Lady Justice and the Cruise Ship Murders by Robert Thornhill

Author:Robert Thornhill [Thornhill, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-10-18T04:00:00+00:00

* See photo, page 220

We were about to head out when Ox held up his hand, “If I’m going to be out there forty-five minutes and exerting, I need to make a potty stop.”

“Me, too,” Judy said. “You guys go on and we’ll catch up.”

We were just heading out the door when a middle-aged fellow tapped me on the arm. “Excuse me. I don’t mean to be a bother, but I’m by myself and I wonder if you’d mind taking a photo of me on the observation platform with the Channel in the background?”

I was about to beg off when Amy said, “Go ahead, Walt. We’ll be fine. You can catch up when Ox and Judy are out of the restroom.”

I looked around and seeing no one in particular, and specifically not the couple that had showed up on our last two stops, I reluctantly agreed.

“I really appreciate this,” the man said as he posed on the platform. “My kids back in California have been bugging me to send pictures, but it’s hard to do when you’re alone. I’m Louis French, by the way.”

“Walt and Maggie Williams,” I said, snapping the picture. “I gather you’re not used to traveling alone.”

“Not really,” he replied. “My wife passed away six months ago and this is my first time out.”

I felt like an idiot. “Sorry to hear that,” I said, sheepishly.

“It happens,” he said with a sigh. “Part of life, I guess. Anyway, thank you very much.”

French headed to the line of people waiting for the next gondola down the mountain just as Ox and Judy came around the corner.

“How come you guys aren’t on the trail, and where are Mark and Amy?” Ox asked.

I pointed to French standing in line, “That guy asked us to snap his picture. The Stewarts went on ahead. I made sure no one was following them, but we need to hurry to catch up.”

The first part of the trail was relatively easy, but then the climb became steeper and Ox was soon huffing and puffing. Most of the trail was fairly wide, but in some places, it was only three feet wide with the mountain rising on one side and a sheer drop-off on the other.

Signs along the trail bore the same warning as the tattoo purported to be on the inside of a hooker’s thigh, “Slippery when wet!”

We came to a wide spot with a spectacular view and Ox held up his hand. “Rest stop!”

I had tried to keep my own gasping to a minimum and I wasn’t about to argue.

We had just plopped down when from up ahead we heard a blood-curdling scream.

“EEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHH!”

We were all on our feet in an instant, double-timing up the trail.

The first “HELP” was faint, but as we climbed, it became louder. “HELP!” HELP!”

We came to a sharp bend in the trail and when we looked over the edge, we were horrified to see Mark perched on a rock outcropping twenty feet below us.

Amy was just ten feet below the trail,

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