “I don’t want—”
“I must talk to you or I will have to tell Staff Captain Glenn you were in the unoccupied cabin on Deck 6 Friday night with Ingrid Shriver.”
“Nobody can prove I was there.” His voice was defiant, but his hands clenched into fists.
“I can prove it.” My voice was hard. “Your fingerprints are in the cabin. You had no legitimate reason to be there. If you don’t want me to tell Mr. Glenn, you are going to talk to me. I have to know what Ingrid saw, what she told you. I won’t tell Glenn where I found out.” I hoped this was a promise I could keep. Gustav’s eyes were filled with misery. I didn’t know his schedule but I picked a time that likely was his to spend. “Be on the sundeck at nine o’clock tonight.”