Chapter 14
If you were claustrophobic, this was not the place to be. The habitat was a multi-chambered facility with passages that connected the different compartments. Portholes throughout offered a view of the deep sea, though at this depth there wasn't much light—a deep blue twilight.
It took a certain temperament to live like this.
The hum of computers and machinery filled the air, along with the sounds of the sea that transferred through the hull. There was no mistaking where you were—at the bottom of the ocean with no easy way to the surface.
We followed Commander Wong through the maze of passageways, through hatches, to the engineering room. On the deck lay Denver Weyland, the former commander of the habitat.
He was a handsome man in his late 30s with light-brown hair that was slicked back. He had chiseled features, a square jaw, and a trimmed mustache and goatee. His blank, ice blue eyes stared at the ceiling.
“This area is now off limits until we process the scene,” I said.
“For how long?” Wong asked.
“Until I say.”
His jaw tightened. “This is a mission-critical area. My crew will need access.”
“Clear it with me first. This shouldn’t take too long, then we’ll be out of the way.”
I snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves, knelt down beside the body, and felt for a pulse. Weyland was cold to the touch. He’d been dead for quite some time. At least seven or eight hours, maybe longer.
I pulled out my phone and snapped pictures of the compartment and the body. Wide angles at first, then closer shots from multiple angles. Then extreme close-ups on Weyland’s face, neck, hands, etc. Then I took video of the scene and the remains as I commented notes.
Weyland’s suit had been unzipped, his shirt cut away, and defibrillator pads attached to his chest. The AED sat on the deck nearby.
Once I’d documented everything, I asked, "What happened?"
"There was an electrical malfunction," Wong said, hovering just outside the hatch with the others looking over his shoulder. "That's my guess, anyway.”
"What was he doing in here?"
"We had just gotten back from an excursion in one of the mini-subs. We’ve been having some charging issues with the batteries. The system will send an alert if it's not charging properly. I think Weyland came to check on it.”
The room was filled with control panels, gauges, switches, knobs, and breaker boxes.
"It's possible there's a short in the recharge system,” Wong continued. “He could have come in here, touched the control panel, and gotten a shock. The voltage is pretty high. It could have induced cardiac arrest."
"Did Weyland have any health issues?”
"Not that I'm aware of," Wong said.
Judy stepped forward. "No. Denver was in great shape."
"We all go through a pretty rigorous physical examination," Wong said. “EKG, stress test, psych evals. The last thing you want is a medical emergency down here.”
"Was anybody else in the compartment when the incident occurred?” I asked.
Wong looked around at the group. "Not that I'm aware of."
"What about video surveillance? Isn't this whole thing streamed live on the Internet?”
"We had a system glitch. The cameras stopped working.”
"Have you restored communication with the DSV yet?" I asked.
"I'm working on it," Quinn said, making her way forward. "The short fried a module. I need to replace one of the capacitors on the board and reinstall it. Fingers crossed, that should give us our satellite back. We’ve been communicating via the Aqualink, but we’re having some problems with that as well.”
"Maiden voyage," Wong said. “We’re still working out a lot of the bugs.”
I tried to contact the surface, but there was still no cell service. I said to Quinn, "How long do you think it's going to be before you get the satellite back?”
She shrugged. "I'm not sure.”
"Whatever you can do to speed up the process would be appreciated," I said.
"If you don't need me anymore, I'll get back to it.”
I nodded, and she gave a brief glance to Wong before taking off.
I looked over Weyland’s body and didn't see any obvious signs of trauma.
I examined his skull. Nobody had smacked him with a pipe wrench.
Weyland was in good shape. I didn't think he dropped dead of a heart attack, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.
Perhaps a high-voltage electric shock exacerbated a pre-existing arrhythmia.
I stood up and looked around the compartment. "I need to speak with all the crew individually."
Wong nodded.
“Who attempted CPR?”
“I did,” Wong said.
I moved to the breaker box and pulled it open. A breaker had been tripped. Upon closer examination, I saw two circuits had been bridged with a piece of metal.
This was no accident.
Weyland was murdered.