Peter Lovesey - The False Inspector Dew

Everyone turned to see what had caught her attention. It was a figure under a white sheet, that had just come down the main staircase.

'If that is meant to be a ghost, I think it's in very bad taste,' Marjorie declared. 'Really! You'd think people would have more respect after what happened on Saturday. It's horrible.'

'I don't think it's meant to be a ghost,' said Barbara, if you look closely, it's pointed at the top and it has things projecting from the sides like cardboard boxes.' She laughed. 'Poor man, he's finding it hard to stand up with the ship rocking like this.'

'It's pretty spectacular, whatever it is,' said Paul, it must be eight feet tall. Why is the lower section coloured blue, do you think?'

'That's the sea,' said Livy. it's meant to be an iceberg.'

'Oh, my God!' said Marjorie in a scandalised voice. 'That's even more offensive. What a thing to do on a night like this! It's given me goose-bumps all over.'

'Mother, it's only someone having fun,' said Barbara.

'Fun! I don't call that fun. How do you think Livy feels, seeing a thing like that. It's no laughing matter to a man who was on the Titanic, is it, my darling?'

Livy gave her a puzzled look, and said, i was never on the Titanic, Marje. It was the Lusitania.'

'Same thing,' said Marjorie.

'Not really,' said Livy. 'We were struck by a torpedo, not an iceberg.'

'And the sea was perfectly calm,' added Walter unexpectedly, i never saw such a placid sea.'

'You?' said Livy. 'You were on the LusitaniaV

'Yes. With my, er …' Walter paused as if temporarily distracted. He had gone unexpectedly pale."… my father.'

'Strange,' said Paul, i was reading a piece about you last year in the Saturday Evening Post. They didn't mention it.'

'It was never made public,' said Walter resourcefully. 'I was using another name at the time.'

Across the room, Alma steered Johnny Finch to an empty table. He moved with difficulty under the sheets and with the boxes tied to his head and torso. 'Is it getting plenty of attention?' he asked her as he lowered himself carefully onto a chair.

'Yes, indeed. Everyone is looking this way. Are you comfortable?'

There was a muffled laugh from under the sheet. 'I could say I have a terrible thirst.'

'But if I get you a drink how can you possibly manage it?'

Another laugh. 'Don't worry, my dear. Johnny Finch isn't as dim as you think. I've got a flask of brandy under here.'

'I hope you can walk straight in the parade. The ship is starting to roll rather badly.'

'I'll be as firm as a rock.'

But by the time the drum-roll sounded for the parade, it looked doubtful whether anyone would be capable of staying upright for long. The ship had settled into a metronomic rise and fall, mercifully slow, but reaching more and more precipitous extremes. There was an unspoken sense of bravado among the revellers as they oohed in chorus when their stomachs told them that their side of the ship had peaked and was about to plunge again. Those with frailer constitutions had gone, leaving empty chairs that slid towards the centre unless they were wedged behind the tables.

Yet the parade mustered and moved off to a rousing regimental march, snaking between the tables so that support was to hand when it was wanted. There must have been nearly a hundred intrepid entrants for the competition, pirates arm in arm with ballerinas, cavaliers with witches, two pantomime horses and an ostrich, everyone laughingly assisting those around them to keep their footing, encouraged by the less bold spirits who provided the audience. There were a few minor slips and some collisions that added to the fun, and somehow the parade survived. Alma in her nurse's costume followed Johnny with her hands against his back, but he was right in his self-confidence. He did not falter once. Farther forward, Marjorie walked with one hand linked to Livy's arm, the other lifting the front of her Egyptian gown to mid-calf level. Paul and Barbara walked behind them holding hands and exchanging squeezes that had nothing to do with the movement of the ship.

Captain Rostron should have judged the fancy dress, but there was no objection when it was announced that he had decided not to leave the bridge. Instead the chief purser stood on the rostrum with the band and studied the variety of costumes passing by. Wisely no attempt was made to halt the movement. When the music stopped, the parade dispersed to listen to the results from the tables.

The winner of the ladies' section was one who came as Mile Lenglen, the tennis champion. It did not seem to matter that she looked totally unlike the unstoppable Suzanne. She carried a racket and wore a similar dress and, as Marjorie pertinently pointed out, she had been seen dancing with Big Bill Tilden every evening and it was in the interests of Cunard to keep on the right side of its more famous passengers.

A Charlie Chaplin costume took the gentlemen's prize, mainly because its wearer had created great amusement by tottering out of line repeatedly with the pitch and roll in a passable imitation of the famous tramp. The prize for the most original fancy dress went to the ostrich.

'Original, my foot!' said Johnny from under his sheet as he started to shed the boxes that had formed the understructure of the iceberg. 'He got it from some theatrical costumiers. There's no connection at all between an ocean voyage and an ostrich. Next time I shall come as a blessed albatross. Ah, well, there's still that bottle of fizz I promised you. You don't mind waiting while I change back to something I can dance in?'

'Of course not, but I doubt if I can drink champagne,' said Alma, glancing towards the table where Walter had been sitting before the parade. She felt sure he must have noticed her in Johnny's company, and she felt uneasy at his possible reaction. It was a dilemma. She hardly dared admit to herself that she felt differently now that Walter was a murderer, that he frightened her, that she felt safe only with Johnny. Being seen with Johnny could only make her situation more dangerous than it was.

She was relieved to see that Walter had left the table.

He had borrowed an oilskin and gone out to the boat deck at the request of the master-at-arms. One of the crew had reported seeing Jack Gordon on the starboard side, near number 5 lifeboat. Earlier in the day, when he had been released from detention, Gordon had given an undertaking to remain in his stateroom for the rest of the day. It had been thought that his presence in any of the public areas of the ship might alarm certain passengers. And now the wretched man appeared to have broken his word. They had checked his stateroom and found it empty.

Walter cursed him as he stepped into a driving wind that sprayed his face with what felt like hail, and was actually spindrift whipped off the highest waves. He remembered Mr Saxon's advice to keep hold of the rail. He reached for it and started moving forward, watching the horizon rise to a point somewhere above the monkey island high above the bridge and then plunge out of sight below the prow. With the wind from the north-west, three-quarters of the night sky was clear. Wisps of cloud intermittently blotted out the moon, but Walter soon discerned a figure in an oilskin gripping the rail below one of the boats. Jack Gordon seemed completely absorbed in the breaking crests of the sea.

Walter got so close that he touched Jack's arm before he was noticed. He had to shout above the shrieking squalls.

'You said you would stay below.'

Jack turned his face to look at Walter. He said nothing.

'You gave your word,' shouted Walter.

Jack shrugged. 'What's the fuss? Nobody else is here.'

'You can't do this.'

'Leave me alone. Go back to the dance.'