The Hindenburg Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,52
water for conservation reasons.
He therefore took the longest shower in the history of the Hindenburg—perhaps a good fifteen minutes—and while the water pressure was nothing to write home about, the spray was hot enough to relax and soothe him and make him feel human again. Alive.
Back in his cabin, he put on a yellow sport shirt, tan slacks, and a brown herringbone drape-style sport coat. The freshly shaven man in the mirror seemed none the worse for wear, so Charteris set about his business.
The first order of which was to knock at Chief Steward Kubis’s door. Kubis was up, already in his crisp white jacket and perfectly knotted black tie; but the steward was still surprised to see Charteris so early.
“What is it, sir?”
“Take me to see the two captains.”
“Captain Pruss and Mr. Lehmann, sir?”
“That’s right. Then fetch Colonel Erdmann and bring him to us. And that’s all the discussion we’re going to have about it, Heinrich.”
Kubis nodded, and within five minutes Charteris was once again in Ernst Lehmann’s cabin, in the forward officers’ quarters section of the ship. The small window let in the light of early morning; the former Hindenburg captain’s accordion again sat on the floor, resting against the bulkhead as if tuckered out from last night’s sing-along.
Lehmann, in a gray suit and blue bow tie, sat with his back to his aluminum desk, facing Charteris, who again sat on the single bunk. Captain Pruss, in his impeccable blue uniform, stood at the door, hands clasped behind him. Kubis, God bless him, had gone after coffee and a metal pot on a metal tray rested on the desktop and all of the men were sipping at steaming hot cups, savoring the brew as if it were a lifesaving elixir.
Both captains listened with quiet alarm lengthening their expressions as the author informed them of his midnight intruder, apparently a crew member.
Lehmann, teeth clasped on the stem of his unlighted pipe, posed the first question, not to Charteris but to Captain Pruss. “Do you think this has to be a crew member? Could someone else have acquired a uniform?”
Pruss frowned, shrugged. “Uniforms are plentiful enough on this ship, but I’m not sure how—”
“It has to be a crew member,” Charteris said, interrupting. “Or someone higher up than that, pretending to be one.”
Lehmann drew back. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing. Just examining the facts. My cabin door was locked—and my uninvited guest was waiting inside for me.”
“So he had a passkey,” Pruss said.
“Yes—which means a crew member, a steward, an officer. Not a passenger.”
Sighing, shaking his head, nibbling on the prop pipe, Lehmann said, “And here we’ve been considering only passengers as our suspects.”
“What if the murderer—a passenger—had Knoecher’s key?” Pruss asked. “Your cabin mate, after all?”
“I’ve considered that. But that key almost certainly went out the window with Knoecher, tucked away in his pocket—and now in some shark’s belly.”
A knock at the cabin door announced Erdmann, who looked alert and businesslike in a well-pressed three-piece brown suit. The Luftwaffe colonel nodded his good mornings, helped himself to a cup of coffee, sat next to Charteris, who filled him in.
“I could not have anticipated this,” Erdmann said, eyes glazed. “There were no crew members on Knoecher’s subject list at all.”
“Mr. Charteris,” Captain Pruss said, exasperation coloring his voice, “we have sixty-one crewmen on this ship. How do you suggest, in the short time left on this voyage, we narrow that number to one?”
Charteris sipped his coffee. “Oh, I already have a suspect for you—that is, if you’re interested, gentlemen.”
“Don’t be coy,” Erdmann growled.
“You have a rigger named Eric Spehl.”
Everyone frowned, but particularly Captain Pruss, who said, “Why, yes—how is it that you know one of our crewmen, Mr. Charteris?”
“He went out of his way to come meet me on A deck—broke a regulation doing so, for all I know.”
Lehmann looked up from his coffee cup to say, “He did. Crew members are strictly segregated from passengers.”
Charteris shrugged. “In any event, he sought me out, said he was a fan—even had a book for me to autograph.”
Colonel Erdmann shrugged, too. “Why take that at anything but face value? You’re a famous man, Mr. Charteris. Is it surprising you have a reader among our crew?”
“Something about his manner seemed… off-kilter. His words were admiring, but now, upon reflection, his manner seemed something else again. I believe I was being sized up.”
Eyes narrowing, Lehmann leaned forward. “For a midnight beating, you mean?”
“Yes. I’m somewhat bigger than he is, and he might have wanted a