NaNoWriMo 2006 novel. Writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Quality may suffer.
Chapter 2 ' New York
The Jeraboam arrived in New York on the morning of the twenty-ninth of June. On the starboard side of the ship, towards the bows, Montague James stood smoking his pipe and watching the city rise over the horizon, her massive skyscrapers and the statue of liberty caught a brilliant orange by the dawning sun that followed behind the vessel westward around the globe. He was still deep in thought, he had been distracted and troubled ever since the night he had talked to Frank Pabodie, the very night the unfortunate American had been so brutally murdered. Montague had spent much of the remaining voyages making copies of two ancient parchments Pabodie had brought back from Africa, as well as going through Pabodie's own notes. It was clear to Montague that Pabodie had not got far with his aim of translating the writing on the documents or identifying the knife that he was killed for, but the man's researches had taken him in to dark corners of the occult lore. Montague was no stranger to the occult himself, but the areas Pabodie had researched were ancient and foreign and held a peculiar repulsion for the English scholar, 'give me a thirteenth century devil worshiper any day,' he muttered to himself, 'not these dark necromancies and ancient gods.'
He was snapped out of this musing by a voice as clear as a bell. It was Lucy Willett calling to him. Miss Willett, a nineteen year old American girl, was returning with her widowed mother from a cultural tour of Europe. The Willetts were, he gathered, a well to do New York family with some property in New England. Lucy Willett had been the only passenger on the boat who had read any of the ghost stories he sometimes wrote, a fact for which he was profoundly grateful, and the young woman had been keen to make his acquaintance from the moment she first knew he was on board. After the death of Frank Pabodie, and Montague's own involvement with the investigation, she had come to view him in extremely high regard. But for the other matters that weighed on his soul the attentions of this charming young woman would have quite made the voyage for him.
'Montague,' she called, trotting down the deck towards him, 'isn't it wonderful, the city coming over the horizon like that.'
'Happy to be home Miss Willett?' he asked.
'Oh I shall miss Europe,' she said, 'but yes, half the joy of travelling is coming home again don't you think.'
'I shall be sure to let you know when I go home again myself.'
'Oh, of course, you're journey is just beginning while ours is just ending. You must call on us at some point whilst you are in New York. I shall have mother give you our address.'
'Thank you Miss Willett, I would be delighted.'
'Oh please,' she said, 'we've been cooped up together on his wretched boat for days, call me Lucy. Can we give you a ride somewhere, I'd hate to think of you lost in the city on your first day.'
'No thank you Lucy. I am being met by a representative of the university. Also I imagine there will be some business to sort out with the police first.'
The police business kept all the passengers from disembarking until they were interviewed. A Detective Inspector John McGavery and a small team of officers met the boat at the docks and handled the investigation. He talked to Montague along with the captain first thing and then asked the Englishman to stay in case he needed him further. After statements had been taken from all the passengers and the scene of the crime investigated Montague was escorted back to the captain's cabin where a very tired looking Detective Inspector McGarvey sat along with a couple of other officers and the detritus of a days police work, including a mountain of statements and the remains of a lot of coffee.
'Well mister James,' said the detective in a half Scottish brogue, half New York drawl, 'It is a mystery isn't it?'
'It certainly is to me,' replied Montague.
'I'll be honest with you Mister James, if this did not take place in international waters I would be forced to take you in. You,' he consulted his notes, 'were the last to talk to the deceased on the night he died, were in fact the only person to talk to him at length or go into his cabin during the whole voyage, and it was you who discovered the body the following morning.'
'If you don't mind,' said Montague, 'I was merely present when the body was discovered, I could hardly claim to have discovered it myself.
The detective checked his notes again. 'So you were,' he said. 'But then you also assisted with the crew's investigation, which is what worries me the most.'
'I was asked for a possible explanation so I gave one.'
'Oh yes,' McGarvey leafed back through his notebook, 'your stowaway savage theory, which you then later profess not to believe yourself. Do you believe it?'
'I do not.'
'Neither do I, but then the question begs, why did you propose it?'
'I was asked for a possible explanation and it was the best one that came to mind.'
'At dinner the following night you stated,' he consulted a statement laid out ready on the table, 'that "the only explanation which fits is that something climbed up the side of the ship and broke through the porthole.' He held up the handwritten statement so Montague could see it. 'Miss Lucy Willett,' he said, 'big fan of yours.'
'I said that,' said Montague, 'yes.'
'What did you mean by "something exactly?'
'I did not mean anything "exactly, it was something Pabodie had said, he had said that he thought something was waiting beneath the sea, it conjured up images of seamonsters.'
'Seamonsters?'
'It was in my head, yes. And with the bizarre nature of the murder I must admit that my imagination rather ran away.'
'You write ghost stories I understand?'
'That is correct.'
'If this were one of your ghost stories, how would you end it?'
'This?'
'The mystery of Frank Pabodie's murder.'
'I do not know. I suppose I would have it discovered that the item stolen from Pabodie's cabin belonged to some pirate who's ghost was said to haunt those seas. Something like that.'
'Very good. A ghost pirate. I like that. Miss Willett compares you to Sherlock Holmes. How do you think this would end if it were a Sherlock Holmes mystery?'
'I'm afraid it has been a very long time since I read any.'
'Go on, have a go, humour me.'
'I have no idea.'
'Would you like to hear my attempt?'
'I would.'
'You would! Well then I shall tell you. I suggest that someone who Mister Pabodie knew and trusted knocked on his cabin door, was allowed in, murdered Pabodie, locked the door from the inside, wedged the wardrobe panel against the door, and then went to leave via the porthole, but unfortunately for him could not climb up the side of the ship as he planned and, scratching the hull as he goes, falls into the sea and doubtlessly to his doom. What do you think?'
'It is ingenious.'
'You think so? I am honoured. The thing I like about it the most I think is that it requires no stowaway savage, sea-monster, or ghost pirate.'
'That last comment is hardly fair.'
'No, no it isn't and I apologise. Let's get on to the scratches on the hull, someone descending or some thing ascending, those are our best guesses correct?'
'Certainly the best I have heard.'
'And the former far better than the latter. We've had a chance to take a look at those scratches now. How deep would you say they were?'
'I have no idea,' said Montague, 'if they go deeper than the paintwork or not.'
'They go very deep, sometimes as much as three quarters of an inch into the steel hull itself.'
'My god!'
'Made by four consistently spaced blades,' the detective read from another document on the desk, 'consistent with an animals claws. Do you have any idea what strength it would take to make such a mark?'
'None at all.'
'My pathologist believes it would have taken the strength of a gorilla wielding something extremely heavy and sharp.'
'You think it was a gorilla?'
'Or an orang-outang. Have you read Poe Mister James?'
'The Murders in the Rue Morgue, yes I have.'
'Do you know the cuts on Frank Pabodie's body match the dimensions of the scratches on the side of the ship?'
'I did not know it, but I am not surprised to learn it.'
'We took swabs from the scratches, what do you think we found?'
'Traces of blood?'
'No. That is what we expected but there was nothing of the sort. What does that suggest to you?'
'That the marks were made ascending rather than descending.'
'Exactly,' said the detective, 'and you're seamonster theory is back in the running again.'
'Or your sea orang-outang?'
McGarvey laughed. 'Yes,' he said, 'my sea orang-outang. Let's talk about this item that was stolen, this golden African knife. It's quite a story how he came to discover it.'
'It certainly was.'
'We'll be checking that out with this "consortium from Michigan. I don't suppose he mentioned any names.'
'No.'
"We will find them anyway. I understand you have taken copies of some of Pabodie's papers in order to further investigate the knife.'
'I have. Out of curiosity.'
'If you find anything be sure and let us know won't you?'
'Of course.'
'I suppose if we searched through your luggage we would not find it?'
'Certainly not.'
'No. We won't bother, do you know why?'
'Because the only evidence you have that the knife even existed is mine?'
'Exactly Mister James, full marks. If you had stolen it, why would you even mention it. You are a very clever man. A word of advice, clever men make policemen nervous, we are liable to arrest you just on the suspicion that we have not understood everything you have.'
'Are you going to arrest me?'
'No. I am not. You do not strike me as a murder and I have barely enough evidence to take you in and no hope that any more is going to turn up and, like I said, this was a murder at sea and that makes it, how can I put this, of less precedence. You are free to go Mister James. I have no further questions.'
'Thank you detective inspector,' said Montague standing up.
'Except for one more thing,' said McGarvey, 'could you let me know where you will be staying whilst you are in New York.'
'I would love to,' said Montague, 'but I am afraid I do not yet know myself. I was supposed to be met by a representative of the university.'
'Ah. Will that be the other gentleman in a tweed jacket smoking a pipe who's been standing on the docks all by himself.'
"I hope so, I confess I have no idea.'
'I think it must be. Two academics from across the pond and as alike as peas in a pod you are. Come, I'll walk down with you. The porters have your cases ready I think.'
