Going Overboard

By the end of Saturday morning, I had interviewed everyone connected to Greg Allman who rode the Princess Voyager. Cruise ships should be joyful places and it was Greg's 10th wedding anniversary, but by now, I am no stranger to the dark side of these vessels.

At 9:45 AM, Greg’s nephew, Dylan Allman, sits across from me at the interview table. Aged nineteen, thin, and jittery, he has an earnest stare that demands the listener believe him. His leg bounces incessantly under the table.

“I can tell you’re a smart kid.” I lean forward slightly to show interest. ”Now, tell me your entire story again.”

He takes a deep breath and then speaks in an uninterrupted stream, “There have been 202 reported incidents of deaths of people going overboard on cruise ships since 2003. 74.3% of these cases were unsolved, but the cruise ship companies claimed they were suicides. Obviously, most were pushed.”

“Why do you think that?” 

“Do you know what it’s like being stuck with your parents for a week?” Dylan’s voice wavers, his eyes darting around the room.

“I guess I don’t.” I feign focus on my notes. “Now, what about what you saw?” I press, watching his reaction closely.

“Like I told you, I was playing Dota 2.”

“With your mom.”

“No, not with my mom,” he sneers, disbelief on his face. “But she was in the room.”

“On Greg’s disappearance, why don’t you consider the possibility of…” Dylan wasn’t good at filling in the blanks, I had noticed. “A Suicide?”

“Greg?” Dylan grins, an edge to his smile. “The man who owns everything?” he scoffs. When I don’t flinch, he asks, “Is there something you know that I don’t?”

“Did you want Greg to go overboard?” 

“No, of course not. But obviously, the crew did. Greg was worth $100 million. It was a botched kidnapping attempt. 99.97% probability, I can show you my calculations.”

An hour later, Greg’s brother, Brad, shuffles into the interview room-his middle-aged frame slumped, his eyes cast downward.

“How did things go with my son, Dylan?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s confidential,” I reply, maintaining a calm demeanor.

“I’m his father,” Brad insists, his eyes pleading with worry.

I offer a reassuring nod, but keep my lips sealed. “Do you know anyone who has been openly confrontational with Greg?” 

Brad fidgets in his chair, his discomfort clear.

“You seem distracted.”

“This chair is bothering my back,” he mumbles, glancing around and studying the room. “And the air smells moldy. The doctor said I might have asthma.”

I choose to ignore his complaints. “Do you know anyone who has anything against Greg? A friend, a business partner, a family member?”

“Well, Greg goes overboard on everything.” He chuckles dryly. “Pun not intended. I mean, he literally goes too far with everything. The way he planned every minute of this cruise, bought everyone gifts, the advice he likes to give.”

I spring the question. “Did you want Greg to go overboard?”

“No. But I’m worried my son Dylan did.”

“Why is that?”

“Greg would often tell Dylan he was autistic. He must have pushed him too far.”

With blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and perfect features, certainly improved by a plastic surgeon, Bethany Allman walks in. She is the type of woman one sees on Page 6 standing next to Wall Street financiers and Silicon Valley tech billionaires, or pictured in their divorce trials.

“We were celebrating our ten-year anniversary. On this cruise,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Why a mass-market cruise, and not a private yacht?”

“Greg likes a lot of people around-to join activities, to see the shows. He planned for every minute we were on this cruise.”

“It sounds like Greg could be a bit, overbearing?”

She smiles tightly. In her position, she’s probably learned not to give much away about her husband.

“It’s nice to have a spa on this boat to take a break from it once in a while.” She winks at me.

 “And what does your husband do while you’re at the spa?”

“Why would I care?” 

“That’s an interesting thing to say.” I scribble a note. “Did you want Greg to go overboard?”

“No, but Brad probably did.”

“Brad, his brother?”

“The hypochondriac. Every time he has a few drinks, Greg thinks it's fun to tell Brad about every disease that runs in their family. He probably went overboard last night and got himself pushed off the side.”

Emily, Greg's sister-in-law, enters next. She looks despondent. 

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she says, her voice cracking, her eyes filled with tears.

She looks more heartbroken than Greg’s wife. “It’s sad the situation your brother-in-law got into,” I offer in condolence. “Where was Brad at the time of the incident?”

“Oh, Brad? He was worried about his health as usual. Have you ever heard about a 38-year-old man who wakes up every day believing he has a new form of cancer?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s what I have to deal with. Good thing he’s good at, well, you know.”

“I don’t know.”

“Cooking. I hate to cook.” She pauses, her voice trembling. “Greg was a good man. He kept promising me he would hire Dylan when he graduates. I can’t believe he’s gone.” Tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

“Who might have wanted to push Greg Allman?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I smile in mock agreement, saying nothing, letting the silence hang in the air.

“Greg told me Eileen didn’t appreciate anything he did for her.”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah. Umm. She’s a heartless killer.”

--

As I organize my thoughts from the day’s interviews, I call in the next interviewee. Tall with close-set features, he looks wild-eyed, and the dark circles beneath his eyes belie a sleepless night. He was held by the local police the night before. 

“Have a seat.” I take a sip of coffee. “The weather looks wet today.”

“You’re telling me.”

With someone is in this state, it’s best to warm them up with small talk.

“This makes me think of an old story about Marco…” I pause, gauging his reaction.

“Polo?” he says, filling in the blank with a hint of sarcasm.

“Right answer.” I nod, trying to lighten the mood. “Did you know, as they fly, bats navigate by making a call and waiting for the echo. I think humans, with our actions, sometimes we do that too.”

He shrugs, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. “You mean me?”

“Yes.”

“I was pushed!”

I look at Greg Allman doubtfully, as a teacher might look at the classroom suspect of a prank.

“Is everything I say here confidential?”

“Yes, of course.”

“They said I’d be happier after I retired. ‘Take the money’, they said.”

“Were you?”

“They didn’t tell you who you’d be spending all your time with.”

“Tell me more.”

Greg leans back in his chair, and a wry smile creeps across his face, “A wife who hasn’t said thank you in five years, a brother who calls me thinking he has a terminal illness twice a week, a boy who speaks like a Wikipedia entry, and a sister-in-law who demands I hire him as my personal assistant.” His laughter echoes in the tight cabin.

We have a psychic break on every cruise. The stress pushes people over the edge. It’s common for someone in this state to engage in splitting, suddenly discarding people they had previously idealized.

“As the ship’s counselor, I want you to apologize to your family and promise never to do this again,” I look at him steadily. “And, to make this formal, do you admit you intentionally jumped overboard last night?”

“I do.”

"Lucky for you, the ship was still tied up at the dock."