Ghost Writer(32)

“Unless, we were meant to be blamed for triggering the explosions,” said Jamal.

Tracy nodded her head so vigorously it made my neck hurt. “Maybe the explosions were timed for when we were supposed to leave. We did overstay our original allotted time.”

Redding gave a brittle laugh. “I can see that you are determined to discover a conspiracy where none exists. I'm just surprised you are allowing this line of debate, Captain Campbell.”

The captain was in the process of pouring me a cup of tea from the pot that had appeared when I wasn’t paying attention. He waited until he was done before addressing Redding's remark.

“Just because I don't subscribe to the conspiracy theory myself, doesn't mean that Mr. Naire and Mr. Martouk haven't a right to express their opinions. Speculation is natural.”

“Well, I think it's irresponsible to sink the station before we find out more,” said Reuben, before more speculation could ensue. “What if there is an unexploded charge in weapons’ control? It should be made safe. Furthermore, we still haven't discovered the disposition of the crew. To that end, I intend to take the case to the Solicitor General, the Naval Criminal Investigation Service, and their Canadian equivalents.”

“That's ridiculous,” said Redding.

I shook my head. “Not at all. Unless Captain Tinsdale comes forward and tells us that he ordered the setting of the charges as per his own orders to scuttle the station, the explosions have to be considered suspicious until proven otherwise.”

I looked over at Dora. She gave me the nod to state what we had both concluded. “It is quite possible that this is a murder case, possibly multiple counts of murder, assuming the original crew was killed.”

I looked over to the Captain to gauge his reaction. Our eyes met and my fickle mind forgot about the puzzle we were trying to solve and homed in on a much more personal revelation. Captain Campbell admired me. I felt a blush start.

Dora took the lead, sharing her pet theory that what happened was the work of a deranged mind. Someone objected that it was too organized, too tidy. Deranged, Dora pointed out, did not necessarily equally disorganized. Many serial killers were very organized.

“Serial killers don't tend to pass the rigorous psychiatric exams necessary before this kind of posting,” said Redding.

“Wrong and simplistic. There have been many serial killers that have fooled their family, friends, and mental health professionals. Until their particular stressor overwhelms them, they might seem and be perfectly normal. Even now, with the strides we've made in forensic psychiatry, it is extremely difficult to spot a potential murderer before they've killed—or at least immediately intend to kill.”

Dr. Stern nodded. “She’s right. Psychopathic personalities still slip through the system, that's why I have to be trained in psychology as well as surgery and general medicine. Back then? The chances of a person with latent psychoses getting into a high risk position were far greater.”

Eventually the party broke up. While good nights were exchanged, I discovered that Mr. Redding was staying aboard the Nottawasaga. That being the case, he was likely to develop an ulcer if he had to endure too many more dinners like tonight's. I might have been more sympathetic if he hadn’t nabbed me when I was trying to make my escape.

“Intense, huh? I hope you don't take it all too seriously. You shouldn't let it upset you.”

I made a noncommittal noise because I was too tired to argue. He didn’t take the hint.

“Will you be leaving with the research group tomorrow? They are being airlifted out, aren't they?”

“I have no idea. I wasn't aware that anyone was going this soon, and I don't think I've been released from medical care yet.”

He smiled broadly. “Then maybe we can chat tomorrow?”

Dr. Stern interrupted before I thought of an answer. He offered to escort me back to sick bay. The captain forestalled him, suggesting I might want to take a walk on deck. That was an invitation I couldn’t refuse, though I did look around for Gravell. After all, I was still wearing his jacket.

The air was crisp and cold but, if anything, I felt less chilled than I had in the wardroom. Although the sun was still up, I could see some of the brighter stars in the pale sky. We stood looking out at the sea. On the opposite side, we could have seen the Scranton and émil Gagnan. Here it was as if we were alone in the Arctic.

“Is the research team being evacuated tomorrow?” I asked, wanting to get that issue cleared up first.

“You aren't being sent anywhere. Doc has not released you from sick bay. Between you and me, he is not going to release you until Gravell and I think it appropriate.”

“Oh.” I wondered what appropriate meant?

“Dr. Leland and Mr. Dawes will be leaving tomorrow morning along with the film crew, excepting Mr. Neville. I'm almost positive that it will be a temporary absence.”

I shook my head. “I don't get it.”

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t get your team airlifted out of here all at once. Not with your luggage, equipment, and the ship’s mail.”

“I get camera crew leaving. They can’t do much the way things are. Why Dora and Reuben?”

“Think of it as a chess game. Sometimes the moves don't seem to make sense until you put your opponent in check.”