Angel of Death (23 page)

A stab of jealousy went through Miranda.

‘But he’s over her,’ Pandora ended, not sounding very sure of that.

After their day in the sun and sea wind Miranda was so tired that she had a light supper in her bungalow, just soup and a roll, then went to bed at nine o’clock, and slept deeply, until the early hours of the morning when she woke up from a confused dream, sweating and on edge.

Sandra! The woman on the jetty at Delos, the one in a black hat which half-hid her face, had been Sandra.

If she recognised me, she thought, if she knows Terry and Sean are looking for me, she’ll tell them and they’ll come to get me.

Sandra had obviously noticed her, but had she recognised her? They had only met a couple of times. Sandra might have sensed she was familiar but not been sure exactly who she was. After all, she hadn’t greeted Miranda, hadn’t tried to speak to her, just stared.

Even if she had recognised her, would Terry have told his ex-wife what Sean had done and why he wanted to find Miranda? He wouldn’t want anyone else to know about the murder, surely? And Sandra was not discreet; she couldn’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut. If he told Sandra, she would tell Jack, and out of malice and mischief he would never stop talking about it, the news would spread to all Terry’s old friends and even to his customers. A story like that could do untold damage to the business.

But Sandra was Sean’s mother – he, or Terry, might have told her.

Miranda couldn’t get back to sleep, she was too disturbed, her mind kept chewing over the chances of Sandra ringing Terry to tell him she had seen them.

But knowing that she was here, visiting Delos, wouldn’t help Terry find her. She, like Sandra, could be on a cruise around the Greek islands. He wouldn’t know where to start looking.

Except that Sandra must know Alex. He had been a customer of Terry’s for years. He was a very sexy man, rich, desirable – Sandra wouldn’t have forgotten him. She would have recognised him at Delos, and once Terry knew she had been seen here with Alex he would put two and two together. It wouldn’t take him long to check out Alex’s home in Piraeus. Not finding her there he would look at the hotel. He would know Alex owned it, and that it was merely a short sail away from Delos.

He’ll have me killed, she thought, shutting her eyes in terror. She was starting work this morning. How was she to concentrate when she felt like this?

When she got up next day she saw a pale, haggard face in the mirror. She spent longer than usual on her make-up, trying to create a brighter face, warm foundation, apricot powder, rose lipstick and green shadows on her lids. Surveying her reflection she sighed. Well, she looked a little better.

While she was at her desk printing out letters to possible customers to whom she was sending the hotel brochure Milo came in and smiled. ‘How are you coping?’

‘Fine, thanks. No problems.’

‘I gather you enjoyed your trip to Delos and Mykonos.’

‘Yes, very much, it was kind of Alex to take me.’

‘He enjoyed it, too. He always tries to get in a trip to other islands. It was a good last day.’

‘Last day?’

‘Yes, he has left to sail back to Piraeus, we won’t be seeing him for a few weeks.’

She stared fixedly at the computer in front of her. So Alex had left. Why so soon? He hadn’t mentioned leaving. He hadn’t even taken the time and trouble to see her, say goodbye. Had he left because he couldn’t be around Elena? Did he still feel the same about her?

Or was there something more sinister behind his departure? If that had been Sandra on the jetty at Delos why had Alex walked past without doing a double-take, without appearing to recognise her? It was such an odd coincidence that Sandra should have been there the same day.

She put a hand up to her mouth, struggling with sickness. Had it been Sandra? What if her imagination was playing tricks on her again?

At times she didn’t know what was real and what only existed in her own head. Last night she had dreamt of Tom again, of his drowning cries, and then the dream had changed, she had been in the office listening to the terrifying sounds from the bathroom across the courtyard. Her mind danced with death, day and night, and Alex was part of it all.

What if he had gone away so that someone else might come here, while Alex was safely in Piraeus, with a perfect alibi?

Was someone coming now, to kill her?

Terry got a phone call from Bernie on the following Thursday morning. ‘I’m told she is somewhere abroad, definitely not in this country, but her whereabouts isn’t on the police computer, so my friend can’t find out that way.’

Terry’s teeth ground together. Hoarsely he asked, ‘Is there a way he
can
find out?’

‘Only by going down to London, somehow making contact with the detective in charge of the case. Apparently my friend knows someone in that station, but he’s not keen to turn up out of the blue, could be dodgy. Might arouse suspicions in his direction. Obviously he isn’t keen to break cover like that. He has a reputation to protect.’

‘I’m sure you could persuade him, Bernie.’

‘Maybe – but you’ll owe me, Terry.’

The casual manner did not disguise the underlying demand. Terry had been expecting to have to pay a price. He was not surprised, but his heart sank. How much more was this going to cost him? He had been paying ever since it happened – in torment of mind as much as money.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll pay up. How much?’ he asked resignedly.

Bernie laughed and something in the sound made Terry wince. ‘I wouldn’t ask you for money, old son. No, no. Not between old friends like you and me.’

‘What then?’

‘You’re into this modern technology . . . what do they call it? IT? Doesn’t mean a thing to me, but my boys are up to speed on all that stuff and they think you could be very useful to us. They’ve checked you out and they’re impressed. They tell me you’re a growing strength in that market.’ He paused, softly said, ‘Are you ready to help us out if we ask?’

Terry smiled with bitterness. ‘Of course, Bernie.’ What else could he say? If you ask for a favour you have to repay it. You get nothing for nothing in this world.

‘Good boy,’ Bernie purred. ‘Knew you would, knew you would.’ A pause, then he asked, ‘Tell me, if you’re so hot on technology, why didn’t you tap into the police computer yourself? My boys tell me it’s possible. What they call a hacker can tap into anything, even the government or army computers, they say. Even break into the revenue boys’ computers and we’d all like to do that. Why didn’t you try?’

‘I did, that’s how I knew she was definitely in the witness programme, but I couldn’t find an address. I thought there was some other data somewhere under a code key I couldn’t find. How soon can your policeman get to London and meet up with Maddrell?’

‘I’ll talk to him today, try to get him to go down there right away. That will depend how he’s placed at the moment, whether or not he can take a day or two off. He won’t want to make it obvious, he’ll have to have a good reason for going to London. I’ll be in touch when he comes up with anything. Oh, and one or two of my boys would like to come down to look around your business, get an idea of what you’ve got and where you’re at. OK?’

‘Delighted,’ Terry managed to get out. ‘Ask them to give me a ring about it first, I’ll give them lunch and show them round myself.’

He put down the phone and sat staring out of the window, facing the fact that he was back in that world for good now, would find himself up to his neck in dirty water from this moment on. Easy to imagine the uses Bernie and his boys would put the business to, they would move in here and take over, and there was little he might be able to do to stop it. If he argued he might well end up with a bullet in his head, and then they would run the factory, using Sean to cover what was really going on.

Sean wouldn’t have a clue how to fight them. They would blackmail him with the murder, terrorise him; especially if they had already killed Terry himself. The boy had been brought up soft, spoilt. He thought he was clever, thought he was tough – but he didn’t know what the words meant.

Terry put his hands over his face, groaning. My boy. My boy. What’s going to become of him now?

It was raining heavily as Sergeant Neil Maddrell arrived for work that August morning. Shaking his wet umbrella in the entrance lobby he looked gloomily out at the grey sky. Some August! He hadn’t had a holiday so far this summer.’ Time he did. Somewhere hot where the weather was reliable. Spain or Italy. He would go into a travel agent and get some brochures, hunt out a cheap trip to the Mediterranean. Spend a couple of weeks lying on the sand, sunbathing. Not thinking. Not worrying. It sounded great.

He found a fax on his desk from Chief Inspector Carol. Merry Christmas to everyone at the station although they were careful never to use the nickname in his presence. George Amos Carol had no sense of humour whatever; he would not have laughed. Heavy in body, heavy in nature, with greyish wrinkled skin and a large nose, like a horn, he prowled the station like a rhinoceros, charging at everyone he met, barking out questions and orders, terrifying young constables who dithered and dropped things under his stare.

‘What’s he up to now?’ Neil asked his boss, who shrugged her plump shoulders.

‘A review of the Finnigan case, apparently. He wants to go through the papers with you.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘He thinks you’re wasting police time over it.’

Neil groaned. ‘He’s going to order me to drop it?’

‘He says he hasn’t decided yet and wants to hear your side of things, but I think he has.’ Her ginger eyebrows bristled. ‘The man likes fast results and low costs. This case has dragged on for weeks without any resolution, so he wants to bring down the guillotine.’

‘Damn him.’

‘I didn’t hear that, Neil. Have a quick read of the papers yourself, make sure you’re up to speed on it before you see him. One of his favourite tricks is trying to catch you out on some small detail. Don’t let him do that.’

‘I won’t,’ Neil said grimly, and spent the next hour going over the case, then wrote a report emphasising every reason why they should continue with it. At a quarter to eleven he took a coffee break, had a mug of black coffee out of the machine in the corridor, then went up in the lift to the next floor.

Inspector Burbage was already with Chief Inspector Carol. They were discussing another case when Neil joined them, but stopped talking to nod to him.

‘Come and sit down, Maddrell,’ the Chief Inspector grunted, that horn of his pointing at Neil. ‘Jessica tells me she has already informed you how I feel, what’s on my mind, so let’s get straight down to the facts. This witness, Miranda Grey, is the only one who claims to have seen this murder . . .’

‘Heard,’ Neil interrupted. ‘She only heard it.’

‘She didn’t even see anything, that’s right.’ Carol licked his right index finger and began turning pages in the folder of evidence in front of him.

‘She doesn’t give a description of the girl.’

‘She didn’t see her. But she heard what she was saying about being pregnant with young Finnigan’s child, and heard the noise of drowning.’

‘Ah, yes, I’ll come to that in a minute. So, we have a witness who didn’t see anything, only heard noises.’ Merry Christmas lifted his hard, dark eyes to stare at Neil, his horn nose pointing belligerently. ‘A witness who’s well known to be neurotic. Has had a nervous breakdown, was in a psychiatric ward for months, where she kept claiming to hear somebody drowning.’

‘Her husband,’ Neil reminded. ‘He did drown, within earshot of the poor girl. But all that happened three years ago. She has recovered completely.’

‘Ah, but has she?’ the Chief Inspector pounced triumphantly. ‘You can never be sure with nutters. She could be having another breakdown. There was no sign of anyone having drowned, no body was found, nobody else heard or saw anything. The boy has a respectable background, father wealthy, engaged to a very rich young woman, there’s nothing against him.’

‘But a girl is missing, sir. A girl who knew him, had been dating him for some time.’

‘Girls go missing all the time, man! There’s no proof she isn’t alive. She’s probably with some other man somewhere. Sounds to me like that sort of girl. Always hopping into bed with someone, running off with them. The point is, Maddrell, you have no real evidence. Just a neurotic witness who has previously claimed to hear people drowning and has been in a psychiatric hospital for months.’

‘I believe her. If you had met her, you would believe her, too, sir. She’s a good witness.’

‘Look, Maddrell, you have no body, you can’t go into court with what this girl says. You can’t rely on her evidence. Even if you found a body, the defence would tear her to shreds.’ He flicked through the pages of the folder again. ‘And without a body we wouldn’t have a hope in hell.’

‘If the body turns up, sir . . .’

‘If it hasn’t turned up by now it isn’t very likely that you’ll find it, is it? The so-called body could be walking around anywhere. No, you’re wasting police time and money. Drop it, Maddrell. Get on with your other work. Forget this case.’