LITMIR.BIZ

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assure you. But I need to get to the bottom of all this.”

      This was embarrassing. I mumbled a few stupid words before finally finding a couple of smart ones. “How is the driver?”

      “He has a concussion. The doctor says he’ll be okay.

      But I did want to ask you your version of what happened.”

      He listened carefully while I went through it all.

      When I had finished he scratched his head. “Was Terry seasick or did she just panic the way she said?”

      “I don’t know. As far as I could tell she looked pretty desperate.”

      Jason seemed to have finished with me, judging by the interest ebbing from his eyes, but I wasn’t finished with him.

      “You seem to have met Terry Spencer before?” I asked, hoping for — I don’t know what.

      “Yeah,” he hesitated and clenched his jaw. “Along with our naturalist talks we have writing courses on this ship quite often — usually creative writing, different groups, anyone can join. Terry Spencer has been before. Just between you and me she’s a bit of a handful. Bright, but so demanding and arrogant that no one wants to touch her.

      At least, not in that way.” He flung this last aside in almost accidentally and then threw his hands up in the air in self-defence. “Hey. What can I say? She IS beautiful.”

Chapter Five

      “Beluga whale off the starboard bow!” The intercom system woke me from a groggy, Gravol-induced sleep.

      I opened one eye and looked through the porthole. I was greeted by patchy, milky white fog and floating chunks of white pack ice as far as the fog would let me see. No horizon for me to fix on, just a great white abyss. How the hell anyone could see a beluga whale in such a world of white was more than I could fathom. You were much more likely to hear the “canaries of the sea,” with their squeals, whistles, and little puffs. The sea was moving us in a rolling rhythm that made me want to lie back down and sleep forever. I could hear the rumbling throb of the engine coming from deep within the ship, shuddering through its core, totally out of sync with the sea, something I wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t felt so sick.

      I glanced at the clock and groaned: 6:00 p.m. I’d missed the crew briefing, but I could make the passen–ger orientation — just. Even if I didn’t get any questions asked of me I had to be there. Terry had left no doubts about that. I gingerly stood up, swaying with the ship. I could do this if I didn’t think too much.

      One of my two rooms, the sitting room, had a win–dow that looked out over the bow and I’d been spending a lot of time looking out of it, trying to find the horizon and stabilize my semi-circular canals. There was just one easy chair. The bedroom was even more sparse; just the beds, a table, and a lamp. No shower. No bath. Just a sink and a toilet.

      I pulled on my pants and a fleece jacket and headed into the hallway, which was so narrow that an over–sized person might feel somewhat claustrophobic. For me, narrow was good. I could lean on both walls. The stairs were a bit of a challenge since the ship seemed to lurch out of reach of my foot every time I was trying to find a step.

      People were milling around outside the dining room, so at least I wasn’t late. I poked my head inside the room. It was plain, just like my room — only the bare neces–sities. It had already been set up for dinner and people were sitting at tables of eight with perky red and white checkerboard tablecloths, fake flowers, and cheap cut–lery — this was definitely no luxury liner. I saw that Terry was there and in a sea of strange faces I gravitated towards her. But I never made it. Someone touched me on the shoulder and I turned to see the hairy man who had been knocked out in the Zodiac.

      “Cordi O’Callaghan?”

      I nodded and he held out his hand “Peter Stanford. Your friend Martha pointed you out to me.” I followed his gaze and saw Martha and Duncan deep in conversa–tion. How had I missed them?

      “I gather I owe you my thanks,” he said.

      I glanced at the bandage on his head, which was holding back some serious curls that threatened to engulf his face. He smiled as I took his hand.

      “They said you were on death’s door.”

      “Somewhat exaggerated,” he said. “The doctor kicked me out of sick bay half an hour ago. Just in time for the orientation meeting.”

      I couldn’t tell whether he was happy or irked at having to be here so I said something nice and neutral. “Have you been to many?”

      “Tons. I’ve been lecturing on Arctic seabirds for ten years. But my current field of research is the nesting hab–its of gyrfalcons.”

      I looked at him with renewed interest. Gyrfalcons are the largest falcons in the world and nest off cliff faces that are often inaccessible. Half the time, to even see their nests you have to climb up or fly over. No wonder he was reading about illegal trade in animals. There was probably a whole chapter on gyrfalcon eggs and how they somehow manage to get themselves from Canada to Saudi Arabia on a rather regular basis. But I didn’t go there. Instead, I said, “Guess you’re not afraid of heights.”

      He laughed and was about to say something when we were called in to the meeting. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows as if to say “duty calls.”

      I tried to get beside Martha and Duncan but the surg–ing crowd took me to a table of strangers. Every crew–member and every lecturer (including myself) had to give a five-minute spiel. It was interminable and I spent the whole time waiting for my turn and worrying about it.

      In the end my speech went smoothly enough, though the crowd was more interested in the one measly murder case I had worked on than anything else.

      And then Terry got up to say her bit. She’d barely begun when someone called out, “Did you cut the ropes on the Zodiac?”

      Terry searched the audience for the source of the voice and said nothing. Cut the ropes?

      “Aren’t you the murderer?” asked the voice. I couldn’t find him. Neither could Terry.

      I heard a collective intake of breath as the words hit home. It was surreal. The entire room fell quiet, and once again I was aware of it moving gently up and down with the swell of the sea.

      Terry slowly turned and looked into the audience, looking for the owner of the voice. “No, I am not a murderer.” Her voice was quiet, defiant. She’s been here before, I thought. Handling accusations from a room full of unknown people.

      I scanned the audience and found him. Peter. What I could see of his face was cold and ugly and there was a tall, dark-haired woman clamping her hand on his shoulder with a look of what can only be described as alarm. I looked more closely and was pretty sure it was the woman who’d sat across the aisle from me on the plane.

      “You had a good lawyer, eh?” he asked in a suddenly good-natured voice, but the look he gave her was one of frightening focus.

      She looked at him curiously. “I was acquitted. Every–body knows that.”

      “You had a good lawyer.”

      The woman beside Peter was frowning and hurriedly whispered something to him. Whatever she said worked and the fight went out of him even as Terry said, “Are you trying to accuse me…?”

      I heard a chair scrape back and the booming voice of Captain Jason Poole rang through the room. “That’s enough everybody.” He stood there with his hands up as if he was about to do a vertical pushup. Terry started to protest but thought better of it, and Peter had melted into the background with the tall, dark-haired woman.

      Poole surveyed the room. “I think this meeting is over, folks. Please direct any questions to the expedition staff

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