Cold Grave (24 page)

FitzHarris led the way to a room she had not been in before, a far cry from the pathology labs she was used to. A centrifuge, spectrophotometer and blood gas machine sat amidst other high-tech equipment.

‘Are the markings gang-related?’

‘I thought of that.’ FitzHarris laid the jacket, with the back fully exposed, on the glass benchtop and took some photos. ‘None I’ve seen, and he doesn’t have any tattoos to match.’ A few images later, he added, ‘I’ll send these off to a friend who owes me a favour. If it’s a gang, he’s sure to know who we’re dealing with.’

‘Could something be hidden inside the lining?’ Anya asked.

‘I had it taken to X-ray in the baggage compartment. Nothing but a docket and handkerchiefs in the pockets. And this.’

He held up an empty, palm-sized, clear plastic bag with a press-seal.

‘I’m guessing Carlos was dealing, and trod on the wrong toes.’

Anya wasn’t sure if his choice of words was accidental or deliberate.

‘We can test it in the puffer.’

Anya knew the machine from airports, as a mobile form of spectrometry. It could detect the presence of substances ranging from explosives and chemicals used to make bombs, to illegal drugs like cocaine, heroin and methamphetamine. Doctors needed to know what they were dealing with which made sense to have the machine in the medical centre. Even so, knowing about the GHB would not have helped Lilly. By the time she was found, it was too late to save her.

Fitz swabbed inside and outside the bag and placed the material square in the reader.

A few seconds later, it beeped.

‘There must be a mistake. Let’s check this thing’s been calibrated recently.’

He pressed some buttons, then repeated the process.

Again, it beeped on completion.

Fitz scratched the side of his head. ‘Negative. No PCP, meth, ecstasy, cocaine, hash or heroin. Nothing.’

The bag was clean. The machines were so sensitive that even the most minute trace should have been detected.

Without a word, Fitz headed out the door. Anya slipped off one earring and placed it in her jeans pocket just as he reappeared with a brown paper bag. ‘These are the clothes he was wearing when he was shot. If he handed over his stash, there could be something on these.’

He swabbed almost all of the outside of the clothing. Over dried blood, and inside the pockets.

Once again, the reading was unequivocally negative.

‘I don’t get it. Why does he want the jacket? What’s there we aren’t seeing?’ He paced the length of the room and back. ‘This guy is in dire need of money for his wife and kids. Desperate people do desperate things. What the hell did he do to get himself shot? And where’s the money?’

‘The shooter or his cabin mate could have taken it.’

‘I doubt that. Carlos must have something the shooter wants, otherwise why not just kill him? He has to have some money.’

‘And he knows it’s safe. But where on the ship would he hide money, knowing it was guaranteed not to be found?’

With the amount of cleaning and safety checks on board, he had to have trusted someone else implicitly, or had a brilliant hiding place.

‘Apart from the jacket,’ Anya remembered. ‘He mentioned flowers.’

‘All they found was a painting by someone I never heard of. If you ask me, a three year old could have done a better job. It’s full of shiny lumps and glitter. One of my boys showed the fine-art auctioneer who assures me it’s rubbish, not worth the cost of the canvas. If Carlos converted cash into something he thought would appreciate in value, he was ripped off.’

Anya wondered about other things he could have bought for investment. Something they could have missed.

‘Where else has the ship been recently, while Carlos was on board?’

‘Let’s see,’ he looked at the ceiling, trying to recall. ‘Egypt, north of Africa, Mediterranean, India, the Baltic Sea before that, Mexico.’

Metals and jewellery should have shown up on X-ray. He had to buy something that was sellable and likely to maintain if not increase in value. The painting must have had sentimental value. Maybe one of his children did it after all.

‘In the good old days, people sewed money into their clothing. But now, the metal strips on the bills show up on X-ray. The guy’s paranoid about customs, the Colombian government, hell, he’s even scared of the owners of the cruise line. He’s not talking. If he has a stash, chances are he’s leaving this ship without it.’

Anya wondered if anyone could blame the poor garbage sorter for not talking. Someone he probably knew shot him in both legs. Not to kill, but to maim. Whoever the shooter was, they were still on the ship and able to get to Carlos again. The shooting was a way of ensuring his silence. It had been highly effective.

Fitz walked into Carlos’s room, with the jacket in the bag by his side. Carlos was awake again. ‘Listen, you need a friend and, right now, me and Doctor Crichton are all you’ve got.’

Carlos gagged, then projected green bile across the room. Anya grabbed a plastic bowl from near the sink and held it for him. Each of his fingers turned a bluish white, and began to shake. His arms quickly became mottled.

‘What’s happening? Is it a fit?’

Anya felt his clammy hand. ‘Carlos, can you hear me?’

With a look of terror, he nodded.

‘I think you have a temperature, which is why your body’s shaking. It should settle in a minute. All right?’

He nodded again.

Karen arrived, with paracetamol. FitzHarris pulled out the jacket and Carlos visibly relaxed.

‘Your painting’s safe too,’ Anya remarked and the rigors settled.

On the way out, she tugged on her empty earlobe indicating the missing earring.

‘I’ll check the testing room,’ FitzHarris said.

Anya opted for the office, and plucked the memory card from the bin. She didn’t know what she could do with it but it was the only possible evidence they had and she wouldn’t just let FitzHarris dispose of it.

22

After meeting up at the suite, Anya, Ben and Martin chose one of the cafés for lunch. Outside the Four Clover pub they could hear a violinist playing Irish jigs inside. The music quickly piqued Ben’s interest.

‘Jasmine plays the violin. Is she here?’

‘Not today, but you can tell her what you heard next time you see her.’

No detail was spared in the decor. The wood and glass fascia closely resembled a number of Irish pubs she had been to, complete with the harp logo of Guinness beer on the front doorstep. Inside it looked like St Patrick’s Day, with green streamers and balloons. Wooden chairs and tables filled the place, broken up by dark wooden poles. Ben thought it was like something from a Harry Potter movie, but Martin corrected him with a story about how they had all lived in England and travelled to Ireland while he was a baby. Anya remembered the trip well. It had been one of their happiest times as a family. She stroked Ben’s hair as he read most of the words on the menu and asked her to explain the dishes he didn’t understand, like shepherd’s pie, Irish stew, herb dumpling stew, and corned beef and cabbage. Predicatably, he asked for a hamburger with wedges from the children’s menu.

‘We know Ben had a fantastic time in kids’ club, but how was Mum’s morning?’ Martin peered over his menu.

‘I learnt some things, and saw the sick man in the hospital, who asked for some things from his cabin.’

A waitress delivered a paper placemat for Ben printed with activities, complete with colouring pencils. She took their orders and promised to be right back with drinks.

‘Anything to explain why he got sick?’

‘That’s what’s strange. All he wanted was a black leather jacket and a painting that’s worthless, according to the art dealer on board.’

‘Maybe he ate the paint,’ Ben contemplated as he coloured in a pirate. ‘Our teacher says we’ll get sick if we eat it.’

Anya and Martin glanced at each other.

‘They only X-rayed his legs,’ Anya said, suddenly realising. Carlos could have swallowed the drugs in condoms. If he had, he could quickly become ill – a burst condom could be fatal. The tremors could be explained by a rush of cocaine or heroin through his system, but they had quickly settled with paracetamol.

‘Fitz swabbed his clothes and possessions for medicines, but every test came back negative. We also went through some refuse, and found a memory card for a camera but it was blank.’

The violinist approached their table and began to play, ‘Danny Boy’. The men behind the bar sang along and encouraged customers to join in. As the song ended, Ben had a lemonade, Martin had a beer and Anya had a small glass of house wine. The musician moved to another part of the restaurant playing ‘When Irish Eyes Are Smiling’.

‘Why would anyone throw out a blank card?’

‘It was the size that automatically comes with a camera and can’t store many images. It was inside a container for one with a lot more memory.’

‘Still, I would have kept it as a backup. Do you think it was deleted or never used?’

‘That’s what I’d like to know.’

The waitress delivered their meals, and Ben’s cheeseburger filled up most of his plate. The wedges came in a large bowl. Anya reached across and grabbed one, to Ben’s surprise. ‘It’s the tax you have to pay your parents.’

‘You’re so funny, Mummy,’ he said with a giant grin.

Martin had the Irish stew and explained the contents to their son. Anya’s corned beef and potatoes made her mouth water as she took a bite.

With Ben occupied by his lunch, Martin said, ‘I once accidentally deleted some photos. I thought they were gone, but when I rang the camera shop they said if you haven’t re-written over the files, the originals can be retrieved using a special software. It’s still on my computer, in case it ever happens again.’

‘Do you think you could try with this memory card?’

‘Be happy to.’

They smiled at each other. It was unlikely they’d find anything, Anya thought, but at least they were trying to find out what happened to Lilly.

As they ate, the restaurant filled to capacity. It was obviously popular with passengers, especially in rainy, windy weather.

‘Mum, Dad, can we go ice-skating this afternoon?’

‘Don’t see why not unless your mum has other ideas.’

‘Ice-skating in the middle of the ocean. Why not?’

‘Thanks, Mum.’ He rewarded her with a long sideways hug.

‘We need to have a short rest in the suite though, so your stomach can process all that food, and dig out some warm clothes. Mum and I have to look something up on the computer, then we can go skating.’

They left the restaurant and stayed undercover back to their luxurious accommodation. Once again Anya was glad they had moved cabins. It made life a lot easier for Ben, and Martin was proving to be good company.

Martin switched on his computer and she handed him the SD card. A movie Ben loved was playing, so he was happy to sit with Anya, snuggled up for a while.

It wasn’t long before Martin had something.

‘Annie, I think you need to see this.’

She excused herself from Ben and took a seat next to his father at the table.

A close-up image filled the screen. It was a profile view of a blonde woman performing oral sex, two hands holding the sides of her head. There was no ring on the man’s exposed left hand. Dreading the idea of seeing Lilly in any of the shots, Anya pressed the arrow button. Two similar shots were taken from above. The next was a large hand cupping a small naked breast. There was a wedding ring on this hand. Neither male nor female face was in the frame. The final two images were of a naked woman lying on her back, head to the side with legs splayed open. Hair covered part of her face, but the hair band was unmistakable. The sequined embellishment glistened with the flash. This was Kandy Ratzenberg. Anya breathed out. The fifteen-year-old girl had been with Lilly earlier that evening and claimed she had gone to bed straight after. Either she lied or, because of drugs in her system, could not remember what had happened that night.

‘She’s the one I saw in the corridor having sex.’ Martin sounded as if he were confessing to something. ‘I had no idea she was so young or that she could have been under the influence of drugs.’ He clicked the arrow again. ‘There’s one more.’ This time, Brian Peterson was on his knees, posing with his tongue licking one of Kandy’s exposed nipples. A number of exposed legs were captured in the background: an audience cheering Peterson on.