The Man in the Box

Chapter 1: The John Garnet

It is difficult to picture my life before I met Mazo. Not to say I’ve forgotten the twenty-two years that passed before I met her, in fact, I often revisit my formative years in meditation; what I find difficult to imagine, rather, are the whims and obsessions that used to course through me, producing strange leaps of logic to justify my reckless actions. Of course, it is natural for young girls to be foolish, and I don’t begrudge my younger self her mistakes. It is merely curious how impenetrable she seems now, her thoughts and desires a black box, with only residual evidence to give me a clue as to her intention. As if my head was an apartment and her merely the previous tenant, the chips in the wall and scuffs on the furniture her only legacy to the new renter.

That young girl’s preconceptions, hang-ups, even her dreams, all gone now, refracted by a prism into a new woman, who could see the full rainbow of life’s complexity, not just sterile white light. The prism itself? Eleke Mazo, and the year 1921.

I can remember perfectly the first moment I saw her, her pale blue robe flapping in the wind on Miami harbor, tawny skin glowing in the midday sun, accenting her sharp features. Her face, though slightly wrinkled with age, still retained a youthful glow that made her seem untouchable in that late summer heat, her features a mask of sublime calm, as her eyes cast about the hectic docks, observing its denizens.

She was in line ahead of me, waiting to board the John Garnet, a frigate bound for New York City. It was late August, the 20th, the docks were filled with bananas, papaya’s, limes, tangelos, sweet corn, sugar cane, and dried tobacco all being loaded for export along with the twenty-odd passengers before and behind me, sweating through our thick suits and dresses, envying the longshoremen and sailors as they went about their work shirtless, their pant legs rolled up, heedless of modesty in the blazing sun.

The Captain emerged from the ship to relieve us from our torment. He waved enthusiastically as he made his way down the gangplank towards us on the pier, speaking in a New England brogue.

“Good after folks! I’m Captain McDougall and I’m happy to welcome y’all aboard the John Garnet! M’sure we’re gonna have a wonderful voyage together, and ya have my word that each and every one of you will make it to New Yark safe’n’sound!

Weather should be clear along the Eastern seaboard for the next two days, so it’ll be smooth sailing if all goes well. Even if it doesn’t, you can trust ole’ Cap’n Mcdougall to keep her steady, I’ve navigated some pretty nasty squalls in my day, all without losing a man! I just want to remind y’ar that this is a freighter first and a passenger liner second. We’re a small crew, we’ll try to keep ya comfortable, but we’re sailors by trade, not attendants. We’ll will provide three meals square meals a day, but if you want anything more than that, you’ll have to fix it yourself. Also, I’m sure I don’t need to remind ye, but the cargo bay will remain off-limits for the duration of the voyage, anyone caught skulking around down there will have their bags checked thoroughly before leaving! But anyways, without any further ado, I’m ready to welcome y’all aboard my bonnie lass! Step right up and have yer ticket stub ready to inspect.”

We shuffled forward as he inspected each ticket briefly. The man in front of me, whose name I would later learn was Mr. Jacobs, shook his head in disgust as Eleke crossed the footbridge onto the ship. He turned back to face me and spoke through his thin lips.

“I guess they’ll let anyone on this ship, eh tuts? No wonder these tickets were so cheap.”

I scowled at him and glared with all the contempt I could muster, letting him know silently that his comment was unappreciated. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away, stepping forward in line, “Ach! Dames! So sensitive!”

Soon all twenty-two passengers were aboard and the John Garnet set off from the dock, steaming north to begin our two-day voyage to New York City. Everyone had congregated naturally in the common room after dropping their luggage in the dorms. The conversation here was lively and I got to know almost everyone’s name, before we were two hours away from shore! Meeting new people is my favorite aspect of travel; living cheek to jowl, becoming fast friends, promising to write. It’s why I left my home in Toronto to journey across America in the first place!

A few of the passengers, Mazo included, were not as inclined to chat. These passengers paced the deck alone, staring out across the waves, and moving away like wary pigeons whenever I approached. I pegged this as the loner crowd, though in Mazo’s case I could not have been more wrong; while I was chatting with the other passengers, she was communing with spirits.

Anyways, Mr. Daniels, a traveling businessman, proposed a game of Gin Rummy in the common room after we’d all finished dinner. I volunteered eagerly along with seven others and soon enough we were all gathered around a table ready to play. Two traveling businessmen, proposed instead a game of poker, which was seconded by two other men, one of them being Harold Gardner, traveling along with his young wife and three kids, all of whom I’d spoken to earlier. I’d taken a particular shine to Francis, their eldest son who was about six years old, he was polite and inquisitive and very curious about the camera slung around my neck.

“My Leica?” I gushed, “This is my third eye! My true eye! These glazzy white ones up here are just for getting around, savvy?”

Francis reached for it excitedly, “Can I hold it?”

“Certainly not!” I said it in a teasing way, though I definitely had no intention of letting a child hold my sacred instrument, “I cannot give you my eye! Then I would be blind!”

He slunk his head forward in disappointment, “Aw man.”

“But I’ll tell you what? Why don’t I take your picture and you give me your address? Then I can mail it right to you!”

Joan and Harold shook their heads at this.

“We don’t exactly have a permanent add… that is right now we’re…”

I smiled warmly at them to reassure them, gesturing that I understood.

“Oh don’t worry, wherever you all end up I’ll make sure this picture finds you!”

Now, as Harold went to join the poker table, Joan eyed him carefully, cradling her youngest daughter to keep her from crying.

“Harold…”

“Relax Joan, alright? I’m not betting big, it’s just a friendly match.”

Obviously, Mr. Gardner had some trouble with gambling, possibly why his family was homeless! But it really isn’t my place to judge as I don’t know the specific circumstances. So anyway, the ten of us were playing rummy, each of us betting only a dollar on the match to keep it friendly. Mr. Daniels had three decks of cards in his briefcase and took a seat at the head of the table, settling in naturally as the dealer without a word. Sergeant Bradford, who insisted on being referred by his wartime rank even though he had been discharged after the war, commented curiously as Mr. Daniels set about shuffling the cards.

“You just got three decks of cards with you at all times?”

“Yes, I really like gin.”

“What do you sell anyways?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Mr. Daniels calmly folded his hands over the deck, pausing to stare down the Sergeant from under the brim of his trilby.

“Are you here to play cards, sir? Or to start a fight?”

“I’m not starting a fight, I’m just asking what you sell! I thought it an innocent enough question, but since you’re so defensive about now you’ve got me suspicious…”

Carson Weatherby, a broad-shouldered laborer barked at Bradford in a harsh Brooklyn accent, “Cut the bushwa ya facking pill! Who gives a rat’s arse what he sells? Let’s just play!”

The Sergeant scowled and did just that, muttering under his breath as Mr. Daniels dealt out the cards.

“I was just asking a question…”

It was a friendly game apart from that, the conversation was free and lively. Besides Bradford, Weatherby, and Daniels, there was; Mrs. Keneal, a widow moving in with her children in New Jersey, Mr. Jacobs, the man who’d disparaged Eleke on the docks who I now found out was a real estate salesman, hocking Miami suburbs to rich families, there was Mr. Jansen, an old Dutch gentleman who didn’t say much at all, focusing on his cards, and Alice Krenshaw from Jacksonville who sat beside me. She told us she’d been born an entertainer and had run away from home to seek her fortune on Broadway, acommon enough tale.

I put my own story out there, telling the table how I became the first female photojournalist ever hired by a Florida newspaper. I told them how I’d mailed in my self-developed pictures of Miami and her people with only my last name and initials and only revealed that I was a woman when I went to receive the cheque. I told them how the editor has hired me as a “special interest reporter” and set me on assignment to New York to do a piece on the Jazz craze sweeping the city. Alice clapped enthusiastically at this and giggled.

“That’s so exciting! It’s great that there’s a woman out there in the newspaper world showing the men how it’s done! I’m sure we’ll both take New York by storm!”

I smiled obligingly and nodded, though in reality, I had come to hate my job at the Miami Herald. The constant sexual advances and proposals from my colleagues were one thing, but the snide contempt they showed for all my professional efforts was more than I could bear; not to mention that my current assignment was taking me away from Miami just when the biggest story the sleepy town had ever seen was breaking. A million-dollar jewel stolen from an Austrian Duchess at the Grand Palm Hotel, right in broad daylight! Just as the first reports of the crime were coming into the newsroom, the editor slapped the tickets for the John Garnet on my desk like an insult.

“Miss O’Byrne… you said you liked traveling right? I’ve got an assignment for you in New York, you leave tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow! But I’ve only been in Miami for a month! I was gonna stay here for a bit longer before moving on…”

He shook his head with frustration, “Yeah, you go to New York, do the story, then come back. I’m not asking you to move, it’s just for a week ya know? Chop chop huh? You dames always have a lot to pack right?”

“But… I thought I could pick my own stories! What about the jewel heist! I want to pick up the trail on that!”

“Ah come on, get real! I got Tomaso on that! He’s the crime reporter alright? You do special interest, get me? Soft stuff for the housewives, that’s the assignment I got for you, you want to work here you can take it, if you don’t then I’ll find someone else.”

I took it, not because I planned on actually writing the article, but merely to get free passage to New York and ditch the patronizing bastards. Anyways, when I finished telling my story in the common room, Mr. Jacobs began shaking his head.

“Asking for nothing but trouble you are, woman stepping into the man’s world, it’s dangerous… dames should stick to work they’re good at, nurturing, caring for people, mending clothes, cooking and the like.”

I snapped back sharply, “What about the war? I dare say the factories ran better than ever when it was only women working, none of that caustic masculine bravado polluting the air! It was dames who made the guns that broke the Kaiser’s back after all!”

Mr. Daniels laughed at this, reaching over to comfort Jacobs.

“Don’t cross tongues with this one old boy, women with wit deal the harshest blows.”

Mr. Jacobs scoffed, “Are you kidding? Her scrawny arms couldn’t hurt a fly!”

Mr. Daniels shook his head, “Blows to the pride man! To the pride!”

The game ended soon after that, with Mr. Jansen taking the ten-dollar pot. I made my way out of the common room for some fresh air. The gulf breeze filled my lungs as I strolled along the deck, leaving a salty taste. I made my way towards the back of the boat to watch the sunset. Mazo came into view as I approached, her profile framed by the crimson dusk as she leaned forward against the stern railing. I stopped and readied my Leica, snapping a picture reflexively to capture her portrait. Mazo heard the shutter click and turned to face me, a curious look coming over her face. I instantly felt ashamed, letting the camera fall back to my stomach as if to hide what I’d done. She didn’t seem angry, her face was just as placid as when I’d first seen her on the docks, but there was a hint of suspicion in her eyes that unsettled me. She extended her arm and gestured with her finger to beckon me closer. I obeyed, drawn by gravitational force until I was close enough that she could speak softly, her lips caressing the words with her Caribbean patois.

“What is your intention, young lady? Why have you stolen from me?”

I was bewildered at this suggestion, I tried to stutter out an explanation.

“No! No I didn’t steal… it’s just…You mean the soul? Right? You’re worried the camera captures the soul? I assure you, it only captures light!”

Mazo shook her head, “Nah, nah, come on! I know it doesn’t have my soul, I still feel it within me! Nonetheless, you have captured my image, my shape at a single instant in time. An image is very dangerous, you could use that picture to place a hex on me.”

“A hex? I couldn’t… I would never place a hex on anyone! I’m a good Catholic girl!”

This was untrue, I had renounced any notion of a loving God after 1918, but since Mazo looked like a nun I figured it prudent to establish my credentials. She waved her hand as if to bat away my flimsy pleas of defense.

“That means nothing! Wearing a shirt does not make it your skin! No… I need more assurance than that if I’m going to entrust you with my image… I must also have a picture of you!”

She reached into the large satchel slung across her back and pulled out a pencil and sketchbook, flipping it open to a blank page with a flash. I laughed at this, relieved that she was not asking for money, or worse, to destroy my roll of film.

“A drawing? I’d be flattered!”

Mazo nodded and lowered herself cross-legged to the ground, motioning for me to join. I looked at the steel deck with hesitation.

“Here? I mean… wouldn’t you rather go into the common room where he can sit down?”

She shook her head, “It’s nicer out here.”

I gazed out across the stern at the setting sun, red against the horizon, agreeing with her silently. I gathered up my dress and sat down, leaning backward. She set about sketching me, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the details of my face.

“What’s your name anyway?” I blurted out.

“Eleke Mazo and before you ask, no, I’m not American. I am from the isle of St. Vincent in the Lesser Antilles.”

I smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I won’t give you a hard time, I’m not American either! I’m from Toronto, Canada… you know… Cara O’Byrne is my name.”

She looked up from her drawing and met my eyes, smiling for the first time.

“What a coincidence! Canada is where I am headed.”

“You are? But I thought we were going to New York…”

“Yes, from there I will take the train to Montreal.”

“Ah, Montreal! You speak french?”

“Bien sur! Ma famille est originaire d’Haiti!”

“Oh uh, sorry, I don’t speak french…” I blushed red, “I know, it’s bad, Canada being a bilingual country and all, but I just never found the time.”

“No problem, I know English just as well. What I said was…”

A woman screamed behind us, interrupting Mazo. We turned sharply, the screaming woman shouting hysterically, her blood-curdling howls sounding out across the calm waters.

“Head! Head! Head in the water!”

We rose to our feet and rushed towards the commotion. The woman, it turned out, was Mrs. Keneal, she was braced against the port side railing, jabbing her finger desperately towards the waves. I looked towards where she was pointing, the glinting sunbeams on the waves making it hard to focus. Finally, I caught a glimpse of something bobbing near the boat.

“Dear God!” I turned to Mazo, “Do you see that?”

She nodded solemnly. A crowd began to form around Mrs. Keneal, trying to comfort her. They rushed in our direction as the head floated towards the stern, the crew fetching a pole net to fish it out of the water but before they could reach it the head passed under the propeller blades, leaving only a red plume diffusing slowly in the wake. We stood in shock, watching the mangled bits of flesh and skull float away, unsure of what to do next. Finally, Captain McDougall spoke up, his wavering voice trying to reassert control of the situation.

“We should… we need to gather everyone in the common room, see if anyone’s missing.”

Sergeant Bradford nodded, “We need to get to the bottom of this.”

A half an hour later, all twenty-seven of us were gathered in the common room, slightly cramped for space. Sergeant Bradford paced through the center aisles between the tables, taking it upon himself to fill everyone in on the situation.

“So… as all of you know, not too long ago Mrs. Keneal spotted a head in the water.”

I cast a glance towards the Gardner family, concerned for young Francis. The boy was enthralled with morbid curiosity at the mystery, listening with rapt attention.

“At this point, we’re not sure, if it came from someone on the ship or not, but since there are only twenty-seven of us now and there were twenty-nine of us when we left Miami, there’s some cause for concern. Captain, who are we missing?”

The Captain ran his finger down the ship’s manifest, “Uh… Jack Pinter and Merrill Hale.”

Alice Krenshaw, seated on my left, seemed to twitch inadvertently after the names were read out, Bradford took notice of this, “Alice, did you know either of these men?”

“No…I… no, it’s just well, the second name… it doesn’t sound accurate.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t sound accurate?”

“I don’t know… don’t mind me Sergeant, I’m not making any sense… I’m just so…everything is so…”

He nodded sympathetically.

“Don’t worry darling, I’m on the case, we’ll get to the bottom of this. Anyways, no one here has seen these two men recently?”

The crew shook their heads, the Captain continued cautiously.

“We haven’t checked the storage room yet, Mr. Pinter could be in there, but there’s no need to worry about Mr. Hale, his quarters are locked up tight.”

“Quarters? He’s not sleeping in cots like the rest of us?”

“Uh, no, he paid a premium to have my cabin.”

“And where are you sleeping?”

“Well… with the crew, just for this voyage.”

Bradford narrowed his eyes, “He must’ve paid a lot.”

“He did, he arrived hours before boarding and left specific instructions that he was not to be disturbed.”

Bradford became indignant, “Well I’m sorry to disturb him but we may have a murder on our hands! And if we do, everyone on this boat is a suspect!”

There were murmurs at this, Mr. Daniels spoke out.

“Surely this… this must be some kind of tragic accident! I mean… you can’t just go calling it murder!”

“A severed head, cut clean at the neck? I call that murder any day! Captain, take me to your cabin this instant! I’ll have a word with Mr. Hale.”

“But… we already tried that, we knocked on the door and called out to him but there was no answer. Like I says, he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Poppy-cock! You have a key don’t you?”

“Well… sure but…”

“Then let’s go get him! These are matters of life and death man! We can’t be fussing over petty niceties!”

The Sergeant turned towards me, and thrust out his finger, unconsciously emulating the man from all those “ENLIST!” posters, “You! Camera girl! You’re a reporter, right? Why don’t you tag along with me? I could use some pictures if we find a crime scene.”

Mr. Daniels protested again, “Really I think you are making too much of this! This isn’t murder! It’s just… it’s just an accident!”

Bradford sneered as he moved past him, “Why are you trying to throw us off the trail, huh? Got something to hide? Well, you can’t stop me! Come on camera girl, we’re going below deck.”

I did not correct Sergent Bradford as to my name, as far as I was concerned, the less this brutish arrogant man knew about me the better. But I was curious about the strange mystery that had fallen into our laps and eager to find out about this elusive Mr. Hale, who none of us had yet met.

We followed the Captain below deck, making our way through the living quarters towards the captain’s cabin. McDougall knocked forcefully, shouting at the wrought iron door.

“Mr. Hale! We need to speak with you immediately!”

He waited a moment, there was no answer, he shrugged and looked back towards Bradford. The Sergeant jabbed his finger at the lock, “Use the key fool! That’s what it’s for!”

The Captain grumbled as he slipped the key into the lock, twisting it slowly before clasping the handle and pulling the door open.

The room was in a state of extraordinary disrepair, clothing scattered along with Mr. Hale’s personal effects. The wind gusted in through the open window blowing loose sheets of paper all around the cabin. A terrible stench became evident as soon as we entered, Bradford looked around curiously, trying to find the source. He entered the small attached bathroom and threw open the shower curtain, revealing bloodstains along the walls and around the drain, but no body. Bradford paced impatiently.

“Well? Where’s Mr. Hale? Is this his blood? You said he would be here Captain!”

The Captain glared, fed up with the impudent Sergeant.

“Hey buddy, I don’t fooking know alright? I was busy driving the goddamned ship!”

Bradford pushed past him impatiently and went towards the cot, reaching for the suitcase underneath. The bag proved heavier than he thought and he struggled to pull it out from under the bed.

“Here! Help me with this!”

The two of them together were able to hoist the suitcase up onto the bed, Bradford exhaled pointedly as they let it go.

“Christ! What’s that thing full of? Bowling balls?”

He snapped open the latches and flipped up the lid, the contents of the suitcase prompting sickened coughs from all of us as the stench of decay wafted out; inside was a body, without hands or head, folded neatly. I steeled myself and snapped two photos as quickly as I could, before stumbling towards the open window and vomiting into the sea.

Chapter 2: Mutual Suspicion

Sergeant Bradford quickly established himself as the head of our impromptu investigation, his former rank lending him an air of credibility that no one protested. It seems strange that we were willing to entrust this man with our security solely because he had previous experience killing people, but then again, no one else seemed to want to take leadership of the situation.

The cook had been the last person to see Merrill Hale alive, having delivered the evening meal to his room before taking it up to serve everyone else. The cook described how Hale had only allowed the smallest gap in the door for the waiting tray to pass through before quickly shutting and locking it behind. Bradford tried to press the cook, an older Cuban man, for information.

“Why was Mr. Hale so fearful? Did he seem wary? Like shifty-eyed?”

“Naw, sir he wasn’t so much scared as just…well… he seemed to like his privacy is all, privacy is hard to get on a boat like this.”

“But what kind of air did this guy give? Did he seem fearful of anyone?”

“Naw, he seemed normal sir, totally normal. Just private.”

The other missing man, Mr. Pinter, had been found in the storage compartments, blind drunk, and sleeping on bags of grain. He was brought into the common room with the others where he promptly fell asleep in the corner, lost in a drunken haze, lucky bastard. After Sergeant Bradford finished interviewing the cook he began to pace back and forth through the common room, laying out the evidence as it stood.

“So… a man is delivered dinner at 5:45, acting normal aside from avoiding all human contact, then two hours later he ends up in his suitcase, hands and head gone, and his stomach slashed open.”

Mrs. Gardner gasped, “I say! Must you really be so ghastly?”

Sergeant Bradford smiled at the woman and apologized in a mocking tone.

“My apologies, ma’am, I lost my manners in the war. Perhaps you and the children might want to go below deck and rest. I’d ask your husband Harold to stay, however.”

Mr. Gardner, the father, became indignant, “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with…”

“Relax old bean, I’m not accusing you, I just think all the men should be here for this. Besides, I’m not gonna make assumptions without evidence… everyone on this ship is a suspect at this point.”

Mr. Daniels spoke up, “Except for you eh Bradford?”

“I was here with all of you playing rummy when the crime took place.”

“So that means I’m surely innocent as well…”

“It seems that way.”

“What do you mean?”

Bradford smiled and shrugged, “I dunno, I’m not eliminating any options at this point.”

Mazo, seated to my right, leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“Real charmer this one.”

Bradford continued, “Anyways, we will start with the most promising leads first. I’m speaking of course of the passengers who weren’t in the common room when the murder happened.”

All eyes in the room naturally rested on the five passengers these criteria entailed. Barnard Kitt, a musician seeking his fortune in New York, Mirium Bradley, a young woman looking for work as a chambermaid, Arturo Jiao, a Portuguese sailor seeking employment, Jacob Grissom, a self-described entrepreneur, and Eleke Mazo, fast becoming the center of mass around which my body would orbit. Ms. Bradley protested with incredulity as Bradford eyed her.

“Now look here! You’re not seriously accusing me of murder are you?”

“That depends Miss Bradley, what were you doing between six o’clock and seven forty-five?”

“I was puking my guts over the side of the boat! By jove… I just could not keep that gumbo down! All that rocking… oh gosh, I was so sick.”

Arturo stood up and nodded enthusiastically, “That’s true! She was so sick! I saw her while I was walking the deck, how you say, sniffing the fresh air. I helped hold her hair back, right ma’am?”

Miss Bradley nodded in exasperation, evidently still weak from the ordeal.

“Yes… Arturo was a great help, a very charming man, even despite my indisposed nature… the murderer couldn’t have been Arturo either.”

Barnard Kitt spoke up eagerly, “Well, I certainly couldn’t have done it either! I’m a lover, not a fighter! I was in my room practicing on my saxophone the whole time! Y’all probably heard me through the floor?”

Bradford shook his head, “Didn’t hear anything up here but the thrumming engine, you’re still a prime suspect, ol’ boy.”

“Ah come on… you gotta believe me… I wouldn’t do nothing like that, it just ain’t in my temperament! Look at my arms! You think I could overpower a man and stuff him in a suitcase? Come on!”

Bradford shrugged, “I admit it’s pretty implausible, but stranger things have happened, I won’t allow conclusions to come before the facts.”

Jacob Grissom, a tall man with a sharp serious look in his eyes, shot to his feet in protest.

“Who do you think you are? Sherlock Holmes? You can’t just start accusing us of murder because we weren’t here playing your stupid card game! How long were you playing anyway? Who’s to say one of you didn’t get to him after?”

Bradford shot back defiantly, “I checked my watch the whole time! Our game of gin lasted one hour and thirty-seven minutes! That leaves only twenty minutes between the end of the game and the discovery of the head, hardly enough time to kill and dismember Mr. Hale.”

“And why not huh? Who’s to say? Are you an expert? Why are we even talking about this? Why don’t we just wait till we get to New York and report it to the police?”

“Because a man was murdered and one of us did it! If we get to New York the killer will just jump ship and escape to shore! We need to find out who did this before we reach land… that’s the only way to get real justice! Which reminds me… Mr. Grissom, what were you doing between…”

“I was reading a goddamn magazine alright? Just laying in my cot, reading.”

“Which magazine?”

Mr. Grissom sighed, “Great Adventure Tales to Astound and Beguile.”

“Hmm, plausible enough, we’ll see if it holds up. I will make a note however that you and the sax player were unaccounted for and below deck when the murder took place.”

Bradford spun on his heels to face Mazo sharply, the military affectation betraying a reversion to old instincts.

“And what about you miss…”

“Eleke Mazo.”

“A what now? Aleky Masso?”

“Ee-leh-kay Mah- zoh, Eleke Mazo. Just call me Mrs. M if it’s too much for you.”

“Mazo, Mazo… I think I get it. What were you doing at the time of the murder?”

“I wandered the deck after supper, watching the sunset.”

“You watched the sunset for two hours?”

“Yes, it was quite beautiful. It gave me time to reflect.”

He eyed her suspiciously, looking over her pale blue robe and short-cropped afro.

“Where are you from anyways? Are you a nun or something?”

“I am from the island of St. Vincent. I am a priestess.”

“A priestess?”

“Yes, I serve Our Lady of Charity del Cobre, the Virgin Mary, she has a Basilica in Cuba.”

Mr. Jacobs, across from Eleke and I, shook his head in disapproval.

“So you’re a papist, eh? If you ask me, Catholics are little better than pagans! All their idols and virgin marys… bah! In America, we follow the word of the Bible alone!”

Mazo smiled at this and turned to face him, “Excuse me sir, but, which bible are you talking about?”

“What in the blazes do you mean? The only Bible there is! The King James!”

“The Bible was written in many languages before it was translated by your great King James. When Jesus walked the Earth, English wasn’t even spoken. Jesus spoke Aramaic, but his words were widely distributed in Greek, then translated into Latin and then finally into English. Not to mention, the Orthodox believers of Ethiopia and Eastern Europe each have their own separate bibles, with books omitted by rival faiths. So then, how can you come to know the whole truth of Christ by reading just one English book?”

Mr. Jacobs was stunned by this, quickly becoming red and indignant.

“What! Blasphemy! You dare question the word of God?”

“Not at all, I’m merely pointing out that you cannot know God by simply reading, you must use your mind and heart to truly receive him, words alone cannot convey the message.”

Bradford waved his arms impatiently, “Enough! This isn’t a religious debate, we’re trying to solve a murder here! Mazo, do you have anyone who can corroborate your story?”

I spoke up eagerly, “I was with her! We were at the back of the ship when Mrs. Keneal found the head, Mazo couldn’t have done it!”

Mr. Grissom responded coolly, narrowing his piercing gaze on me, “How do you know? Weren’t you playing gin?”

“I was, but after the game, I went out on the deck to speak with Mazo.”

“So? That only accounts for the last twenty minutes, that still leaves an hour and a half when she could have done the crime!”

I protested angrily, already feeling myself becoming attached to her.

“How could she have tossed his head out the subdeck window at the same moment she was talking to me?”

Bradford shushed me while raising his left hand to take back control of the room.

“Alright, alright keep it cool, people! If it’s any consolation, I believe none of you! Sure, taking all your stories at face value, it would appear that no one is guilty… and yet a man lies dead, not from some tragic accident… but from cold-blooded murder. I fear dark forces may be involved, with intentions more sinister than your typical reprobate. I read an article a few years back, talking about medicine men from Haiti who harvest the limbs and organs of their unsuspecting victims to create talismans for voodoo rituals, the way Mr. Hale’s body was mutilated… it reminds me of that.”

I protested, “But why did they throw the head out the window then? Why would they throw away their trophies?”

He shrugged, “Maybe they don’t need the head, maybe they just wanted the hands and guts…I don’t know… I’ve just got a feeling that strange magic is at play… I think it’s best if everyone stays here, within sight of one another. I’ll go below deck to search for evidence.”

Mr. Daniels stood up, “Like hell! You just wanna rifle through our stuff!”

Bradford snapped back impatiently, “I’m trying to get to the bottom of this, not steal your laundry, you idiot!”

He came face to face with the salesmen, glaring with menace into his eyes.

“You know, the way you keep getting in my way Daniels… let’s just say if you hadn’t been in that card game you would be at the top of my list!”

He gestured towards me, “The camera girl will come with me below, keep me honest, does that make you happy Daniels? The rest of you, talk amongst yourselves, maybe you can figure out which one is lying.”

Mazo cleared her throat softly, “I wonder if I could accompany you below deck as well… so that I may pray for the soul of the dead man. He needs guidance towards the afterlife.”

A number of glances came her way as she said this, giving evidence to the suspicion the other passengers harbored against Mazo; if there was indeed black magic involved, her skin marking her as the most obvious suspect. Bradford replied cautiously.

“Sure, whatever you want, just make sure you don’t disturb the crime scene.”

Though I didn’t much care for the company of Sergeant Bradford, I was more than happy to be out of that cloistered common room. Taking in the cool night air with him was much preferable to sweating it out with the other passengers, bristling with tension and fear, ready to snap out at any moment and accuse one another.

“So, where ya from camera girl?”

I shot back with a tone of mild annoyance, “My name is Cara, and I’m from Toronto.”

“Ahhh! Canadian! That’s where that accent is from then, couldn’t place it at first.”

He gestured towards Mazo, “And you, you’re from Cuba you said?”

“St. Vincent, in the Grenadines.”

“Ah yes of course.”

I fired back a question of my own, “And where are you from Mr. Bradford?”

“Cleaveland, Ohio ma’am. And please, Mr. Bradford was my father, it’s just Axel to you.”

“Axel Bradford, huh? Sounds like something from an adventure novel.”

He laughed, “Doesn’t it? I come from a long line of Axel’s, I was named for my father and grandfather before me.”

“Well then, Axel the Third, do you have any expertise in the science of forensics?”

His face wrinkled in confusion, “In the what now?”

“Forensics! The science of solving crimes!”

“Ahhhh no, none of that fancy book learning shite. I did learn a lot about the human mind during the war though. If someone like me didn’t step up and take charge of the situation then these fine people would tear the ship apart in a panic!”

I scoffed, “Well I hardly think gruff accusations and talk of black magic is the way to prevent a panic.”

He glanced back suspiciously at Mazo, gesturing with his eyes as he continued.

“Well, people should know what they’re up against… whoever killed Mr. Hale did it methodically and without remorse, a cold-blooded killer like that would have no trouble lying straight to your face…”

He opened the door to the subdeck and motioned us inside. I led Mazo towards Mr. Hale’s room, the window still open to allow the stench to waft away. The suitcase with the body had been moved into the sealed bathroom. The crew had begged to perform a burial at sea, Bradford had insisted upon delivering the body to the NYPD. Mazo poked her head inside the threshold of the room.

“Remarkably clean, considering a man was hacked to pieces in here.”

Bradford nodded, “Yeah, we figure he did Mr. Hale in the bathroom and washed most of the blood down the drain.”

Mazo nodded placidly, she knelt at the threshold and bowed her head in prayer, offering her palms to the sky as she intoned underneath her breath in some unknown language. Bradford looked her over with quiet contempt and turned to me, “Keep an eye on this one, she’s still a suspect. I’m gonna have a look in the other rooms, see if I can’t find anything suspicious.”

I nodded, happy to be rid of the brutish lout. Once he was out of earshot, Mazo’s intonations became slightly louder.

“…Iwo ni Oluwa Awo Iku. Iwo ni Orisha Obinrin Efufulile…”

After she’d finished her prayer, she pulled a leather bag out from under her robe and cinched it open, retrieving a wicker mat and sixteen cowrie shells from inside. She unrolled the mat and began tossing the cowrie shells like dice, carefully noting how many mouths were facing upwards before picking up the shells and tossing them again. I leaned over her shoulder, paying no respect to the ritual she was performing.

“What are you doing?”

“I am contacting the spirit of the dead man, asking him questions.”

“You can do that?”

“I can try.”

My actions make me blanche in horror when I look back at them, but at the time the world of magic was completely unknown to me, and so I had no idea how utterly annoying I was being.

“You aren’t actually Christian are you Mazo? I mean, not that it matters much to me, I don’t feel very Christian myself…”

She sighed and set aside her shells, turning to answer me.

“I accept some tenets of Christianity, but I do not believe in lashing myself to a single religion. Reality is fractured, composite, messy, it cannot be understood by one creed alone. Like right now for instance, Christ may bless the sick and impoverished, but only the great Orisha Oshun can speak with the dead!”

The deep wisdom of these words struck me even then, and I watched silently for a while longer as she continued tossing her shells, mumbling to herself.

“Hmm, yes, yes…”

I caressed my Leica and brought it up to my eye.

“Do you think I could take a picture?”

She shook her head firmly, “Not now, it would be an insult. Please, stop talking.”

Stop talking! She should have said that ages ago! I took the hint and stood in silence, watching her patiently. Mazo rolled the shells one last time, her eyes widening as she did. She nodded solemnly and gathered up the mat, slipping it back into her bag before rising to her feet. She entered the captain’s cabin, stepping towards the cot and flipping the cushion upright off the steel frame. There was a small hole in the mattress beneath, from which stuffingprotruded, Mazo reached inside and pulled out a wallet, a pistol, and a folded envelope in quick succession. I gasped and yelled back down the hall.

“Bradford! You’re gonna want to see this!”

A moment later the Sergeant came flying around the corner, a grin on his face as he held a dildo aloft in his hands.

“Look! A rubber johnny! Mr. Daniels has a whole suitcase full of them! Now we know why he was so reluctant to tell us what he sells eh?”

I groaned, “Never mind that Bradford, Mazo just found something! A real clue!”

He stepped into the cabin and examined the items, palming the gun immediately and sliding it into his pocket before grabbing the wallet and flipping it open.

“Well looky here, we’ve got a few hundred dollars and… hmmm some bank cards issued to Patrick Pendergast… I guess Mr. Hale was lying about his name.”

Mazo picked up the envelope and pulled out the letter inside, she read it aloud.

“B, it’s P, am sending this from the John Garnet, currently in New York harbor. Come by night with boat to fetch, am in cabin on starboard side, will leave red kerchief in window so you know. J and K are on the ship, trying to give me the big sleep. The ruby is within, please hurry.”

Bradford responded tentatively. “Curious… sounds like he knew the people who were after him… wonder what he means by, ‘the ruby is within’ that some sort of occult thing?”

Mazo reflected distantly, “It is a curious phrase…”

“And what about that stuff about J and K and the big sleep? Are they the killers? Oh, I almost forgot! Look at what I found in the crew dorm!”

He pulled a thin piece of sackcloth from his jacket pocket and held it up, displaying the crudely painted image of a cross adorned with colorful skulls.

“Looks like that Cuban cook has a penchant for Voodoo! I found this and a few candles under his bed! It makes sense when you think about it, he was the last person to see Mr. Hale alive and he has the knives and expertise to cut him up like that!”

Mazo shook her head, “It wasn’t the cook, he is a timid soul; those talismans are for personal protection and good fortune only.”

“Bullshit! I’m gonna go have another word with our friend, right now!”

Bradford ran towards the upper deck, Mazo scoffed as he rounded the corner.

“A man like that can only mean trouble for us all… But anyways, tell me Cara, was the window open when you first opened the door?”

“Uh, yes it was open, wide open actually, had to be I guess to get the head out.”

Mazo gazed around the window frame carefully, finding a piece of checkered cloth stuck to the latch, she pulled it out and examined it carefully.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Looks like a bit of clothing, probably from the jacket or pants of a suit. I’d wager this is how the murderer got in.”

“Through the window?”

“Uh-huh, and then back out again in a hurry, catching himself on the latch. I don’t think he intended on us becoming wise to the murder so quickly, I suspect he would have tossed the rest of Mr. Hale out the window piece by piece if Mrs. Keneal hadn’t started screaming. This jamming him in a suitcase business was a move of desperation.”

I inspected the cloth curiously, “So… who does it belong to?”

“I don’t know for certain… but I happen to recall Mr. Grissom having a suit of this pattern, perhaps we should inspect the hem of his garb!”

I giggled at this, Mazo always had a curious way of making mundane phrases sound melodic. We returned to the common room, where Bradford was engaged in a heated debate with McDougall, who had reached his limit with the brash young man. The Cuban cook looked on, standing fearfully behind his Captain as he shouted at Bradford.

“Shut yer fookin mouth, you pigsucking bastard! Me and my crew had nothing to do with that awful business! And so help me, if you suggest we did again, I’ll throw you off the fooking boat!”

“You’re harboring a black magician Captain! Look at this!”

Bradford dangled the piece of cloth in front of the Captain’s face.

“The evidence was right under your noses! He performed a black sacrament underneath his cot, giving him protection when he did the deed! He was the only person besides you who had the opportunity to get in that room!”

“He didn’t do shit! I’ve been sailing with Julio for ten years and I can tell you he wouldn’t hurt a fly! He didn’t even know Mr. Hale! Why would he kill him?”

Bradford lighted on this, pulling Mr. Hale’s note from his back pocket.

“Julio! That proves it! Mr. Hale’s final letter mentions that he was being hunted by ‘J and K’ obviously J is short for Julio!” He looked past the Captain and glared at the cook, “Tell me who K! Wetback! Quit pretending you’re innocent!”

Julio panicked at this and ran out of the common room, McDougall looked on in astonishment as Bradford cried out.

“See! He’s running away! Get him! Get him!”

Julio vaulted over the balcony, landing hard on the deck below. The male passengers stampeded out of the common room, chasing after him as he rushed towards the lifeboats. Julio grabbed an oar as the mob bore down on him and swung it blindly, striking Mr. Jacobs across the arm and sending him to the floor in agony. Bradford pulled Mr. Hale’s revolver from his jacket and leveled it at Julio’s head.

“Easy there boy, try and jump into that boat and your brains will be fish food!”

The mob behind Brantford looked on in fear, the introduction of a gun into our cloistered situation immediately prompting new levels of paranoia. Julio dropped his paddle and fell to his knees, holding his hands high in the air in surrender. Bradford kept the gun pointed at his head and shouted, “Now tell me who K is!”

The cook pleaded, tears streaming down his cheeks, “Please I don’t know! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I just cook the food! I am a simple man of simple pleasures!”

The Captain stormed across the deck towards Bradford, “What the fook are you doing man! Put that thing away!”

Bradford spun to face him, waggling his pistol menacingly.

“On the ground Captain! You won’t interfere with this investigation any more!”

The Captain charged forward, calling the bluff. Bradford fired, the booming crack echoing loudly through the night as the bullet whizzed past the McDougall’s head and ricocheted off the smokestack. He hit the deck and put his hands on his head, “Alright, Christ! I’m down you crazy fooking cont!”

Bradford turned towards the mob of passengers beside him, gazing on in awe.

“Come on lads! Fetch some rope! Tie these bastards up! Tie up the whole crew! They’re all in on it!”

Mazo stormed towards Bradford from the common room as I followed meekly, still cowed by the gunshot. She admonished the men with a booming voice.

“Stop this at once! You cannot arrest the crew! Who will pilot the ship?”

Bradford shouted back, “We weigh anchor! That way we know that no one will leave until we figure this out!”

The Captain turned his head to shout from his belly.

“We only have two days’ provisions! We can’t just weigh anchor anywhere and lollygag!”

Mr. Gardner stepped over him and began lashing together his hands, “There’s plenty of food in the cargo hold, I saw you loading it on.”

“That’s for our buyers! Not for you!”

Bradford shot back defiantly, “Yeah well, you lost the right to sell your goods when you let a murder happen on your ship Captain! I mean think about boys, only the crew had access to the cabins, only they could have gotten in and out unseen! It must be a conspiracy amongst them, killing rich guys at sea and making it look like they disappeared! They get their satanic cook to do the killing while the rest of the crew maintain a code of silence!”

The captain screamed against the floor, struggling against his bindings.

“Ya dirty fooking liar! We did nothing of the sort!”

Mazo produced the piece of the torn suit from her pocket and held it up for the impromptu tribunal.

“Look! He’s telling the truth! The killer came in through the window! A piece of their suit got torn off on the latch! It couldn’t have been anyone from the crew, the door remained locked the entire time!”

Bradford snapped the cloth from her and inspected it carefully.

“Hmmm… whose suit does it belong to?”

He scanned the men gathered, all of their suit patterns inconsistent with the design, “No one here I guess.”

I spoke up, corroborating Mazo’s claims, “Umm… I happen to remember Mr. Grissom having a suit like that…”

“Did he now…he was trying hard to shift the blame, where is Grissom?”

Everyone looked around, he was nowhere within immediate view. On the upper deck, the burly Carson Weatherby hauled forward two tied and bound crew members, followed by three men grappling one man each. Bradford smiled and nodded.

“Good work Weatherby! That’s all the crew accounted for!”

The big man laughed, “Bastards tried to lock themselves in the engine room! Good thing I got there before they could lock the door!”

Mazo spoke again, her tone was restrained but forceful, “The crew had nothing to do with this, we know that now, the person we need to find is Grissom! Release these men at once!”

“Well…” Bradford hummed, turning back towards the cook, “I don’t know about that… this one struck Mr. Jacobs with a deadly weapon. We need to keep him tied up for the NYPD”

The Captain growled from the ground, “Bastard!”

Bradford spun on his heel to face the Captain, adjusting his grip on the revolver.

“This fellow, on the other hand, is a mad dog, he must be restrained for our safety.”

Mazo asked pointedly, “Our safety? Or yours?”

Bradford narrowed his eyes ignoring her question as he continued, “As for the rest of the crew… they’ll remain loyal to their leader, maybe try and free him. We have to keep them restrained as well.”

Mazo stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bradford tried to move around her but wherever he moved she stepped in front of him again, keeping them face-to-face.

“What is your intention young man? Waving that thing around as if it makes you our lord! You’re wasting time tying up innocent men while the real killer runs amok! Release them! Ain’t one of you men got a shred of decency? Untie them! Just because this fool has a gun doesn’t mean you have to do what he says!”

Mr. Gardner was shaken by this and moved to untie the Captain, still squirming at his feet. Bradford pushed Mazo aside and raised his pistol once more, aiming it at Harold.

“Actually, they do have to listen Miss. M. We’re in international waters now, no-man’s-land, out here, guns dictate the law. Now step away from the Captain please, Mr. Gardner…”

Just then a young boy’s scream came up from the subdeck. Everyone snapped to attention, forgetting the confrontation. Mr. Gardner cried out and ran towards the noise.

“Francis!”

More screams followed, as well the muffled cries of Mrs. Gardner, crying for help. Bradford and the rest of the men charged into the subdeck, with Mazo and I trailing behind, galloping through the ship’s hallways until we came to the cargo bay stairs. Mrs. Gardner sat in a corner by the stairwell entrance, cradling Francis as he sobbed into her shoulder. She was crying herself, jabbing her finger in exasperation at the stairs

“He found a… found a… oh Jesus Christ… look!”

The men gasped and mumbled as they crowded around the entrance, looking below with eyes wide. I followed Mazo as she pushed her way through to the front to get a better look. On the landing a level beneath us, a man’s body lay face down, his jacket cut open to reveal his bareback, an inverted cross carved into his skin.

I kept my composure this time and didn’t vomit, though that may be because I threw up everything I had when we found the last corpse. I brought the Leica to my eye and snapped a couple of pictures, a deep weight lifting from my mind as I did, as if the horror of the situation was lessened when I captured it through a lens.

Bradford approached the body slowly. Pulling the suit piece from his pocket and holding it up to the end of the dead man’s trouser leg, matching it exactly to a tear in the hem. He turned towards Mazo and smiled.

“You were right, the shred did come from Grissom’s suit. But unfortunately, poor old Jacob seems to have been eliminated as a suspect.”

Chapter 3: Dames Do It Better

We gathered in the common room once more, the seven tied up crew members thrown into the corner while the rest of us crowded the tables, whispering amongst one another nervously or simply staring forwards in silence.

Bradford sat behind the cafeteria counter, scanning back and forth across the room, trying to keep an eye on everyone at once. The inverted cross in Grissom’s back had confirmed his suspicions of dark magic, and his paranoid ravings only heightened the tension. Mazo and I sat next to the crew, caring for them and giving them water, especially Julio, who lay simpering on the floor. Mr. Jacobs, beside them, rubbing his badly bruised arm, muttered in contempt.

“No need to be so gentle with the bastard. He wasn’t gentle with me…”

Mazo scoffed, “Charge at a cornered man Mr. Jacobs, and you’ve got to be ready for anything. Frankly, you’re lucky he didn’t aim for your head.”

He sneered, “Figures… you people always stick together, no matter what. White man’s burden!”

Mazo refused to respond to this. She continued disinfecting Julio’s wounds with mercurochrome, his face having received some fresh bruises after the Sergeant’s interrogation. Mazo spoke as she tended to him.

“Oh pobre hermano, that pendejo really did a number on you huh? Does it yet sting?”

He shook his head, though the pained expression on his face said otherwise. Bradford had taken to interviewing each of the passengers individually, questioning them on the upper balcony one at a time. The interview was a gauntlet of frustration as Bradford ruthlessly questioned every aspect of our testimonies, his tone insinuating that we were guilty until proven innocent. It was clear that poor Julio had gotten the worst of it, however. Mazo looked him over curiously and asked, “Julio, when did you start cooking dinner tonight?”

It would have been more accurate to say last night, as it was now two o’clock in the morning, but none of us cherished that distinction. No one could sleep, not with a satanic killer on the loose and Bradford waving a gun around, no one except the drunkard Harold Pinter, who kept snoring away in the corner we’d stuffed him in.

“I started cooking at three o’clock, had to make the roux.”

“Did you let your eye off it at any time?”

“Well… no… I mean I took a few cigarette breaks… but there was no one in the kitchen then… por que?”

“Mmm, just a hunch. So, just to be clear, you didn’t talk to anyone between three o’clock and five forty-five when you served Mr. Hale his dinner?”

“Well sure I talked to people, I talked to Mickey and Jim, and the Captain of course.”

“But none of the passengers?”

“Well… now that you mention it… I did speak with Miss Alice briefly while I was in the hall, delivering the food to Mr. Hale.”

“Oh really? What did you talk about?”

“La comida… just questions about dinner, sabes? She asked me what I was making and I told her all the ingredients and spices and how I mixed them together and such, and then she said thank you, you know, and then she went on her way.”

“Did she touch the food at all?”

“Touch it? Well no… I mean… I guess she did lean over the bowl I had poured for Mr. Hale. Just for a whiff, sabes? Just to get a sense.”

“So you had the bowl poured out already, and Alice leaned over it for a whiff?”

A look of deep contemplation came over her as she considered this. She eyed Alice across the room, studying her carefully, the young flaxen-haired girl, seeming cheery as ever as she whispered in the ear of the man beside her, Carson Weatherby the burly Brooklynite. Both of them eyed Bradford as he leaned back in his chair, twirling the pistol around his forefinger. I leaned in closer and whispered.

“What are you thinking, Eleke? You think it could be her?”

“Perhaps… it would make sense. Poisoning is a young woman’s game.”

“Poison! You think they were poisoned?”

“Shh! Not too loud!”

I lowered my head bashfully, checking out of the corner of my eye that Alice was still oblivious to us. Mazo whispered softly, “Both men were poisoned, that I know already, the only question is the method of delivery. This detail with the gumbo just might be it.”

“How do you know they were poisoned?”

“Mr. Hale told me.”

“Through your cowrie shells?”

She nodded solemnly, “I use them for divination, my mother Oshun is second only to her lover Elegua in the powers of hind and foresight.”

An idea occurred to me then, which I put forward sheepishly.

“Do you think you could look into my future? I would pay you of course, if that’s…”

She smiled warmly, “I would be happy to peer into your fate Cara, no charge, but I cannot perform the ritual with so many heathen eyes watching. We will do it when sanity is once again restored.”

Weatherby rose from his seat at that moment and strolled towards Bradford. The Sergeant smiled and nodded as he approached, “What is it, Carson?”

“Axel… it’s time to stop this, the crew has to be innocent, they were all tied up when Grissom got killed! We need to release them now so we can get to New York. Remember? We’re all going to New York, that’s why we got on this tub! We have to get to New York before we starve!”

Bradford waved him away, his exhausted mind conjuring half baked answers.

“No… can’t do that… if we go to New York the killer will escape, remember?”

“Bradford, you bloody fool! This is a matter for the police to handle! Not a bunch of civilians and a washed-up veteran!”

“The police! Corrupt bureaucratic swine! They’ll let the killer slip right through their greasy fingertips! No way! We stay put until the killer reveals themselves, and then we’ll have real justice! Hear that! Whichever one of you it is! We’re not going anywhere until you turn yourself in!”

“You’re crazy Bradford! Give me that fooking gun before you get somebody hurt!”

Bradford raised the revolver and aimed it at Weatherby’s head.

“Stand down Carson… I’m not afraid to shoot you! Think I won’t do it? I’ve killed thirty-five men already, want to be my thirty-sixth?”

Weatherby stood his ground, undaunted, “Give me a break! You’re gonna shoot me in front of all these witnesses? Then you’ll be a murderer too!”

“There’s a difference between murder and self-defense.”

“Well, you better hope that’s how the court sees it! Go on shoot you facking bastard!”

Mazo stood up from the floor, her steady booming voice filled the room.

“Stop this right now! If someone fires a bullet against that bulkhead it will ricochet all across the room! By god, there are children here! Don’t you men have any sense?”

Bradford smiled and lowered the gun, though he kept it ready at his side.

“The peacemaker speaks again, how about it Weatherby? Let’s put it behind us.”

“Sure, right when you release the crew and give up the gun.”

Bradford shook his head and smiled, “Can’t do that friendo… the crew could be accomplices to the killer…”

Weatherby bristled with rage, his face turning red, “You son of a whore!”

Mazo spoke, quite unexpectedly, in Bradford’s defense, “Why are you so concerned for the well-being of the crew all the sudden Carson? You seemed happy enough to tie them up a few hours ago.”

“Sure, I didn’t know if I could trust them before, but now I know that I can! Why are you taking his fooking side anyway! You were the one who wanted us to untie them in the first place! Now that I’ve calmed down, I see what you were saying, we have to release them.”

“Did your decision have anything to do with what Alice just whispered in your ear?”

This sent waves of confusion through the room. No one had even thought twice about Alice Krenshaw since the bodies were discovered. The young woman’s expressive eyes became hurt and incredulous as the attention of the room suddenly focused upon her, “I…I don’t know what you mean…”

Weatherby came to her defense, “Hey! Leave her out of this! I speak on my own accord, not because of what some dame tells me!”

Mazo smiled, “Are you sure? Dames have ways of making men do things without them even knowing, especially when they’re smart and wily like little Alice here.”

Mr. Daniels also rose to the girl’s defense, “Now look here, Mazo! Alice had nothing to do with any of that business! She was playing rummy with the rest of us when Mr. Hale was killed! And besides that, I know her! She’s a sweetheart, a vibrant young woman with a bright future ahead… just look at her! How can you accuse her of murder!”

I smirked as I looked towards Mr. Daniels, remembering what he had in his suitcase. Mazo ignored him and continued her attack.

“What about Mr. Grissom? The women stayed behind in the common room when Julio ran, Mrs. Gardner was below deck with her children of course, and Cara and I followed the men, but Alice… where did you go? You weren’t in the common room with the others.”

Alice shifted in her seat uncomfortably as she answered.

“I ran! Just like you! I ran after the cook… but then I got scared…and…I hid in my room.”

She almost whispered as she spoke, practically begging for sympathy. Mazo continued questioning her forcefully.

“So you were in the subdeck when the murder happened.”

“Yeah but…”

“Yeah but what? Everyone else was with someone! You’re the only one without an alibi.”

“Alibi! Alibi! I…I don’t need an alibi! How could I have possibly overpowered a man like Grissom? He was twice my size! I couldn’t hope to kill him even if I had a knife!”

Mazo smiled, driving home her attack, “But he wasn’t killed with a knife Miss Krenshaw, he was poisoned…”

Bradford pricked his ears up at this, “Poisoned?”

“Yes, the injuries to both bodies were inflicted after death, hence why there was so little bleeding from the wounds. Only poison could have killed them so cleanly.”

“But what about Hale? She was in the card game when he was killed!”

“Alice accosted the poor cook just before he served Mr. Hale his dinner, she leaned over Mr. Hale’s bowl to have a sniff. I’d wager she poured it in discreetly and then hurried up to the common room, he was dead before the match even started.”

Bradford turned sharply towards Alice, “Is this true? Why didn’t you tell me you were in the subdeck before the game?”

“I…I don’t know! You asked where I was between six o-clock and seven forty-five. I was up here by then! I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before…but… that doesn’t mean I killed him! It just slipped my mind!”

Mazo shook her head, “She knew exactly what she was doing, her and Grissom were working together, they’re the ‘J and K’ mentioned in Hale’s letter. Alice planted the poison and then came up here to secure her alibi while Grissom climbed over the railing and snuck in through the window. I have no idea why he started cutting apart the body; my guess is, he wanted to dispose of the corpse, but when Mrs. Keneal started screaming, he had to get out in a hurry. So he stuffed what was left of the body in a suitcase and climbed back out the window, tearing his trousers in the process. I imagine Alice had to dispose of him next to tie up the loose ends.”

Alice stood up angrily and stormed towards the center of the common room.

“Shut up! Darkie bitch! You’ve got no proof! Are you all just gonna let her say these wicked things about me?”

The passengers seemed uneasy, their eyes fixed on Alice. I for one could not remain passive any longer, I stood behind Mazo, adding my voice to hers.

“She’s right Alice! You’re the only person who could have committed both murders! Remember what she said about Mr. Hale’s name not being accurate? She knew his real name was Pendergast!”

“No! I’m innocent! This is all some voodoo trick! Are you really gonna take her word over mine? She’s the one who killed them! She’s a witch!”

Bradford shook his head, “It couldn’t have been Mazo, she was with me when Grissom was found.”

“She probably cast a spell on him! Killed him from a distance!”

Bradford scoffed, her pathetic excuses convincing him more and more of her guilt.

“The one thing I don’t understand is why… why go through all this trouble to kill Hale?”

Mazo sighed, “I’m guessing for the oldest and most mundane of reasons, to steal something of value. Perhaps that line in Hale’s letter about the ruby was more literal than we thought.”

Alice snapped at this, lunging towards Bradford and punching him in the throat, sending him tumbling to the floor. Before anyone could react she stooped to pick up the revolver and brandished it with menace.

“Stay back! All of you! I’m not afraid to shoot!”

She backed towards the exit, Mazo spoke to her calmly.

“Alice, there’s nowhere to run. Put the gun down, give up peacefully and you won’t be harmed.”

“Shut up! A perfectly laid plan, and you’ve ruined everything! If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me!”

She squeezed the trigger, Mazo side stepped, the bullet just missing her head; it shattered on impact with the bulkhead, sending shards of hot lead across the room which forced everyone to duck. Alice made use of the distraction to slip out of the common room, flying down the stairs towards the lower deck. Bradford, still recovering from the blow to his throat, rose slowly from the floor, his eyes full of rage.

“Come on! After he…” He coughed and struggled to bretahe, “We… can’t let her escape!”

The rest of the passengers seemed hesitant, still cowering from the gunfire. Mr. Jacobs voiced a widely held view.

“Why not? With her gone at least we’ll be safe!”

“You yellow basta…” Bradford’s reproach was cut short by another fit of coughing.

Mazo rose calmly and nodded at the Sergeant, “You’re right Axel, she must be stopped. You draw her attention and I will sneak around behind, together we’ll outflank her.”

I stood up as well, feeling a strange bolt of courage shoot through my spine, “I’m coming too!”

“Good, go with Bradford, I’m better at sneaking on my own. Make sure both of you stay behind cover! Remember, she’s got no qualms about murder.”

I stepped out of the common room with Bradford, the crisp early morning air cutting through my dress, even as the heat of exhilaration made my skin sweat underneath. Not far from us we heard the crash of a lifeboat hitting the water. Bradford swung over top the railing, landing on the deck below with a thud and tearing off towards the sound.

“Over there! She’s getting away!”

“Axel wait!”

I followed after more cautiously, mindful of Mazo’s advice to stay behind cover. A gunshot rang out suddenly, followed by Alice’s crazed shouts.

“Stay back Bradford or I’ll finish what the krauts shoulda done in the war!”

“Give it up Alice! How long do you think you’re gonna last out there without food and water? You’ll be dead within days!”

“I don’t think so! We’re not far from shore here, if I start rowing now I can probably reach the mainland in a day!”

She swung her legs over the side of the ship, preparing to slide down the rope to the lifeboat below. Bradford sprung out from his hiding spot behind a large steel pipe and whipped a hatchet at the lifeboat below, punching a hole through the bottom. Alice screamed in rage and fired two shots fruitlessly as he slipped back behind cover. She swung over the railing back onto deck and sidled towards the next lifeboat, keeping her gun trained on Bradford.

I pushed closer to her, careful to keep hidden behind a smokestack; my footsteps, however, echoed through the deck, alerting Alice to my location. She spun to face me and fired, her bullet echoing against a smokestack to my right. I crouched down, crawling forwards on my hands and knees to keep from giving my position away.

Alice carried on raving, “Just couldn’t leave well enough alone huh? I could have disposed of Pendergast without anyone knowing and left all on your merry way to New York! But no… I get saddled with a bunch of wannabe detectives sticking their noses into everything!”

Bradford shouted back a retort, “Why Alice? Why would you do that to another human being?”

“Human being? Ha! That bastard was nothing of the sort, he ripped us off! We pulled the greatest jewel heist in history and that shyster snatched it from under our noses!”

She hit the winch for the second lifeboat, sending it plummeting into the water. Bradford ran out his cover and charged, she fired twice, a bullet hitting him directly in the thigh and sending him stumbling face-first into the deck. She laughed as he writhed in agony, approaching him slowly, readying the revolver for a coup de grace.

“So long Sergeant! It’s been swell!”

Just then Mazo sprang out from behind her and jumped onto Alice’s back, grappling her by the neck. The revolver flew from the woman’s hands as they flopped back onto the deck, Mazo wrapping her legs around her opponent’s thighs while she pulled at the neck bending Alice backward like a bow, the girl’s face quickly turning red. I rushed forward and picked up the revolver, getting it away from the struggle.

“Cara! Give that to me!”

Bradford had propped himself up on the ground with his hand reaching out for the gun. Luckily I thought better of handing that histrionic fool a weapon once more and stashed it instead in my purse. Alice struggled awhile against the headlock before finally losing consciousness and going limp. Mazo’s muscular arms laid the girl down gently, catching her breath before turning up her palms into prayer.

Bradford spoke between pained gasps, “Is she dead?”

Mazo shook her head. “No… she will awaken in time, but she won’t pose a threat to anyone anymore.”

“That was… incredible… where did you learn that?”

“Oh you know, we had lots of fun wrestling back in my hometown. My big crushing thighs always gave me an advantage, even against the men!”

She laughed, Bradford laughed as well before he was cut short by a searing pain shooting through his leg. Mazo approached and inspected the gushing wound.

“Well now, Sergeant, you’re familiar with the parable about those who live by the sword? It’s the same with guns as well I’m afraid! Come, let’s get that looked at before you get the gangrene!”

Chapter 4: The Blue Danube

Axel Bradford was incredibly lucky with his wound, the bullet having missed his bone and torn straight through the fleshy part of his inner thigh, leaving a clean entry and exit wound. He certainly didn’t feel lucky, however, as he spent the rest of the ride to New York strapped to a cot and writhing in pain.

Mazo tended to his dressings, taking every opportunity she had to scold the Sergeant for his brash and arrogant behavior, forcing him to apologize to the crew and Julio in particular. This he did with little sincerity, but his humiliation was satisfactory enough to the crew, who forgave him and agreed not to press charges. If only he’d known how hard Mazo had argued to stop the Captain from dumping him on the coast of Virginia and steaming away!

As for Alice, she spent the rest of the voyage locked in the captain’s cabin, her arms bound to prevent escape or suicide. Mazo was able to get the whole story out of her without much coercion, the girl seemingly pleased to receive full credit for the intricate complexity of her scheme.

“For the past few years now, I’ve been working the South Florida coastline with Grissom. Lots of rich tourists came to these beaches since the war and we made a steady trade breaking into hotel rooms. It was a pretty sweet system we had worked out, I would lounge in the bar, getting friendly with the men, slyly snatching their room keys from their pocket, and passing them off to Grissom, who would go up dressed as a bellhop and grabs as much as he could from before we returned the key to the man’s pocket unnoticed. Oh, Jacob… it’s too bad he had to die, he was a good partner, not bad in the sack either, I will miss him… anyways, we made quite a name for ourselves in certain underworld circles, that was how we came to be contacted by a man calling himself Mr. Pendergast.”

Mazo asked, “So Pendergast is his real name?”

“Yes… as far as I know, he was a slippery son of a bitch… used to be an escape artist he told us, working in carnivals and all that; told us how he would swallow a key and then get all handcuffed up and lowered into a tank of water before regurgitating it to free himself. Apparently, his skills came in handy as a burglar too as he was a trusted consultant on matters of breaking and entering. Anyways, Pendergast approached us in Miami four days ago, saying he needs a pair like us for a special job. The same shimmy, as usual, pickpocket the key, ransack the room, return the key unnoticed, except this time we were only grabbing one thing, a red velvet bag full of jewels. He offered ten thousand dollars for the job, more money than we’d made in two years on the road, obviously, we took it right away.

Our target was a dame of the old Austrian nobility, staying in the Royal Palm Hotel. We ran the play like we always do, I found the Duchesses’ chaperone in the bar while she was out sun-bathing and rubbed up against him to introduce myself, engaging him in a whimsical discussion about politics while I lifted the key. I’m quite smart, you have to admit that, eh Mazo? I even had you strung along for a while didn’t I?”

Mazo shrugged, unimpressed, “Smart for a criminal perhaps, but anyone that goes thieving from others and bragging about it is a profoundly stupid person.”

This enraged Alice, who struggled against her bindings, “Fack you! I’m smart! You got no idea what I had to do to survive! I needed the money more than those rich bastards anyways!”

Mazo ignored her outburst and spoke insistently, continuing the interrogation/

“So you were speaking with the chaperone when…”

“When? Oh yes, the chaperone. Jacob came back in no time, signaling that he’d gotten the loot, I returned the key and we made a clean getaway in our car. Pendergast had told us very firmly before the job that we were not to look inside the bag. He said that he would know if we had looked because there was a paper lining that would break when opened. Well, as hard as it may be for you schoolmarms to believe, we abided by our promise, we drove straight to the drop point and delivered the bag to Pendergast unopened. He paid us our ten thousand promptly and then hailed a taxi and drove off. The next morning, I was in the hotel restaurant for breakfast, some men at the adjacent table were discussing a jewel heist. I asked them innocently what the newspaper said and they told me that a prized jewel of the Habsburg family had been stolen from the Royal Palm Hotel and that the stone itself, nicknamed the Blue Danube, was worth more than a million dollars. You can imagine how angry I was when I heard that! Here Grissom and I had taken all the risk upon ourselves to fetch this million-dollar stone and all we get is a measly ten thousand? Bullshit!”

Mazo inclined her head and grinned, “So you decided to get it back?”

“Damn straight! We weren’t gonna let that bastard have what was rightfully ours! We returned to the hotel where we met him, Grissom roughed up the manager a little bit and he told us that Pendergast had arranged a taxi for the waterfront that morning. So we went to the docks and looked around, wandering aimlessly up and down. We almost gave up the search when I finally saw him standing atop the deck of the John Garnet, peering out across the harbor. We bought tickets immediately.”

“I see… so you got on the ship, poisoned Hale… I mean Pendergast, oh what did you use for poison by the way?”

Alice grinned, “Arsenic, my closest friend. It’s gotten me out of more than one bad marriage.”

“Of course, so, you poisoned Pendergast and then…”

“Then I sent Grissom to sneak into the room and find the ruby, he turned the place upside down looking for it, but it was nowhere to be found. He got more and more exasperated wasting the better part of an hour, until he remembered Pendergast’s stories about swallowing keys and wondered if he might have swallowed the stone. So he sliced open the stomach and reached inside, finding, at last, the Blue Danube! At this point, I’m guessing something in Jacob’s brain fried and he started panicking. We’d hoped that the poison would make Pendergast’s death look natural, but with all that cutting he’d done to the body, and the room all torn up… I guess he decided to dispose of the body completely by tossing him out the window. Anyways, you know the story from there, obviously, I had to kill Grissom, as he was a liability; I added the inverted cross in his back to send that idiot Bradford wild and deflect the blame but… well I didn’t account for someone like you Mazo.”

My friend bowed her head graciously, “It was my pleasure to apprehend you Miss Krenshaw. Though you show no love for your fellow humans, there is the possibility of hope in your future if you repent and atone.”

“Repent? Repent for what? I’m just trying to make a living in this world, the same as anyone! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Mazo sighed and shrugged.

“If that is how you feel, then there’s nothing I can do to help you. May god have mercy on your soul.”

With that she turned and stepped out of the cabin, waiting for me to follow before shutting the bulkhead door behind us and sealing it shut.

The Blue Danube ruby, a large smooth stone that glittered a crimson tinged blue, was found in a discreet pouch around Miss Krenshaw’s waist. It was entrusted to Mazo, whom the passengers and crew agreed was the most trustworthy person on the ship and who promised to turn it over to the police the moment we landed. For my own part, I couldn’t wait to write up a draft of the story and send it to my editor, here he’d sent me off to get rid of me, and I’d accidentally uncovered the biggest story in Miami! That would teach him to underestimate us, dames!

Mr. Pendergast and Mr. Grissom were given burials at sea, the crew deciding that preserving the evidence (and the stench), was not necessary after Alice’s confession. A strange feeling came over me as we watched the bodies float away in the morning light, the white sackcloth outlining their eye sockets. The two men, criminals of no account, would promptly be forgotten by the world at large, their bodies passing into oblivion. Only a flicker of memory would remain of them, locked deep in the minds of us passengers, complete strangers, the thought of their faces bringing us back to the gauntlet of mortal terror we’d just passed through; the night when normal thoughts and feelings had been overtaken by the crisp anxiety of the survival instinct, a high unequaled even by the strongest narcotics. The high that soldiers seem to speak of when they described their journey through the trenches as, ‘the greatest adventure of my life.’

As I caught sight of New York harbor from the bow. I felt myself on the horns of a dilemma. The story I had been sent to write now seemed a trivial annoyance compared to the incredible woman I’d just met. A woman who was in touch with realms completely unknown to me; who moved through a world stacked against her with grace and aplomb, facing intolerance with measured wisdom, and propelled by divine tenacity. Whatever the newspaper had sent me to report, I knew that her story was the one I was destined to tell.

Mazo approached me, as if sensing my thoughts, and leaned against the railing beside, “You know Cara, I never did get to finish my sketch of you.”

“Come on…don’t you know well enough by now that I would never place a hex on you?”

“Well… I suppose you’re right… but I still would like to finish… it pains me to leave drawings half-done.”

I nodded and we sat on the deck cross-legged as before, she readied her drawing utensils and began her work.

“So… why are you going to Montreal?”

She studied my face, considering my features while she formed her thoughts.

“I am looking for someone. The last I heard, he was in Montreal, but I may have to search further.”

“Friend of yours?”

“No, an enemy. He is Muti, a dark magician.”

I snickered, talk of evil magic had come to seem ridiculous of late, “You’re kidding me, a real dark magician?”

She nodded solemnly, he voice heavy and grave “Yes, he is a very evil man. It is my oath to track him down.”

I stopped smiling, “Your oath to whom?”

“To Oshun… it is difficult to explain… suffice to say, it is very important that I find him.”

I nodded, taking the hint to change the subject, “After you’re done with the sketch… perhaps you could do that reading of my future…”

“Oh… later girl, I’m too tired to contact the spirits now. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Are you staying in New York for a while?”

She nodded, “A few nights, I have some business to attend to before I head north.”

“Where are you staying?”

She shrugged, “I know some clean hotels in Harlem.”

“Nonsense! You oughta stay with me! I have an extra bed in my room at the Commodore!”

She smiled at this, “You wouldn’t mind sharing your room with an old woman like me?”

I laughed, “You’re not that old!”

“Oh girl, you have no idea…”

A few moments later she spun her book to face me, revealing her sketch. The rendering was incredibly life-like, capturing the shape of my features exactly. I stared in amazement and began blushing, flattered by the image.

“Mazo! That’s incredible! It looks just like me!”

She smiled bashfully, “Aw, you know, just one of those skills you pick up. Anyways, now you’re in my book forever, preserved exactly as you are now, just as I am in your camera.”

An incredible feeling of peace came over me then, a feeling that returns whenever I think about that drawing, even today as I type these words. The feeling is hard to describe, but somehow, being in Mazo’s book, makes me feel truly immortal.