The SS Andes docked along the great Commonwealth Pier around mid-morning. Even in the early morning, smog covered the horizon as coal-fired steam equipment, cranes and dock loaders created an overwhelming din of noise along the long wharf. Pallets of cargo and equipment moved across the concrete dock way, carrying the freight from the line of ships tied to the pier. Nestled between two ships, the Andes waited for a large crane on tracks to be moved into position to unload its cargo. A small bevy of the harbor police stood along the dock while tugs pushed the ship into place. After workers lowered the gangplank into place, the men in dark blue uniforms rushed aboard. The men quickly shut down any thoughts the passengers had about leaving. A thin rope barred the passengers from the gangplank, guarded by several large, burly harbor police. Amber arrived on the deck just in time to witness Countess Helene Mara being told to return to her cabin.
“How dare you treat me like this? When I talk to your superiors, you will be back on the street with the rest of your type of people.” She lashed out at one man, who stood with his arms crossed.
“Lady, that’s Sergeant O’Malley right over there.” He told her as he gestured with his thumb to a uniformed man in a conversation with the captain of the ship. Next to the captain was first officer Holtz.
“Lady, he’ll be talking to you soon enough. Now be a good girl, and let us do our job,” the policeman told her.
After glancing at the man in charge, Helene Mara fell silent when she realized the officers did not care about her societal rank.
Amber watched the man leading the harbor police. Like his comrades, he was a large man with a barrel chest and thick neck straining to burst the uniform he wore. Carrying a permanent scowl on his boxer face, O’Malley had already ordered a few of his men to the crime scene.
Barking orders like a drill instructor, O’Malley sent the rest of his men along to round up all the crew members. When he finished, he walked over to the line of passengers waiting to leave. When the countess tried to speak up, he cut her off.
“You heard my men,” he said bluntly. “We have two murders on this ship, along with the murderer who we’ll soon find. Now, unless you want to be here all night, go back to your cabin and stay out of the way. I’ll be speaking with the crewmen first, and I’ll get around to the passenger after that.”
O’Malley turned and walked over to the first officer of the ship. Amber barely listened to Helene complain about the man’s insufferable rudeness. Instead, she focused on the conversation between the first officer and O’Malley. While she could not hear what they said, she guessed it concerned the missing passenger. Soon, they would apprehend him. Amber just hoped Baker wouldn’t implicate her as he had threatened earlier.
Still, her worries also came back to something else bothering her. The woman observed Holtz retreating up a deck to reach the captain of the vessel. A fleeting thought came to Amber, and it went against her determined dislike of Baker. However, she could not overlook something he had no defense against. What if someone set him up to take the fall for two murders?
~~~
Above the passengers, Warren Baker overheard many of the conversations coming from below. Warren Baker hunkered down inside a ventilation shaft above the bridge. His location provided excellent acoustics for him to keep abreast of the events as they unfolded. While the din of the dock background noises overwhelmed him at times, Warren followed the police movements as they yelled out their instructions. Also, he could hear the update given by the first officer to the captain of the Andes, who was just below him on the bridge.
Warren smiled to himself as he wanted to pat himself for his hiding place. When he saw the silver pistol being held by the ship’s officer over the body of the dead sailor, he instinctively knew he was the prime suspect. He had enough experience in purgatory roles to understand when the world was gunning for him.
At first, he considered jumping overboard. However, the early morning light revealed the shore was much too far away for him to swim. Worse, he had no way of knowing if that was the way for him to die, according to the scriptwriters. He also considered dropping a lifeboat into the water. However, the noise might get someone’s attention. Besides, his presence in the open water would make him a highly visible target. With no path to escape, he searched for a place to hide.
Knowing time was against him, Warren hurried to his cabin. He filled his pockets with any items he thought might be useful before he carefully snuck out of his stateroom. The wanted man worked his way back to the lounge. He changed direction several times while he avoided crewmen or passengers.
After briefly considering taking a hatchway down into the bowels of the unknown ship, he realized crewmen would quickly notice him. As desperation filled him, Warren retreated to the stern of the ship. He looked down at the churning water coming from the propeller below, wondering if he was out of options. A tug pushed up against the ship and he noticed the small crowd gathering on the pier.
Death by execution or death by drowning!
The man turned back and stared at the upper part of the ship where the exhaust pumped out dark smoke. He leaned against the railing as he ran out of hope. Warren decided to make the choice as soon as someone came after him.
Warren, resigned to his impending fate, stared at the several shafts below the smoke funnels. He cocked his head and slowly stepped forward. They appeared to be some type of intake vents, and a grin came to his face.
Remembering something about hiding in plain sight, Warren noticed one of the ship’s crew coming out of a hatch. He swiftly ran up a ladder to the next level. Working his way along the open area, he stayed out of sight from dockside as the ship drew closer inside Boston Harbor. Crossing the passenger level, he kept expecting a yell from someone who would notice him. A swift climb up another set of stairs put him under the bridge area. He heard, then saw an older man in a white uniform step out of a doorway above him.
Warren slipped back under the overhang and waited impatiently while nervously eyeing the doorways nearby. He watched the captain through the grates of the platform above him. The captain calmly sipped his coffee while Warren kept glancing around the area. A voice, speaking in German, made him look up, and the captain glanced back at the open door. After he grunted his acknowledgement, the captain flicked the coffee out of his cup, then returned inside. The warm splatter of coffee landed on Warren’s face, but he held his position.
Hearing whistling coming from the passenger deck as someone was coming around the corner; Warren swiftly scaled the ladder to the bridge deck. He slipped past the open door, then scurried on the rooftop edge.
He paused, half expecting someone would call out.
A glance at the passenger deck below revealed a whistling porter who was carrying two bags from out of a stateroom. As the man walked the other direction, Warren pulled himself over the edge.
Crouching low, he searched for a place to hide. Warren quickly realized the two large pipes on either side of the deck were too high up to reach the lowest edge. The curved tubes, shaped like a large amplifying horn from an old record player, looked large enough to hold him. Still, he had no way to get up inside the vent. Keeping himself out of sight from those on the pier, he carefully walked across the metal deck and inspected two other pipes coming from below. Neither was large enough to accommodate his size.
Edging over to see the passenger deck below, Warren noticed two stewards gathering luggage. While he was safe at the moment, a thorough search of the ship would soon find him.
Warren slid down with his back against the largest vent. Discouraged, he could only stay out of sight and hope. Then, he noticed an old paint covered crate sitting by a few paint cans near the large smokestack in the middle of the deck. Left by the crewmembers who were painting one of the smaller vents, the crate and cans gave him a solution.
Warren moved the box in front of the bulky, curved ventilation shaft. Hurriedly, he took off his belt, then wrapped it through the rope handle on the crate. Carefully, he climbed on top of the box before sliding inside the tube. With his upper body still hanging out of the shaft, he pulled the crate up to him. Sliding inside the vent with the box in hand, Warren found his hiding place.
