Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (37 page)

"
It’s a satellite technology connected with the ship and ship-board radio systems. It provides faster tracking of the ship if in distress, provides the
Titan
with any vital maritime information and can locate its position from space. Where the crow's nest used to be on the original
Titanic
, the
Titan
has aviation radar.
"

"
History recalls that there weren’t enough lifeboats for all the passengers aboard the
Titanic
,
"
Emily recounted.
"
I wager that’s not the case here.
"

"
Quite right. Unlike its predecessor, the
Titan
has enough: 30 solid lifeboats and 26 self-inflatables to accommodate every passenger and all crew. Another safety improvement is a larger rudder to make it easier to turn, which was one of the many shortcomings of
Titanic
. Also, below the waterline on either side of the ship is a horizontal stabilizer.
"

"
What happens if you run into icebergs?
"

"
Our sonar system will detect them and if that isn’t enough, the
Titan
has a strengthened hull, an ice-breaking shaped bow and the power to plow through ice-covered waters.
"

"
Smashing!
"
Emily said, pleased with her pun.
"
Have you any other tidbits of trivia for our viewers?
"

"
Well,
"
Captain Hastings looked at the ship for a moment then pointed to the four smoke stacks.
"
The original
Titanic
had three working smoke stacks and the fourth was for decoration. If you take a look at this ship, all four provide air induction for the engines but are mostly for decoration since modern ocean liners are no longer steam-powered.
"

"
But didn’t I see photos of boilers in the brochure?
"

"
They’re mainly as an attraction and picture opportunity but they do not burn coal for this ship. Ironically, they are filled with water as
ballast
, added extra weight, since without them and the added weight of the coal, the design of the ship would be top-heavy.
"

"
Are those dogs I see leaving the ship?
"
asked Emily, pointing to the gangplank where uniformed constables were exiting with German Shepherds on leashes.

"
Yes,
"
said Captain Hastings.
"
Those are detection dogs and they just finished doing a sweep of the ship looking for explosives. They will be on hand tomorrow as passengers board the ship.
"

"
I guess you can’t be too careful.
"

Captain Hastings nodded,
"
It may seem like much but this time we can really say: it’s unsinkable.
"

. . .

A crew
member with the name ‘Smith’ on his nametag ran his security pass through the laser scanner. The scanner recognized the bar code on his pass, the light ‘beeped’ green and the door to the forward hull was unlocked. Smith put his security pass in his pocket, picked up his tool box and strolled in, whistling.

Unrolling the detailed deck plans of the RMS
Titan
, Smith oriented himself with the layout of the drawings and moved forward, looking for a specific junction point below the water line.

Upon finding the exact section marked on the drawing, Smith set down the drawing, opened his toolbox and pulled out a spool of wire. Next he removed a large jug of ammonia. After unscrewing the top, he carefully pulled a clear plastic bag from the noxious liquid. Shaking off the excess, he then ripped the bag open and pulled out the dry C4 explosives. Using the drawing for reference, Smith went to work.

Chapter
XLIX

"
Sorry I’m late. The roads were hell,
"
Roger Zisholm muttered as he dragged his leather luggage on a leash down the aisle of the Hoffman International private jet. The small wheels and poor balance made Roger’s large case tip over repeatedly.
"
They should really figure out how to properly put wheels on luggage.
"

As Roger continued to fight valiantly with his carry-on, Jamie, the flight’s stewardess, approached,
"
Can I get anyone some refreshments while we wait?
"

"
None for me,
"
said Edward who always waited until they were airborne.

"
No thank you,
"
replied Myra.

"
Brandy for me,
"
grunted Roger as he stuffed his case in the overhead compartment across the aisle and threw his overcoat carelessly into the seat next to him.

"
How does this machine work?
"
Myra asked as she reclined in the lavish seat. Edward smiled. In 1912, aviation was still in its infancy, something for daredevils rather than an accepted form of travel. He thought it would be best to let her experience it without any preconceived notions. He leaned over and whispered,
"
It’s difficult to explain. Better that you see with your own eyes.
"

"
It’s larger than a yacht,
"
Myra remarked.

"
We’ll be on our way soon,
"
said Edward.
If we ever get off the ground, that is,
he thought. The flight was further delayed departing from the Bradley International Airport in Connecticut due to the weather. Edward set his copy of the
New York Times
on the table between his and Myra’s seats and glanced out the window. It was no longer snowing, so that was a good sign. He could still see the scars of where the tornado had damaged the airport when it ripped through town a couple of years ago.

This airport had seen a lot of history over the years. The first time Edward had set foot here was the summer of 1941. It was a military airbase then, and Edward was a young officer flying to Canada for a covert training mission. He was here when the airport’s namesake
,
Lt. Bradley
, crashed his
P40 during a training drill. The death of the young pilot was the first fatality of the new airbase. Edward still recalled the look of horror and shock on his fellow officers’ faces —
it was the same raw emotion he’d seen when everyone in his lifeboat had watched helplessly as the
Titanic
disappeared beneath the dark waters. No one could speak. No words could express the pain in their hearts, though he was far too young to completely understand it. In later years Edward was unable to attend live sporting events: the sudden cheer of a home run had the same volume and intensity as the last cries from the victims of the
Titanic
.

Then, finally, the plane jolted forward, breaking Edward free from the painful memories. He turned his attention back to Myra, as he was looking forward to witnessing her reaction.

"
Here, trade places with me,
"
Edward said as he offered his seat by the window. He looked over to where Roger was seated. Roger, now with a drink in hand, was struggling to keep his eyes open as he studied today’s
Wall Street Journal
.

As Edward showed Myra how to buckle the seatbelt, the aircraft began to pick up speed. Myra looked out the window, and with some alarm, gripped the armrest tightly enough to turn her knuckles white. When the aircraft lurched upward, Myra started to scream, startling Roger who knocked over his drink and cursed loudly. Edward laughed but Myra was oblivious as she continued to scream. Edward couldn’t tell if it was a scream of fear or exhilaration.

_ _ _

Callum’s lower back ached after having driven for seven hours straight, exce
pt for two stops:
one for refilling petrol again and another to visit the loo. Now he gave his wobbly legs a good stretch and stumbled up the stairs, carrying the iron box into his London flat. He looked at his watch to see if he had time for a shower. He unlocked the door.
Home sweet… Hell!

Someone had been in his flat. Every door and drawer opened. He set the iron box down, took out his pistol, and carefully went from room to room. There was no one else there.

He returned to the main room and surveyed the damage. The whole flat had been angrily torn apart, likely because they didn’t find what they were looking for. Only the extra files that Percy had given him were gone.

Callum knew they’d be back, but he needed a shower and a coffee. He walked by
his phone:
no new messages. Then he saw the red light flashing on his fax machine:
Out of paper.
Callum had some extra rolls of thermal fax paper but decided to hunt them down later. He needed coffee, now. Measuring out a strong batch, he poured the water and pressed the
"
on
"
button. The red light came on.
Why does everything have a red light?

He stood there for a moment, swaying, trying to stay standing as he watched the coffee starting to drip… it wasn’t fast enough,
damn it!

Callum needed to occupy himself or he’d fall asleep standing up. Perhaps find the fax roll. A nice mindless task. Then he looked at the mess that was his apartment.
Sigh. Coffee first.
Then he would get to the fax… the fax… the fax…

The Fax!

Callum ran to the answering machine and pressed ‘rewind’ then ‘play’. This time de Kirkhaugh’s voice from beyond echoed through his flat.
"
The next time you go after a century old murderer, make sure you have all the facts!
"

"
Fax! Not Facts!
"
Callum yelled at himself, as he picked up an upturned drawer, searching. There he found a roll. He quickly unwrapped it and threw the wrapper on the floor as he popped open the fax machine and loaded the new roll in.

As soon as he closed it, it whirled to life. On the display screen he read:
Print from memory.

Slowly a page began to emerge. Callum read the top:
Glasgow Police 1909

"
De Kirkhaugh, I underestimated you,
"
Callum said as he watched the police files from the past start to spew out.
"
You knew your life was at risk… and you sent me the evidence before they could destroy it. You’re bloody brilliant.
"

. . .

Later, the monotony of air travel had set in: nothing to see outside the window except the tops of the clouds. Finally able to release her grip from the armrest, Myra could take a sip of wine. Edward glanced over to Roger, who was fast asleep, snoring, with an empty brandy glass next to him. Edward gestured for Myra to follow him to another seat further down as to not disturb Roger’s slumber. Edward leaned in and whispered,
"
Are you sure it’s Miss Langlea?
"

"
Positive
.
"
Myra added,
"
I knew her face the moment I saw her…. Does she have different colored eyes?
"

"
How so?
"

"
Her right eye was ochre…
"
Myra closed her eyes as she spoke
,
"
...
or
yellow-green hazel might be more appropriate
, and her
left eye was a deep brown.
"

Edward nodded. She had it correct. The old graduation photograph that Myra had recognized was in black & white and in the other photos his ‘mother’ either had red-eye from the flash or a glare on her thick glasses.
Myra couldn't have known this detail because of the pictures.

Edward looked over at Roger sleeping, then back to Myra,
"
So, how long had Miss Langlea been in your employ?
"

"
Not for very long. Since the summer of 1911. We were staying in London at the time. My previous Lady’s Maid had to take a leave of absence when her mother fell ill, and Archie took care of finding a replacement. She had been a maid for another family member.
"

"
How admirable of him.
"

"
You still suspect your father?
"

"
Well it stands to reason. He was probably having an affair with her! You had already fulfilled your matrimonial duties and produced an heir, thereby guaranteeing Archie’s claim to the family wealth. He couldn’t divorce you, certainly not in 1912
.
T
he social scandal would have had him disinherited. So by disposing of you and having Heather Langlea take your identity, Father was allowed a new life, with no scandal, and all of your assets joined with his.
"