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Authors: Kerry Greenwood

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BOOK: Death by Water
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‘He’s a bad man,’ said Dot, not surprised. ‘What sort of odd?’

‘He’s got a secret, and he’s delighted with it,’ said Phryne slowly. ‘And being a bad man, it’s got to be a bad secret. I wonder what it is? I’d like to seize him by the throat and shake him until he told me. But we women are denied these simple pleasures. How are the crew taking this?’

‘They’re shocked,’ said Dot. ‘They liked Jack Mason and they don’t think this’ll be good for the company. I listened when they were all talking at breakfast and at lunch today, and no one seems to know anything. Except they’ve not found the boathook.’

‘Where did it come from?’

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‘There’s one stowed alongside each lifeboat,’ said Dot.

‘They’re for pushing the boat away from the side of the ship when it’s being lowered, as well as a lot of other stuff. Big ugly things with a brass head with a hook on.’

‘Not much different from a good old English pike,’ murmured Phryne. ‘And this one is missing?’

‘Yes,’ Dot replied. ‘And so is Mr Mason’s man. Thomas.

The one who was so snooty about wines. They reckon he must have got off the ship while she was moored, and they’re looking for him in Dunedin. It’s not a big place and he’s a stranger, he won’t get far.’

‘You’ve been talking to Detective Inspector Minton, haven’t you?’ accused Phryne, closing her eyes.

‘No, Detective Sergeant Peace,’ said Dot, not even blushing. ‘He was in the crew’s recreation rooms with the Maoris.

He knows Caroline’s father. I think he’s some kind of relation.

They all sat down and talked about the murder but no one knows anything. It was so sudden and unexpected that I don’t think it’ll be solved, Miss.’

‘Oh, it’ll be solved,’ said Phryne. ‘Ring up, Dot, and make me an appointment with the doctor at, say, three o’clock? Just a headache, that’s all. I’m going to read for a little while. I want to think.’

Dot made the appointment and Phryne perused
The
Murder of Roger Ackroyd
. If only real life could be that neat.

At three o’clock she was at the doctor’s surgery door and was admitted by an affable Maori nurse. She was middle aged, plump and comfortable. Her white uniform shone with cleanliness and starch. Phryne could smell it. Which argued that Mrs West’s nose was also in good working order. And she had been dancing with Jack Mason late in the evening, after the others. And she had not smelt spirits on that spirit sodden young man. Strange.

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‘Doctor will see you now, Miss Fisher,’ she said, and led Phryne into a well-equipped surgery. Doctor Shilletoe was sitting with his head in his hands.

‘Nip out and order the doctor a cup of strong coffee, will you, Nurse?’ she asked, and the woman gave her a conspiratorial grin and went out.

‘Hello,’ said Phryne. ‘It’s not as bad as all that, you know.’

The doctor raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin was grey. His mouth was loose. Phryne had seen more animation on corpses dug out of shell holes.

‘It’s worse,’ he groaned.

‘I think I know most of it,’ said Miss Fisher, taking hold of both his hands. They were unnaturally hot. ‘And it can be fixed. Both problems can be fixed.’

‘How do you know?’

‘You are not the first blackmail victim I have met,’ said Phryne bluntly. ‘Here is your coffee. Lots of sugar,’ she instructed, watching him load it into the cup. ‘That’s right.

Now, have you any aspirin? Take two. Have you had anything to eat today? I thought not. Sorry to ask again, Nurse, but can you rustle up some sandwiches for the doctor?’

‘Right away,’ said the nurse. ‘You’re doing him good, Miss.

I’ve been that worried about him.’

Doctor Shilletoe, after the first few mouthfuls of coffee, began to resent this conversation.

‘If you ladies have quite finished with your consultation about my state of health—’

‘No use getting shirty with us,’ his nurse told him firmly.

‘You’re the one who’s eating your heart out. I’ll go get some grub. Back soon. And you do what she tells you,’ she added.

‘She’s been with me a long time,’ apologised Doctor Shilletoe.

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‘And you’re lucky to have her. A very competent person. On an empty stomach that aspirin ought to start doing its stuff pretty soon. But meanwhile, why not wash your face, shave, perhaps a clean shirt? You’ll feel better.’

‘Very well, Miss Fisher,’ he said wearily. He got up and went into his own quarters. When he emerged ten minutes later, much cleaner, the nurse had returned with a tray.

‘There,’ she said, pouring him another cup of coffee.

‘There’s no one waiting and if anyone comes, I’ll send them to Nicholls. And these are ham and cheese, your favourite.’

He picked up the first one languidly, then quickly demolished the plateful and another cup of coffee.

‘There,’ said Phryne. ‘Human again. Tomorrow night I am setting a trap for your blackmailers, and I shall succeed in apprehending them. I will tell you all about that in a moment.’

The doctor made a broad gesture which swept the sandwich plate onto the floor, where it smashed. Phryne recalled that he did tend to break crockery when stirred.

‘Miss Fisher, if that happens, I shall be ruined!’

‘No, you shan’t, if you do as I say. I’ve done this—and harder—things before. No one wants a fuss. If I can produce a neat
Murder of Roger Ackroyd
solution, everyone will be happy and no one will inquire further.’

There was a silence while a newly renovated doctor stared at Phryne Fisher in her blue suit, her hands folded in her lap in that Millais pose, her eyes as sharp as emeralds.

‘Who are you?’ asked the doctor. ‘You are not the standard cruise passenger, I can tell you that.’

‘Thank you,’ said Phryne in a self-possessed manner. ‘You are correct. I am a lot of things, some of which do not concern you, but mostly I am Phryne Fisher. Come along, Doctor. You have plunged yourself so deep into the soup that only one
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nostril is presently above the surface. I can extract you, but only if you trust me.’

‘I have to think about it,’ he muttered, avoiding her eyes.

Phryne stood up abruptly. ‘You have until dinner. If, in the interim, you are intending to go and ask your blackmailers whether you should hand them over to justice, then you are a moron and I wash my hands of you. But your nurse and I think you are cleverer than that.’

‘I hope you are both right,’ he mumbled. ‘All right. How, in fact, could things be worse? What do you want me to do?’

‘Talk to me,’ said Phryne. ‘First, what did you do with the boathook? I want it back.’

He stared at her, utterly aghast. No wonder he had been reducing himself to a nervous wreck over the past few days, Phryne thought. This was a nice young man with a funda-mental honesty which was being cruelly outraged by the minute.

‘Fingerprints,’ she explained. ‘You’re labouring under the delusion that there is only one criminal conspiracy aboard this ship. So you assumed that the boathook and the jewels are connected. But they aren’t. So I want the boathook back, please.

And then I want to examine your surgical instruments.’

‘It’s in the lifeboat,’ said the doctor. ‘Above the davits.

Someone ought to find it soon. But it won’t have fingerprints.

I wiped it.’

‘You are doing everything you can to ensure your own destruction, aren’t you?’ asked Phryne. ‘All right. Now, the second question. Where is Jack Mason?’

His mouth worked. His eyes rolled back in his head. With a sense of timing which really could not have been worse, the doctor fainted. Phryne swore. Some people were very hard to rescue.

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Phryne and the nurse managed to get the doctor to his own bed and Phryne left the stalwart woman to care for him while she swore her way to her suite, swore her way into her bathing costume, and snarled her way up the steps to the pool. She dived in and swam vigorously, allowing some of her exasperation to wash away, enjoying the water sluicing over her bare shoulders.

She swam two lengths as fast as she could and pulled up puffing.

‘Too much dancing and not enough swimming,’ she told herself. At least there is no one around so I shall not have to try not drowning again. Curse that Shilletoe! What a time to faint!

Then again, she thought as she clung to the edge, getting her breath, he’s clearly got no talent for intrigue. He is a good, straight, healthy, clean-living young man who would be putty in any blackmailer’s hands. Poor doctor.

Phryne swam until she was tired and tinged a light but attractive blue. Dunedin weather had turned around and the sky was clouding over. She dried herself quickly, donned her robe, and was about to go downstairs when a huge hand closed on her arm. Another huge hand enveloped her face, cutting off both sight and the chance of screaming. Her attacker was so gigantic that Phryne guessed he was one of the Maoris and did not fight. Early, compulsory bible study had taught her that there was no use in kicking against the pricks. But once she got free and found out where she was, then the pricks would have to look after themselves.

She became aware that someone was murmuring in her ear. ‘It’s all right, Miss,’ said the huge voice. She could feel it in his barrel chest like an organ note. ‘Caroline sent me.’

‘She could have asked,’ said Phryne against the giant hand, but it was no use.

Down and down they went, via some sort of lift. Where on earth was her captor taking her? Phryne hadn’t seen any lifts
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on the ship. Down and down and thump to a stop. A door clanked open.

‘Bloody hell, Tui, I just told you to go get her, I didn’t mean carry her here like a sack!’ exclaimed someone very crossly. ‘Put her down right now!’

‘Gently!’ said Phryne, as the enormous hands relaxed their grip all of a sudden and she started to fall.

Tui caught her and set her on the deck as though she was a lightly boiled egg and he didn’t want to crack her shell. Phryne tied her gown closely about her. She was striving not to laugh.

‘Caroline, I presume?’ she asked.

The stewardess flushed bright red and plaited her apron between strong fingers.

‘I’m so sorry, Miss Fisher. I only told him to get you quietly, and he didn’t think of just asking you. He didn’t mean any harm.’

‘And he didn’t do any harm. How did I get down here?

Where am I? And what do you want of me?’

‘This is a cargo deck,’ said Caroline. Phryne looked around: crates, boxes, trunks, anonymous bales of stuff. Cargo, self-evidently. ‘You came down in the cargo lift.’ She indicated a steel door with buttons beside it. ‘They put it in so the cater-ers could get a supper up from the kitchens without having to pass through the salons. You’re here because Alice heard what you said to the doctor.’

‘Alice being the nurse?’

‘Yes.’

‘And I’m here because you’ve got Jack Mason and you are wondering what to do with him?’

‘Yes,’ said Jack Mason. He seemed unhurt. He was clad in pyjamas and his hair needed brushing but apart from that he was in one piece.

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‘Why are you here?’ asked Phryne.

‘Well, you see, I still felt a bit rocky and I had definitely had too much to drink, so I went back to my cabin. Thomas was there and he asked me if he could borrow the costume. He wanted to dance with the pretty ladies. Always had ideas above his station, that man. Apart from him being my father’s spy.

‘I didn’t see why not and I just wanted him to go away, so I said yes. Then my steward Roberts came and woke me early in the morning, saying that as far as anyone knew, I was dead, murdered, and what did I want to do? And I said I wanted to hide, to think about it. Sobering thought, having someone want to kill you. I didn’t think anyone hated me that badly.’

‘But you will be exposed as soon as the body is found,’ said Phryne.

‘But we’ll be on the way to somewhere else by then,’ he said, as though this was an important point.

Phryne felt like clipping his ears. ‘My dear fool,’ she replied,

‘your murderer is on the ship with you. No one else but one of the dancers could have poked Thomas overboard with that boathook. Consider. Use your intelligence.’

There was a long pause while two was slowly and carefully added to two, the sum examined to see if it could be anything other than four, and the attempt abandoned. The young man’s eyes widened.

‘Oh,’ he said, at last. ‘What shall I do?’

‘We shall contrive,’ said Phryne. ‘You stay down here for a few more hours and I’ll go and talk to that nice cop. Caroline, I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. We can manage this.

But, tomorrow night, I might need your help. Can I, perhaps, borrow some things?’

‘Anything,’ said Caroline, vastly relieved that someone was
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going to take the Jack Mason problem off her hands. Caroline, like the doctor, preferred to have a clear conscience and hers was sooting up in the manner of a back country stove.

‘Thank you,’ said Phryne, and named her needs.

Caroline grinned at her. ‘Just as you say, Miss Fisher. Too right.’

‘Good. Now get me back to the swimming pool, I’ve got things to arrange.’

Phryne Fisher, reclad in the usual habiliment of the gentle-woman, called in on Detective Inspector Minton and Detective Sergeant Peace as they were gloomily staring over the rail at Dunedin vanishing into heavy cloud.

‘Reckon that might carry snow,’ observed Peace.

‘Reckon you’re right. Just what the divers need, snow.

Makes the water real comfy,’ replied his boss, bitterly. ‘What can we do for you, Miss?’

BOOK: Death by Water
3.3Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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