The Wheel of Darkness

Pendergast leaned forward. “I can’t promise a murder on the voyage,” he said, his voice like honey, “but I can tell you this: there

is

a murderer on board.”

11

PENDERGAST RELAXED IN THE SALON OF THEIR SUITE, LEAFING THROUGH the Britannia ’s oversize wine list. Nearby, a flat-screen television was tuned to the ship’s information channel and a muted voice was extolling the virtues of the ocean liner to a succession of images. “TheBritannia is a grand vessel in the old tradition,” the cultured British voice intoned. “With sweeping staircases, vast public areas, two ballrooms, eight restaurants, three casinos, and five swimming pools. She has a passenger manifest of 2,700, a crew of 1,600, and a gross tonnage of 165,000. In terms of accommodations she is the roomiest vessel on the high seas, and the crew-to-passenger ratio is unmatched by any other luxury ship. Several features are unique to theBritannia , such as the eight-story Grand Atrium, the ‘Sedona SunSpa®,’ the upscale shopping arcades of Regent Street and St. James’s, the thousand-seat Belgravia Theatre, and the heated pool modeled after a Roman bath excavated at Pompeii. It boasts the crystal and gilt King George II ballroom, the largest ballroom afloat. The ship is longer than the Empire State Building is tall, and its whistle is audible for fifteen miles. In the tradition of theTitanic and the great ships of the past, theBritannia is distinguished by the extraordinary amount of ‘brightwork’ used in its trimming, inside and out, involving more than a million board-feet of teak, mahogany, Port Orford cedar, gum, iroko, and Queen Island beech . . .”

On the second floor of the suite, a door opened. Constance emerged from her room and came down the stairs.

Pendergast shut off the television and put the wine list aside. “I had no idea the ship’s wine cellar was so extensive,” he said. “One hundred and fifty thousand bottles laid down. Their selection of pre-1960 Pauillacs is particularly impressive.”

He glanced up as she came over. She had changed out of her formal dinner clothes and into a pale yellow dress. “Your new wardrobe suits you, Constance,” he said.

“You helped pick it out,” she replied, settling into a chair opposite him.

“You were rather sharp this evening,” he said.

“So were you.”

“I’m trying to smoke out a killer. What were you doing?”

Constance sighed. “I’m sorry if I was difficult. After the monastery, I find all this opulence—dispiriting.”

“

Be in the world but not of it

.” Pendergast quoted the ancient Buddhism maxim.

“I’d rather be in my home, reading a book by the fire. This”—she gestured around— “is grotesque.”

“Keep in mind we’re working.”

She shifted restlessly in her chair and gave no reply.

Privately, Pendergast noted that a change had come over his ward in the past few weeks. Her time in the monastery had worked wonders on her. He was glad to see she had continued her Chongg Ran discipline in her stateroom, rising at four every morning and meditating for an hour, meditating in the afternoon, and not overindulging in food and drink. Most importantly, she was no longer listless, drifting. She was more purposeful, relaxed, more interested in the world around her than she had been since the death of his brother. This little mission of theirs, this unsolved mystery, had given her a new sense of direction. Pendergast had high hopes she was well on the way to recovery from the terrible events of March and the procedure at the Feversham Clinic. She was no longer in need of protection from others. Indeed, after her sharp display at dinner, he wondered if it wasn’t now the other way around. “What did you think of our dinner companions?” he asked.

“Very little, alas. Except for Mrs. Dahlberg—there’s something attractively genuine about her. She seems interested in you.”

Pendergast inclined his head. “I’m not the only one who made an impression.” He nodded at a slim manuscript that lay on a side table, entitledCaravaggio: The Riddle of Chiaroscuro . “I see that Dr. Brock wasted no time sending his monograph over to you.”

Constance glanced at the manuscript, frowned.

“Despite their shortcomings, I suspect a few of our dinner guests may prove useful,” he went on. “Mr. Mayles, for instance. Now there is a man who notices everything.”

Constance nodded and they fell into silence.

“So,” she finally said, changing the subject, “the thief and murderer killed Jordan Ambrose with a small- caliber pistol. Then committed gratuitous violence to the body.”

“Yes.”

“But the rest of the modus operandi you described—the careful checking of the pockets, the meticulous wiping and cleaning of all surfaces—doesn’t fit.”

“Precisely.”

“I’m not aware of any precedent in any of the casebooks I’ve read.”

“Nor am I. Except, perhaps, for a singular case I handled in Kansas not so long ago.”

There was a knock on the door and Pendergast went to answer it. Their cabin stewardess stood in the hall outside.

“Come in,” Pendergast said, waving his hand.

The woman made a small curtsey and stepped inside. She was thin and middle-aged, with black hair and deep-set black eyes. “Pardon me, sir,” she said in an Eastern European accent. “I was wondering if I could be of assistance in any way at present?”

“Thank you, no. We are fine for the time being.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be back to turn down the beds.” And with another small curtsey, she ducked out of the room.

Pendergast closed the door and returned to the sofa.

“So how

are

we going to spend the evening?” Constance asked.

“There are any number of postprandial entertainments available. Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

“I thought perhaps the muster drill.”

“How droll. Actually, before we do anything, there’s one chore to complete.” Pendergast gestured toward a large computer printout that lay beside the wine list. “There are twenty-seven hundred passengers on board this ship and only seven days in which to find the murderer and retrieve the Agozyen.”

“Is that the passenger list?”

Pendergast nodded. “Direct from the ship’s database. Including occupation, age, sex, and time of boarding. As I told you earlier, I’ve already ruled out members of the crew.”

“How did you obtain that?”

“With great ease. I located a low-level computer maintenance tech and told him I was a North Star auditor, evaluating crew performance. He couldn’t furnish the list quickly enough. I’ve already made considerable progress thinning the pool of suspects.” And he pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket.

“Go on.”