The Woman in Cabin 10(25)
I held my breath, straining to hear.
And then there was a splash.
Not a small splash.
No, this was a big splash.
The kind of splash made by a body hitting water.
JUDAH LEWIS
24 September at 8.50am
Hey, guys, bit concerned about Lo. She hasn’t checked in for a few days since she left on a press trip. Anyone heard from her? Getting kinda worried. Cheers.
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LISSIE WIGHT Hi Jude! She messaged me on Sunday—20th I guess it must have been? Said the boat was amazing!
Like · Reply?24 September at 9.02am
JUDAH LEWIS Yeah, I heard from her then, too, but she didn’t reply to my e-mail or my text on Monday. And she hasn’t updated facebook or twitter, either.
Like · Reply?24 September at 9.03am
JUDAH LEWIS Anyone? Pamela Crew? Jennifer West? Carl Fox? Emma Stanton? Sorry if I’m tagging random people, I’m just—this is kind of out of character to be honest.
Like · Reply?24 September at 10.44am
PAMELA CREW She emailed me on Sunday, Jude love. Said the boat was lovely. Do you want me to ask her dad?
Like · Reply?24 September at 11.13am
JUDAH LEWIS Yes, please, Pam. I don’t want to worry you both, but I feel like she’d have made contact by now, normally. But I’m stuck here in Moscow, so I don’t know if she’s been trying to phone and not getting through.
Like · Reply?24 September at 11.21am
JUDAH LEWIS Pam, did she tell you the name of the boat? I can’t find it.
Like · Reply?24 September at 11.33am
PAMELA CREW Hi, Judah, sorry, I was on the phone to her dad. He’s not heard anything, either. The boat was the Aurora, apparently. Let me know if you hear anything. Bye love.
Like · Reply?24 September at 11.48am
JUDAH LEWIS Thanks, Pam. I’ll try the boat. But if anyone hears anything, please message me.
Like · Reply?24 September at 11.49am
JUDAH LEWIS Anything?
Like · Reply?24 September at 3.47pm
JUDAH LEWIS Please, guys, anything?
Like · Reply?24 September at 6.09pm
- CHAPTER 10 -
I didn’t even think about what to do next.
I ran to the veranda, threw open the French windows, and hung out over the rail, desperately searching for a glimpse of something—or someone—in the shifting waves. The dark surface was spattered with bright refracted light from the ship’s windows, making it almost impossible to make out the shape of anything in the swell, but I thought I saw something beneath the crest of a black wave—a swirling white shape that trailed beneath the surface as it sank, like a woman’s hand.
Then I turned to look at the balcony next to mine.
There was a privacy screen between the two cabins, so I couldn’t see very much, but as I peered over, I saw two things.
The first was that there was a smear on the glass safety barrier of the next-door veranda. A smear of something dark and oily. A smear that looked a lot like blood.
The second was a realization, and one that made my stomach clench and shift. Whoever had been standing there—whoever had thrown that body overboard—could not have missed my stupid, headlong dash to the balcony. In all likelihood they’d been standing on the next-door veranda as I dashed onto mine. They would have heard my door crash back. They would probably even have seen my face.
I darted back into the room, slamming the French windows behind me, and checked the cabin door was double-locked. Then I put the chain across. My heart was thumping in my chest, but I felt calm, calmer than I had in ages.
This was it. This was real danger, and I was coping.
With the cabin door secure, I ran back and checked the veranda windows. There was no deadlock on this—just the normal latch—but it was as secure as I could make it.
Then I picked up the bedside phone with fingers that shook only slightly and dialed 0 for the operator.
“Hello?” said a singsong voice. “How can I help you, Miss Blacklock?”
For a minute I was so disconcerted that she knew it was me that I completely lost my train of thought. Then I realized—my room number would probably come up on the desk phone. Of course it would be me. Who else would be phoning from my room in the middle of the night?
“H-hello!” I managed. In spite of the tremor, my voice sounded surprisingly calm. “Hello. Who is this, please?”
“It’s your cabin stewardess, Karla, Miss Blacklock. Can I help you?” Beneath her perky phone manner a touch of concern had crept in. “Are you all right?”
“No, no, I’m not all right. I—” I stopped, aware how ridiculous this might sound.
“Miss Blacklock?”
“I think—” I swallowed. “I think I’ve just seen a murder.”
“Oh my goodness.” Karla’s voice was shocked, and she said something in a language I didn’t understand—Swedish perhaps, or maybe Danish. Then she seemed to control herself and spoke in English again. “Are you safe, Miss Blacklock?”
Was I safe? I looked across at the cabin door. It was double-locked and with the chain across, I was as certain as I could be that no one could get in.
“Yes, yes, I think I am. It was in the next-door cabin—number ten. Palmgren. I—I think someone threw a body overboard.”