Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates (8 page)

'Ye gods,' said Simpers, 'I thought those things were bad enough when I first heard them watching the South African World Cup. In real life, they're even worse!'

The detective continued to stare in bemusement at the musical chefs. He noticed one of them paying particular attention to his table, and him in particular – at least the man's eyes were, since the rest of his face hid behind the flared bell of his vuvuzela. The more he concentrated on the individual, the more the man focused on Simpers. For a moment Simpers thought he was being paranoid. Seconds later he realised his suspicions were well placed. An object embedded itself in the table, inches in front of his abdomen. He glanced at his companions to see if they noticed the projectile. He needn't have worried, they were far too busy applauding and singing along to the music track. Retrieving the napkin that had covered his lap, Simpers enveloped what looked like a dart. He extracted it from the table with a sharp twisting action, before placing the object into his jacket pocket. The sudden movement caused Amelia to turn her gaze from the gallery towards Simpers. Noticing nothing untoward, she soon turned her attention back to the celebrations in hand.

'If you don't mind, I’ll leave you to your partying, I need a bit of fresh air,' shouted Simpers to make himself heard over the cacophony of sound.

Acknowledging the smiles of his table companions, Simpers rose from the table and strode into the lobby. He then climbed several sets of ornate stairs until he reached a pair of heavy mahogany doors, which opened outwards. Simpers pushed the doors. A strong breeze lapped his face as he stepped onto the open promenade deck. Simpers crossed the teak floor and leant on the safety rail, his gaze alternating between a huge sky filled with glinting stars and darkening horizon. He gazed downward to the forming froth that skirted the ship's hull, and which broke the surface of an otherwise flat calm sea.

Simpers felt the relief of having left behind the hubbub, music and vuvuzelas. He enjoyed the silence, interrupted only by the gentle swish of the ship as it cut its way through the Atlantic Ocean. He also felt the reverberations of the liner's engines, which he had come to quite enjoy. The peaceful interlude didn't last for long.

'Please, sir, I cannot do what you ask.'

'You know what will happen if you don't. See, it's up to you. But just to help you make your mind up, think on this.'

Simpers turned his head in the direction of the voices. One frightened, the other confident and aggressive. He heard a sickening thud that he recognised as being the all too familiar sound of a fist landing a devastating punch.

'Please, please, sir. No more, no more…'

'Then think on, if you don't want any more of this, do what I tell you. Got it? I'll be in touch.'

By the time Simpers traced the location of the voices, only one figure remained. A young man in the uniform of a cabin steward slumped forward onto the teak deck, resting on his knees.

'Who did this to you, who was it?'

'Thank you for your kindness, sir, but there was no one. I tripped. I just tripped.'

'The one thing you didn't do was trip. I heard someone shouting at you, what did he want?'

'You are most kind, sir, but as I told you, there was no one else. I tripped,' replied the cabin steward as he clutched his stomach and tried to catch his breath.

As Simpers tried to interrogate the young man further, a small door marked
staff only
opened behind the injured man.

'Rahul, are you OK? Come with me, let me get you back to your cabin,' said the steward's friend.

'Do you know who did this?' said Simpers.

'Is your name Mr Simpers, sir?'

'Yes, it is, tell me what you know.'

'Pedru don't say anything, you know what will happen.'

'No, this has got to stop,' said Pedru. 'Some of us will die if we cannot stop them. Please, Mr Simpers, talk to the Commodore's steward, he says you have met him. He says we can trust you. Now, Rahul, it's time to go.'

Simpers thought back to the piece of paper he'd found in his jacket pocket. What on earth was going on here?

'I will do as you ask, Pedru,' replied Simpers before continuing, 'now do something for me. If any of you feel that you are in imminent danger, get a message to me. Will you do that?' Simpers held the heavy metal door open as a young man helped his injured colleague back to the relative safety of his cabin.

***

Simpers folded his clothes and hung them in their predetermined space in the wardrobe. He continued to mull over the dart in the dining table, and the attack on the cabin steward. Also, what was the link between these events and Pippa's skirmish with the handrail? And his own adventure with that bulk head door, what was that about?

He decided to get his thoughts onto the dictaphone, so turned to the wardrobe and retrieved the machine from his jacket pocket. Pull as he would at the door, it refused to budge. Then, with one last heave, it shot open at such a rate of knots that it hit Simpers square between the eyes. It knocked him senseless as he lost balance and fell to the floor. As he came to his senses a few seconds later, he was aware that he was now not alone. He felt a soft hand stroking the back of his head. He couldn't understand why it was dark, even though he knew the light had been on a few seconds earlier. He then realised the truth of the matter. His face had disappeared into the ample bosom of a woman.

'My poor Mr Simpers. You've been in the wars again, haven't you. Here, let me rub that bump of yours.'

Jenny's remedy for soothing the detective’s pain, was to bury his head ever deeper into her décolletage.

'Mrs Smeeton, what on earth are you doing,' mumbled Simpers as he struggled for air. 'I thought you were having after dinner drinks with your whirlpool partners…'

'Dear Mr Simpers, my husband is making up a threesome, so I thought I would come and keep you company. Don't you like my company?'

As the woman let go of Simpers' head he was able to see the full extent of her undress, her negligee leaving little to the imagination.

'Mrs Smeeton, this has got nothing to do with whether I find your company stimulating, so to speak. Anyway, how did you get in to my cabin?'

'Oh, Mr Simpers, don't be so naive, young men with pass keys can be ever so easy to charm. You men are all the same, aren't you?'

'As a matter of fact, no, we're not. Although I'm flattered, would you please leave my cabin. I'm sure your husband will be waiting for you.'

'You are a spoilsport, or are you just teasing me? As for my delicious husband, I suspect he'll be a little tired by the time I get back to the cabin. Are you tired, my naughty bobby?'

'Funny you should say that, Mrs Smeeton. After the day I've had, all I want to do is go to bed… on my own.'

'Well, if you're sure…'

'Yes, I am, but thank you for your kind offer.'

With that, Jenny wrapped what passed for a nightgown around her ample figure. She tied it with a bow to one side, before giving Simpers a last lingering look and letting herself out of his cabin.

Just as the detective began to doze, the phone rang. Too tired to bother flicking the bedside light on, he looked at the caller display and lifted the receiver.

'Mr Simpers, a friendly call to suggest that you do not get involved in things that don't concern you. You may have thought you were lucky at dinner tonight. You need to understand that if we'd wanted to kill you with that dart, we would have. I do hope we understand each other. Do have a peaceful night's sleep.'

Before Simpers could ask who the caller was, the line went dead. He couldn't work out whether the caller was referring to the safety of the gems or the attack on the cabin steward, or both. He picked the phone up once more and rang the reception desk.

'I have just received a call from A676. I'm so sorry to bother you, but I didn't catch the caller's name. Could you look that up for me, please?'

'I'm sorry, having checked your 'phone log, I can't trace anyone having called you today. Also, there is no cabin A676 aboard this ship.'

Simpers didn't sleep well. The events of the previous evening had left him feeling unsettled.

It wasn't so much the amorous advances of the Smeeton woman. He was more concerned with the dart that almost spoiled his Baked Alaska. He decided to dress down for the day, rather than stick out like the proverbial sore thumb wearing a suit. It wasn't his style, but thought it might help in solving the puzzle of cabin A676.

'Beautiful day, isn't it?' The voice came from an elderly man in an undersized T-shirt and oversize shorts; open toed sandals with the obligatory calf length cotton socks rounded off the man's ensemble.

Simpers' surprise continued at how affable other passengers were. The contrast with the individuals he dealt with on a day to day basis couldn't have been more acute.

'It's great to be in Madeira, isn't it? Are you going ashore for the day?'

'Do you know, I think I will. Have you been here before?' responded Simpers.

'Oh, yes, this is our fifteenth cruise and sixth time in Madeira. We love taking in Funchal, it's a great city with lots to see,' replied the man.

Simpers felt the man's obvious next question was how many cruises he had undertaken. His relief was palpable when the jovial man restrained himself from doing so.

'No, I'm a Madeira virgin; first time for me,' offered Simpers.

'Then you have a great day in front of you. The thing about Funchal is that apart from the coastal strip, it's uber hilly. Make sure you're wearing some sturdy footwear – especially if you are walking besides any of the Levadas.'

'Well, it sounds fascinating, and thank you for the advice. Do have a good day,' responded Simpers. The detective didn't know what a Lavada was, but was not about to advertise his ignorance by asking the man.

The two men offered an informal wave of the hand as they each went their separate ways. Simpers studied the layout of the ship on a large graphic positioned on the wall next to the elevators. He looked for the red dot that told him his current position. Scanning the layout of the massive vessel for 'A' deck, he realised that to get there would involve more stairs than he wanted to climb. For a fleeting moment he considered the elevator. Then he recalled his doctor's direction that he needed to lose weight and that exercise would do him no harm at all.

Rounding the corner from the wide lobby at the head of the staircase, he saw two familiar faces.

'Ah, Mr Simpers, how are you on this beautiful sunny day? Jonathan and I are off to Funchal, would you like to come with us?'

'Good morning, Amelia. Thank you for the kind invite, but I've got one or two things I need to get done, but do enjoy your trip and don't get too sunburned.'

'I see, I suppose you're up to your policing stuff again. Well I hope your number comes up and you find what you're looking for. I'm sure that the two of us will see you at the exhibition a little later today.' Pleasantries exchanged, the trio parted. Simpers pondered Amelia's reference to his number coming up. Was it a coincidence, or was he being paranoid? As a copper he knew he didn't believe in coincidences.

Simpers traced his way down the long, narrow corridor. To his left were the 'inside' cabins. To his right, cabins with a sea view. As he walked, he focused on the ascending cabin numbers. A560, 562, 564. And so the numbers continued in sequence, until he hit cabin A674. After that, nothing other than a bulkhead wall, which signalled the end of the corridor. Simpers looked at the vertical surface for what seemed an age, before turning away in frustration. It seemed he would have to accept what the receptionist had said to him the previous evening. There was no cabin A676 on the ship.

As he turned to trace his way back down the corridor, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a telephone handset recessed into the wall. It was behind a locked glass panel marked,
'For staff use only
'. Simpers became intrigued by the reference number etched into the bottom of the glass panel.

It read: A6/76.

***

'Come on, Jonathan, finish your cappuccino, we don't want to be late for the opening of the exhibition, do we?'

'It's all right for you,' Jonathan responded. 'Looking at the rate you got through your hot chocolate, you've got an asbestos-lined gullet.' He didn't hide his irritation having to leave the rest of his drink and trail after Amelia.

'There you are, I knew we would be late. Look at the queue.' Amelia pointed a finger and instructed him to join a long line of passengers beside the double doors of the exhibition room.

Minutes passed and the hubbub from the queue increased as their irritation at the delay grew. In fact, waiting seemed to be something many found an anathema. As voices became raised, a junior officer appeared with an armful of coloured brochures. The antidote worked as he made his way along the line and presented anyone who showed interested with a copy. The brochure contained exquisite illustrations and a history of the main pieces that would be on show. A relative quiet descended as those who had taken the brochure immersed themselves in its contents.

'Some of this stuff must be priceless,' commented Amelia. 'Look at this page, Jonathan, it says these pieces belonged to the Russian royal family. Can you imagine that?'

'It didn't do them any good, did it? You can't take it with you, can you? My mother used to say that, you know,' replied an unimpressed Jonathan.

'That may be true,' said Amelia. 'But it doesn't mean you can't enjoy a little bit of luxury this side of eternity, does it? Anyway, if I follow your logic, no one would bother having anything nice on the basis that when you're dead, you’re dead. Your mother must have owned one or two things she saw as precious, yes?'

'Not that I can remember,' replied Jonathan. 'Her other favourite saying was to live one day at a time and not to bother planning for the future.'

'So what did she spend her money on then?' asked Amelia.

'Lotto scratch cards for the most part.'

'So what did she do with her winnings – there must've been winnings?'

'I found a whole heap of winning cards in a box on top of her wardrobe after she got run over by that bin lorry. Always puzzled me, that.'

'Why do you think she did that?' asked a confused Amelia.

'Well it didn't have anything to do with making my life any better. There wasn't much in the house, and there were no holidays. But what I do know from the odd remark she made about her own childhood, was that her family were poor and they had it tough. I think she was keeping those cards as security, even though she must have spent more than she won, it must've made sense to her.'

'How does that make you feel when you think back to your own childhood?' said Amelia.

'All said and done, she was me mum. Anyway, those tickets paid for this cruise.'

Before Amelia could respond to a contented-looking Jonathan, the queue began to shuffle forward. Inside the room, clusters of excited passengers gathered around each of the tall glass cases. Within each, a dazzling array of precious stones set in incredible settings glinted at their admirers.

Try as they could, the two friends failed to get anywhere near catching sight of the precious gems. Admitting failure, they headed for a corner of the room set out with several clusters of comfortable armchairs, each separated by shoulder height bamboo screens. The layout of the screens meant that each set of four chairs enjoyed a modicum of privacy within the cavernous space.

As the pair people watched, Amelia's ear pricked to a hushed conversation happening on the other side of the screen near them.

'Amelia, are you listening to me. I asked you three times how long are we going to hang around here. I might as well be sat in the bar, with the added benefit of having a beer in my–'

'Shhh… be quiet. Can't you hear what that man and woman are talking about,' whispered Amelia. She leaned into Jonathan so that he could hear her above the background noise.

'Hear what…' he replied.

'Well, if you'd shut up, you'd hear what I'm talking about,' she said before continuing. 'No, stupid, don't stand up. Just lean across a little. And keep your voice down.' Amelia pulled Jonathan back into his chair as the protesting young man shot his companion a bemused look.

'The bloke has just told the woman that everything is set up and he's got the security code to the door.'

'What door?' replied Jonathan, shooting Amelia another bemused look.

'Will you be quiet,' replied Amelia. She was now leaning so far over the side of her chair to be nearer the bamboo screen, that she almost tipped herself onto the floor.

'Bloody hell, she's just asked him how much they can expect to get from…' she said.

'From what, Amelia?' Jonathan spluttered.

'Oh, Jonathan. If you hadn't interrupted, I would have heard and look, they're getting up now. Quick, let's follow them and see where they go. If we're lucky we'll get to see the other gang members.'

'Other gang members. What are you talking about?'

'Will you be quiet. Come on, let's get going and stay close to them. And Jonathan, if you feel one of your little tics coming on, grab my arm. The last thing we want to do is draw any attention to ourselves. It could be dangerous you know.'

'Dangerous, I don't like the sound of that, Amelia.'

'I thought you said you came from a tough neighbourhood and you could look after yourself. I have to say from the look on your face I'm having my doubts.'

'I said I'd learned to look after myself because of the bigger lads always stealing my marbles.'

'And…' Amelia responded.

'Well, I did what the other smart kids did. I only played with my second-best marbles in the street, so if a big lad nicked them, I still had the best marbles in my pocket. See, being smart was better than getting a wallop in the ear.'

'…I'll remember that next time I'm playing marbles. Now, come on let’s get going,' she said.

***

'Amelia, we've been trudging round this bloody ship all day and thanks to you, I've missed dinner. All we've seen that couple do is elbow their way to the front of the queue at the buffet at lunchtime. Then they slagged off a tour rep about the price of shore excursions. And to top it all, pestered the entertainments director on where the ship's crew go overnight.'

'Well, I agree with them about the price of shore excursions,' Amelia said. 'Who wants to pay a king's ransom to sit on a coach for hours and, look around endless churches. On top of that, there's the passengers moaning about whether they'll be back in time for lunch.'

Well, if you ask–' Jonathan started, before Amelia interrupted.

'…Shhh, look… Look at them. Why are they dressed in leather? I think they've clocked us and are trying to throw us off the scent.'

Amelia didn't give Jonathan time to respond. Instead she grabbed his arm and led the way in pursuit of the leather clad duo. The throng of passengers in the public rooms gave way to the relative stillness of a corridor bordered by cabins on either side. It was now less easy for Amelia and Jonathan to disguise their presence. In response, they slowed to lengthen the distance between themselves and their quarry.

'Look, were getting near to the exhibition room. When they go to open the door, you take the man and I'll get the woman, right?' whispered Amelia into Jonathan's ear.

'What do you mean, 'take'?'

'You know, jump on them, take them down.'

'You've been watching too many police shows on TV. You can't just go around jumping on people. Why don't we go for Mr Simpers. He'll know what to do… If you're right.'

'What do you mean, if I'm right? You heard them…'

'No, Amelia. You were the one that heard what you think they said…'

'Oh, do give it up. I know what I heard and we have no time to get Mr Simpers. Look, they're stopping and putting masks over their faces. Ready, right, get them.'

Amelia rushed forward as the leather clad man punched a code into the door lock and began to open the door. As he did so, Amelia caught up with her quarry and placed her arms around the surprised woman's waist. At the same time, Jonathan rushed the man and all four tumbled into the room. Their entrance earned a gaggle of shrieks and risqué comments from a tangle of voices within the room.

'What an imaginative entry,' said one.

'I've seen some foursomes, but that takes the biscuit,' offered another.

'Clever of you all to come at the same time,' responded a third.

As the four untangled themselves from each other and got to their feet, the would-be detectives scanned the room. This is not the exhibition room, thought Amelia. Instead, they found themselves in a space about 20 feet square. The room overflowed with an odd assortment of cushions and soft furnishings, on which a dozen or so men and woman lounged in various stages of undress. Each wore an ornate facemask, which Amelia realised were the same as those worn by the couple they had just attacked.

'What the hell do you think you are doing?' asked the man in leather as he replaced his slip on shoes.

‘Well… we. I say we, I mean Jonathan and I, well, we thought you were going to break into the gem exhibition and…'