Over the years I’ve been called many things, most of which cannot be published in a Wednesday blog. However, there’s one name I’m proud to mention.

For a brief period during Christmas 1997 I was known as the Poirot of the Pacific. This is the story of how it came about.

Maiden voyage

I was taking my maiden voyage as number two ship’s pianist on the Warrior of the Ocean, a cruise liner themed to great military and naval campaigns of history. Four of my best mates from college had agreed to come along with me from Hawaii to Australia via Fiji.

It was going to be a great Christmas adventure and we’d get to cross the international date line as well.

I still remember that first evening when I joined my old comrades in the bar, after an afternoon shift on the Steinway in the Stalingrad Lounge. It was Roger Tring who spotted me first.

“Brucie you old reprobate,” he called out. “Come and meet the gang.”

University days

I immediately recognised Adam Stoke, Dave Gram and Mitch Lebane. They’d hardly changed from university days. With them were two women I’d not seen before.

“These gorgeous ladies are Anna Chessman and Lucy Hartale,” said Roger. “They’re members of the on board theatre group.”

Being new to the ship, I was delighted to make the acquaintance of two fellow entertainment professionals. We all chatted happily for several hours. It seemed the perfect start to the trip with everyone full of festive fun.

What I’d failed to spot, however, were the dark undercurrents flowing just below the surface.

Drunk and agitated

That evening I returned to my cabin at 11, only to be disturbed minutes later by Roger banging on the door. He was drunk and agitated.

“I can’t get her out of my head, Brucie,” he kept saying. “That girl’s got to be my wife.”

“Which girl?” I asked.

“Anna,” he said. “Soon as I set eyes on her I knew she was the one. You must have seen the chemistry between us. Tomorrow I’m popping the question.”

“Leave it a few days,” I suggested.

But Roger’s mind was made up. I went to sleep, with a deep foreboding about what the new day might bring.

Wake up call

At seven I was awoken by a call from Dave.

“Hi mate. Got some news. I’m getting married and I’d like you to be best man.”

“What are you talking about?”

His next words made me feel like I’d been punched in both eyes. “I’ve asked Anna to marry me and she’s agreed. We want to get wed on the ship, and we’d like you to arrange it with the captain?”

Larger than life

Captain Manny Cheemveh was a larger than life character who appeared to manage the vessel by sheer force of personality. As luck would have it he seemed to have taken a shine to me. It probably helped that he’d gone to school with my father.

Cheemveh was happy to make the arrangements for a simple ceremony for Dave and Anna that afternoon in the Hastings Chapel.

At the appointed hour a small group of us gathered to witness the event. Roger and Dave must have settled their differences because there was no hint of tension between them. Indeed Roger gave the bride away and no one applauded more loudly than he after the vows were taken and the couple kissed.

Santa’s grotto

Two hours later I was still reflecting on this unexpected turn of events when I got the call from Captain Cheemveh. I was needed urgently in Santa’s grotto.

As I stepped inside the room my heart lurched. A large red-suited figure was lying lifeless on the floor.

“Knifed to death,” said the captain. “We’ve a killer on board and we need to act quick. We’ve got two days before we reach Fiji to find this madman and clap him in irons. Bruce, I’m excusing you from normal duties and putting you in charge of the investigation. Frankly you’re the only person on this ship I trust.”

I tried to protest, but the old man wasn’t listening. Suddenly, without qualifications or experience, I was a murder investigator on the high seas.

Searching for clues

Unsure what to do I began searching the room for clues. It didn’t take me long to find one. Pinned to the dead man’s sleeve was a note bearing a simple legend:

‘I really hate this Santa Claus.’

I decided if I was Sherlock Holmes I needed to recruit some Watsons, so I called a meeting of my old college friends plus Anna and Lucy and showed them the note. Lucy said she knew the Chief Purser and would ask him if he could match the handwriting to any of the crew or passengers.

Roger said he had the beginnings of an idea, but needed some thinking time. Anna, Dave, Adam and Mitch agreed to help in whatever way they could, but had nothing concrete to suggest. It was hardly a promising start.

Deserted

That evening Roger called me. We agreed to meet by the River Plate swimming pool, which was generally deserted at that hour.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he said. “But just suppose the killer was trying to tell us something through that note.”

“Go on,” I said.

He produced a crumpled sheet of paper covered in scribblings. “I’ve been playing around with the words in the note and it turns out if you rearrange the letters, you get a pretty scary message.”

“What message?” I asked.

He took a deep breath. “The assailant is Lucy Hartale.”

Coincidence?

I nearly choked. But he was right. The killer’s note could be unscrambled to exactly produce this alternative message. Perhaps it was coincidence, or maybe a trick. I needed to find out.

I went to see Lucy and asked her about her whereabouts at the time of the murder. It transpired she had an alibi. She’d been performing on stage and her colleagues could vouch for her. I left more confused than ever.

Almost immediately I took a call from the captain and it was more bad news. There’d been a second murder. He wanted to see me in Mitch Lebane’s cabin.

Motionless

When I arrived poor Mitch was lying motionless on his back, a knife sticking out of his chest. Cheemveh looked up as I entered. He’d aged visibly.

“Another note,” he said, handing it over. “Same handwriting.”

As I read it, I felt sick. It said: “We’re gonna miss you Mitch Lebane.”

Cheemveh looked me in the eye. “Bruce,” he said, “you must catch this person, before anyone else dies.”

Unanswerable questions

Once again I summoned the team and we spent an hour pondering some tough questions. Did Mitch have any enemies? Why would someone kill such a decent guy? Did the new note contain a hidden message?

With no clear answers, we agreed to reconvene later that evening and I went for a walk on deck. Two murders, two notes. Could things get any more complicated? Apparently they could.

My phone rang and it was Roger.

Like a madman

“I’ve been working like a madman on this latest note and I think I’ve cracked it,” he said. “If you rearrange the letters you get, ‘So now there’s a big clue in my name’.

“It can’t be coincidence,” he added. “Both notes can be turned into other messages.”

I had to agree with him. But why would the killer leave notes that could be read in two ways? And what were we to deduce from their latest message?

Were they referring to Mitch’s name? Or to their own? I had no idea.

Captain’s reception

It was traditional on the Warrior, when the ship was nearing port, for the captain to hold a reception for selected guests. Cheemveh was reluctant to make any concessions to the killer. So the event went ahead as usual.

I was on the guest list and persuaded the captain to invite all my Watsons as well.

“Come on guys,” I said standing outside the imposing Gallipoli Hall on Christmas Eve. “For one hour, let’s forget about murder and enjoy ourselves. Mitch would have wanted it that way.”

As we entered, each of us was given a small card on which we had to write our full name, then pin it to our lapel. It was a good chance for us to get to know some of the other passengers and crew.

Perfectly crafted

After circulating for a while I got bored and decided to rejoin my mates. I found myself talking to Adam and somehow we got onto the subject of handwriting.

“You can learn a lot about people from studying how they write,” he said. “I mean look at Dave’s name tag. It’s barely readable. Now look at Anna’s. Every letter is perfectly crafted.”

Glancing across at the couple I could see there was indeed a stark contrast between husband and wife. Anna’s copperplate style was particularly impressive. I moved closer to get a better look at her name tag.

And then it hit me.

But what I’d noticed had nothing to do with her handwriting.

“Oh my God,” I heard myself say. “I don’t believe it.”

What has Bruce seen? And will it bring him closer to discovering the killer’s identity? Find out next week in the concluding episode of this Christmas cruise ship murder mystery.

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