Robin came over to him and straightened his tie. “Relax, darling. We’re in the clear. You’ll get the money for the invention.”
“Will I? A murder and the Ramsforths involved.”
“Jasper has to look into it on Kyrioudis’s request. You know how sensitive they are about this island having a good reputation. Old women might die, but it’s not tourists stabbing them. Believe me.’
“I’m not believing anything until I see the cheque for the money in my hand. No, until I have the actual money. No, until the invention is presented in Stockholm.”
He paced the room. “What if Teddy cracks under pressure and starts talking?”
“He won’t.”
Gideon turned to her with a snap. “How do you know? Have you talked to him? Have you offered him something to ensure he cooperates?”
Robin laughed. That soft laugh of hers that could drive him crazy. “Of course not. I’m not so stupid as to show my face at the hotel. Teddy won’t talk because if he does, he will look suspicious. He’s too clever to incriminate himself. Now, go up and work. You’re so jumpy when you can’t work.”
Gideon wanted to tell her to stop treating him like a baby but she was right. Work meant everything to him. At last he’d have recognition like his brother had. And not for sitting at a piano looking pretty but for something intelligent, inventive, new, useful. His name would go down into history. People would talk about him for decades to come. Children would learn about him at school.
He smiled to himself. It was worth everything he had to do for it.
Chapter Eleven
Jasper followed Kyrioudis up the path leading to the cemetery. The Greek translator had been waiting for him at the hotel upon his return from the Hawtrees’ to tell him what the doctor had said about the old woman’s dead body. That she had been stabbed hadn’t come as news to Jasper, but fortunately the doctor had known the victim, or at least heard of her.
“A kind old woman who did no one any harm,” Kyrioudis had said. “She wasn’t born on the island but came to live here some thirty years ago. She seemed to have fled an unhappy marriage. He only knew her first name: Eureka. She seems to have chosen that name for herself when she started her new life here on Kalos.’
“Eureka, as in I have discovered what I was looking for all along?” Jasper had asked.
“Yes. She was rather peculiar in her ways. She visited the cemetery every day, while she had no husband buried there, or other relative. Apparently she came for one of the graves where the unknown are buried.”
“Unknown?” Jasper had repeated, puzzled.
“Vagabonds, I suppose. People who died on the island without others knowing who they were. They get a decent burial but no tombstone as their names are not known. And besides,” Kyrioudis had added with a smile, “tombstones cost money.”
And without relatives to pay for the stone, the community didn’t feel obliged to dig into their own pockets. Understandable.
Kyrioudis now stopped to open the creaking metal gate. He panted for breath. “Here you are, my friend. A modest graveyard. But well preserved. Ah…”
He waved at the caretaker who was busy cleaning a bright white stone. The elderly man rose to his feet and came over at once. Some sentences were exchanged in rapid Greek, Jasper supposed mere pleasantries to start the conversation as he caught the word for grandchildren. The caretaker also pointed up at the skies, launching into a long tirade, perhaps about the hot weather which made the land too dry?
At last Kyrioudis pointed at Jasper and explained something. The caretaker pulled a solemn expression and reached out a bony hand to gesture at Jasper.
“Follow him,” Kyrioudis said.
Jasper followed the old man as he shuffled down a path to the graves in the back of the cemetery. No stones there, no bouquets of flowers or lanterns to light at night. Just earth with the first signs of weeds. As soon as they got too long, someone plucked them out and tossed them aside where they withered in the sunshine.
The old caretaker pointed and explained something in a stream of Greek.
Jasper glanced over his shoulder for Kyrioudis. The man was right behind them, listening intently. Kyrioudis said, “According to him, Eureka didn’t come for a grave of a beggar or tramp. But for a grave given to a washed-up corpse.”
“A washed-up corpse? You mean, a fisherman who went overboard and drowned?”
Kyrioudis asked something. The old man shook his head and gestured.
“Not a local,” Kyrioudis said. “A foreigner.”
“And why would an old woman feel the need to visit the grave of a foreigner who died at sea?”
The caretaker encompassed the unmarked graves with both his hands and gave another lengthy explanation.
Kyrioudis said, “These graves are unmarked so he can’t tell you a name or a story by looking at the stones. The caretaker who was here before him died and can’t tell anything any more.”
“Records?” Jasper asked hopefully.
“There has been a fire and they were destroyed.”
Jasper frowned. This was getting mysterious. The skin of his neck prickled, not because of the sweat leaking across it, but like it always did when he was on to something. He had the distinct impression that it wasn’t coincidental that every trace of the unknown person in the grave here had vanished. The old woman had obviously known who it was or she wouldn’t have visited the grave so diligently. But she was dead.
Murdered.
Had Eureka been killed to prevent her from telling about the person in the grave?
But why?
Who could it be?
Kyrioudis said, “This is a dead end. The woman might have had very personal reasons for visiting this grave. A lost love, for instance. It need not be connected with her murder at all.”
He put a hand on Jasper’s arm. “Can’t you just declare it was an act of random violence and we can’t determine who is to blame?”
Jasper studied the other. “I thought you wanted it solved so people wouldn’t shun the island?”
Kyrioudis sighed. “I’m a man of order, Inspector. I want it solved, yes, but I see no chances to solve it. Your witnesses haven’t been able to say anything conclusive as to the killer. Mrs Ramsforth says it was a man. Mr Ramsforth thinks it might have been his wife. Now, neither you nor I want to persecute a woman on her honeymoon for murder. We can both agree that Mrs Ramsforth had no reason to murder an old woman she had never met before.”
Jasper lifted a hand to cut off the stream of words. “Unfortunately, her husband declares the victim had contacted him to claim his wife was betraying him with another man. That would give Mrs Ramsforth motive to be angry at the victim. Suppose the two met on the beach, and Eureka acted hostile towards her.”
“And for that Mrs Ramsforth killed her? With a knife she had already conveniently taken along from the cafe where she had merely entered to refresh herself?” Kyrioudis shook his head. “You must admit, my friend, that it makes no sense at all.”
Jasper exhaled. He didn’t need Kyrioudis to tell him that none of this made sense. The money Damaris Ramsforth had suddenly come into was suspicious, as well as her husband pouncing on it to invest it in some business plan with Gideon Hawtree. But how did Eureka fit into that?
The old caretaker said something.
Kyrioudis began to laugh and shake his head.
“What did he say?” Jasper wanted to know.
“He said that if we want to know more about the washed-up corpse of old we must visit Petros.”
“And why is that worth a laugh?”
Kyrioudis shook his head again. “You don’t know Petros. First of all he lives in a hut on some rocks that we can barely get to. And he’s been getting more and more forgetful as he gets older. He knows plenty of stories, I’ll grant him that, but if even one of them is true…”
“I want to talk to him,” Jasper decided. He let his gaze go over the unmarked graves. Eureka had come here every day. She ha
d felt a connection to the person buried here. There were no relatives of hers on the island whom he could ask. Nobody seemed to know more about her, beyond her selling flowers and coming to this grave. So from the grave he’d follow the thread. Any way he could.
Kyrioudis sighed. “It won’t turn up anything.”
“I still want to talk to him. I don’t mind the climb. But I do need someone to translate for me.”
Kyrioudis turned to the caretaker and explained something. The man looked doubtful but then Kyrioudis dug into his pocket and produced his wallet. He pulled out a bank note and held it, the caretaker eyeing it greedily. Kyrioudis asked something and the man nodded. Then Kyrioudis handed over the bill. He gestured to Jasper to follow him out of the cemetery.
“What’s happening?” Jasper asked.
“He will bring Petros down to us. We can meet up at the foot of the rocks. I have to bring ouzo, his favourite drink. We’d better go and buy some.”
* * *
Damaris started when a hand fell on her shoulder. She looked up and found Mrs Murray standing over her, a worried look on his face. “How are you?” she asked.
She shrugged. “Tired.” She wanted to go home but she didn’t want to say it. They couldn’t leave anyway. Not until the murder was resolved.
The woman sat down beside her. “You must not fret so much.”
Damaris kept her eyes on the view as she asked, “Does Teddy really think I killed that old woman?”
Mrs Murray said, “Of course not.”
Now Damaris snapped her head to her. “He said so to Jasper.”
“He was in shock.” Mrs Murray folded her hands in her lap. “He had never before seen anyone he knew kneeling down beside a dead body with their hand on the murder weapon. But I suppose that you found her and knelt down to see if you could do anything to help her.’
She looked at Damaris. “After all, why would you kill a woman you don’t know?”
“I remember something.” Damaris felt she had to say it or she would go insane. She didn’t want to say it to Teddy as he didn’t trust her to begin with. And Jasper? What was he doing? Looking for evidence probably, to solve the case. But evidence to absolve her or to accuse her? Whose side was he on?
“What then?”
“I remember seeing a dead body on the ground and the murderer standing over it. He straightens up and sees me. I scream.”
“You screamed? Perhaps someone heard that. That would be good for your case. If you were the killer, you wouldn’t have screamed.”
“He runs away. They persecute him.”
“They? There were other people there?” Mrs Murray tilted her head. “Why didn’t you tell the inspector? Perhaps he can find out who they were and ask them for statements. Did you see them properly? Can you describe them?”
Damaris stared into the distance. “It’s not right. It wasn’t on the beach. The body was on tiles. There.” She gestured over her shoulder.
Mrs Murray looked in the direction of her hand. “In the hotel? You mean to say… the old woman was killed here and then moved?”
“I don’t know. The body wasn’t dressed in black.” Damaris reached up and covered her face with her hands. “It’s all so confusing.”
“Perhaps you dreamed it. Yes, that must be it. You dreamed about the murder and in your mind you changed it from the beach to the hotel. But the killer… Do you remember seeing his face when he straightened up? You said he looked at you.”
“Yes. He was a young man. In his twenties I’d say. Clean shaven. He looked afraid.”
“Local or tourist?”
“Tourist. English, I think. He wore a jacket with elbow patches.”
“I see.” Mrs Murray put a hand on her arm. “You must tell this to Jasper right away. If you can give a description of the killer…”
“But it wasn’t right,” Damaris said slowly. “The wrong place. The wrong body.”
Mrs Murray had already risen. “Where can Jasper be? He needs to hear this. At once.”
* * *
Armed with a bottle of the best ouzo and glasses, Kyrioudis and Jasper made for the meeting point. They found a young man there and an old man leaning on his arm. He had a dirty beard covering his chest, and wore tattered clothes and shoes through the ends of which his toes peeped out. He scratched his head as he saw them and spat in the sand.
Kyrioudis raised the bottle by way of greeting, uncorked it and filled the glasses.
Jasper accepted his, thinking he wouldn’t drink because he needed a clear head for the investigation. But the old man watched him with a sly look, raising his glass to his lips then letting it hover there waiting for the others to drink first.
Kyrioudis emptied his glass in a single draught.
The old man cackled and focused on Jasper.
Jasper raised the glass to his mouth. The sharp scent of alcohol wafted into his nose. He steeled himself against the burn of the liquid down his throat as he emptied the glass in a single draught as well.
It wasn’t as bad as he had imagined. In fact, the taste had a sweetness that was quite pleasant.
The old man savoured his drink in several sips, before speaking. His creaking voice and the rise and fall of the Greek words made him sound like a broken record.
Kyrioudis explained something.
The old man shook his head.
Jasper reached out and refilled his glass.
The old man looked at him and nodded, saying something to Kyrioudis.
“He says he never trusted a man who didn’t drink,” Kyrioudis explained, adding in a low tone, “if he himself hadn’t drunk quite so much, he might not have become an outcast.”
The old man burst into indignant words as if he understood the judgement passed on him.
Jasper waited until he had calmed down and was nursing his ouzo again.
Kyrioudis asked the old man something and he shook his head.
Jasper said in a loud tone, “Can’t you see he’s too old to remember anything worthwhile? We’re wasting our time here.”
Kyrioudis translated, and the old man’s eyes flickered. He said something and spat in the sand again.
“He says he remembers everything.”
“Let him tell us about the washed-up corpse that is in the unmarked grave in the cemetery.” Jasper planted his feet apart and gave the old man a challenging look as he said it.
Kyrioudis translated and the old man cackled. He said something and Kyrioudis’s eyes went wide. He glanced at Jasper, who said urgently:
“Translate what he says. Every word of it. Even if he curses me. I need to know exactly what he says.”
“Oh, he’s not cursing you. But the man in that unmarked grave. The foreign killer.”
“Killer?” Jasper repeated.
The old man launched into a tale, gesturing with his bony hands covered with green veins.
Kyrioudis listened intently. “He says that the man in the grave washed up on the shore days after he was driven into the sea. By those who accused him of murder.”
“A mob followed him and drove him into the sea? But what murder?”
Kyrioudis asked, and the old man took his time sipping the ouzo before responding.
Kyrioudis said, “His neck was broken.”
“The mob broke his neck and tossed the body into the sea?” Perhaps to cover up their actions? He couldn’t imagine such a people’s judgement was any more acceptable here than it would be in England.
Kyrioudis asked. The old man shook his head.
“His neck was broken in the water. The fall did it.”
“Fall?”
“Off the rocks.”
“They drove him to the edge of the rocks and then he fell into the sea? Or was pushed?”
“Or jumped to escape them.” Kyrioudis spread his hands. “It might have been a suicide.”
“I won’t call a man jumping into the sea in a panic due to a crowd being out for his head a suicide,” Jasper said sharply. “And ho
w did they even know he was a killer? Had they seen him do it?”
The old man explained, in a lower and more subdued tone now.
Kyrioudis said, “There was a witness who saw the murder. Then the other people came upon the scene. The killer ran away and they followed him. To apprehend him. Not kill him. He fell into the sea. Or he jumped. But they didn’t push him.”
“No, I guess not,” Jasper said cynically. “And then?”
“His corpse washed up on the shore and it was buried in the graveyard.”
“In an unmarked grave. So they hadn’t seen him before? He was a stranger on this island?”
Kyrioudis listened to the old man’s answers. Then he said, “He says it’s not wise to ask too many questions. Better leave the past undisturbed.”
“But the old woman who visited this man’s grave is dead now. Stabbed. I can’t just leave that be.”
Kyrioudis refilled his own glass and drank.
Jasper said, “Explain to him about Eureka’s death and the murder investigation you pulled me into.”
Kyrioudis said, “What good would it do? Will he suddenly remember more because there is a murder investigation? No. It will only serve to frighten him.”
“Frighten him?”
“People are superstitious. They don’t like violent death. Or strangers asking too many questions.”
Jasper exhaled. “Then don’t tell him about Eureka’s murder. Just ask him if there is any more he can tell about the crime that the drowned man supposedly committed.”
Kyrioudis rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t believe Jasper was so stubborn, but still he asked.
The old man said something, then held out his glass. Kyrioudis refilled it. The old man drank and sighed with pleasure. He began to gesture with his free hand as he launched into another flood of words.
Jasper was certain there would be something worthwhile in it but when the old man had finished, Kyrioudis simply said, “He’s just reminiscing about the old times. Saying it was better then and how people stood up for each other.”
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