Tidal Rage by David Evans (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

The captain turned to Lachiman. “Show Mr Stahmer to cabin 17a, and use your master key to let him in. When Mr Stahmer has finished in the cabin, escort him to the conference room on deck six, where I will ensure Mr McKenzie will be waiting for him,” he ordered.

Stahmer rose from the chair, which was several inches lower than that of the captain.

“Thank you, Captain, for your hospitality.”

The captain looked up and stared at Stahmer for a second.

“You can return the hospitality with the respect to briefing me on what is going on when you finish your interview, Mr Stahmer.”

Stahmer realized that the captain was none too happy at having a crew member interviewed by an outsider without prior knowledge of the details.

“Certainly,” Stahmer said, as he exited the cabin with his guard.

Stahmer put on latex gloves and spent ten minutes in Sebastian’s cabin. He looked through the set of drawers and wardrobe. All the clothes were clean and ironed, and all looked like they had been dry cleaned, which would destroy any usable DNA. The bed was freshly made, and the sheets appeared to be fresh.

In the bathroom, there was a brush, but Stahmer discounted that, as the hair on the brush would be synthetic fibres from Sebastian’s wig. There was no toothbrush, as unbeknown to him, Sebastian only used toothbrushes once, and then he would discard them and use a fresh one the following day.

Stahmer began to fret that he would not be able to get a usable DNA sample. He went back to the wardrobe and searched the hidden depths at the rear of the closet floor. “Eureka!” he said to himself, as he extracted a battered old pair of slippers that Sebastian took everywhere with him. Stahmer was sure these were not cleaned every day, and he placed them in a nylon bag.

The conference room on deck six was on the starboard side and had heavy doors that would lead out onto the deck. The lifeboats that hung down from their gravity davits psitoned above the deck, and there were white cylinders containing inflatable lifeboats roped together in cordoned-off areas of the deck.

Inside the room was a podium at the far end. Overhead there was a projector, and a screen was draped down behind the podium. The tables were laid out in a horseshoe shape; there were notepads with the company logo and pencils at the top of the paper. The leather-backed chairs were placed on the outer perimeter of the horseshoe.

Sebastian was sitting at the head of the horseshoe adjacent to the deck door. Stahmer entered and pulled a chair up opposite Sebastian and placed a folder down between them. Lachiman stood at the far end of the room at Stahmer’s request.

“Good afternoon, Sebastian.”

“Here to see me again so soon, Mr Stahmer? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to clarify a couple of points and ask you some new questions.”

“Just me or the rest of the crew as well?” Sebastian inquired, as he relaxed back into his chair, leaving it balanced on the back legs.

“Just you. I need to ask you again; did you have anything to do with the lifeboat incident?”

Sebastian shook his head.

“Did you know Christie had nicknamed you the Grim Reaper because people tended to die or go missing on ships you both worked on?”

Sebastian leaned forward and the front feet of the seat rested upon the lush red carpet.

“No, I’m not aware of that.”

“So, you agree that there was a high proportion of ships you both worked on where people either died or went missing?”

“No, I’m not aware of that, either.”

“Some of the body parts from the dead have been identified, and in a couple of cases there was evidence of hair being pulled out.”

“I don’t see what all this has to do with me.”

“Elisa Cutler was attacked by a half-white, half-Asian man, and she had her hair pulled out. Elisa called the man Maestro. Do you know anything about that?”

Stahmer could see the tension suddenly spurt through Sebastian’s upper body. Did I overlook a closed-circuit television? How does this investigator know what she called me? Sebastian thought.

“I don’t know this girl or anything about what happened.”

At that moment, Stahmer’s phone vibrated to life. Stahmer glanced down and swiped the phone to open and read the message from Ghislaine. Sebastian could see from Stahmer’s wide eyes that the message was important.

“You have to understand that I think you killed all those innocent crew members on the boat because of the Grim Reaper label. I believe that we have links to many other deaths on ships that you have been on,” Stahmer stated.

“You should have been a screenwriter. You’re putting together innuendo and tragedies and contorting them to fit a theory you have dreamed up from God knows where,” Sebastian said in a quiet and controlled voice.

Stahmer ignored the statement. “Do you wear a wig, Mr McKenzie?”

“That’s none of your business,” Sebastian said in a much sharper tone.

“Do you remember a young girl called Geraldine from when you lived in the UK, Mr McKenzie?”

Sebastian sat upright, shocked at Geraldine’s name. How on earth has he put Geraldine together with me?

“It’s a long time since I lived in the UK, and I was a child. I can’t remember my neighbour’s name, never mind anyone else’s,” Sebastian replied, realizing that the man in front of him knew far more about him than he should.

“Do you suffer from trichotillomania?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Sebastian replied, rubbing his hands together.

“Strange, you either have dementia or you just lied to me. We have the notes from the psychiatrist your father put you under in Seattle because you kept on pulling out your bodily hairs. You look too young for dementia, so explain to