I didn’t get an answer, but the question might have helped anyway.
“You see a connection between these two events?” he asked.
“Has to be considered, don’t you think?”
“I am curious why you might think it.”
I didn’t answer directly. “Do you know Coral insists something tripped her on those stairs? She says it felt as if she stepped on something rounded and hard, which caused her foot to go out from underneath her, pitching her backward.”
A flicker in the gaze pinned on me. “She said this to you?”
“Yes. But that doesn’t mean a lot. From what I can tell, she’s said it to anybody who’ll listen and those who’d rather not. She must have said it to you or your staff.”
“As it happens, she did.”
“But you dismissed it as a vain, silly woman who didn’t want to admit she’d tripped on her own vain, silly shoes.”
Impassive silence.
I got it. He wouldn’t acknowledge that about a passenger to a passenger.
“One thing Coral knows is shoes. She says she’s been walking in heels since she was a baby. That doesn’t mean she couldn’t fall over on those upside-down Eiffel Tower structures, but it might mean it’s worth listening to what she said about a specific aspect of her fall.”
This time I followed up with impassive silence.
Another flicker — amusement, maybe? — then he asked, “A specific aspect of her fall?”
“That it felt as if she stepped on something round and solid that rolled under her foot.”
“That conveys significance to you?”
“Leah’s cane fits Coral’s description and what I saw the day we boarded.” I described Leah stopping on the stairs after the muster drill, raising her cane, staring at the configuration that would allow her to slide the cane onto a step in the next half-flight up, causing anyone stepping on it to almost certainly fall.
“Why would Mrs. Treusault do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. But Coral probably does. If she’ll tell us— You. You need to question her. Also, this has to raise enough questions in your mind to change your plans.”
“In what regard?”
“You have a morgue. You can take the body to Tampa and turn the case and all the suspects over to U.S. officials. There are too many possibilities to hand over Badar as the only suspect to authorities in the Bahamas.”
Chief Security Officer Edgars’ gaze flickered again.
Did it mean he didn’t want to turn the case over? He preferred to deal with authorities in Tampa?
“We will confer with officials in the next port the Diversion is berthed at.”
The flicker had fooled me into momentary hope that I had more time. So much for that.
“And turn over your prime suspect?” I accused. “I don’t think he did it. I think you’re wrong. But if you turn Badar over to the officials tomorrow morning without them having access to all the other people involved, without any way of knowing the interactions on board, the connections and rivalries and histories, they can’t have a fair investigation. All the other possible suspects will sail off and they won’t have anybody but Badar to blame. That’s not right.”
“What proof do you have that Badar did not kill her?”
“What proof do you have that he did?” I shot back. “When I gave you the hint about him, I didn’t think you’d latch onto the first suspect and not look any further.”
He sat back. “Ms. Mackey, when you told us of the animosity between Mrs. Treusault and a crew member at the towel stand, we were already aware of the incident. We had reviewed the video and spoken with the crew member shortly after it.”
“Good grief. You review all the video every day?”
“A passenger acting threateningly toward a crew member is notable,” he said dryly. “As it happens, the crew member reported the incident to his supervisor.”
I jumped on that. “See? Would someone do that if they intended to kill her?”
“He might not have intended such a thing, but was caught in a moment of anger. We have motive from her threats to have him dismissed, opportunity from his failure to produce an alibi, means. We did not, as you describe it, latch onto the first suspect, especially not based solely on your words. Now, if you—”
“Means? The cane, right? Have you found Leah’s cane?”
I felt more than saw Henri start. I was keeping my focus on Gerard Edgars.
“I would ask why you would be interested in the victim’s cane?”
“It fits what the doctor said about how she was killed, something held across her throat. She had it with her every time I saw her, but it wasn’t by her body. If you found it in her cabin you’d have said so by now. So you don’t have the cane—”
“How—” came from behind me.
Without looking away from me, the security chief raised his index finger from where it rested on his opposite arm and Henri subsided.
“Where is it?” I persisted.
“An interesting question. We do not know. Beyond that, we will not discuss such specifics with you, Ms. Mackey.”
“Fine. Don’t. But it sure sounds to me like a whole lot of other people have means, motive, and opportunity. As strong as his.”
“You are free, of course, to write a letter stating such. We, however, shall be turning him over to the authorities at the first place we dock.”
“But that’s—”
A puff of subdued cheering came from next door.
Before we could do more than exchange looks, a knock on the door. At Edgars’ invitation, a young officer poked his head in.
“We have cleaned up that footage, sir.”
Gerard Edgars strode out. The young officer pivoted smartly and followed. Henri, too.
I considered staying put.
Just kidding.
In the absence of direct orders otherwise — and, let’s be honest, possibly in the presence of direct orders otherwise — I was behind them in a flash. Unobtrusively, quietly, but there nonetheless.
It only required three strides to reach the other room. Edgars swung the door open, not bothering to close it behind him with Henri right at his hip. The message bringer also left it open, perhaps too well trained in not slamming doors in a passenger’s face to break the habit. I didn’t bother, either. I stayed close, figuring that would make me look like part of the team.
It worked.
As we entered, I saw rows of monitors, showing all sorts of angles of spots all over the ship, with a bigger screen in the middle. Unfortunately, broad backs blocked out the bigger screen from my view.
“This is it, sir.”
I saw nothing but the back of jackets.
Then one of the men seated in front of monitors to the right saw the door swinging open from the movement of the ship and stood to close it. I slid partially into his space and had an angle on the big monitor.
In time to see a shadow disappear out of the shot, which was recognizable as the line of deck chairs where Leah’s body had been.
I bit my lip to keep from demanding it be replayed.
My self-restraint was rewarded when Edgars said, “Repeat.”
Rewind went by too fast to make sense of what I was seeing, but then it stopped and moved forward again at normal pace.
The shadow was a human form. Carrying something the size and shape of a Leah-like body wrapped in towels.
The shadowy human moved into deeper darkness, then emerged. It wore a waiter’s tunic, tennis shoes, and plain, dark, loose pants. The lack of light prevented me from identifying the few objects the figure passed, much less using them as a gauge of height.
“Again,” Edgars said.
This time I concentrated on the way the figure moved at the beginning. It was a strange movement, awkward, as if the person were trying to avoid stepping in something, but nothing was visible on the deck.
It must be that carrying the bundle — presumably Leah — altered the figure’s walk. Which meant it wouldn’t help with identification.
I switched to concentrating on the deck chair. That was something tangible I could use as a gauge to “measure” the figure.
Except the shadows and loose pants made it hard to tell where on the carry-er’s leg the deck chair came.
I squinted harder at the image. If this was the cleaned-up version, the original must have been a mess.
But as they played it a third time, I became more confident. The person was about my height of five-eight, with an inch or two leeway, either side.
If the leeway stretched to three inches, Wardham and Ralph remained in the suspect pool. All the women fell in that range, including the ill-tempered German woman, though she was on the short end of possible.
“Ms. Mackey.” Gerard Edgars faced me with his impressive arms crossed over his chest.
Oops. I’d been spotted.
* * * *
After I was escorted to the passenger area, I saw I’d received a text.
The shops and main desk were crowded because rain and wind drove everyone inside. Took me a while to find a spot without a dozen people looking over my shoulder to read the text.
They take him TOMORROW!!! You must DO something!!!! Now!!!!!
Imka had gone for subtle.