Angel of Death (12 page)

‘It sounds wonderful, I’d love it, but I don’t even know how long I could stay – the police may want me to come back to London, any time, at short notice. And I have a broken ankle. My wrist is sprained, but it seems to be improving a little every day, I expect it will heal completely soon. But I wouldn’t be much use to you with a broken ankle.’

‘I expect we could find a way round that, you would mostly be working in an office, not needing to walk anywhere – but I don’t want to try to push you into it. Here’s a phone number you can reach me at until we fly back to Greece.’ Pandora pushed a little piece of paper into her hand. ‘Let me know if you decide you would like to come. The job will be open for the next two weeks. After that, we’ll have to find someone else.’

Her mother leaned over to kiss her cheek. ‘I think it’s a chance in a million. Be good, but above all be careful. I’ll ring you.’

Terry Finnigan cradled the phone on his shoulder while he ran an eye down the order form in front of him on the desk, then spoke into the phone again. ‘That’s marvellous, Alex. We’ll be despatching them within a fortnight – they should be in Piraeus within a couple of weeks after that. I hope that date is acceptable to you?’

At the other end of the line Alex Manoussi nodded, sunlight glinting on his hair, giving the thick black strands a blue shimmer. ‘Yes, that should work out very well. We won’t complete the contract before the end of next month so we won’t need the electrical equipment before then.’

‘Good, good. We haven’t got enough stock to despatch them any earlier, we shall have to make part of the order. I’ll see to it that it’s processed with speed. When do you go back?’

‘Soon, I haven’t fixed a date, I have some unfinished business here. My manager has everything under control in Piraeus, so no problem there.’

‘And I’m sure Mrs Manoussi is taking good care of your home. She’s such a wonderful cook, too. I’ve never forgotten that barbecue she made for us when our sales team were over in Greece. Out in your lovely garden on such a gorgeous day, and your views are breathtaking. But what I remember most is that amazing lamb dish, with the aubergines and rice, I’ve never eaten anything like it.’

‘One of the best dishes she cooks,’ Alex agreed. ‘How is your boy?’

‘Sean.’ Terry stopped smiling, his eyes sombre as they moved to stare out of the window at the grey-blue sky and the roofs stretching into the distance; high office blocks with dark glass windows between the smaller buildings. It was the view he looked at every day during the week; he barely saw it any more. ‘He’s OK, thanks. You haven’t got a son, have you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, don’t be in too much of a hurry to get one. They give you a lot of grief. You want children, you get them, and while they’re small you think they’re magic. Then one day they turn into adults and you start having heartache. Thank God I’ve only got one. I wouldn’t survive having a couple of them.’

‘In Greece it is the daughters who give trouble. You have to take care of them day and night. The minute they are in their teens the young men appear, like bees around a honey pot. A nightmare for fathers.’

‘Have you got a daughter?’

‘Not yet, and I dread it. It was bad enough when I had to watch out for my sisters! My parents never stopped telling me to keep an eye on them. It ruined my own social life. I could never relax.’

Terry laughed. ‘I remember how I was at that age! Always ready to try my luck with a bird.’

‘A bird?’ Alex frowned.

‘A girl.’

‘Oh, yes, a girl. Of course, I knew that, I had forgotten it for a moment. Well, I must ring off, I’m afraid, I have a lot to do.’

‘Of course, I know how busy you are.’

‘I shouldn’t complain, it’s better to be busy than to have nothing to do. Well, Terry, I look forward to getting my order in due course and my cheque will be in the post,’

After hanging up, Terry said to his secretary, ‘You know the really worrying thing about Greeks? They shake their heads and say ‘Ne’ when they mean yes, and nod when they mean no. You’re never really sure what they are thinking.’

She nodded and looked vague. ‘I know what you mean.’ But she clearly didn’t.

And what was going on behind those black Greek eyes? thought Terry, picking up the phone. Alex Manoussi was an enigma.

He rang the hospital, spoke to the ward sister, avoided giving his name. ‘I’m just a friend – I wondered how she was today?’

‘As well as can be expected.’

The standard reply, telling you nothing – what did it mean? Whatever they wanted it to mean.

‘When are you letting her out?’

‘I really couldn’t say – the doctor will make that decision. Not yet, anyway. Can I give her a message?’

‘No, I’ll come in and see her sometime. Or maybe I’ll see her at home. Is she going back to her flat, do you know? Or going to stay with her mother in the country?’

‘I have no idea.’ The sister was getting starchy; her tone cold and distant.

Terry ended the call, then rang home on his mobile. The housekeeper put him through to Sean’s room. Sean answered, sounding thick-headed and sleepy. Angry blood rushed to Terry’s head.

‘Were you out drinking again last night? How many times do I have to tell you – you should stay off the booze until this is all over. The police could come any time. You’re going to need to keep a clear head, you don’t want to make any stupid slips.’

Sean snarled. ‘Stop nagging, will you? I’m perfectly clear-headed. Now, did you want something? Or did you only ring me up to scream at me?’

‘I just rang the hospital; she’s still there but her mother has been discharged. Don’t go near her flat. Do you hear?’

‘I’m not deaf.’

‘No, but you are stupid. Now, get up, take a shower, and do something useful. Go jogging, play golf – anything that gets you out into the fresh air. But stay out of trouble. And don’t chase girls. Why don’t you ring Nicola and arrange to have lunch with her?’

‘OK, OK. I’ll do that. Finished now?’

‘Yes.’ Terry hung up, feeling defeated. The boy was hopeless. Who would ever have thought that that adorable baby, with tight little blond curls, big saucer-like eyes and a sudden, enormous grin, would have turned into this sulky, selfish, indifferent man?

His childhood had given no hint that he would end up the way he was now. At eight years old Sean had been so funny; always grinning, making very bad jokes, chucking himself about.

He had been a solid, boisterous boy who loved football and watching TV, went around in a crowd of other boys, nudging and shoving each other, giggling in class, driving his teachers wild.

When had he changed? In his teens? Yes, that was when he began to get into trouble.

When his hormones began to riot and he started chasing girls!

No, they had chased him in the beginning, remembered Terry. Sean had been a beautiful boy at fifteen. Girls had swarmed around him, he could have his pick. And did, no doubt. Terry had been amused by it at the time; now he saw that Sean had been spoilt by all that attention, had started to take his sexual power for granted, had come to despise girls. He had had them too easily.

Or had it been the abandonment of his mother that made him the way he was? He had adored Sandra. She had been a very loving mother. When she went off like that it must have hurt Sean badly.

The new PR girl came into the room as if on tiptoe. Terry looked blankly at her. He could never remember her name. She was older than Miranda, and not as pretty. Far too thin, with short brown hair and a bony neck. She wore a sort of office uniform; black skirt, white blouse, with flat black shoes. So far he had not seen her in anything else.

‘Yes?’ he demanded impatiently. Why had he chosen her? Perhaps because she was everything Miranda had not been, or perhaps because he saw at a glance that he could awe her into doing whatever he demanded.

‘The police are downstairs.’ She was breathless, anxious. ‘Should I deal with them? They say they want to see you.’

Not again! What did they want now? They had asked a thousand questions, visited him at home, and here – why did they keep coming back? Terry’s hands clenched into fists on his knees, out of sight, but he fought to look calm and unbothered.

‘I’ll see them, tell my secretary to show them in!’

There were the same two of them. Sergeant Maddrell and a six-foot tall constable with pink cheeks, curly hair and a notebook in one hand, ready to make notes.

‘What can I do for you today, Sergeant?’ Trying to make them feel stupid – maybe they would stop coming if they realised how ridiculous their questions were.

‘Do you have a private plane, sir?’ the Sergeant asked, watching him intently.

Terry’s face went blank. How had they got on to that? It wasn’t something he talked about to his friends. He didn’t want them asking him to take them up.

‘Yes, I do, as it happens – a light aircraft, a four seater. I’ve had it for a few years but I rarely take it up lately, I’m too busy.’

Miranda must have told them about it – he should have realised she would. Yet, why should she? How had it come up in the conversation?

‘Where do you keep it?’

He mentioned the name of the airfield a few miles from his house in the country. They probably knew it anyway, if Miranda had told them about the plane she would have told them which airfield he used. He had been a member there for years, had learnt to fly with an instructor there.

‘We would like to take a look at it.’

‘What are you hoping to find?’ Terry snapped. ‘Bloodstains? I can assure you, you won’t.’

The sergeant looked bland. ‘She was drowned, we wouldn’t expect to find bloodstains.’

The expression on his face made Terry so angry he wanted to punch the smug bastard.

‘My son did not drown anyone! You aren’t still listening to that crazy girl? Haven’t you talked to the psychiatrists at the hospital? Seen her records? She’s obsessed with people drowning. She imagined the whole thing.’

Ignoring all that, the sergeant asked him, ‘Does your son fly?’

‘He doesn’t have a licence. But he has just begun to have lessons.’

‘At the airfield where you keep your plane?’

‘Yes, but he isn’t allowed to go up without a qualified pilot. He has only had a couple of lessons.’

The two policemen looked at each other, then got up. ‘Thank you for your co-operation, sir,’ Sergeant Maddrell said politely.

When they had left the office Terry reached for the phone, began to dial, then changed his mind and slammed the phone down again. It would be a mistake to ring the airfield and tell them not to talk to the police. What would they think, if he did?

He ran his hands over his face and groaned softly. For years he had been free of this tension, this permanent anxiety, needing to watch everything he said, did.

He had thought it was all behind him, he would never have to live with feelings like that again. But here they were once more. He was living in a minefield; before he took a single step he had to test the ground around him, and even then something could set off an explosion which might blow his whole world away.

He had tried so hard, moving away from everything he knew, distancing himself from all his old friends, even from his family, transforming his life in every way. Sean didn’t remember how it had been. The boy had no idea what he had achieved, how hard he had fought. He took for granted everything they owned, the house, the cars, the money.

Maybe it was time to tell him, but Terry wasn’t ready to do that yet. There was a tightness in his chest, a coldness round his heart. He was afraid that Sean would be excited, fascinated, rather than alarmed or frightened. The boy was drawn to that dark side of life, to clubs and cheap women, to fast cars and gambling. It wasn’t his fault, though, Terry knew very well. It was in his blood. It was their genes, their fate.

Terry was afraid for him. Sean was all he had, his hope for the future. He couldn’t see him destroyed without trying to save him, even if it meant fighting Sean himself.

He would talk to that girl again. It was a risk, but one worth taking, with so much at stake. Maybe now she would listen. She had come close to death. That always made you think, made you realise hard facts, harder choices.

Miranda was being allowed to walk, well, hobble, round the ward now. She had a stick to lean on, to help her balance, her plastered ankle lifted off the ground. Not being in bed made everything look brighter. She could talk to the other patients, sit down beside their beds, chat to them, then move on to someone else. She could go to the bathroom alone.

‘You’ll be home any day now,’ Nurse Embry said, smiling. ‘Will you go to your mother?’

It was decision time. Miranda could not risk her mother’s life by involving her. Nor did she want to go back to her flat, after the burglary. But what should she do? Where should she go?

She rang the number Pandora Leigh had given her. A man answered, his voice deep and foreign. Yet strangely familiar.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked, knowing it wasn’t Pandora’s husband. Charles was English, she would recognise his voice. She guessed that this man was Greek.