[Lady Justice 11] - Lady Justice and the Cruise Ship Murders Read online

  “Well sure,” Amy replied. “What about?”

  I looked at the other passengers seated nearby. “I’d rather not say here.”

  Mark spoke up, “There’s a library on deck #8. I’m guessing that there won’t be many people there at this hour.”

  Mark was correct. The library was deserted. We found a curved couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the sparkling water and the lush landscape in the distance.

  The civilian-tourist part of me wanted to just curl up with my coffee and soak in the beauty, but the cop part of me wouldn’t let that happen until I got to the bottom of this mystery.

  When we were seated, Mark said, “Well here we are. What’s this all about?”

  “Before we can tell you,” I said, “you have to promise to keep this conversation absolutely confidential.”

  I could tell that I had his undivided attention.

  “Certainly,” he replied, “but why all of the cloak and dagger drama?”

  “Because the people who took your old cabin last night were murdered.”

  Mark looked like I had slapped him in the face and Amy clutched her husband’s arm in a death grip.

  Mark quickly regained his composure. “Tell me what you know, please!”

  I relayed my experience with the cabin steward and the security officer and what we had found in cabin #415. When I had finished, an ashen-faced Mark said, “I need a moment to talk to Amy. Will you excuse us?”

  “Certainly. Take all the time you need.”

  We watched as the two of them went to the far corner of the library and engaged in an animated conversation.

  “I think we struck a nerve,” Ox observed. “I think they might have some insight into this incident.”

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Judy said, as the couple re-joined us on the couch.

  “Did I recall correctly from our previous conversation that three of you are Kansas City Police officers?”

  “Yes,” I replied, “Ox, Judy and I are all on the force.”

  “Then under the circumstances, I --- we--- think that we have to trust you. Amy and I haven’t been totally forthcoming with you about the reason for our trip to Alaska. When we explain, I think you’ll understand why. Actually, Amy has done most of the research for our trip, so I’m going to let her tell the story.”

  We all turned our attention to Amy who was still reeling from our shocking news.

  She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.

  “A --- a few months ago, we received a letter from an Alfred Quimby, a professor at the University of Alaska at Juneau. Based on his research and a document that had recently come into his possession, he believes that he has information as to the location of a cache of gold that was hidden away over a hundred years ago.”

  Now she certainly had our attention.

  “Exactly why would he communicate this information to you?” Judy asked.

  “Because the gold had belonged to John D. Stewart, Mark’s great-great grandfather.”

  The significance of the name suddenly became clear to me. “As I recall from some reading we did before the cruise,” I said, “John Stewart was the prospector that arrived in Skagway with a bag of gold that was subsequently taken from him by members of Soapy Smith’s gang. It was that incident, reported to Frank Reid and the 101 Vigilantes that led to the shoot-out on Juneau Wharf that killed both Reid and Soapy Smith.”

  “Very good, Walt,” Mark said. “You’ve obviously done your homework. When Soapy was killed, the members of his gang knew that their grip on Skagway was over and they tried to flee from the Vigilantes. Slim-Jim Foster and John Bowers, the men that took my great-great grandfather’s gold, headed north to the White Pass Trail. When they were caught, the gold was not in their possession. It was rumored that they had hidden it to be retrieved at a later date. As far as anyone knows, it was never recovered.”

  “So what makes this Professor Quimby think that he knows where it is?” Judy asked.

  “Foster and Bowers were incarcerated at the prison in Juneau,” Amy replied. “The prison just released some old documents that had been in storage for years to the University Historical Department. Quimby found something in those documents supposedly written by John Bowers that tells where the gold was hidden.”

  “So why tell you?” Ox asked. “Why doesn’t Quimby just find the gold himself?”

  “Apparently it’s an age and health issue,” Mark replied. “Quimby says that at his age, he’s not interested in the money. He just wants to publish another historical work about the discovery before he dies. He also mentioned that he physically couldn’t do the deed by himself. We’re supposed to meet him in Skagway. He thinks that the gold is just north of town.”

  I was ready to ask the question that was on all of our minds. “Who knows about the real reason for your trip? Did you tell anyone?”

  “Not a soul!” Mark declared.

  “Someone on the Professor’s end might have found out about the Professor’s plan,” Maggie offered. “How much gold are we talking about/”

  “Quimby said that it would be worth about seventy-five grand in today’s market,” Mark replied.

  “People have killed for a lot less,” Ox observed. “The lure of gold has corrupted many a soul over the years.”

  “Have you and Quimby ever met --- in person --- or seen each other?” I asked.

  “No,” Amy replied. “We’ve only communicated by email. We Googled him and there were some old pictures of him when he was younger, but that’s it.”

  “So, theoretically,” I said, “if the two of you were taken out of the picture, and the two murderers were to meet Quimby in Skagway, he would never know the difference.”

  “Yes, I suppose that would be true,” Mark said, “and the poor people that were killed last night in #415 were supposed to be us!”

  “That’s certainly a possibility,” Judy replied.

  Suddenly the color drained from Amy’s face. “Then that means that there are two killers aboard this ship and when they discover that we’re still alive, they might try again!”

  “If our theory is correct, then yes,” I said. “They might try again.”

  With trembling lips, an obviously shaken Amy looked at each of us and asked, “Can you help us?”

  When our little gathering broke up and we headed back to our cabins, the thought that struck me was, “Lady Justice never takes a vacation, and apparently, neither would we.”

  In cabin #331, Luke and Gwen Larson looked in dismay at the room cards they had taken from room #415.

  “Albert and Martha Wallace! Who are these people?” Luke asked. “How could this have happened?”

  “Louis hacked into the ship’s log and assured us that the Stewarts would be in #415. He must have made a mistake,” Gwen replied, “or --- maybe they changed rooms at the last minute. Louis doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

  “Regardless of how it happened,” Luke replied, “we’ve got a real problem. The ship’s security has to know by now and they will be on full alert. They’re going to have people roaming the halls every night. We can’t take the chance of hitting them in their room again. We have stops at Ketchikan and Juneau before we reach Skagway. Maybe we can get to them on their shore excursions.”

  “We can’t even call Louis until we reach Ketchikan. There’s no cell service this far from shore.”

  “Well, as soon as we hit port, Louis needs to hack into the system again to find out what they’ve booked for shore excursions. He probably didn’t do that earlier. They were supposed to be dead by now.”

  “By the time we reach Skagway,” Luke said, “they will be!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Day #2-Ketchikan, Alaska

  At 6:00 A.M., Luke Larson was sitting on the side of his bunk with his cell phone in his hands.

  “Come on, damn it! Bars! I need bars!”

  “Cussing at it won’t give you service any quicker,” Gwen said. “
Chill out! We have to be patient and stay calm. Louis will know what to do.”

  “Maybe so, but cussing makes me feel better. At least I’m doing something. Yes! I have bars!”

  Quickly he dialed the familiar number and Louis French answered. “Is it done?”

  “No, it is not done,” Luke replied. “We took care of the occupants of cabin #415 and disposed of their bodies without a hitch, but then we discovered that it was not the Stewarts --- it was a couple by the name of Albert and Martha Wallace.”

  “Impossible!” French replied. “I confirmed their room myself. Hang on.”

  Luke could hear the tapping of computer keys.

  French came back on the line, “Son-of-a-bitch! They were upgraded to a balcony suite at the last minute, #169. You will try again tonight, yes?”

  “No, I don’t think that’s wise. Security people were all over the ship last night. We’ve lost the element of surprise. We thought maybe while they were ashore --- on an excursion. Can you look up their itinerary?”

  “Hang on,” more tapping. “Yes, I have it. I doubt you will have much opportunity today. Your stay in Ketchikan is very brief --- you must be back on board by two-thirty this afternoon and the Stewarts will be on a bus tour most of that time. Your best bet will be in Juneau. I will email the remainder of their shore excursions to you. If you need my assistance, I can get away from the University for a few hours. Keep me informed.”

  “We will,” Luke replied. “One way or the other, the Stewarts will be dead before we reach Skagway!”

  By the time I pried my eyes open the next morning, we had docked in our first port of call, Ketchikan. *

  I looked out of our window and to my dismay, the sky was bleak and a steady rain was falling.

  The clock said 7:30 and we were to board for our first excursion at 9:00. I shook Maggie awake and we quickly showered and dressed.

  By prior arrangement, the four of us met the Stewarts at the Lido buffet for breakfast at 8:00.

  * See photo, page 216

  I was relieved when we stepped off of the elevator and Mark and Amy were waiting for us.

  “Since you’re here, I trust there were no incidents last night,” I said.

  “We didn’t sleep much, but there were no incidents,” Mark replied. “We threw the extra lock and put the chair under the door handle just as you suggested. I felt like we were in a Boston Blackie movie.”

  I was surprised that a guy Mark’s age had even heard of Boston Blackie.

  Fortunately, we had all booked the same excursion, a bus tour of the Ketchikan Highlights and a trip to the Totem Bight State Park.

  After a quick breakfast, we returned to our cabins to gather our gear for the day ashore.

  We were about to head out to meet our friends when my cell phone rang. Cell coverage had been practically non-existent since we left Vancouver and I had nearly forgotten about the phone.

  “Hello, Walt here.”

  “Hi Walt, this is your dad. How’s it going? Everything okay there?”

  “Sure, Dad. Everything’s fine. We’re having a great time.”

  I saw no reason to tell the old man that two people had been murdered six doors down from our cabin.

  “Well, I don’t want to put a damper on your trip, but something’s come up that I think you should know about.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “Here, I’ll let Willie tell you.”

  I heard him handing the phone to my old friend.

  “Mr. Walt, didn’ mean to mess up yo’ trip, but I hear’d something’ from Louie de Lip dat I thought you ought to know.”

  “Spit it out, Willie.”

  “Louie sez dat Benny Bondell is in town.”

  “So? Who is Benny Bondell?” Then the name rang a bell. “That wouldn’t be Mario Bondell’s brother would it?”

  “Yes, Mr. Walt, it would, an’ Louie sez dat Benny is lookin’ to even de score wit’ the woman what kilt his brudder.”

  That woman was my friend, Mary Murphy.

  Mario Bondell had broken into the Three Trails twice while Mary was away and taken the rent money the tenants had left in her apartment. On the night in question, Mary had left her apartment but returned early because she was coming down with a cold. Bondell was unaware that she had returned. When he broke into her apartment, he found Mary quietly listening to Johnny Mathis records. He pulled a switchblade, threatened Mary and pocketed another handful of rent envelopes. Mary was prepared this time. She pulled a revolver that one of the tenants had loaned her and followed Bondell out the door. She ordered him to stop and when he did, he held up the switchblade and threatened to return and finish the job. Mary, fearing for her life, pulled the trigger, and that was the end of Mario Bondell. Mary was charged with second-degree murder but was found innocent due to the good work of defense attorney, Suzanne Romero. Now, it appeared that Mario’s brother was in town to avenge his brother’s death.

  “Does Mary know about this?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I tod ‘er. She’s half mad an’ half skeered. She said if the guy come around she’d whack him too, but I could see dat she was skeered.”

  “Thanks, Willie. Let me talk to Dad again.”

  Dad came back on the line, “Any ideas, Sonny?”

  “Well, it sounds like I’d better come home. How can I enjoy a vacation when I know there is a killer stalking one of my best friends?”

  “Where are you, Son?”

  “Ketchikan.”

  “Then you have a problem,” Dad replied. “The only International flights are out of Anchorage and you probably can’t get a charter to Anchorage until you get to Juneau. It would be at least two days until you got back home and by then it might be too late. Let us handle things here. What you need to do is call your captain. Let him know what’s going on. Maybe he can assign a patrol car to the hotel.”

  I felt helpless. I knew that Dad was right. “Okay, I’ll call the captain. Maybe you and Willie can stay with Mary at the hotel, or better yet, bring her to our building. She can stay in our apartment. You have a key.”

  “Sure thing,” Dad replied. “You make your call and we’ll take care of things here --- and don’t worry --- just enjoy your trip. We’ll keep in touch.”

  “Yeah, right,” I thought as I clicked off the phone. Two people had been murdered, our new friends were in danger and a killer bent on revenge was stalking my friend back home. It seemed that our relaxing Alaskan cruise was going to hell in a hand basket!

  John Williams hung up the phone. “Looks like it’s up to us, Willie. Walt’s counting on us.”

  “So wot’s de plan?” Willie asked.

  “Looks like we have two choices,” John replied. “We can bring Mary over here and try to hide her and hope the guy gives up and goes away --- or--- we can catch the son-of-a-bitch and make sure he goes away.”

  “I’se kinda partial to dat last one,” Willie said with a grin, “but how we gonna do it?”

  “I have an idea,” he replied, “but it’s going to take some finagling.”

  “Den let’s finagle!” Willie said.

  “You wait here until I get back. I’m going over to the Senior Center to see if I can get Annie to help us.”

  “Who’s dis Annie person?” Willie asked. “Don’t ‘member you talkin’ ‘bout her befo’.”

  “You’ll see,” John said, smiling.

  John parked at the Senior Center and went directly to the office of the administrator, Leo Manley. “Hey, Leo, how’s it hanging?”

  “John, what are you doing here today?”

  “I need a favor, Leo. You know that my son, Walt, owns the Three Trails Hotel.”

  Leo nodded.

  “Well, there’s twenty single guys living there --- some of them getting up in years and I’m worried that they just aren’t prepared for an emergency. Bernice and I learned so much from your CPR class, I was wondering if we might borrow Resusci Annie for an evening to give them so
me training?”

  “John, you’re not a qualified instructor.”

  “No, but Walt’s been through all the training at the Police Academy. He’s going to teach the class --- oh, and he’ll have another of his cop buddies there to help him.”

  John figured that if he was going to tell a fib, he might as well tell a big one.

  Leo thought about it. “I suppose if two police officers are in charge it would be okay --- but --- two things.”

  “Sure, anything,” John said eagerly.

  “I have to have Annie back by the day after tomorrow. We have another class then.”

  “No problem. What else?”

  “Guard Annie with your life. She cost us $8,000 and we can’t afford another one.”

  “Absolutely!“ John swallowed hard. He hoped that he could keep that promise.

  John placed the life-sized mannequin in the front passenger seat and fastened the seatbelt securely around her.

  Annie’s face was copied from the death mask of an unidentified young woman reputedly drowned in the Seine River around the late 1880’s. She wasn’t exactly the picture of the girl next door.

  As John drove from the Senior Center to his apartment building, he couldn’t help but notice the craning necks and astonished expressions from the drivers of the passing cars.

  When John pulled up in front of the apartment building, Willie and Jerry were waiting on the front porch.

  John waved them to the car and rolled down the window, “Guys, meet Annie.”

  “Wot de hell you doin’ wit a blow up doll?” Willie asked. “I thought you had Bernice fo’ dat kind o’ stuff.”

  “She’s not THAT kind of doll, Willie. She’s designed to help train people in emergency procedures like CPR.”

  “So how’s dis doll gonna help ketch dat Bondell creep?”

  “Get in and I’ll show you.”

  Willie and Jerry piled into the back seat and the four of them headed to the Three Trails Hotel.

  At 8:45, the six of us boarded a bus that was to take us on a tour of Ketchikan and to the Totem Bight State Park.