Death Sails In The Sunset: an Inspector Constable murder mystery (The Inspector Constable Murder Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  DEATH SAILS IN THE SUNSET

  by Roger Keevil

  Copyright © 2013 Roger Keevil

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission of the publisher, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publisher.

  [email protected]

  To C, W, and C, my constant travelling companions on so many cruises

  'Death Sails In The Sunset' is a work of fiction and wholly the product of the imagination of the author. All persons, events, locations (excepting actual geographical locations) and organisations are entirely fictitious, and are not intended to resemble in any way any actual persons living or dead, events, locations or organisations. Any such resemblance is entirely coincidental, and is wholly in the mind of the reader.

  Oh, come on - you knew that already!

  Roger Keevil’s other Inspector Constable Mysteries:-

  MURDERER’S FETE

  MURDER UNEARTHED

  www.rogerkeevil.co.uk

  Chapter 1

  “Good lord! Andy Constable! I don't believe it!” The white-uniformed ship's officer's face was split by an incredulous grin as, hand extended in greeting, he advanced across the towering atrium of the brand new cruise liner Empress of the Oceans. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

  Detective Inspector Andy Constable's own features lit up in recognition. “Derek? You are kidding me!” He shook the other's hand warmly. “Well, of all the people I expected to see today, you're probably furthest down on the list. Although I've got to say, it's a treat to see a friendly face after the day we've had.”

  “We?”

  “Sorry.” Constable turned to the younger man standing immediately behind him in the boarding queue. “Derek, this is my sergeant, David Copper. Copper, this is Derek Crane. We were at police training college together.”

  “My sergeant?” queried Crane. He exchanged brief handshakes with Copper. “You've gone up in the world, Andy. Chief Superintendent now, is it?”

  “Just D.I., I'm afraid,” smiled Constable.

  “So what are you doing here mob-handed?” asked Crane. He suddenly looked apprehensive. “Look, come over here a second. We're holding up the queue.” He drew the two detectives aside. “This isn't official, is it?”

  Constable laughed. “Nothing of the kind, thank goodness. As for why we're here, long story, which I can sum up in one word - volcano.”

  “Oh, you're one of that lot, are you?” Crane's face cleared.

  “And as for you, I might ask you the same question. How come you're all togged up like an Italian admiral instead of the sober blue serge of Her Majesty's constabulary?”

  “There's another long story, which I will bore you with at a better time. For now, let's get you two sorted.”

  “Yes, well, we were standing in a nice orderly queue until now, quietly waiting for somebody to tell us what to do.”

  “Oh, I think we can do better than that. Come with me - what's the point of having a few rings on your sleeve if you can't pull rank now and again.” Crane led the way towards the head of the queue which snaked across the atrium in the direction of the Guest Relations desk.

  “How do you mean?”

  “The answer to your question,” continued Crane over his shoulder, “is that I hold the lofty position of Head of Security of this floating monster. Which I reckon gets me certain privileges. Lydia!” He greeted the attractive brunette behind the desk with effusive warmth. “You are exactly the girl I need. I do believe you're allocating staterooms for our unexpected guests, are you not?”

  “Yes, sir, I am,” answered the receptionist with a smile, in which Constable thought he could detect a touch of wariness. This was evidently not the first time Derek Crane had attempted to exercise his considerable charm towards her.

  “This gentleman,” explained Crane, indicating Constable, “is a very old friend of mine, and I'm guessing that he's had a pretty grim day, which I'd like to make a lot better. So, knowing how full the ship isn't, I'm hoping that you can find him something rather better than the broom cupboard in the bilges which we are allocating to the rest of our volcano victims. What do you think? Mmmm?” He leaned forward across the desk and favoured Lydia with a winning smile and the look of a hopeful puppy.

  Lydia laughed. “Derek, you are a very bad man.” The hint of a French accent robbed her words of any real censure. “Let me see what I can do.” She consulted her computer screen and tapped a few keys. “I have a balcony stateroom on Deck 6. I am sure your friend would like that.”

  “I'm sure that my friend's friend would like that very much,” replied Crane. He turned to Dave Copper. “David, do you think you'd be comfortable in a balcony stateroom?”

  Copper, somewhat bewildered, gave a nod in agreement. “Er … yes … I should think so.”

  Crane turned back to the receptionist. “Now, the thing is, Lydia, my friend Andy here is a senior British police officer. Very senior indeed. And isn't Deck 6 the deck where most of the suites are? So, as none of our esteemed guest list of passengers are actually paying for the cruise in the first place, and if I promise to be extremely nice to you, is there any chance …?” He let the question hang in the air.

  Lydia giggled and capitulated. “Derek, you will get me into trouble. Let me look ...” More clicks on the computer keyboard. “All right. I have 6218, which is a suite midships, and 6220, which is the balcony stateroom next to it. How's that? Sir?”

  “That's perfect.” Crane leaned over the desk and deposited a peck on the slightly surprised girl's cheek. “You will go straight to heaven.”

  “Not if my supervisor catches me,” retorted Lydia with a smile whose warmth and sparkle belied the tone of her words. “So, if you can give me your passports, gentlemen, I will make the arrangements.”

  “Lydia, you're an angel,” said Crane, as Constable and Copper handed their passports across the desk.

  “Yes, I know I am,” said Lydia. “Now for goodness' sake, Derek, go away and let me do my job.”

  “Your wish is my command, beautiful one. We'll come back later. Come on, Andy - you look as if you could do with a drink. Let's go and find a nice quiet bar and we'll do some catching up.” He headed for the curving staircase leading upwards as the two slightly bemused detectives followed, leaving the still-immobile queue behind them exchanging puzzled glances and muttering beneath their breath.

  *

  Nobody could say, mused Andy Constable, that it had started out as an ordinary day. The past week had not exactly lived up to expectations, if those expectations had been for a lazy week lounging in the Costa Blanca sun and generally unwinding, courtesy of a lucky win in the police station Christmas draw. But that morning, with a successfully-solved murder case under their belts, an unexpected knock at the door from the local police captain had led to an even more unexpected motorcycle outrider escort to the airport, amid profuse expressions of thanks for Constable and Copper's assistance. But from then on, the descent into chaos and confusion had been rapid.

  It all started with an announcement ove
r the public address system at Alicante airport. Safely checked in for their flight, and breathing a sigh of relief to be on the way home for a return to normality, the amplified words echoing through the departure lounge's lofty spaces had cause Constable's heart to sink.

  “DerryAir regret to announce the cancellation ….”

  Responding to the invitation to report to the airport's enquiries desk for further information, Constable and Copper eased their way towards the front of a crowd of over a hundred passengers, where a harassed young woman in the uniform of DerryAir's ground staff was trying to make herself heard above the growing hubbub. Her words confirmed their fears.

  “I'm terribly sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but I'm afraid that it's all out of our hands. The British air traffic control authorities have closed all U.K. airspace until further notice, so there aren't any flights going anywhere at the moment.”

  Cries of protest arose.

  “Well, how are we supposed to get home ...?”

  “My kids go back to school tomorrow ...”

  “Look, I've got a business to run ...”

  “Isn't there some other way …?”

  The volume rose, until nothing could be heard of the woman's further attempts to soothe the increasingly restive crowd.

  Dave Copper turned to Andy Constable. “I can't be doing with all this racket, guv,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, and filled his lungs with air. “Quiet!!” he bellowed at the top of his voice. A total hush fell.

  “Here, who the hell do you think you are, telling us what to do?” An overweight thirty-something man sporting an impressive array of neck tattoos, his face flushed with an unbecoming mixture of annoyance and sunburn, squared up to Copper.

  “I'm a British police officer. Sir.” countered the sergeant, a quiet calm smile on his face. The surrounding hush became, if possible, even more intense. “So shall we all pay attention to what this nice lady is saying, and hear what she is trying to tell us? Would that be a good idea? Sir?”

  The man appeared to shrink visibly and his eyes fell as the crowd, after a moment's pause, seemed to draw a collective breath, and turned as one back to face the enquiries desk, where the airline official's smile directed at Dave Copper left no doubts as to the depth of her gratitude.

  “Nicely done, David,” murmured Andy Constable appreciatively. “Fine example of crowd control. I can see that the next time things get a bit out of hand at the football, we shan't need to issue any shields or helmets. We'll just send you in.”

  “Shush, guv, I'm trying to hear.”

  “ … so as some of you might have seen on the news, this new ash cloud from the Icelandic volcano has now spread across most of northern Europe. All airspace north of Paris is closed, so we are not the only airline affected. In fact …,” the woman smiled ruefully, “it's total chaos. The plane that you were due to fly back on was virtually the last aircraft to get out. So please, everyone, bear with us - I know it's a very awkward situation, but we will do our best to get something sorted out for everybody.”

  “What about trains?” suggested a voice in the crowd.

  “That's one possibility we may have to look at, sir. But for now, I'm afraid the only thing we can do is to ask you to be patient, and we'll get back to you as soon as we can. In the meantime, if you would like to come and collect them from me, we have some vouchers which you can exchange for something to eat and a drink or a coffee while you're waiting.”

  The crowd, its annoyance now reduced to subterranean mumbling, obediently formed a surprisingly orderly queue at the desk. As Constable and Copper, bringing up the rear, arrived to take their turn, the woman's smile turned back from the professional to the personal as Dave Copper stood before her. She saw a young man in his late twenties, with rather unkempt light brown hair, a ready smile, and an air of not wishing to take the world too seriously.

  “Thank you so much for that, sir. You saved my life there,” she dimpled.

  “Oh, I don't think it was quite as bad as that,” said Copper.

  “Well, maybe not,” returned the woman. “But I've known some people get really nasty when we have to cancel, so I'm glad you were there. And they say there's never a policeman around when you want one.”

  “Two, in fact,” put in Andy Constable. “But as the senior officer of the two,” he smiled, “I always let the junior ranks do the donkey work. So you should know that your knight in shining armour on this occasion is my sergeant, David.”

  “Well, David, it's very nice to meet you. I'm Danni. Danni Boyd. And I'm very glad that you turned up on your white charger.”

  “Glad to help,” muttered the increasingly embarrassed Copper.

  “Look, I'll tell you what I'll do,” continued Danni. “Forget the drinks voucher. Here's a couple of passes for the V.I.P. Lounge. You can wait in there in comfort instead of sitting around on these horrible metal chairs, and everything's free. Please, go and have a drink on me, while I see what we can do to get this mess sorted out. We've got people on the phones all over the place. I'll come and find you and tell you what's happening when I know.” She favoured Dave Copper with a final smile and a bat of her eyelashes before turning and disappearing into the inner office.

  “What is this effect you have on women in Spain?” remarked Andy Constable. “Has the past week taught you nothing?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and headed towards the stairs which led to the V.I.P. area.

  *

  “You know, guv,” mused Dave Copper, as he worked his way down his second tumbler of 18-year-old single malt whisky, courtesy of the extremely well-stocked bar of the V.I.P. lounge, “I could probably get used to this.”

  “The scotch, the surroundings, or the hanging about without the faintest clue as to what's happening?” Constable's tone was acerbic.

  “Come on, guv.” Copper swung his feet round from the recliner chair in which he had been sprawled untidily, and looked towards his superior. “Let's lighten up a bit. After all, technically we're still on holiday. And if we're going to be stuck in a situation we can't do anything about, I can think of much worse places than here. Just remember those other poor bug... - other poor so-and-so's off our flight. They're having to make do with a cup of coffee and a limp cheese sandwich or whatever, while we're here sat in comfort. Which reminds me, I'm going to go and get another plate of those nibbles. Want some?”

  “If you like.”

  “And a drink?” coaxed Copper. “How about a cafe cortado and a brandy? Just as a sort of farewell to Spain?”

  “Oh, all right.” Constable sighed gustily. He took a breath and, in a characteristic gesture, ran his fingers through his dark brown hair, sprinkled with enough grey to confirm his forty-odd years. He yawned and gave a stretch which took in all of his six-foot height, shook himself slightly, and seemed to come to a conclusion. “Sorry, David,” he continued, as his colleague returned with the refreshments and placed them on the coffee table between them. “We're not even back at the station yet, and I seem to have slipped back into miserable old grouch mode. It's not knowing what's going on that I hate. Not being in control of my own fate.”

  “Hell's bells, guv, do we have to get philosophical at this hour of the day? And anyway, when were we ever in control of our own fate in our job? It kind of absolutely doesn't go with the territory. You know what it's like - you're sat there at your desk, ploughing through some mind-numbing forms which nobody will ever read, and the next minute, the phone rings, and suddenly we're off chasing the bad guys. Suits me.”

  “I dare say you're right.”

  “So what I reckon is, if hanging about at an airport is inevitable, we might as well sit back and enjoy it.”

  “Hmmm. Not the most P.C. remark you'll ever make, sergeant.”

  “Well, in that case, guv, if you're not very careful, I shall wheel out my famous power of positive thinking again and see if that gets us anywhere. After all, it got us to Spain in the first place. Maybe it'll get us home.”


  As if on cue, the frosted glass door of the lounge opened, and Danni put her head round it. “Oh good - you're here.” She advanced on the two detectives with a beaming smile on her face.

  Constable stood. “And where else would we be, other than enjoying your very kind hospitality while we wait for the volcano to belt up and let us go home?”

  “Ah, well, I have some good news there. I think you'll be pleased. Now, we've got everybody's luggage downstairs, so if you'd like to come with me, you can collect it and then I'll take you over to the parking bays where the coaches are waiting.”

  “Hell's teeth!” riposted Constable. “You're not sending us home on a blasted coach, are you? That's going to take forever!”

  Danni laughed. “Oh no, nothing like that. Sorry, I'm not explaining this very well. You're going home by sea.”

  “You what?”

  Danni smiled at Dave Copper's bafflement. “Don't worry, David - you won't have to swim. It's all very simple. DerryAir is owned by a great big international corporation, which also owns several cruise companies. And it just so happens that one of them has just taken delivery of a new ship from the builders in Italy. She's on her way from the shipyard to the U.K. on a sort of trial cruise for invited guests - including our owner! How's that for a coincidence? And even better, the ship called in to the port of Cartagena this morning. There's plenty of room on board, so the management have arranged for all the passengers from your flight to join the ship before she sails this afternoon. It's only about an hour or so down the motorway, so we're loading up the coaches now. You're going on a cruise!” she finished triumphantly.

  Constable turned to Copper, whose grin had grown increasingly radiant as Danni's explanation unfolded. “David - this power of positive thinking thing - you don't by any chance have designs on the job of Chief Constable, do you? Because if you have, I'm putting in for retirement first thing on Monday.” He turned back to Danni. “This is all very good of you. I don't really quite know how to thank you.”