Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates (21 page)

Once again, Simpers observed group head-nodding in play. Was he the only one to be totally bemused by Sir James' convoluted speech pattern, he thought.

'When you say, 'your superiors', who exactly are you talking about?' asked Simpers.

As he spoke, he noticed Pimlico beginning to bridle.

'Detective Inspector, it's not for you to…' began Pimlico.

'That's quite all right, Chief Inspector. Your man has every right to ask such a question,' interrupted Sir James.

It was Simpers that bridled now. He felt patronised. It was as if he were a servant of Pimlico's at some 18th century dining table.

'Suffice to say, Detective Inspector, that my superiors have a historical interest in Czar Nicholas II and his family. It is their earnest wish that the objects we have been discussing this morning come to no harm. Indeed, that they should be returned to the family's safekeeping, so to speak.'

'Are you telling me there is a Royal…' said Simpers.

'As I say, this is a family matter,' replied Sir James.

Simpers resisted the urge to probe further, not wishing to compromise his understanding, or display an ignorance of history. He glanced at Pimlico. His superior's body language told him not to push matters further.

'Well, gentlemen, thank you for meeting here today. In particular may I thank you, Brigadier Baako, for so generously hosting us, and of course for accommodating my Detective Inspector. Simpers grimaced at the memory of his night in the cells. Brigadier Baako smiled at the detective, shook his hand and chuckled quietly to himself.

'Before you go, Simpers, I should say that I expect you to solve this case before my briefing to the Chief Constable in Westbay next week. Do we understand each other?' said Pimlico after quietly taking his subordinate to one side.

Simpers knew there was no point discussing the issue with his superior. The detective merely acknowledged his superior’s order.

As Simpers went to leave the room, Sir James called him back. They now stood alone in the bleak space.

'How is Ms Wright-Morton doing?'

'You know Pippa?' replied Simpers.

'Oh, wheels within wheels, you know. I heard she was taking a cruise and I thought I'd ask after her. You know how it is,' said Sir James.

Simpers knew exactly how it was.

'She's fine, I think. As for taking a cruise holiday. Well, that depends on what you mean by 'holiday' as far as the diamonds are concerned,' replied Simpers.

'More of a busman's holiday, wouldn't you say,' replied Sir James.

'A good sort, Pippa. It's all about people who know people. Do we understand each other, Detective Inspector?'

Simpers didn't respond. He recognised power when he saw it.

'Good to see you back on board, Mr Simpers. Did you have a good visit to Cairo?' said the Commodore as he accompanied the detective along the Sun Deck of the enormous liner.

'Well, it was certainly eventful. Oh, and I met someone you know,' replied Simpers.

'I see, who was that?' replied the Commodore

'Brigadier Baako Adofo,' offered Simpers without further comment.

'Ah, I see. You may, perhaps, be wondering why I didn't take you into my confidence about my discussions with the Brigadier,' replied the Commodore.

Simpers glanced at the senior officer with a look that owed more to petulance than intrigue.

'The CEO of the cruise line ordered me to keep it from you. It sounds odd, doesn't it. Here I am in total command of the ship, yet unable to be fully open with you. You see, Simpers, as well as having responsibility, I'm also legally accountable for almost three thousand souls. I can't afford to do anything that would put any of them in danger,' said the Commodore.

'Poppycock,' replied Simpers as he halted his progress along the deck and turned to face the ship's master. 'You didn't trust me, did you?'

'Don't be ridiculous. Do you not think we had you checked out at the highest level before you set foot on the gangplank?' responded the Commodore. 'If I might give you a little advice, check you've dusted the chips off your shoulders each day before you meet the world, Detective Inspector, your mood will improve no end.'

Simpers was about to respond, but decided, instead, to allow the Commodore's searing comments to percolate into his consciousness. The detective knew he was prone to self-doubt that manifested itself as being defensive. Whenever he gave the matter any thought, blurred mental images of his childhood filled his head. It was, he had always considered, somewhere he didn't want to go.

'Anyway, the measures you asked me to put in place to ensure the gems didn't leave this vessel, well, they meshed perfectly with the steps Baako established. I therefore decided there was no reason to raise the matter with you. So, shall we move on, or will you continue to sulk?' said the Commodore.

Simpers knew from the tone of the Commodore's voice, and body language, that he was holding out an olive branch. He also knew that the Commodore would only go so far in making the first move. Simpers recognised it was now up to him to repair any damage between the two men.

'Yes, I see your point,' said Simpers.

'Well, I suppose that will have to do as far as an apology goes,' replied the Commodore. He smiled. As he did so, he moved closer to Simpers to dominate the space. 'Ticketyboo. Let's get on with the day. We shall leave the port around seven this evening. Will you join me for dinner?'

Simpers was relieved at what could have ended as a damaging encounter, had ended civilly.

'Thank you for your kind offer. I'd be delighted. I'll see you at around eight thirty. Thank you, Commodore.'

***

As Simpers wandered around the ship, he watched crew members being put through various safety drills. On the quayside, others were busy using rollers attached to long poles, repainting the hull's rust-stained paintwork caused by the ravages of seawater.

He contrasted their labours with those on holiday as they milled about the luxurious liner. With most people still ashore, the ship felt almost deserted. Here and there, couples held hands and dawdled along the never-ending decks. Others, dressed in shorts and trainers with the obligatory earphones in place, scuttled along the decks as if the ship was on fire.

Now on the inside of the vast ship, Simpers meandered through an endless succession of bars, lounges and bistros. He passed a small group of passengers as they made their way into the cinema to watch, with supreme irony, Simpers thought,
Titanic
.

As he continued his stroll down the sumptuously decorated thoroughfare, he passed the half open glass door of a show lounge. As he did so, he noticed a man addressing a group of about twenty passengers on a subject, which was clearly holding their attention. Simpers stopped, turned and walked back a few paces to read a sign attached to the door. It read:

Drake's Book Club

Guest speaker: Simon Fellowes

Book of the day: River God by Wilbur Smith

Intrigued, and at a loose end, Simpers wandered into the room and took a seat just inside the doorway. The detective was impressed that the topic of the day was designed to coincide with their stay in Egypt. The thrust of the book was that of a young slave in ancient times, risking all to save the Princess that he served. The audience seemed enthralled as the lecturer explained how the book had been constructed to keep the reader excited and interested.

'Particularly fascinating, is the length to which the author went in ensuring historical accuracy,' said the lecturer.

This was beginning to interest Simpers, since he much preferred to deal with facts, rather than hearsay.

'See how powerful the written word is in painting a picture of the time,' continued the lecturer. 'Imagine putting your finger on a map, then conjuring up a few words that painted pictures in your mind. What would those words say to you about the place?'

The lecturer's words shocked Simpers, as if he'd been plunged into an ice-cold pool.

What was it about those letters he'd seen on the atlas when he'd first joined the ship? He thought.

Unable to let go of the conundrum, Simpers left the room as quietly as he had entered, and made his way to the library.

Entering the quietness of the space, Simpers couldn't help imagining it as the library of a 19th century country house, Simpers drank in the atmosphere. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves made from the finest American red oak lined two walls. Books of all sorts filled every available inch. Some were encased between leaded glass doors, others lay haphazardly awaiting rearrangement.

At a table to the side of the entrance doorway sat a middle-aged woman dressed in a tweed suit. Simpers couldn't believe that such people still existed. He wondered whether in executing her job as librarian, she'd been required to wear such archetypal dress. The hair swept back into a bun, and the narrow rimmed glasses that sat low on her nose, completed the caricature.

In another corner sat a man reading his newspaper. He held the open broadsheet in front of him, so that only the tips of his fingers cradling the paper, and his trouser legs, which terminated in well cared for black brogues were on display.

Simpers turned his attention to the immaculate cherry-wood veneered table on which sat the great atlas. He walked silently across a small space and took a seat on the table. Before him lay the document that had intrigued him for so long. Since he had last seen the imposing volume, it had been thumbed many times. The pages he was interested in took some time to find. Then, there it was. The ship's cruise itinerary displayed as a series of straight red lines, which pivoted about each of the ports the ship would visit during the cruise.

The detective's index finger traced a line showing their visits to date, the ship's current position and where it was to call next. Istanbul.

His eyes were inextricably drawn to the handwriting he'd seen when he first looked at the coloured plate. It was written beneath the name of a place they wouldn't be visiting. Yalta.

H2Vn

Simpers racked his brain as he tried to make sense of what his police senses told him might be a code.

'Have you a book on the Crimea?' asked Simpers as he distracted the librarian from the frenetic pace with which her fingers pounded the keyboard in front of her.

'The Crimea?' replied the woman. Her smile, and obvious interest in his question, convinced Simpers holidaymaker interaction with the woman was a rare event.

'You do know we're not visiting the Crimea on this cruise, don't you,' she added.

'Yes, yes I know that. But there's a couple of things I'm interested in and I just want to double-check,' replied Simpers.

With three clicks of the keyboard, the librarian flashed up a shortlist of book titles on her computer screen.

'Aha, success. I have a couple of novels set in that part of the world, plus a non-fiction reference work. Which would you like?' she said.

'The reference book, I think,' replied Simpers.

'I'm impressed. After all, you're on holiday, so I'm surprised you're after such heavy reading,' she said.

'Oh, geography and history are a hobby of mine,' said Simpers, none too convincingly.

A few seconds later, the librarian had identified the book's location, retrieved it, and handed the hefty tome to the detective.

Simpers settled himself into his task. He went straight for the index and looked for pages that contained any information on Yalta, and its surroundings. The next twenty minutes were spent making a list of anything that looked like a pattern, which could be tied back to the letters and numbers Simpers had seen on the map.

The going was made all the harder because of the place names spelled out in Russian. Simpers was frustrated that although he recognised several of the letters, none of them were used in the same context as their English counterparts.

'Mr Simpers. So you managed to get out of that jail, did you? Are we to call you a criminal now?'

Simpers irritation at being disturbed was tempered by the sight of two people he now regarded as friends, something the detective wasn't accustomed to doing. Amelia's greeting raised his spirits.

'What on earth was all that about in the restaurant last night?' asked Amelia.

'I'm as much in the dark as you, Amelia. I know I didn't give that taxi driver any torn currency. Anyway, I'm pleased to say we managed to sort it out, though not before I spent an uncomfortable night on a stone slab. Not to be recommended, I tell you,' replied Simpers, working hard to keep the conversation light, without revealing anything he knew might put Amelia and Jonathan in danger. After all, he thought, the last thing he needed was for Amelia to launch into one of her amateur sleuth-type escapades again.

'Well, that's as may be, but what are you up to now. This all looks very serious,' replied Amelia as she spotted the detective's notepad on the table.

Simpers knew he had a choice. He could spin Amelia a line to deflect the woman, or show her what he was trying to decipher. He took the second option.

'Now let's see,' said Amelia, as she leaned over the atlas, 'the first thing that springs to mind is that we need to find a connection between the graffiti, and its position on the map.'

'Yes, that had occurred to me. The problem is, I can't make the connection,' replied Simpers.

'Is this any good?' said Jonathan, as he handed Simpers what looked like a pamphlet.

'It's just a port guide, Jonathan,' said the detective as he quickly scanned the document's main title. 'I'm not sure that this gets us any further – but thanks anyway.'

Unwilling to accept Simpers' dismissal, Jonathan pressed his case.

'You're not listening, Mr Simpers. While you two have been talking for England, I've been looking through a pile of guides in that cupboard over there. See, they're all laid out the same way,' said Jonathan, as he showed Amelia and Simpers several examples to reinforce his point.

'They all have a map of the port area where the ship docks. Then they have a list of things to see and do, and they all include some local phrases. You know, like, 'where is the post office', and stuff like that,' added Jonathan.

'Yes, yes. I see that,' replied Simpers, trying hard not to show his frustration with Jonathan. As far as he was concerned, it was a distraction from the task in hand.

'You're still not listening, are you? In the one for Yalta – that's the place you're looking at, isn't it?' Simpers nodded as Jonathan spoke. 'As well as all the other stuff, this one includes some stuff on the Russian alphabet. Can't you see, some of the letters are the same. It's got to mean something, hasn't it?' added Jonathan, excitedly.

'Here, let's have a look at that,' said Amelia, before continuing, 'You might just have something, Jonathan.'

The young man looked suitably pleased with himself in thinking he was directly responsible for cracking the code Simpers was struggling with.

'Do you now, Mr Simpers, young Jonathan here isn't as daft as he looks,' said Amelia as she winked at the young man. 'My husband played the Moscow State Variety Theatre, years ago. We got talking to one of the Russian acts about the language and, funnily enough, just the point Jonathan has made about some of the letters looking the same. Here, have a look at that, Jonathan.'

Amelia took the port guide from the young man and placed it next to the graffiti on the atlas.

'Is it making any sense to you, Amelia?' asked Simpers, willing the woman to get a move on.

'Well, let's see,' replied Amelia, before continuing, 'the V from the graffiti could be transcribed as L in Cyrillic – that's what the Russian alphabet is written in, you know.'

Simpers glanced at Amelia, not sure whether to thank the woman for her contribution, or be irritated at what sounded like a lecture.

'Then there's the 'n'. Now, the nearest letter in our alphabet to that is P. As for the '2', well, I've no idea. But the Cyrillic for H is N – or near enough, anyway.' Does that help? said Amelia.