Angel of Death (24 page)

‘Sir, we shouldn’t forget that the witness, Mrs Grey, was knocked down by a hit and run driver immediately after we interviewed her. We have plenty of people who saw what happened and it appears to have been quite deliberate. Doesn’t that suggest someone was trying to silence her?’

‘It suggests to me that someone knocked her down, panicked, and drove off without stopping. I don’t see any connection to the accusations she had made. Plenty of people do get knocked down by hit and run drivers, every day.’

Neil looked helplessly at Inspector Burbage who looked back without expression. She wasn’t getting involved, he could see that.

‘Forget about this case,’ the Chief Inspector said. ‘Plenty of other work piling up, deal with that.’ He made a gesture of dismissal and Neil rose.

‘Sir,’ he said with barely hidden resentment. ‘By the way, I’m due some leave – could I take it soon?’

‘Why not? Now would be a good time. A break, that’s what you need, take your mind off this Finnigan case.’

He took the lift down to his own office and stood by the window, staring bleakly out. He couldn’t disobey, he had to do as he was told and drop the case.

Miranda Grey was on her own now. He hoped to God the Finnigans didn’t find out where she was, that was all. He really ought to get in touch with her, let her know that the case was being dropped, warn her to be careful. And Greece would be the perfect place for a holiday.

Alex Manoussi had had a long, hot, hard morning. He needed to get away from the boat yard, sit in the shade at his favourite harbour-side restaurant, under the awning, drink an ice cold beer, then eat a light lunch – hummus to start with, then salad with fish or maybe lamb.

His table was ready; the waiter quickly brought him a high glass of beer, the sides dewed with condensation from being put into a bowl of chopped ice for a few minutes.

‘
Thavmasseeos
,’ he breathed, taking a long swallow. ‘Wonderful, perfect, I was dying for that.’ He took another mouthful, then asked, ‘Any specials today?’

‘
Streidia
, very good oysters, with shallots and parsley. Or there’s a salad of feta cheese and oranges. Or
Kavouras
.’

‘Ah, crab, I haven’t eaten that for a while – how is it served?’

‘Plain, boiled, with green olives, olive oil and lemon juice. Very simple, but good. And the main courses – we have squid, in red wine and oil, a
stifado
, a good casserole with herbs, tomatoes and vegetables. And the meat special of the day is
choirino
– baked pork chops with aubergines, potatoes and green beans.’

‘Sounds good. I’ll start with the crab and half a dozen oysters, then have the pork chops.’

‘And wine?’

‘Just your house white.’

‘Today that’s from Crete, a Gentilini. a good flavour but not expensive.’

‘Fine.’

He had just started eating his starter when a shadow fell across him. Looking up he started, eyes widening.

‘Sandra? What on earth are you doing here?’

The Greek men in the restaurant all lifted their eyes to stare at the blonde in the clinging leopard-skin tunic which emphasised her large breasts and rounded hips. It clung so close she might as well be naked.

‘We’re just finishing a cruise around the Greek islands – flying home from Athens. You remember Jack, don’t you?’

He nodded to the other man, noting with distaste the gold earrings, the heavy gold watch, the glisten of oil on Jack’s hair.

‘Did you enjoy the trip?’

‘Yeah, it was OK,’ Jack said. ‘Is the food good here? Good restaurant, is it?’

‘Excellent. I can recommend the fish, particularly.’

‘I like the look of those oysters.’ Jack’s smile revealed even, capped white teeth. ‘Good for the sex life. An aphrodisiac, they say, don’t they?’

‘They say,’ agreed Alex.

‘The cruise ship stopped off on Delos,’ Sandra said.

Alex stiffened, met her mocking stare. ‘Oh? Beautiful, isn’t it?’

‘We saw you there, didn’t we, Jack?’

Jack nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘We were going back to the ship. You were landing.’ Sandra paused, watching him. ‘You had a girl with you. I recognised her. She used to work for Terry. Did you know he’s been looking for her for weeks?’

Alex shook his head coolly.

‘I haven’t talked to him lately.’

‘He didn’t tell you he’d sacked the girl?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, he has. She caused him a lot of trouble, which is why he wants to find her now. Is she here, in Athens? Does she work for you? At your boat yard?’

‘No.’

‘No?’ disbelieved Sandra, her panda eyes wide, red mouth parted and glossy. ‘So if we went along there now we wouldn’t find her?’

‘No, you would not. Everyone who works for me is Greek.’

‘Do you know where we can find her?’

He shook his head, took another oyster.

‘Well, why was she with you at Delos?’

‘I met up with her at Mykonos, recognised her, as you did. When I said I was going to Delos she said she would like to visit it too, so I invited her to sail to Delos with me.’ He hoped to God Sandra and Jack had not sailed on to Mykonos on the cruise ship, had not been there when he and Miranda landed that afternoon and strolled round the town, had not seen them together.

‘Where did you take her after Delos?’

Sandra had a sharp, insistent way of questioning that grated on him.

‘To Mykonos.’

‘Was she staying there?’

He nodded without actually answering.

‘Did she say when she was going home?’

‘No.’ He swallowed the oyster, took a sip of the cold wine. Jack watched him, shifting impatiently.

‘Time’s getting on, Sandra and I’m starving. Why don’t we get a table, have lunch here?’

‘No, I want to go into Athens, eat at a good American hotel. I don’t want any more Greek food, I’ve had enough to last me for years. Come on.’ She gave Alex a hard, almost threatening look. ‘I’ll be talking to Terry later today. I expect he’ll be in touch.’

No doubt he would, Alex thought, watching her and Jack walking away. What bad luck running into the two of them here. The world was smaller than anyone would guess.

Well, at least Sandra clearly didn’t know about the hotel, hadn’t realised he did not live full time in Piraeus – the question was, did Terry? Terry had visited him here, in Piraeus, years ago, in the early days of their business connection. He had been very curious about Greece, never having been there before.

Alex recalled that his mother had cooked one of her wonderful Greek meals for Terry, who had been very appreciative. They had driven Terry round Athens, shown him the sights, the Parthenon, the Plaka, the beauties of the museum, the gold mask of Agamemnon, dug up in Mycenae, the bronze statues of naked athletes, the mighty bronze of Poseidon hurling his trident, god of the sea and of earthquakes, the bull god, brother of Zeus.

‘I’m not too keen on museums, normally, but I must say this is pretty spectacular,’ Terry had said. ‘How old did you say those bronzes were? Amazing, that people were so clever all that time ago. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’

The evening before he left they had taken him to an excellent restaurant where he had eaten the best food Greece could offer; had picked out a live lobster from the large tank along one wall of the room, laughed at the elastic bands on its claws, enjoyed it when it arrived cooked on a great platter, with a fresh lemon mayonnaise sauce.

They had all got on well; talked about business, politics, travel. But had they ever mentioned the other side of their family life – the island, the hotel? Alex could not remember.

He decided to sail home on Saturday morning, see Miranda, warn her that Sandra was going to tell Terry she was in Greece.

Maybe she should move on, find a new place to hide? He grimaced. He didn’t want her to leave the island, didn’t want her to go away.

That Friday evening, Miranda rang her mother and had to wait some time before the phone was answered. Dorothy sounded out of breath.

‘Is anything wrong?’ Miranda anxiously asked.

‘Not at all, I was out in the garden, that’s all, shutting the hens up for the night, and had to run when I heard the phone ring. You know, they’re laying very well, I’ve had seven dozen eggs this week, and sold them all to the village shop. Organic eggs get snapped up, especially if they’re brown, and my hens lay lots of brown eggs, it’s the feed they get. I’m going to get some ducks, Freddy has put a pond into the garden, feeding off the little stream that goes through the village, he’s out there now, finishing off. I do love a duck egg for my supper. Scrambled, on toast. Lovely colours, duck eggs; very bright yokes and blueish whites. The flavour is a bit salty, but if you mix some cream with the egg before you start scrambling it helps.’ She paused. ‘So, how are you, love? Everything OK?’

‘Fine, I’ve finished my first week in the job, and everything has gone well. I like it here very much, and I’m starting to get used to the heat.’

‘Sounds blissful. Lucky you. I was thinking maybe I might come to Greece while you’re there, spend a few nights in this hotel.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ Miranda said eagerly. ‘I miss you, it would be great to see you. And staff can get better terms for relatives, so let me know if you do plan to come, and I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I will. Maybe in a month or so. When the heat dies down a little. I wouldn’t want to be there while it is so hot. Have you heard from the police in London? That nice Sergeant whats-it?’

‘Maddrell.’ Miranda’s voice took a dive, she sighed. ‘No, not yet. They can’t do much until they find the body.’

‘Well, no, obviously – but why is it taking so long to turn up? What did they do with it?’

‘Neil Maddrell seems to think they put it in Terry’s plane and dropped it in the sea, but it hasn’t come ashore yet.’

‘Maybe they weighted it; it may have sunk to the bottom of the ocean, may never come up.’

‘Then they will never be able to prove what happened,’ Miranda said bleakly, shivering.

‘I hope that doesn’t mean you will have to stay out of the country for good!’

‘Mum, I hope so, too. But at least I should be having my cast removed tomorrow. That will be a relief.’

‘I’m sure it will be.’

She was driven to the local doctor’s surgery next morning. With the cast gone the air felt wonderful on her bare leg. She used a stick for the rest of the morning, but by lunchtime felt able to walk without it.

She was in reception when the hotel bus began depositing new arrivals picked up from the harbour. Miranda waited to see if her services were required. Milo, handing out keys at the desk, smilingly shook his head at her, indicating that the guests did not need a translator, but one of the waiting queue waved at her.

‘Hello, Miranda!’

She gasped in surprise. ‘Sergeant Maddrell!’

‘Neil, please,’ he prompted.

The way he was looking at her made her blush. ‘N . . . Neil,’ she stammered. ‘What are you doing here? Has something happened?’

‘No, afraid not. I’m here strictly for pleasure, on holiday.’

Milo watched and listened, his dark eyes moving from the man’s face back to Miranda.

‘Could we have dinner?’ asked Neil and she nodded, smiling.

‘I’d love to, thanks. What time?’

‘Seven thirty, in the bar?’

‘OK, see you then.’

That evening as she was on her way to the bar she met Milo who looked her over with raised eyebrows, taking in her tight-fitting blue silk dress, which had a low neckline, the navy blue high-heeled sandals which gave her more height.

‘You look delightful, Miranda. Your friend is in the bar – I saw him go in there ten minutes ago. Is he your boyfriend?’

Shaking her head, she casually said, ‘Just someone I know.’

Faintly cynical, Milo told her, ‘I saw the way he looked at you. He likes you a lot.’

‘He’s a very nice man but we hardly know each other,’ she fenced, rather flushed. ‘But if he’s been waiting for ages, I’d better join him. See you, Milo.’

She walked into the bar and saw Neil at once as he stood up to greet her.

His roving eyes told her he liked the way she looked before he smiled at her. ‘Thank you for coming. I’m very pleased to see you looking so much better. You were so pale and stressed last time I saw you, in London. Now you’ve got a nice tan and you look far more relaxed and happy.’

‘It’s a lovely island and the people I’m working with are lovely people.’

She sat down; the barman came over and she ordered a glass of sparkling mineral water.

‘Tell me how far your investigation has got,’ she asked Neil.

‘We’re still waiting for the body to turn up. Without that, we can’t prosecute.’ He hesitated, then brusquely told her, ‘My bosses have told me to shelve the investigation until the body does surface.’

Biting her lip, Miranda said, ‘They don’t believe me, do they? Terry has convinced them I’m nuts.’

‘No, no, they just want proof of murder before they act.’ Neil’s face was sober. ‘But you must be very careful, Miranda. Until we find that body you could be in danger, even here.’

She shivered. ‘I know. I’m very careful, don’t worry.’ She hated thinking about it, so she changed the subject. ‘How long are you staying here?’

‘Not sure – a week, a fortnight. It depends on events. If the body shows, they’ll call me back to London.’

After a leisurely, candlelit dinner he walked her back to her bungalow through the gardens, under rustling trees, the sound of cicadas all around them.

‘Thank you for tonight,’ he murmured huskily, ‘It was a wonderful evening.’

Sensing that he meant to kiss her, and reluctant to go too far down that road, she bolted through her front door, muttering, ‘Goodnight, Neil.’

In bed in the dark she thought of Tom and was shaken to realise he no longer haunted her the way he had for the past three years. Was she beginning to get over his death at last? But she had had the old dream only the other night. Yet the cause of that had not been her guilt – she had had the nightmare because of jealousy and misery over Alex, not because of Tom. A realisation that made her guiltier than ever and made her sleep badly again.