The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) by Fliss Chester (best ereader for pc .txt) 📗

the corridor, she was back at her cabin in a trice, unlocking the door and slipping back in. That the person she very much thought was the murderer was waiting for her in there made Fen drop her own key in horror…

‘Miss Churche…’ he said. ‘It’s about time we had a little talk.’

40

Captain Lagrande didn’t wait for Fen to answer. He slammed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her. Then he grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the cabin and along the corridor. Struggling was almost futile and Fen, despite calling out for help, was quickly pulled through several swing-hinged doorways, away from the public areas of the ship.

The grand galleried staircase led to a service corridor, which led to a utility staircase, which led to the floors above, and before anyone could come to her rescue, she was being pushed through the open door to the deserted lifeboat deck. A gust of wind swiped the yells of despair from her mouth and a solid push from Lagrande forced her onto the slippery wooden deck. She felt a searing pain in her wrist as it hit the ground before she did, but it was the hard steel-capped toe of Lagrande’s boot into her stomach that properly winded her.

‘Why did you not stop when I told you to,’ Lagrande spat, aiming another blow to Fen’s crumpled body. ‘But you kept on and on…’

‘Please, Captain Lagrande…’ Fen begged, shielding herself from the worst of his attack with her arms.

He stopped and looked at her. ‘I don’t want to have to do this…’

‘Then don’t. Let’s talk.’ Fen coughed, winded from the blows. ‘Tell me why.’

The captain laughed. ‘Why? You want me to confess?’

‘I know it was about revenge. Revenge for—’

‘My brother,’ the captain completed her sentence, but Fen was relieved that he seemed ready to talk, though he pinned her to the deck with an icy glare and a stance that told her if she tried to escape or retaliate, she’d be kicked to the edge of the deck and thrown to the one below, or worse, killed and hidden in one of the lifeboats, like Fischer. The captain took a deep breath. ‘Maybe you are right, Miss Churche, my faith applauds confession. Though I don’t feel the need for forgiveness.’

‘Forgiveness doesn’t come easily, I suppose?’

The captain stared at her and something in his countenance changed. ‘My brother Jean-Louis. Killed in forty-three, by one of his torpedoes.’

Fen stayed quiet this time, hoping he would use his story to silence her, rather than his boot.

‘Jean-Louis was in the merchant navy, captain of a ship in one of the Atlantic convoys. They were caught in the Gap, the Black Pit.’ He rammed the toe of his boot into the soft wood of a rotting plank. ‘No air cover, you see, between America and Europe. The convoys were alone, preyed on by U-boats, with only small destroyers there to protect them. But what could their rat-a-tat guns do against torpedoes? That U-boat sunk him without mercy, one torpedo enough to ignite the cargo of coal and cause an explosion so powerful that there were no survivors. None! Jean-Louis… We had both been sailors since we were boys!’ The captain’s anger and frustration at losing his younger brother was palpable.

‘How did you know Fischer designed the torpedo?’

The captain’s eyes bored into her and Fen feared for her life, now more than ever. She was perilously close to the edge of the deck, and one push from the captain could send her falling to the hard metal and wood deck below. He looked at her with a fever in his eyes, his accent thickening as his anger grew.

‘How did I know?’ he asked, his voice high and loud against the wind. ‘Because ses papiers, his papers said as much. Where’s the justice? These war criminals go to the “Land of the Free”, where they will be free. Free to sell their deadly designs to the highest bidder! Free to kill again in another war, in other seas!’

Although her wrist was throbbing and adrenaline was coursing through her bloodstream, Fen knew what he was referring to. ‘Schwarzkopf torpedoes…’

Before she could say much more, Lagrande picked up an iron bar from beside one of the lifeboats. Fen knew a well-aimed strike from such a club could easily kill her, yet she had no time to move, to swerve, and all she could do was hold her arms up and brace herself for broken bones, or worse. She tried to shout out again, but the wind whipped through the lifeboats and caught her breath.

‘No, Captain, please!’ Fen managed to plead as he raised the iron bar above his head. ‘I lost someone too in the war, we all did… we can talk about this calmly, I’m sure…’ But from the wild look in his eye, she realised that he would stop at nothing to cover his tracks, even if that meant finishing her off too. ‘Please, Captain…’ She shielded her face as well as she could and waited for the fatal blow.

41

But the blow never came and, after what felt like an age as she huddled there, cramped and cold and wet to the skin, she gingerly raised her head from behind her aching arms.

The fog billowed around the tall figure of a man, his greatcoat flapping in the gusts of wind that blew off the ocean and swept across the unsheltered upper deck of the ship. He was holding the unmistakable round shape of a lifebelt, its orange and white quarters standing out against the fog around him, having it used it rather effectively to knock out the captain.

‘James!’ Fen said with such relief that she almost choked with tears. He was standing astride the collapsed body of Captain Lagrande, but as she spoke, he came to her and held out a hand.

‘Does this count as mutiny?’ he asked, pulling Fen up. Once standing, albeit shakily, she winced as he clasped both of her hands