Marco Polo

By the end of Saturday morning, I had interviewed everyone connected to Greg Allman who rode the Princess Voyager. Cruise ships should be joyful places, but by now, I have to admit I’m no stranger to seeing the dark side of these vessels. And, after listening to their accounts, I was no closer to understanding why Greg went overboard. 

At 9:45 AM, Greg’s nephew, Dylan Allman, sat across from me at the interview table Nineteen, thin, and jittery. He had an earnest stare that demanded the listener believe he was telling the truth. His leg bounced incessantly under the table, the soft thud echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

--

“I can tell you’re a smart kid.” I leaned forward slightly to show interest. ”Now, tell me your entire story again.”

He took a deep breath and then spoke in an uninterrupted stream. “There have been 202 reported incidents of deaths of people going overboard on cruise ships since 2003. 74.3% of these cases were unsolved, but the cruise ship companies claimed they were suicides. Obviously, most were pushed.”

“Why do you think that?” 

“Do you know what it’s like being stuck with your parents for a week?” Dylan’s voice wavered, his eyes darting around the room.

“I guess I don’t.” I feigned focus on my notes. “Now, what about what you saw?” I pressed, watching his reaction closely.

“Like I told you, I was playing Dota 2.”

“With your mom.”

“No, not with my mom,” he sneered, disbelief on his face. “But she was in the room.”

“On Greg’s disappearance, why don’t you consider the possibility of…” Dylan wasn’t good at filling in the blanks, so I did. “A Suicide?”

“Greg?” Dylan grinned, an edge to his smile. “The man who owns everything?” he scoffed. When I didn’t flinch, he asked, “Is there something you know that I don’t?”

“Did you want Greg to go overboard?” 

“No, of course not. But obviously, the crew did. Greg was worth $100 million. It was a botched kidnapping attempt. 99.97% probability, I can show you my calculations.”

--

An hour later, Greg’s brother, Brad, shuffled into the interview room, his middle-aged frame slumped, his eyes cast downward.

“How did things go with my son, Dylan?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s confidential,” I replied, maintaining a calm demeanor.

“I’m his father,” Brad insisted, his eyes pleading with worry.

I offered a reassuring nod, but kept my lips sealed. “Do you know anyone who has been openly confrontational with Greg?” 

Brad fidgeted in his chair, his discomfort clear.

“You seem distracted.”

“This chair is bothering my back,” he mumbled, glancing around and studying the room. “And the air smells moldy. The doctor said I might have asthma.”

I chose to ignore his complaints. “Do you know anyone who has anything against Greg? A friend, a business partner, a family member?”

“Well, Greg goes overboard on everything.” He chuckled dryly. “Pun not intended. I mean, he literally goes too far with everything. The way he planned every minute of this cruise, bought everyone gifts, the advice he likes to give.”

I sprang the question. “Did you want Greg to go overboard?”

“No. But I’m worried my son Dylan did.”

“Why is that?”

“Greg would often tell Dylan he was autistic. He must have pushed him too far.”

--

With blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and perfect features, most likely improved by a plastic surgeon, Bethany walked in next. She was the type of woman one sees on Page 6 standing next to Wall Street financiers and Silicon Valley tech billionaires, or pictured in their divorce trials.

“We were celebrating our ten-year anniversary. On this cruise,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Why a mass-market cruise, and not a private yacht?”

“Greg likes a lot of people around. For us to join activities, see the shows. He had a plan for every minute we were on this cruise.”

“It sounds like Greg could be a bit overbearing?”

She smiled tightly. In her position, she’s learned not to give away soundbites about her rich husband, that might come back to haunt her. 

“It’s good to have a spa on this boat to take a break from it once in a while.” She winked at me.

 “And what does your husband do while you’re at the spa?”

“Why would I care?” 

“That’s an interesting thing to say.” I scribbled a note. “Did you want Greg to go overboard?”

“No, but Brad probably did.”

“Brad, his brother?”

“The hypochondriac. Every time he has a few drinks, Greg thinks its fun to tell Brad about every disease that runs in their family. He probably went overboard last night and got himself pushed off the side.”

--

Emily, Brad’s wife, entered next. She looked despondent. 

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, her voice cracking, eyes filled with tears.

She looked more heartbroken than Greg’s wife. “It’s sad the situation your brother-in-law got into,” I offered in condolence.“Where was Brad at the time of the incident?”

“Oh, Brad? He was worried about his health as usual. Have you ever heard about a 38-year-old man who wakes up every day believing he has a new form of cancer?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s what I have to deal with. Good thing he’s good at, well, you know.”

“I don’t know.”

“Cooking. I hate to cook.” She paused, her voice trembling. “Greg was a good man. He kept promising me he would hire Dylan when he graduates. I can’t believe he’s gone.” Tears began to spill down her cheeks.

“Who might have wanted to push Greg Allman?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I smiled in mock agreement, saying nothing, letting the silence hang in the air.

“Greg told me Eileen didn’t appreciate anything he did for her.”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah. Umm. She’s a heartless killer.”

--

As I organized my thoughts from the day’s interviews, I called in the next interviewee. Tall with close-set features, he looked wild-eyed and the dark circles beneath his eyes belied a sleepless night. He had been held by the local police the night before. 

“Have a seat.” I take a sip of coffee. “The weather looks wet today.”

“You’re telling me.”

When someone is in that state, it’s best to warm up with small talk.

“This makes me think of an old story about Marco…” I paused, gauging his reaction.

“Polo?” he said, filling in the blank with a hint of sarcasm.

“Right answer.” I nodded, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you know, as they fly, bats navigate by making a call and waiting for the echo. I think humans, with our actions, sometimes we do that too.”

“You mean me?” He shrugged, a flicker of defiance in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“I was pushed!”

I looked at Greg Allman doubtfully, as a teacher might look at the obvious suspect for a classroom prank.

“Is everything I say here confidential?”

“Yes, of course.”

“They said I’d be happier after I retired. ‘Take the money’, they said.”

“Were you?”

“They didn’t tell you who you’d be spending all your time with.”

“Tell me more.”

Greg leaned back in his chair, and a wry smile crept across his face, “A wife who hasn’t said thank you in five years, a brother who calls me thinking he has a terminal illness twice a week, a boy who speaks like a Wikipedia entry, and a sister-in-law who demands I hire him as my personal assistant.” His laughter echoed in the tight cabin.

“So, you admit you intentionally jumped overboard last night?”

“I do.”

“As the ship’s counselor, I want you to apologize to your family and promise never to do this again.”

“And why would I apologize? They’re all awful.” There was an irony in what he was saying, but I didn’t point it out. 

We have a psychic break on almost every cruise. The stress pushed people over the edge. And, it’s common for someone in this state to engage in splitting and suddenly discarding people they had previously perhaps overly idealized.

“You spent months planning this trip for your wife. You helped calm down your brother twice a week. You got your nephew interested in your own hobby of astronomy. They may not be perfect, but they’re the only family you’ve got.” I looked at Greg, who still smelled of the ocean. “Lucky for you, when you jumped into the water last night, the ship was tied up at the dock.”