CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The crew mustered aft, and Captain Fairweather read the burial service as Crockatt’s body was committed to the deep.
“Maybe the police will want to see the body,” Watters had hinted, only for Masterton to refuse.
“The Dundee police have no jurisdiction here,” he said, “and what will they see that the doctor has not already put in his report?” Masterton shook his head. “No, Walker, or whatever your name is, I won’t have a dead body on board the ship. Crockett died at sea, and the sea will accept his body.”
As the body, wrapped in Baxter’s Number Six fine canvas and weighted at the feet with iron bars, slid into the sea, Watters remembered Lizzie Flett’s words:
“There are questions to answer and a price to pay as men remain under the ice.”
He watched the swirl as Crock
