A Mersey Mariner | Book by Brian L. Porter

Nov 9

Nov 9 A Mersey Mariner (Mersey Murder Mysteries Book 4)

Book summary

"In 'A Mersey Mariner,' Detective Inspector Andy Ross faces a perplexing case when a passenger on the cargo liner Alexandra Rose is found dead. As a second death occurs, Ross delves into the Amazon Rainforest's secrets, unraveling a web of intrigue involving billionaires, enigmatic passengers, researchers, and ruthless mercenaries. With the stakes high, Ross and his Merseyside Police team embark on a challenging investigation, aiming to unveil the mysteries aboard the Mersey Mariner."

Excerpt from A Mersey Mariner (Mersey Murder Mysteries Book 4)

The Alexandra Rose sailed into the Mersey Estuary shrouded in dense, dank fog. The doleful tone of the ship's foghorn announced her presence to any ships in the close vicinity. An unhurried passage of just over three weeks had brought the ageing cargo liner, its crew and small complement of passengers on a slow voyage across the Atlantic from Rio, and the ship itself appeared tired and weary from the journey. Captain George Gideon rang the telegraph, signalling 'All Stop' and the Alexandra Rose's diesels ceased their rhythmic throbbing as the ship slowly came to a halt, and Gideon awaited the arrival of the Mersey Pilot Boat to escort the ship into port.

“Two days late, Mr. Neary,” Gideon announced to his first officer, Patrick Neary, who hardly needed telling. Gideon had made it abundantly clear over the last forty-eight hours that he blamed Neary, the fog, and anyone else who he came into contact with for his ship's failure to make port on time.

“Aye, sir,” Neary reluctantly replied as the two men peered out into the fog through the bridge windscreen, seeing nothing, and hearing only the monotonous call of the fog horn as it sounded its mournful warning to other shipping to stay clear. “Could have been worse if the fog had come down sooner.”

“Thank God it didn't, Mister. You know the bonus is gone though, don't you?”

“I know,” Neary replied, “but the owners can't blame us for being delayed by fog, can they?”

“Us? Us, Mister Neary? They'll blame me, not you, or the fog or the engine failure we suffered halfway across the bloody Atlantic. Just me, as skipper. They can be bloody unforgiving bastards as you know. We get the bonus for docking in port, on time, and even one hour late and we forfeit the lot. Two days, we're late, two whole bloody days.”

Neary fell silent. Better to let the captain rant for a minute, get his frustration out of his system. Neary had sailed with Gideon for four years and knew the man well enough to be able to read his moods, anticipate his reactions and he knew that now was a time to keep his mouth shut and await the captain's next orders.

“I suppose the pilot will be late now, as well,” Gideon grumbled. “Better get Mister Gray to go round and inform our passengers we're now lying just off Liverpool, but there'll be a short delay in entering port as we wait for the pilot to escort us through this damnable fog.”

“Right you are, sir,” Neary replied as he thankfully departed the bridge and went in search of Robert Gray, the Alexandra Rose's second officer. Having found Gray in the ship's radio room, overseeing the radio operator's transmission of passenger telegrams to friends, relatives and business associates, probably bringing them up to date with the delay in arrival, he ordered the young second officer to carry out Gideon's order. With only six passengers on board, it wouldn't take Gray long to inform them all and report to the bridge.

Gray left the radio operator to his task, placed his hat on his head and set off to carry out his task as Neary returned to join Gideon on the bridge. It was there, ten minutes later, that a breathless and pale faced Robert Gray burst onto the bridge, hatless and looking as though he'd seen a ghost.

“Mister Gray, what on earth's wrong with you man?” Gideon shouted at the young man.

“Sorry sir, but he's dead, sir, dead as a doorknob.”

“Who's dead, man? Come on, pull yourself together and talk sense,” Gideon said to the young man, who was visibly trembling.

“The man in cabin six, sir. The Spaniard, Mister Gaspar. He's just lying there on his bunk sir, staring up at the ceiling with a terrible look on his face. He's dead, sir, I'd stake my life on it,” Gray said, his voice croaking with emotion as he relayed the information to his captain.

“Shit, shit and bloody shit,” Gideon exclaimed, his anger almost at boiling point. “How could he? How could he go and die on my bloody ship? And he's Portuguese, not Spanish, Mister Gray.”

Gideon was well aware of the potential jurisdictional problems that could be caused by a death at sea. He knew he had to summon the police, but, would the local police have the authority to investigate the death of the man in cabin six? He knew exactly what his first step must be.

“Mr. Neary, you have the bridge. Mr. Gray, come with me. We'll pick up Doctor Hanning on the way. I need to find out when the man died before we do anything. I presume you locked the cabin, Gray?”

“Of course, sir,” Gray replied, handing the captain his pass key.

Gideon and Gray quickly made their way below decks, calling first at the ship's sick bay where the ship's doctor, Mason Hanning quickly grabbed his bag and joined the two senior officers as they headed for the passenger accommodation, one deck further down.

By 2003, cargo liners were already something of an anachronism in the world of international travel. At one time, there were large numbers of such vessels plying their trade on the world's oceans, with travellers prepared to pay rather less than they would on a conventional passenger liner for passage on ships that provided lesser service and accommodation in addition to carrying cargo in the manner of a conventional freighter. The Alexandra Rose had been built in Glasgow thirty years earlier and had seen better days. She'd had two previous owners and was now owned by a small Australian company, being registered in that country with Sydney registered as her home port.

She possessed eight cabins in total, six double berths and two singles, giving her a maximum passenger carrying capability of fourteen passengers, making her small by cargo liner standards. On this voyage she carried three couples, with the two single cabins also occupied.

Though not palatial her passenger cabins were more than adequate. While not being able to compete with the large liners like Canberra or Q.E.2, ships like Alexandra Rose sought other means to keep their passengers happy. In this case, her owners had secured the services of two cordon bleu chefs, and a number of waiters with experience in some of the world's finest hotels and restaurants. A well spent refit of her dining room had turned it into the equivalent of a top class restaurant, such as may be found in London, Paris or New York and consequently she was able to attract passengers with discerning appetites, eager to enjoy a sea voyage while being treated to exquisite cuisine throughout their journey.

For now, however, this meant little, as George Gideon, Robert Gray and the doctor entered cabin six. Gideon's first impression on entering the cabin simply confirmed what Gray had reported to him.

His passenger, Alvaro Gaspar, lay unmoving on his bunk, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Gideon stood to one side and nodded at the doctor who stepped forward to make his examination of the man. It didn't take him long to reach his conclusion.

“I can confirm he's dead, Captain. What caused it, I can't say at this point.”

“Is it natural causes, Doc? Can you at least tell us that?”

“Sorry Captain, I can't say. From the look on his face, I'd guess at a heart attack, maybe a brain aneurism, but only an autopsy can confirm that and I'm not able to carry out such a procedure on board.”

“Can you say how long he's been dead, Doctor? It's important we know that.”

Hanning reached into his bag and removed a thermometer which he proceeded to insert into the dead man's rectum.

“Doctor?” Gideon questioned him.

“I'm taking the man's core temperature in an attempt to establish an approximate time of death, Captain.”

“Ah, I see,” Gideon replied.

A minute later, Hanning rose from leaning over the body and delivered his verdict.

“It's my estimation that the man has been dead no more than four hours, Captain, perhaps less,” Hanning said.

“Thanks Doctor,” Gideon replied, feeling a certain sense of relief.

“And the importance of this is?” Hanning asked.

“Quite simply, if what you say is correct, we were in British territorial waters at the time of his death,” Gideon told him. “It's logical that when we report this man's death, the authorities in Liverpool will wish to carry out an investigation into the cause. When I report the circumstances to the owners, I'm certain they will instruct me to cooperate fully with the British police.”

“So, we avoid any jurisdictional nightmares,” Neary observed.

“Precisely,” Gideon confirmed.

“Now, Doctor Hanning, precisely what do you mean when you say you have no idea what killed Mister Gaspar? Had he visited you at all during the voyage?”

“Precisely what I said Captain. For example, look at his hands,” Hanning instructed the captain, who duly obliged.

“Okay, I'm looking?”

“Look at his expression, Captain. Even in death, there's a look of pain and horror present, and his fingers are curled as if he was in great pain. A sudden heart attack could have caused him to do that, but there's also a faint aroma on his breath, that I don't recognise. I really can't tell you much more.”

“In other words, you haven't a clue, have you, Doctor Hanning?”

“Captain Gideon, you asked for my professional opinion and you've got it. It's up to you what you do with it.”

Gideon thought for a few seconds. Whatever happened, he knew he'd have to notify the local authorities. Whether the death of his passenger was caused by natural causes or not, he knew the following days were not going to be easy for him and his crew and passengers.

“Can you at least say his death was the result of natural causes?”

“No Captain, I can't”

“So, he could have been murdered for all you know?”

“I'm afraid at this point, it has to be a possibility,” Hanning replied, gravely. An experienced general practitioner, Hanning was intelligent enough to discount nothing at this stage. “You have to understand, Captain, that only a post-mortem examination can truly determine the cause of our passenger's death. I'm a G.P. not a pathologist, and as much as I'd like to put your mind at rest, I'm not qualified to do so.”

“So, it could be natural causes, a heart attack, brain whatever you called it, maybe even food poisoning, but you can't discount the possibility of foul play, is that your final word on the matter?”

“I'm afraid it is Captain. I'm sorry I can't be definitive.”

Gideon nodded his head slowly, thought through his options for a few seconds and then turned to his first officer, his mind made up.

“Call the port authority, Mister Gray. Notify them that we have a suspicious death on board and we will require the assistance of the police and local medical authorities in order to determine cause of death.”

“Very well, sir,” Gray replied as he scurried away to carry out the captain's orders, returning within minutes to report that First Officer Neary was making the necessary call to the authorities. Gideon was already thinking of the next steps to take and quickly issued Gray with new orders.

“Mister Gray, you will remain here to ensure the cabin remains secure. Doctor Hanning, may we safely remove the body? I presume it should be in sick bay.”

“Yes, it should, but if this is a murder, the police may prefer it if we leave the body here in case we destroy any evidence while moving it.”