Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (4 page)

Edward picked up a nearby videotape, remembering that he had used it to record the Oscars three nights earlier. No loss there if he recorded over it, though he had been happy to see Henry Fonda win. At age 76, Fonda was only a couple of years older than Edward.
Chariots of Fire
won ‘Best Picture', which was a disappointment. Secretly, Edward was rooting for
Raiders of the Lost Ark
as it reminded him of the old movie serials from his youth. Any movie that had Nazis seared by the hand of God deserved merit. The machine whirred as Edward popped the tape in and turned his attention back to the news.

"
When did you first receive the distress call?
"
asked a reporter.

"
Zero-zero, zero-five hours. Um…five minutes after midnight. It led us to where the woman’s body was discovered.
"

The image on the screen changed to a map of the North Atlantic. An X was drawn at a specific latitude and longitude. Sadler’s voice seemed miles away as Edward felt his blood turn cold. He knew that location very well. His hand flew to the buttons on the VCR and pressed ‘record’. Edward stood back and continued to watch as the news segment unfolded on the television. A mysterious woman
,
found floating on a wooden deck chair
..
.

"
This was one of the items she was carrying,
"
said the Captain on the television screen, as he quickly held up a hardcover book. The familiar sight shocked Edward so
much that
he made an audible gasp.
"
As you can see, the perpetrators of this p
rank
added this… prop… as a way of misleading us. This hoax may have some dire consequences, however: this civilian was obviously in the freezing waters longer than they might have expected and she may die as a result.
"

"
Thank you Captain Sadler,
"
interjected the young male reporter. He then turned to the camera.
"
Anyone with information is asked to contact…
"

Edward’s finger hit ‘stop’ on the recorder, then he pressed ‘play’. The image flickered and jumped as he saw what he had taped over for a moment, then he hit rewind and watched as the image of the newscast he had just recorded flickered in reverse. Edward released the rewind button,
winced as
the gears made
a labored grinding sound, then
jabbed the ‘pause’ button the instant the book cover appeared on the screen.

There was no denying it. The book was the 1898 original printing of the novel
Futility
by Morgan Robertson. T
here were only a handful of
first prints left in the world, and Edward owned two of them. The last one had cost him $10,000 in an auction sale. It seemed ludicrous to think someone had put something so rare into seawater for a prank. He strolled over to the glass-covered bookshelf where he kept his most precious books and opened the door to retrieve one of his copies for comparison. The 1898 edition was sitting next to the 1912 edition. The latter had the title changed on the cover to
"
Futility or the Wreck of the Titan
"
to capitalize
on
the infamous tragedy that same year.

Pulling the first edition out, he turned and walked back to the jittery, paused image on the television set. Same grey cloth cover, same solitary title ‘
Futility
’ in bright red letters centered in a black lined box. There was a crude, hand-drawn illustration of a large ocean liner with three visible smoke stacks sinking into wavy waters next to a mammoth iceberg. Anyone looking at this drawing would immediately suspect that the artist was depicting the sinking of the
Titanic
. It is astonishing to think that the artist drew this image 14 years
before
the
Titanic
existed.

Furthermore, the story itself had more startling similarities. The fictional ship from 1898 was called the
Titan
and
,
like its real life counterpart from 1912
,
was the largest luxury craft in the world. They were both roughly the same size, with the
Titan
only 82
ft shorter than
Titanic
’s 882
ft. The fictional ship was traveling at 25
knots one night during the month of April and struck an iceberg. The RMS
Titanic
was breaking speed records at 23
knots and on the night of April 14, 1912, struck an iceberg. Neither ship had enough lifeboats for
the number of passengers aboard
and as a result there was a tremendous lo
ss of life. The bitter irony wa
s that both ships had been described as ‘unsinkable’.

Edward glanced over to the opposite end of the room where the 1/144 scale model of the
Titanic
sat under glass. The RMS
Titanic
had been an obsession of his for most of his life. Most considered it unhealthy, but it was quite understandable since seventy years ago this month he and his family barely escaped from the sinking of the
Titanic
. While most survivors tried to forget the events of that horrendous night, Edward knew the truth:
Those who survived the sinking of Titanic… never really escaped from it.

Edward felt himself shiver and glanced about. All warmth was drained from the room as clouds drowned out the rising sun. Edward
's
gaze drifted to the television set.
A prank? To what end? What purpose would the death of this poor woman serve?
Edward turned back to the model of the ship.
How ironic that this is happening now.

. . .

Three hundred miles away, on a different television screen, the image of the mysterious woman being wheeled on a gurney through the double doors of a hospital’s Emergency entrance was shown. From the television speaker, the voice of the reporter talked over the image on the screen,
"
The woman was found alone adrift on a wooden deck chair of a ship. She had no identification and only had a book and a child’s teddy bear clutched in her hands…
"

The unsteady camera zoomed into the unconscious face of the woman.

His glass of brandy smashed on the hardwood floor.
It couldn’t be!

Chapter
IV

BLEEP  BLEEP  BLEEP

The heart-tracking electrocardiogram (ECG) machine bleeped very slowly. There was little hope for the woman who was found in the middle of the ocean: death was inevitable and there were no medical miracles. That was the one certainty that Denise had learned from years of being a nurse.

Denise had come a long way from her early candy-striper days in Nebraska. Being a nurse in Manhattan was drastically different
from being one
in her hometown. Every time she thought that the weirdest medical case ever had crossed her path, an even stranger incident would occur to trump the one before. Such was the variety that she liked about her job. The lack of routine kept her going. Every day was potentially different. She also really enjoyed helping people, and even though some situations were heartbreaking, knowing at the end of the day that she helped heal or ease pain made the long hours worthwhile. Even when encountering the direst of circumstances, she knew she had made the end of a life a little bit easier, both for the patient and their families.

On the other hand, she loathed the situations when some families were unwilling to accept that this may just be the end for their loved one. Allowing them to linger on ventilators with no neurological function, or with an end-stage disease hoping for a 'miracle' that would never come was a waste of time. As harsh as it sounded to her friends and family, Denise was forced to become a realist in her profession. There were no medical miracles.

It was odd, then, when a patient had no family at all at their bedside. This case of Jane Doe, also known as ‘Myra Doe’ amongst the staff, was certainly perplexing. Who was she? Did her family know where she was? How did she end up in the middle of the ocean? Denise had heard a rumor that it was some sort of stunt or prank. It would certainly explain the costume hanging in the closet. Not the craziest stunt Denise had ever seen: when the Superman movie came out a couple of years ago, there was an influx of admissions who had mixed stupidity with drugs and alcohol — a deadly combination. In most cases the dead ones were the most fortunate, for those who ended up immobilized from the neck down in the NICU would have the rest of their lives to contemplate their actions. This was not going to be the case with 'Myra Doe'. Denise sighed. She would be surprised if 'Myra' lasted the night. She looked down at her patient. Although brain death does take longer in stage-three hypothermia due to the cell degradation, the major organs most likely have failed at this point. However, the 3-lead ECG still registered a low heartbeat. Denise looked at the mysterious woman lying motionless with the olive-green oxygen mask over her face. In the dim light it appeared as if the bluish complexion was getting warmer. Denise knew that was impossible. The rhythmic sound of the bellows in her ventilator gave the illusion of life, but it was mechanically induced. This woman would never regain consciousness and she would eventually die, taking the secret of how she ended up in the middle of the ocean with her to the grave.

Denise turned to leave but a change of sound stopped her in mid-step. The tones from the ECG seemed to increase in speed. Denise furrowed her brow.
That’s impossible!
She checked the individual connections to the machine and found everything working as it should. She turned back to observe the patient, even though she was convinced that her mind was playing tricks on her. If she didn’t know any better, Denise could have sworn the woman’s eyes were fluttering beneath her eyelids. Denise leaned closer to take a look.

The patient suddenly sat bolt upright and screamed! Denise’s scream echoed it down the hospital halls.

Confused and disoriented, the patient struggled desperately to rip the oxygen mask from her face. The elasticized strap snapped it right back, causing her to scream in terror once again. Denise needed to take control of the situation.

"
Myra? Is your name Myra?
"
asked Denise, trying to calm her own nerves as well as the patient’s. The woman stopped screaming, and a blank look fell across her face.

"
Myra?
"
Denise whispered hoarsely. There was a spark of recognition in her eyes as the woman nodded slightly. Suddenly panic fell across ‘Myra’s’ face as she wheezed beneath the mask,
"
I can’t remember anything.
"

"
You were found in the ocean. Do you remember how you got there?
"

"
I can’t remember anything! Nothing before waking up!
"
she wailed. Then she began to claw at the medical paraphernalia all over her body, knocking over the IV drip and tearing at the oxygen mask like a wild animal. The beeps from the ECG began to speed up at an alarming rate.

"
Myra! I need you to calm down,
"
Denise said soothingly while seizing and squeezing her hand. It was no use. Myra was in a state of panic.

"
She’s hyperventilating!
"
Denise called out to a passing nurse, trying to be urgent yet trying to use a calm voice.
"
Get Doctor Rowland!
"

A look of terror crossed the patient's face as an odd gurgling sound emanated from her cracked lips. She fell back onto the bed as, the ECG became erratic.

BLEEP-BLEEP-BLEEPBLEEPBLEEPBLEEPBLEEP!

"She's going into cardiac arrest!" screamed Denise, knocking over the ECG as she commenced CPR, "Code Blue!"

As the shrill alarm rang out in the hallway, Denise continued alternating giving her mysterious patient breaths and pushing on her chest to simulate the heart's own pumping action. Within seconds, the Code Blue Team arrived. Many hands flew into action. 'Myra' Doe's hospital gown was ripped open as Denise continued to administer CPR.
Odd looking scar on her body,
thought Denise. It was a fleeting thought in itself amidst the chaos and the continuous chest compressions Denise was administering.

A flurry of hands, tubes, lines and overlapping voices worked expertly around Denise as she continued her work. Then when the ECG sprang back to life, Denise found herself praying. Praying for a miracle. She had never seen someone so alert after suffering severe hypothermia. Denise didn't want her to die. She didn't want the mystery to die with her.

"Clear!" yelled Doctor Rowland, the attending physician.

Denise pulled her hands away from her CPR duties, as everyone stepped away from the bed to allow the doctor to apply the defibrillator paddles. It only takes one bad experience to teach emergency personnel to take a step away from any part of the bed as 300-plus volts of electricity surge
s
through a patient.