business and accompany his mother, yet he got no thanks at all.
He glanced at his watch. His mother would be waiting for him. He went into the bathroom, swallowed a couple of painkillers and a tranquilliser, and set off for the dining room.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan chose a seat in the sun lounge that gave him the best view of passengers coming, going or simply passing through on their way to the dining room.
With one entire wall in glass, the room was like a giant conservatory—it even had tall green plastic plants—and was the perfect place for watching the sunlight dancing on the water. People sat in comfy armchairs to read, or sipped coffee as they gazed at the outside world.
Dylan had never been impressed by scenery but even he had to admit that this was spectacular. The ship carved its way through the deep fjords, gliding past towering cliffs and scattered islands. It was majestic.
He wished he could relax and enjoy it, but he was too busy trying to make sense of things.
His family was attending a “fun family lecture,” but as Dylan didn’t believe the words fun and lecture should be used in the same sentence, he’d given it a miss. The children were being given activity packs and were supposed to use words or pictures to describe all that they’d seen during yesterday’s visit to Trondheim. Luke was too old and Freya too young, but Bev had insisted on dragging them along.
Dylan was trying to convince himself that he was making something out of nothing. Maybe the only person Hanna Larsen saw before she breathed her last was the grim reaper.
He’d heard a noise, that was all. If he’d been asleep, as he should have been, he would have been as convinced as everyone else that she died peacefully in her sleep. A noise. Nothing more.
Over and over again he’d pulled that sound to mind and tried to say for sure what he’d actually heard. He couldn’t. He’d heard footsteps, yes. Heavy footsteps, moving quickly. Too heavy and too quick for Hanna Larsen. There was the other sound too, the one he still couldn’t identify. A mechanical noise. Damn it.
Assuming the owner of those footsteps had entered Hanna Larsen’s cabin wanting to kill her, how would he do it? If he’d used force, the people who found her, along with the police, would have noticed. If he’d chosen poison as his weapon, he would have slipped something into her food or drink in the dining room and would have had no need to venture to her cabin in the small hours. Suffocation? It would be easy enough to overpower an elderly woman with a weak heart.
The elderly had a low tolerance to lack of oxygen. They weren’t strong enough to fight off an attacker, to push a pillow away and take a gasp of air. Also, when people were frightened, they used up oxygen at a much faster rate. It probably wouldn’t have taken any longer than two minutes for Hanna to die.
He had no idea how the law worked in Norway so couldn’t assume there would be a postmortem. If a doctor believed she’d suffered a heart attack, he might sign the death certificate and not delve further. If there was a postmortem though, the person doing that would find evidence of suffocation from the broken capillary vessels in her eyes.
Dylan made a mental note to have another chat with Mike Lloyd.
The question—if there was indeed a question—was who exactly the killer intended to murder. Was it Hanna Larsen? Or had he expected Ruby Jackson to be in that cabin?
The owner of the chemical factory, Mr. Jorstad, wouldn’t shed too many tears on learning of Hanna’s death. And there could be countless people wanting Ruby dead. He wondered if she still had any control in her husband’s business. But no, she’d said it was sold off and that the new owners had merely kept the name.
Jackson was an enigma. Ruby had mentioned that his TV company was struggling but, judging by the tail end of the phone call Dylan had overheard earlier, it was in dire straits. Jackson had said he’d
He glanced at his watch. His mother would be waiting for him. He went into the bathroom, swallowed a couple of painkillers and a tranquilliser, and set off for the dining room.
Chapter Twelve
Dylan chose a seat in the sun lounge that gave him the best view of passengers coming, going or simply passing through on their way to the dining room.
With one entire wall in glass, the room was like a giant conservatory—it even had tall green plastic plants—and was the perfect place for watching the sunlight dancing on the water. People sat in comfy armchairs to read, or sipped coffee as they gazed at the outside world.
Dylan had never been impressed by scenery but even he had to admit that this was spectacular. The ship carved its way through the deep fjords, gliding past towering cliffs and scattered islands. It was majestic.
He wished he could relax and enjoy it, but he was too busy trying to make sense of things.
His family was attending a “fun family lecture,” but as Dylan didn’t believe the words fun and lecture should be used in the same sentence, he’d given it a miss. The children were being given activity packs and were supposed to use words or pictures to describe all that they’d seen during yesterday’s visit to Trondheim. Luke was too old and Freya too young, but Bev had insisted on dragging them along.
Dylan was trying to convince himself that he was making something out of nothing. Maybe the only person Hanna Larsen saw before she breathed her last was the grim reaper.
He’d heard a noise, that was all. If he’d been asleep, as he should have been, he would have been as convinced as everyone else that she died peacefully in her sleep. A noise. Nothing more.
Over and over again he’d pulled that sound to mind and tried to say for sure what he’d actually heard. He couldn’t. He’d heard footsteps, yes. Heavy footsteps, moving quickly. Too heavy and too quick for Hanna Larsen. There was the other sound too, the one he still couldn’t identify. A mechanical noise. Damn it.
Assuming the owner of those footsteps had entered Hanna Larsen’s cabin wanting to kill her, how would he do it? If he’d used force, the people who found her, along with the police, would have noticed. If he’d chosen poison as his weapon, he would have slipped something into her food or drink in the dining room and would have had no need to venture to her cabin in the small hours. Suffocation? It would be easy enough to overpower an elderly woman with a weak heart.
The elderly had a low tolerance to lack of oxygen. They weren’t strong enough to fight off an attacker, to push a pillow away and take a gasp of air. Also, when people were frightened, they used up oxygen at a much faster rate. It probably wouldn’t have taken any longer than two minutes for Hanna to die.
He had no idea how the law worked in Norway so couldn’t assume there would be a postmortem. If a doctor believed she’d suffered a heart attack, he might sign the death certificate and not delve further. If there was a postmortem though, the person doing that would find evidence of suffocation from the broken capillary vessels in her eyes.
Dylan made a mental note to have another chat with Mike Lloyd.
The question—if there was indeed a question—was who exactly the killer intended to murder. Was it Hanna Larsen? Or had he expected Ruby Jackson to be in that cabin?
The owner of the chemical factory, Mr. Jorstad, wouldn’t shed too many tears on learning of Hanna’s death. And there could be countless people wanting Ruby dead. He wondered if she still had any control in her husband’s business. But no, she’d said it was sold off and that the new owners had merely kept the name.
Jackson was an enigma. Ruby had mentioned that his TV company was struggling but, judging by the tail end of the phone call Dylan had overheard earlier, it was in dire straits. Jackson had said he’d
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