“And did you ever see the old woman there? Who died on the beach? The one Mrs Ramsforth is suspected of killing?”
“No. I had no idea anyone ever… or… wait. There were fresh flowers on the grave. Yes, it does make sense then that someone came there. But I never met her. I have no idea why she’d place flowers, either.”
Jasper held her gaze. “Mrs Murray, what exactly did you learn about your son’s death at the time?’
“Precious little. He never wrote much when he was travelling so I wasn’t concerned when he didn’t write for a few weeks. Only when it had been over three months without a word, I did write to some friends of his to ask where he was. None of them knew where he had gone to after Kalos.” She bit her lip. “At last I found out that he had died here. That he had fallen down the rocks into the sea.”
“Do you know under what circumstances?”
“Yes, it seems a group of people was pursuing him because they thought he had stolen something.” Her cheeks flushed. “That’s why I never told my second husband. I just didn’t want him to think it might have been true – that Arthur had really been stealing because he was low on money or something. I know my boy. He wouldn’t do such a thing.”
“You only know he was pursued for having stolen something?”
“Allegedly. It wasn’t true. A mother knows such things.”
Jasper’s heart clenched for her. She didn’t know.
He asked, “Have you come here before to visit the grave?”
“Yes, last year we were here as well. We liked it here so I pushed my husband to return.” She frowned at him. “Did we do something wrong?”
“No, but…” He reached up and rubbed his forehead. “I just learned this tonight.” No lie in that as he had learned the name Arthur Reynolds tonight. “I don’t really know how to tell you this…”
She swallowed hard. “Was Arthur a thief? I can’t imagine. No, it must be some misunderstanding. Please, don’t…” She raised a hand to her throat.
Jasper said, “You know that Mrs Ramsforth has been suffering from nervous shock. I believe this is because she witnessed something when she lived in this villa as a child. Because she was very young and because what she witnessed traumatised her, she shut out all memories of it.”
“Until she came back here,” Mrs Murray said.
“Yes. I’ve checked what she believes to have witnessed against the testimony of local people and she probably did see something traumatic – her mother’s murder.”
Mrs Murray kept looking at him, her face very still.
“I’m sorry to say this but you will have to learn of it sooner or later. Mrs Ramsforth saw a man bent over her mother’s dead body. He had blood on his hands. He fled. He was pursued by a mob and—”
“No.” Mrs Murray grabbed his arm. “No, you are mistaken. You can’t mean to say… my Arthur? A killer?”
She stared at him, begging him with her eyes to deny it. Then she suddenly turned and rushed into the room.
Fearing she wanted to hurt Mrs Ramsforth, force her to take back what she had claimed to have seen, Jasper ran after her, but halted on the threshold. Mrs Murray was in the corner of the room, at her luggage, searching for something. She came back to him carrying a small etui, and Jasper ushered her back into the corridor, to prevent Mrs Ramsforth overhearing anything.
Snapping the little case open, Mrs Murray extracted a photograph and showed it to him. “Is this the face of a murderer?”
Jasper looked at the open, pleasant features of a man in his late twenties smiling at the camera. “Is that your son?”
“Yes.” Mrs Murray turned away from him, back towards the room. “I’ll show this photograph to her and then she will deny it was Arthur.”
“Wait!” Jasper halted her. “Let me do it. Without telling her where I got it. If you do it and she realises who you are, then…”
“I’m not afraid of her.”
No, Jasper thought, but I am afraid for her.
He took the photograph from her hand. “Let me do it. I just came from the chief of police. I can tell her that I got the photo there. I’ll give it back later on.”
Mrs Murray bit her lip. “Will you tell me honestly what she says?”
“You can go outside and listen at the window. You can know it all. But don’t betray your presence by making any sound.”
She nodded and left through the lobby.
Jasper went back into the room and looked down on Mrs Ramsforth. She was deep asleep. He shook her gently and waited as she came to slowly, blinking at him. “Is it morning yet? No, it’s still dark outside.”
“I came from the police chief on the mainland and he gave me a photograph for you to look at. Do you know this person?”
He held the photo out to her.
Mrs Ramsforth looked at it. She went pale. “That’s him. The man I saw standing bent over my mother’s dead body.” She clapped a hand to her face. “How did you get it?”
Jasper smiled down at her. “Don’t worry about it, Mrs Ramsforth. I will unravel this whole thing. You sleep now. You’re perfectly safe here.”
He left the room. Outside, Mrs Murray was waiting for him. “She might have pretended she was asleep and listened at the door when we discussed the photograph. She might have overheard us. She can’t mean… not Arthur. No!” Tears welled up in her eyes.
Jasper caught her arm. “I’m not convinced that your son killed Mrs Ramsforth’s mother. He was found standing over her dead body, yes, but no one actually saw him kill her. He died before he had a chance to defend himself.”
“That’s horrible.” She was crying now, tears leaking down her face. “Why didn’t anyone stop them?”
“The staff were alerted by a cry and came running. When they saw a man with blood on his hands, they assumed he was the killer and went after him. He then fell off the rocks.”
“Or was pushed.” Mrs Murray dabbed at her face. “I already felt so sorry for Arthur when it was just theft he was accused of but this…” She pointed at the door. “Is that woman even reliable?”
“You’re suddenly calling her “that woman”, as if she is to blame. But she was only four years old at the time, coming upon her mother’s murdered body.”
“Yes. Of course.” Mrs Murray took a deep breath. “But I can’t look after her any more. It wouldn’t be wise, Inspector.”
“I understand. I have someone coming in the morning. I will myself sit by her bedside tonight.” He smiled at her. “Thank you for all you’ve done so far.”
“I can’t believe this. Her turning up in this same hotel. And she didn’t know?”
“It’s possible that she blocked out all memories of the event so when she arrived with her new husband she had no idea of what had happened here.” He added, “This is horrible for everyone involved.’
Mrs Murray nodded. “Yes, Inspector, but I can’t stay here any more. I’m leaving right now. I’m going to find a place to sleep in the village or somewhere. But not here.”
He let her go to find her husband. He was sorry he had done this to her, but he knew she would have learned about it anyway. And the photo she had given him had proven beyond a doubt that Arthur Reynolds had been the man standing over the dead body, and fleeing, only to end up dead in the water soon after.
He stood there deep in thought. Who had killed Mrs Ramsforth’s mother? Who had killed Eureka on the beach? Who had killed the petty thief? Was it all related? Or was he looking in the wrong direction?
Did the really important murder still have to come?
He couldn’t help feeling there were too many desperate and cornered people around: Mrs Ramsforth having found out what had happened here and her own part in it; Mrs Murray, whose son had died not accused of theft but murder; Teddy Ramsforth accusing his wife so readily.
And Achilles Kyrioudis, who had lied and twisted the truth.
His brother Stephanos on the mainland.
The Hawtrees, who had happened to be on the
same island where the young couple came to honeymoon.
He felt he had a lot of puzzle pieces in his hands and he could fit them into a meaningful whole if he could only decide what was at the heart of it all. Why had Mrs Ramsforth’s mother had to die? Was that the crucial question?
Or was it rather: why had Mrs Ramsforth come here to a place she didn’t remember, until now, when she herself had been found standing over a dead body, accused of murder?
It was too alike to be a coincidence.
Someone had set her up.
But who? And why?
Jasper went into the room to sit with the sleeping young woman, determined that she wouldn’t be the next one to die.
Chapter Fourteen
“Why do you want to search the belongings of an old woman?” Medea asked, as they walked together the next morning towards a small house with a vegetable garden. Although Eureka had only been dead for a few days, it was clear her hand was missed as the vegetables withered in the sunshine. No one had picked the ripe ones or watered the plants. Jasper felt a stab of sadness for this old woman’s carefully maintained kingdom which had now fallen into disarray.
“She won’t have owned anything of value,” Medea said, gesturing around her. “She won’t have paperwork as she probably couldn’t read or write. The people here are raised very simply. Boys are taught to fish and girls are taught to clean and cook and grow vegetables to sell. Some of them also sew or make small gifts for the tourists. But there is no school on this island. I’m glad I wasn’t born here.”
Jasper told Red to stay in the garden while he halted at the door leading into the house. It wasn’t locked. The simple life people led apparently made them oblivious to the risks of theft. That was odd as there had been a thief on the island. Or had he only targeted the tourists, not the locals? Was that why they had tolerated him? They must have seen him at work some time.
Jasper put his hand against the door and pushed it open. It creaked in protest. Inside it was almost dark as the windows were very narrow, not allowing in much light. The house was a one-room affair, with a bed to the left-hand side, against the wall, an oil lamp on the floor beside it. To the right was an open fire for cooking. “I see no table or chairs,” he remarked in surprise.
Medea laughed. “Most elderly people still like to sit on the ground. They are used to it. Or they use a low stool.” She nodded to the stool standing in the far corner at the hearth. “They do not need much to lead their lives.”
There was a vague note of envy in her voice.
Jasper glanced at her. “And you do?”
Medea sighed. “I want to do so much. See places, study, become a tour guide. And at times I don’t know if I ever will. And if, when I can’t, I will ever be happy. If you’re like she was, living here, just being content with your vegetables and a quiet evening by the hearth, you won’t have to worry.”
“Probably not, no.” Jasper looked about him in the sparse space, which didn’t seem to allow for any vital discoveries. “Still, for a woman who need not worry about anything she died a very violent death.”
Medea wrapped her arms around her shoulders. She looked younger and vulnerable as she stood there. “Can we leave again? There is nothing here to find.”
Jasper wanted to agree until his gaze fell on a wooden chest. It was low and dark, so that he had almost overlooked it. “Wait a moment,” he said to Medea, who was already at the door. He knelt in front of the chest and opened it. There were books inside.
He stared at them in mute surprise. Books? For a woman who couldn’t read or write?
Suddenly a theory formed in his mind. Perhaps she hadn’t been a simple Greek woman. Perhaps she had only posed as one. Perhaps she had been educated. And not even Greek?
But he had already found the mother of the boy fallen off the cliffs all those years ago. She hadn’t lived here, searching for answers or patiently waiting for revenge. So then who could she have been? A grandmother?
He picked up one of the books and opened it to see if there was an ex libris inside. There wasn’t, but there were some written Greek words.
He looked over his shoulder at Medea. “Can you read this for me?”
She came over hesitantly and accepted the book, held it up to the light to see better. “To my Penelope from Constantine, with love.”
So the book had been a gift from a lover. An educated lover who called the woman his Penelope – referring to Homer? It couldn’t have been Arthur Reynolds, as he had been in his mid-twenties when he had died and Eureka had to have been in her fifties already by then. So from whom?
“Do you know who this Constantine can be?” he asked Medea.
She shook her head. “Constantine is a very common name in Greece. My grandfather is called Constantine, and my brother. Two cousins and lots of friends.’
Jasper picked up another book and checked it. It had the same inscription but another date. Another and again the same words, but another date. So, all gifts made in the course of a relationship?
He recognised the same date in some volumes with different years. An anniversary?
Something fell from the book, floating to the clay floor.
Medea picked it up.
He heard her sharp intake of breath.
“What is it?” he asked, looking at her.
In the dimness her expression wasn’t easy to see, or read, but she held the item she had retrieved from the floor at arm’s length as if she couldn’t bear to look at it.
“What is it?” he pressed.
Medea said, “This is a bookmark my grandfather made. He is an expert at calligraphy.” She showed him the bookmark, which had Greek words surrounded by the silhouettes of lemon trees. A beautiful piece of artwork.
“You told me that your grandfather has a bookshop on the mainland, didn’t you?” he asked, harking back to their conversation when Medea had accompanied him to question Georgios at the cafe. “Can the man who bought these books for Eureka have bought them there?”
“Yes, but my grandfather never sold these bookmarks. He only made them. For family.”
Medea dropped the bookmark and ran from the room.
Jasper picked it up and put it back in the book it had fallen from. He put it in the chest and closed the lid, then followed the young woman outside.
She hadn’t run away like he had expected but stood very still, her face up to the skies. Her eyes were closed and tears seeped from under her lashes. Red stood beside her, pressing his head against her leg as if to comfort her. Jasper watched them silently, waiting for Medea to speak.
As she didn’t, he asked, “Was this woman your grandmother? The one who ran away and left your grandfather because she didn’t like life on the mainland?”
Medea snapped her eyes open and looked at him. “It must have been. But I don’t understand. Why would she hide here on this small island? There are much bigger islands with villages full of life and music. She loved music, entertaining people, cooking elaborate dinners for them. My grandfather told me often.”
“Perhaps he did to convince himself that she had loved it. Perhaps she had never loved it, but only loved him. After a while it became too much and she had to leave him and return to what she knew.”
Jasper studied Medea closely. Eureka had been related to her. Medea worked at the hotel. She had interpreted for him, had helped him with things. Like sending the telegram to Athens to ask for Mrs Valentine to come over and look after Mrs Ramsforth. But could he even trust her? What if she was somehow involved?
He asked, “And you had no idea this old woman was related to you? You never met her and spoke with her?”
“No.” The answer came quickly. Too quickly perhaps?
Jasper stepped closer. “If you know something, you must tell me. Your own grandmother was murdered. Don’t you care about that?”
“Of course I care.” Medea stamped her foot. “I wondered…” She fell silent and hung her head.
Jasper pressed, “Yes?�
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“When she died, I was upset. Because I wondered if it was somehow my fault.”
“Your fault?” Jasper repeated, not understanding. “But you didn’t know she was your grandmother. Did you?’
“She came to the hotel as soon as I worked there. She approached me one night when I left after work. She told me that the hotel owner didn’t like her and didn’t want to see her near it but that it was very important that she could sell flowers to the guests. That she couldn’t buy food otherwise. I believed her and I said that the owner wasn’t around much and that she could come when I was at the desk. That I would pretend not to see her and wouldn’t send her away.”
“So you enabled her to be at the hotel?”
“Yes. Only so she could sell her flowers and wouldn’t starve. I didn’t know… I never meant…”
Medea swallowed hard.
Jasper sensed there was more than what she had just told him. After all, she had merely allowed a woman to sell flowers to guests at the hotel. Why would that be related to Eureka’s death on the beach?
He studied the girl closely. “What else did Eureka tell you? And was it even coincidence you ended up working at this hotel? On this island, where she lived? Who arranged for you to work here?”
“The owner put an advertisement in the newspaper. It was sent to my grandfather. He thought one of our family friends had sent it. They knew I was looking for a summer job. To practise my English. At a hotel there are tourists so that is perfect. I didn’t think twice about it at the time.”
Jasper immediately caught onto the last words. “At the time. So you did think about it later?”
Medea sighed. “I’m not sure what I thought.” She hung her head again.
Jasper said, “I want to know everything.”
“But then you’ll think I had something to do with it. And I hadn’t. Honestly.’
He wasn’t convinced, but he said, “I believe you. Just tell me everything you know. Also for the sake of your grandmother who died.”
“But what if…” Medea looked up at him. “What if she was involved in something terrible? Something…” She bit her lip.
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