Murder on the Mary Jane Page 2

  The phrase ‘blown sky high’ caused several people to shudder and cast anxious glances across to Mary Jane. She looked quite peaceful in the water.

  “You think the firing mechanism is faulty on this mine?” O’Harris said.

  “That would be my surmise,” the RNR man nodded. “If they can move it away from the hull and then steer the Mary Jane to a safe distance, they should be able to explode it with rifle fire.”

  “If they have a rifle,” O’Harris pointed out.

  “Old seadog like Captain Pevsner knows what can lurk in these waters. He’ll have a rifle or two onboard.”

  “Are you saying these waters are full of mines still?” A young man in the party startled at the revelation and he, along with several others, started to glare at the water around them suspiciously.

  “Thousands of mines were laid,” the RNR man explained patiently. “By both the Germans and the British. We have swept this channel over and over, but we are all aware that we missed mines. The ones that sank to the bottom for some reason or slipped their mooring. Every now and then a fishing boat finds one. Could be generations before we discover them all.”

  Now everyone was feeling less comfortable in the lifeboat.

  “Look, the Mary Jane’s moving!” Someone shouted from behind Clara.

  They all looked over at the hulk of the passenger liner as she started to move. She was going very slowly, making the smallest ripple possible in the water.

  “Now we will discover if the mine was magnetic,” the RNR man observed nonchalantly.

  The Mary Jane continued on her course for several minutes, then she turned her prow and seemed to be coming around on herself. The next moment her engines went into reverse and she came to a tentative halt. Everyone held their breath.

  From the rail of the ship movement could be seen beneath the lightbulbs. Suddenly there was a series of bangs and flashes. Rifles! Bullets flew into a seemingly empty patch of water. No one in the lifeboat could see the ominous globe that was the mine bobbing on the water’s surface. The first volley brought no results. There was a pause as the crew lined up for the second attempt. More bangs rang out and more flashes of light. The water was peppered again but, this time, a faint metallic ‘ting’ suggested that the mine had been struck.

  “Really is a dud…” the RNR man puttered just as there was a massive explosion.

  A huge plume of water whooshed into the air and fell back down like heavy rain. The ocean heaved and, even at a safe distance, the lifeboats felt the surge and were rocked back and forth.

  Almost as fast as the explosion had occurred the waters returned to normal and the waves caused by the mine died down. Everything became calm again.

  Clara let out a sigh of relief. She had not realised she had been holding her breath until that moment. Aboard the Mary Jane signals were now being shown to inform the lifeboats they could return. The oarsmen went back to their work and the small boats were rapidly drawn back to the liner. Rope ladders were thrown down and guests worked their way back onto the deck; most of the ladies complaining how difficult it was to climb in dress shoes.

  When it was Clara’s turn she slipped her shoes off and jammed them in the belt of her dress.

  “Forever practical,” O’Harris grinned at her.

  “I am not a fool,” Clara replied with a smile, then she clambered up the rope ladder in her stockinged feet. She was over the rail and safely on deck faster than most of the other ladies.

  “There is only one downside,” Clara remarked to O’Harris as he appeared on deck. “My feet are now wet. Never mind.”

  Clara slipped on her shoes and grabbed O’Harris’ arm.

  “Nearly being blown up by a mine does wonders for a girl. I want to dance!”

  “Clara Fitzgerald, whatever has come over you!” O’Harris teased.

  “Well, I am cold, and I don’t know anything better for getting you warm again like a little bit of fast movement,” Clara replied in mock seriousness.

  “Want some champagne too?”

  Clara scowled at him.

  “Alright,” he laughed. “I won’t push my luck! I want that dance!”

  The band had been instructed to play throughout the ordeal of the mine. Unlike the guests, they had not been permitted to leave the liner during the drama. Captain Pevsner had reminded them of the noble efforts of the band on the Titanic who played until it went down. When this seemed not to convince the musicians, he bluntly informed them that all the lifeboats were gone and they would be best to distract themselves from possibly impending doom by playing. Reluctantly, they had obeyed.

  With the drama over they were recovering themselves, their nerves more than a little shot to pieces and the odd wrong note being played as they endeavoured to get themselves back into the party spirit. For the guests the ordeal seemed to have been little more than a temporary interlude and they were all laughing and dancing nearly as soon as they were back aboard. There were still several hours before midnight and there was plenty of champagne to drink and food to consume. Why dwell on the mine? No harm had come of it, after all.

  The band was playing a waltz, they weren’t quite up to anything faster just at that moment. O’Harris escorted Clara to the dance floor on the sun deck and slipped his arm around her waist. They took a moment to get into the rhythm of the waltz and then they were moving in time with the other dancers. Clara felt herself relax properly. She had asked to dance, even though she was not a keen dancer, because she had needed to do something to burn off the agitation she had felt in the lifeboat. Awaiting the fate of the Mary Jane had been torturous and had left her fizzing. She needed to do something to take away those nerves.

  It also felt good to be close to O’Harris. Clara was beginning to like dancing after all.

  “Watch out,” O’Harris whispered in her ear as they swayed to the music.

  “Watch out?” Clara asked.

  “Captain Pevsner, if I am not much mistaken, is heading straight for us with a look on his face like a sour haddock.”

  “You have no idea what a haddock looks like, do you?” Clara replied.

  “I was trying to go with the nautical theme of the evening,” O’Harris countered. “Most fish look sour, don’t they?”

  “Miss Fitzgerald.”

  Captain Pevsner had arrived at their side and O’Harris had been right, even if his analogy was slightly flawed. The man looked worried and upset.

  “Might I have a moment of your time?” Captain Pevsner asked Clara.

  “It is urgent?” Clara asked, though she had no doubt it was.

  “Yes. Might you come up to my bridge? Captain O’Harris, you are welcome too,” Pevsner had added the last as an afterthought.

  “Something has happened,” Clara said with a sigh. “Right then, I guess it is time to be a detective again.”

  Captain Pevsner led them up to his bridge. At another time Clara would have been distracted by the marvellous view from the large glass windows. You could see for miles. But now was not the time for admiring the outlook.

  “I apologise for disrupting your evening further,” Captain Pevsner said as soon as they were on the bridge. They were alone, even Alfred Cinch was not present. “A situation has arisen that I could use your help resolving.”

  Captain Pevsner gave a long sigh and walked over to the table in the middle of the room that held charts. They were a token gesture, since the Mary Jane no longer traversed routes her captain did not know like the back of his hand. They were memories, however, and they stayed in a place to remind everyone that once the liner had sailed real oceans.

  “I am right in understanding, Miss Fitzgerald, that you are a private detective?”

  “Yes,” Clara confirmed.

  “And you have worked on cases alongside the Brighton police?”

  “I have a very good working relationship with the police. I aim not to tread on their toes, however.”

  Captain Pevsner seemed satisfied.

  “Th
ere is a situation aboard my ship that I would like to see resolved speedily and discreetly. If possible before we dock tomorrow. I would very much prefer not to have the night’s festivities disrupted further, or my guests unsettled by a police presence.”

  “What has happened?” Clara took a pace towards the captain, all seriousness now.

  “My cook was evacuated from the ship with the guests,” Captain Pevsner explained. “When he returned to the ship’s kitchen a short while ago, he was distressed to find a gentleman lying on the kitchen floor. Sadly, the gentleman was dead. Worse, he was one of the guests.”

  Clara’s shoulders sagged.

  “An accident?” She asked, knowing if that was the case she would not have been summoned.

  “It would appear he was murdered,” Captain Pevsner explained miserably. “And that places me in a tricky predicament. I could radio to the police, but I imagine they will ask me to dock at once and thus my guests will not get their expected New Year’s at sea. Equally, once I have docked there is a greater chance of the killer leaving the ship. Right now, he, or I suppose she, are trapped. I had hoped you might investigate the matter discreetly. If you could locate the murderer while we are still at sea, I could detain them and hand them over to the police tomorrow with a minimum of fuss.”

  “Clara is here for the festivities too, you know,” Captain O’Harris pointed out, his tone stern.

  “I am aware of that,” Captain Pevsner responded, his own tone was dull, as if he was struggling to comprehend what was happening. “Another time I would not have asked but this year…”

  Captain Pevsner looked wistfully out the window of the bridge, down to the sun deck where his passengers danced. He smiled faintly.

  “The Mary Jane has seen many years of fine service. She has helped her country in time of war and she has brought pleasure to a great many people. I have been her captain for almost twenty years. Before that, I was first mate aboard her. She is a friend as much as my vessel,” Captain Pevsner turned his eyes to Clara. “Old seadogs tend to become sentimental about their ships. Perhaps it is because you spend so much of your time together. This old girl is in my blood and that makes this last voyage all the harder.”

  “Last voyage?” Clara asked.

  “Mary Jane has had her day,” Pevsner creased his mouth into that faint smile again. “She is worn out. The sea has taken its toll. I have been denying it for a long time, but in my heart I know this will be our last venture. When I sail back to Brighton in 1922, so I will be saying goodbye to an old friend. The next stop for Mary Jane is a scrapyard and, perhaps, it will be time for me to hang up my sea-boots. I wanted this last voyage to be special, to be something to remember her by. I don’t want it spoiled by a police investigation. I don’t want my passengers leaving angry and upset. Not on this occasion. Not when I can’t redeem myself and Mary Jane.

  “I want my old girl to have a grand last voyage, not tarnished by spilt blood. If you can find this killer without alerting the passengers, all the better. I want people to go away with happy memories of the last time Mary Jane sailed, not memories of a murder.”

  “What if one of the passengers is the killer?” Clara said.

  Captain Pevsner shook his head.

  “They were all on the lifeboats.”

  “At least one was not,” Clara reminded him.

  Pevsner paused.

  “Your point is taken. But, still, if you can find who did this without a fuss, then this evening would not be ruined.”

  “The evening is already ruined for our dead man,” Clara said. “But I do understand, and there is wisdom in trying to solve this before the Mary Jane goes back to harbour. I’ll need full access to the ship and the cooperation of the crew.”

  “You will have it,” Pevsner promised.

  “Then I shall take the case.”

  “Clara!” O’Harris protested. “We are supposed to be celebrating New Year’s.”

  Clara glanced back at Captain O’Harris.

  “As I said before, I fully intend to be stood on the sun deck when the clock chimes midnight,” Clara assured him. “I won’t let you down.”

  O’Harris sighed, but then he smiled.

  “Do I get to tag along?”

  “I’m supposed to be spending the evening with you, so I hope so!”

  Captain Pevsner looked relieved.

  “Thank you, I really appreciate this.”

  Clara shrugged.

  “You best show me this body of yours.”

  Chapter Three

  Captain Pevsner led them below decks. The Mary Jane seemed quieter down here with the guests all up on deck. The music from the band just penetrated the closed confines; a faint echo in the corridors. However, the steady thrum of the engines as they descended further into the bowels of the ship, overrode the soft melody of the waltz from upstairs.

  The kitchen or, in nautical terms, the galley, was a long room set in the centre of the ship. Thus it had no windows and operated day and night by electric light generated via the engines. Even on a cold December night the kitchen was humid and brought Clara out in a sweat barely moments after she entered. Great ovens blazed out heat, no one had turned them off when the ship was evacuated. There was a smell of charred food as whatever was inside was burned to a crisp. The room would usually be steamy from all the pans of water bubbling away, but they had been removed from the heat when the kitchen was abandoned and now stood upon counters, their contents cold.

  The kitchen crew were nowhere to be seen. Clara glanced at Captain Pevsner for an explanation.

  “They are waiting in the chart room,” he explained. “When they came back in and discovered the body, they summoned me at once. I told them to wait in the chart room while I considered what to do.”

  “How many kitchen crew are there?” Clara asked as Captain Pevsner lead them down the length of the room.

  “Five. The cook, two assistants and two boys who deal with the cleaning and lifting.”

  The room was divided by long metal island units. They were rivetted to the floor with great bolts. Each served as storage space as well as a table to work on. Captain Pevsner led them down the right-hand side of these islands, finally turning at the end and stopping. The body was lying in the gap between the islands and the left-hand wall of the kitchen. From the waist down, the island masked the body from view, but the shoulders and head were sticking beyond the counter and easily visible.

  “It’s the drunk we met on deck!” O’Harris exclaimed. “The one who refused to get in a lifeboat.”

  Captain Pevsner seemed startled.

  “What is this?”

  “This gentleman,” Clara pointed to the corpse, “refused to get in a lifeboat when he was asked to and stormed off. It appears he never got in one.”

  “It was not your crew’s fault,” O’Harris hastened to add. “The man was belligerent. Only way to have put him in a lifeboat would have been with his lights knocked out.”

  Captain Pevsner was not appeased.

  “Do you know who this man is?” Clara asked, stepping closer to the body and crouching down.

  There was a large kitchen knife sticking out of the man’s right side, it had not been possible to see it from the angle she had been standing, but now she was closer she could make it out clearly. There was also a lot of blood pooled on the right side of the body. He had not died quickly.

  “I know a lot of my guests,” Captain Pevsner said. “But this man’s face I don’t recognise. Obviously, anyone with the money could buy a ticket to this event.”

  Clara took a better look at the victim; he was probably in his thirties with dark hair and a blotchy complexion that even in death was noticeable. Clara guessed he was a habitual heavy drinker. He had a strongly defined face – strong chin, strong nose, high cheekbones. The combination made his features handsome in a sturdy fashion. Age and drink, however, would likely strip that rugged charm and replace it with a sagged, swollen ugliness. But he was still young en
ough to carry his excesses lightly. When not drunk, Clara could imagine the man was very attractive to women.

  He wore a smart dress suit. She opened the jacket and found a label for a tailor’s shop in Brighton.

  “Parker’s,” she read out the label.

  “A very high-end tailor,” Captain O’Harris said. “Nothing ‘off-the-rack’. My uncle used to buy his suits from there, had a new one every few years. I remember the fittings could go on for weeks.”

  “This suit looks new,” Clara turned back the cuffs of the jacket and ran her finger over the satin lining. “There are no signs of wear and tear. Ah!”

  She retrieved something from the inside of the cuff, it was a tiny piece of cardboard.

  “He had failed to remove the tag,” she showed the slip to Pevsner and O’Harris. The cardboard was a name tag, indicating that the jacket belonged to a particular suit, and thus for a specific customer. Unfortunately, the tag did not indicate a full name, only the initials. H. K.

  “I could compare that to my passenger list,” Captain Pevsner said.

  “That would be helpful,” Clara nodded. She continued to look over H.K’s body, searching pockets from which she produced his ticket for the night’s event and a tin of breath mints. There was nothing else.

  “Why was he down here?” Pevsner puttered, glaring at the body as if it offended him, which it probably did. It was upsetting his well-ordered ship and disrupting the night’s proceedings.

  “The man, from the little I saw, was dreadfully drunk,” O’Harris said. “It was early in the evening as well. I would guess he was looking for another drink.”

  H.K. had a champagne glass by his hand. It had rolled into the pool of blood. Clara carefully picked it up and placed it on the island counter to her right.

  “That would confirm your theory,” Clara said. “The waiters scrambled into the boats with everyone else.”