Ghost Writer(44)

Chapter Twenty-Two ~ Calm Before the Storm



I let Gravell bring the captain up to speed. I poured a shot of brandy into my coffee and sipped on it. As the hot beverage and alcohol suffused me with warmth, I noticed that I finally stopped shaking.

I learned a couple of things as I listened to the debriefing. Doc had reported my collapse to the captain. No big surprise. Doc was testing the collected vomit for toxins. I didn't have a fever, so infection was unlikely, but he wanted to continue to monitor my condition. Gravell had someone tracing my dinner back to its source to see who, if anyone, might have tampered with it.

When there was a break in the dialogue, I made use of it.

“I'd like to return to the émil Gagnan. I think my collapse in sick bay was the result of a panic attack. I had a flashback to being trapped. Doc has done his best to make me comfortable and you've all been great, but the ship feels a like the station to me especially when I'm in that small room. Besides, if I'm on the émil Gagnan, I won't have as far to fall if I get thrown overboard.”

Captain Campbell looked pained. I gave him an apologetic shrug.

“I think we could make it workable for Madame Kirby to return to her ship,” Gravell said.

The captain nodded. “Very well. I'll miss you, Ms. Kirby.”

I smiled. “I hope you'll invite me back for tea now and then.”



Twelve hours later, I returned to the émil Gagnan.

The captain and I had a private breakfast before I left. He assured me that I could call on him if ever I had the need or the desire. Because he knew Tim was getting on my nerves, Captain Campbell found pretext for keeping him a couple more days. Since this involved a re-enactment of my rescue, as witnessed on the Nottawasaga, he was happy enough.

Gravell accompanied me. That was his workable solution to my return. I strongly suspected he wanted to return to keep tabs on the rest of the team, not just me. It was also possible that Franchot wanted his first mate back.

Before we left, Tim took me aside.

“You want to keep an eye on Gravell,” he said.

“You don't trust him?”

“He's a spook, of course I don't trust him. You shouldn't either. The only other prints around the accident were his. They could have been there before.”

I shook my head.

“If he wanted me dead, I'd be dead.”

“Maybe he only wants you scared.”

I smiled. A really wicked part of me was glad that this was going to happen to someone other than me.

“I do want her scared,” Gravell said, at Tim’s shoulder.

Tim gave a satisfactory yelp of surprise.

“I want her scared enough to be careful. Don't worry, Neville, I also want you to be scared for her and I don't require your trust.”



As soon as we boarded, we were summoned to a briefing with Franchot. Gravell gave an expurgated account of my activities and a brief report on Captain Campbell's expectations. He was relatively up front. He needed Franchot's cooperation, and I hoped he wanted to maintain my trust.

“So you think Dora and Reuben will be successful,” Franchot said, topping up coffee mugs as we sat around his desk.

“Captain Campbell has been given a heads-up to that effect. The Canadian government is as interested as you are in learning the truth. That's the primary reason I'm back to make sure no one interferes with your work.”

He turned and gave me a small bow.

“And to keep you safe, Madame Kirby. I think the two are entwined, either because of something you are suspected to have learned while trapped on the station, or because you are documenting the mission.”

Franchot frowned. “Anybody could have leaned against that cable. It's a haphazard way of killing someone specific. The simplest explanation is that someone wanted to scare people. A current investigation into attempted murder would take precedence over a cold case mystery.”

Gravell nodded. “Which is why we're keeping quiet about it. The trouble is, it isn't a credible accident and while it is a risky way to commit murder, Madame Kirby is known for spending time at that particular spot.”

“Did you get any prints?”

“No. Nothing. No prints were on the adjoining posts other than Madame Kirby's and mine, where I braced myself. That in itself is suspicious. There is no doubt that it was deliberate, and there is no doubt in my mind that Madame Kirby was the target.”

Franchot shrugged. “Your instincts are usually pretty good. You were right about Jen. I guess I’ll have to cough up that bottle of rum.”

“The good stuff, Skipper. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to grab some sack time. Madame Kirby, if you need me, you know how to reach me.”

I nodded.

Franchot stood and held out his hand. “You may need some rest too, but first there some people waiting to see you.”



It was a relief to immerse myself in my work, even if it meant having Minton hovering nearby. Dora had turned the documents and photographs over to Mary Lou for forensic examination. As a first step, everything had been photographed and converted to digital files. Tracy brought me a copy. The first thing I looked for was Boreman's letter.

The nice thing about an electronic archive is that it's so easy to search. I called up everything that involved Boreman and started with those items in his effects. This included a series of letters to his daughter, catalogued chronologically; a few letters to his son and wife; a large pile of photographs; no sign of the offending letter. I was both disappointed and relieved. I would have liked to judge the contents myself, but I was relieved that Boreman had been wise enough to destroy anything that would have such a negative impact on his family.