Siren Song (Harrison Jones and Amy Bell Mystery Book 1)

by Rebecca McKinney

‘Well, you can.’

  ‘Feelings and thoughts are different things. We all have the same human emotions, but culture and language shape how we explain these.’

  She looked up at the passing people for a few seconds, chewing thoughtfully. The sun lit up her eyes like aquamarines. ‘I’d love to do what you do.’

  ‘You could.’

  ‘Not likely. I’m not even close to clever enough.’

  ‘What gives you the idea that I’m any cleverer than you?’

  She didn’t answer his question, and there was something about her smile that made him curious.

  He swallowed a mouthful. ‘What?’

  ‘You learn a lot about people when you travel with them.’

  ‘What have you learned about me?’

  ‘Mmm. I’m still gathering evidence.’

  ‘Okay then, fair’s fair. Let me gather some of my own. Show me your tattoo.’

  ‘Who says I have one?’ Amy pretended to look shocked.

  ‘I think you do.’

  She arched her right eyebrow at him. ‘You got x-ray vision now as well?’

  ‘No, but you’re a millennial ex-squaddie. I’d put money on it.’

  ‘I might have one.’

  ‘Do I get to see it?’

  She laughed. ‘No.’

  ‘You’ve seen mine.’

  ‘Because it’s on your back, and now that you mention it, you were quite happy to show it off. Are you flirting with me, Indiana?’

  His face warmed. ‘No.’

  ‘Well good, because that would be weird.’

  ‘Weird how? Am I too old for you?’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I turned forty at the end of October. I did not enjoy it.’

  ‘Well if it’s any consolation, no, you wouldn’t be too old for me. It’s just ... well ... just because. I don’t know. I think of you as a workmate now, or a teacher or something. Maybe a big brother, except I like you better than my brothers.’

  ‘Okay.’ He shook his head, wondering where all of this had come from. ‘I’m sorry, forget I said any of that.’

  ‘No, it’s ... okay, it’s just ...’ She took a deep breath. ‘We’re here to find Lucy and Tim. It would overcomplicate things. It’s not that I don’t like you, because ...’

  ‘Because you do.’

  ‘You can feel that?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, is nobody allowed to have any privacy around you?’

  He looked up into the watery sunlight, smiling sadly. ‘You can see why I’m single.’

  ‘Have you ever had a long-term relationship?’

  ‘One.’ He looked out across the square, watching pigeons squabbling over a McDonald’s burger box. The six years he’d spent with Sophie now felt like a chapter written into his life-story and subsequently cut from the final draft. ‘Like you, I was engaged, for a while.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Everything and nothing. We found it impossible to live with each other in the end. It’s the way it goes.’

  ‘Oh, Harri ...’

  ‘You and I need to keep things professional,’ he said, with a mixture of regret and relief. ‘Do you agree?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She held up her half-eaten gyros. ‘You want the rest of this?’

  ‘Sure.’ He downed it in three bites and took a deep breath, feeling more solid than he had been a few minutes ago. The city’s emotional din was less overpowering. ‘Okay, I’ve put this off long enough. Let’s go.’

  Following the map on his phone, they found their way to the former office building that housed the co-operative. The lobby was busy with people coming and going, speaking languages he couldn’t immediately identify, carrying bags of clothing, boxes of food and musical instruments. Harrison picked up a strong sense of comfort—this was clearly a place of refuge and respite—though, beneath that, there was a keen, relentless drone of frustration. Here people on the move could rest, but they didn’t want to stay too long. Some had been here far longer than they wanted to be.

  Lucy’s residual psychic signature was here too, though it was faint enough to suggest that she hadn’t been here for some time. Behind that, very faintly, was a dissonant hum of menace.

  He greeted the woman at the front desk in Greek.

  ‘How can I help you?’ she replied, in North American-accented English.

  ‘I believe you’ve recently had a couple of British volunteers working here? Tim Cartwright and Lucy Merriweather?’

  ‘Oh, uh ...’ She looked behind her, as if seeking permission from someone who wasn’t there. ‘They don’t work here anymore.’

  ‘Would you be able to tell us where they might be now?’

  The woman’s smile faded and she hesitated. She gave off pulses of annoyance. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you have any information about them at all? Because it’s possible they’re in some danger.’

  ‘Well, that wouldn’t surprise me. Who are you? You’re British, right? Are you relatives?’

  ‘We’re investigators, from Edinburgh. We’ve been hired by Lucy Merriweather’s family.’

  ‘Investigators,’ the woman repeated. ‘Can you ... wait for a few minutes? I’m going to get somebody to come down and talk to you.’ The woman picked up the phone and asked somebody called Maya to come downstairs, her tone secretive and urgent. ‘She’ll be down as soon as she can,’ she said, hanging up the phone. ‘You can have a seat right over there.’

  Amy and Harrison sat on plastic chairs. She read an English leaflet that described the co-operative’s work.

  ‘This puts Nessa Walker’s operation to shame.’ She passed Harrison the leaflet. He read that the co-op provided immediate humanitarian assistance to refugees, migrants and homeless local people in the form of food, clothing and shelter. It also ran classes, support groups, cultural activities and gave access to legal advice and medical care. Volunteers did the best they could to confront problems governments would rather ignore.

  A Muslim woman sat three seats along, comforting a fussing baby while a toddler clung to her leg. Her face was haunted and she was numb inside and out, drained of emotion and defeated.

  ‘How can we live with ourselves?’ Amy asked quietly, after a moment.

  Harrison could almost hear her guilt, and it wasn’t the familiar, generalised political guilt of a well-intentioned British citizen. It was specific and all her own. Their connection was getting so close now, he could feel what she felt almost like it belonged to him.

  ‘This isn’t your fault.’

  Their eyes met and then broke apart. ‘For all I know, the man I killed could have been that woman’s husband.’

  Harrison knew better than to offer hollow words of comfort. He placed his hand momentarily on her shoulder, and the scene flashed like a movie trailer inside his mind. Their patrol unit was ambushed. While she tended a wounded man, they came under fire from a Taliban fighter on a suicide run. She had no choice except to snatch up the wounded soldier’s rifle and shoot.

  That gunshot still woke her up at night, shattering the cool darkness of her bedroom.

  ‘That’s them,’ he heard the North American woman say. A formidably tall and broad-shouldered woman moved toward them. There were silver streaks in her tightly knotted hair, and her brightly coloured skirt dusted the floor.

  Harrison slipped his hand away from Amy’s arm and stood up. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Would you come with me, please?’ She wasn’t interested in pleasantries.

  They followed her through a door to the side of the front desk, along a corridor and into a private office cluttered with stacks of paper and cardboard boxes. ‘I am Maya Retsikas. Lisa told me you are looking for two of our former volunteers.’

  Harrison shook her hand before introducing himself. She bore the weight of responsibility for other people’s lives with authority, and she wasn’t best pleased with being diverted from her task.

  ‘Thank you for taking th
e time to speak to us. I’m Harrison Jones and this is my partner, Amy Bell. We’ve come from Edinburgh.’

  She gave a knowing nod. ‘For Lucy Merriweather and Tim Cartwright.’ She motioned toward the chairs beside a small, round table. ‘Please sit down.’

  ‘I take it you know them,’ Amy said, sliding onto a chair. There was an edge of military aggression in her voice. Harrison shot her a look and thought the word easy.

  Amy sat back in her seat and glared at him.

  ‘Of course, although as Lisa told you, they are no longer here.’

  ‘Are you the manager here?’ Harrison asked more gently.

  ‘We have a co-operative management structure. I am the coordinator of the volunteers. We have people working here from all over the world. Some of them have very specific skills to bring, others just want to do what they can. Tim and Lucy did what they could, although they ...’ she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, ‘caused us a few problems.’

  ‘What kind of problems?’

  Maya pressed her fingertips deep into her fleshy jowls. ‘They took drugs. They behaved let’s say inappropriately. They argued with each other. I can’t prove it, but I think they stole from us.’

  ‘How long ago was this?’

  ‘They were here until early September, when we asked them to leave. We have very many traumatised people coming to this centre, and this needs to be a place of calm and safety. Who are you working for?’

  ‘Lucy Merriweather’s mother employed us to find them. She hasn’t seen or heard from her daughter in over a year.’

  Maya shrugged. ‘I’m sure that is distressing for her. We have people in this centre who have not seen their families for much longer than that. Many daughters go missing.’

  Rima came immediately into Harrison’s mind. ‘Is Lucy one of those daughters?’ he asked, more sharply than he intended to.

  Maya was nonplussed. ‘I do not know where Lucy is.’

  ‘Do you think she got into some kind of trouble?’

  ‘That is possible. If she was buying drugs, you never know who she got mixed up with. It is likely she just got bored and moved on. Maybe she met another boy, I don’t know. There was something not right with her, but I don’t have time to think about that. I need volunteers who can work without being constantly told what to do and how to do it. I told the same thing to Tim, when he was here looking for her last week.’

  ‘Last week?’ Harrison leaned forward, not sure he’d heard her correctly.

  ‘Yes. It may have been ... Tuesday or Wednesday?’

  ‘Do you know if he’s still in Athens?’

  Maya shrugged. ‘I have not seen him again.’

  ‘Do you have a phone number for him?’

  ‘If I did, I wouldn’t be allowed to give it to you.’

  ‘And you haven’t any idea where Lucy may be now?’

  ‘No. Like I said, we asked them to leave. I had to repeat that request to Tim when he came. He was abusive to some of our people.’

  ‘Abusive how?’

  ‘Angry. Shouting.’ Her head nodded with each point. She brought her hands together in a praying gesture and pointed them toward him. ‘I understand he is upset that Lucy has left him, but I think he is also mentally ill.’

  ‘Maya,’ Amy cut in, ‘can I ask whether you’ve met a man called Kostas Gianopoulos?’

  ‘Kostas? Of course, I know Kostas Gianopoulos very well. He is one of our most generous patrons. He is outspoken about the plight of the refugees.’

  ‘Is he really?’

  ‘Oh yes, he has given us money. He helped us get this building. He is a very wonderful man. Why do you ask about him?’

  Harrison glanced at Amy. He could tell that Maya believed this to be true, and that she thought of Kostas as a friend. He didn’t believe she was complicit in Kostas’s crimes, but asking any more would raise her suspicions.

  ‘He’s friendly with Lucy’s parents. We thought he might have some idea where she is.’

  Maya shrugged again. ‘He is very busy and I haven’t seen him for a couple of months.’

  Harrison moved on. ‘Could we look around and see where Tim and Lucy worked?’

  ‘I can give you a tour of our centre, if it will help you.’

  ‘It would. Thank you.’

  ‘Come with me,’ she commanded, and she swept back along the corridor. ‘We serve over two hundred people every day. Men, women and children.’ Her voice boomed as she led them around the building’s four sprawling floors. There were classrooms, makeshift medical and dental clinics, and art studios. The top floor had been converted into dormitories. Conversations drifted around in many languages, bursts of laughter echoed up stairwells, children ran along corridors.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said to Maya.

  ‘We work around the clock, every day of the year. Because war and persecution do not stop. We have at least forty volunteers per day. You understand, I work very hard and it can be difficult. I don’t personally get to know all of the volunteers as well as I would like.’

  ‘But you knew Tim and Lucy.’

  ‘I knew them because they caused a lot of trouble, as I told you. I’m sorry to say, some young British people are like babies. They come here for selfish reasons and they understand nothing.’

  ‘What did they do while they were here?’

  ‘Most of the time, they worked in the cantina or the storehouse. I will show you.’ She took them to the cantina first, a sunlit room on the first floor, thick with the smells of coffee and cooking food. People sat at long trestle tables, talking and laughing. ‘They helped in the kitchen, cooking and washing dishes.’

  Harrison walked slowly behind her, allowing his fingertips to brush the tables and work surfaces but failing to pick up anything significant. Leaving the cantina, they followed Maya to the storehouse. It was a cavernous basement filled with stacks of donated clothing, blankets, dishes, cookware, sleeping bags, tents and medical supplies. The room was windowless, badly lit and filled with a restless, seething fear. It raised the hair on the back of Harrison’s neck. He paused and looked at Amy, wondering whether she felt it, but she walked straight past him.

  There were seven or eight people working, sorting through piles of clothing, noting down sizes and hanging them on rails.

  ‘This is a big job,’ Maya said. ‘We are given many things, all mixed up, and it all must be sorted. Greek people are very charitable. Sometimes too much.’ Her laugh echoed against the concrete walls. ‘Tim liked to come down here. Sometimes I caught him smoking hash in the back there. Lucy, I don’t know. She just ... drifted around. She never went where you told her or did work for more than a few minutes. A strange girl. Do you know her well?’

  ‘I’ve never met her,’ Harrison said. He barely got the words out. At the mention of the names, it felt like somebody had cleaved his skull open. The floor tilted steeply away from him, pulling him forward. He took a step back, leaned against the wall and forced himself to stay upright. The pain was so violent that he raised his fingertips to his forehead to check for blood. Maya had turned away to speak to another woman, but Amy hurried to his side.

  ‘Harri?’

  ‘That guy over there,’ he whispered. ‘At the back.’

  Amy looked around. The young man in question had curly black hair and a handsome, clean-shaven face. He was on his knees, folding children’s clothes. ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Let’s go. He’ll follow.’

  ‘Right,’ Amy said, glancing over her shoulder. The man wasn’t looking at them, but he was poised and listening.

  Harrison said abruptly, ‘Maya? Thank you for showing us around. We have some other places to try, but would it be okay to come back if we need to?’

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you more,’ Maya replied. ‘I don’t know what good it would do to come back.’

  ‘We may have a few more questions. But thank you again.’

  She had already dismissed them. ‘You can find your way out
?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  They slipped out into the corridor and he placed his hand against the wall to steady himself. After a couple of seconds, he gathered himself together and took a deep breath. ‘Talk about the evil eye.’

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Yeah. Come on.’

  They hurried upstairs and out into the street and waited just to the side of the doorway. Harrison’s skin prickled as he could feel the man approaching. As soon as the door opened, he turned and stepped into the man’s path.

  ‘Where are they?’ he said, with more force than he felt capable of acting on.

  Spooked, the younger man tried to sidestep him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Harrison blocked him, and Amy moved onto his left, trapping him against the wall. ‘Yes, you do, or you wouldn’t have followed us out here.’

  ‘Keep your hands where we can see them,’ Amy ordered, as the man’s right hand crept toward his pocket.

  He lifted his palms toward her. ‘I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave this city. If you ask any more questions, it will not go well for you.’

  Boldly, Harrison grabbed a fistful of the man’s sweatshirt and drove him into the wall. ‘We came here to find Lucy Merriweather and Tim Cartwright, and you’re going to tell us where they are.’

  For a couple of seconds, the man was too shocked to struggle. His mouth opened and he betrayed himself without uttering a word. He had been hired to kill. ‘I can’t,’ he choked. ‘I don’t know.’

  That much was the truth.

  ‘Who are you working for?’

  ‘You are safer not knowing.’ Kostas Gianopoulous.

  ‘Fine. We’ll know if you try to follow us.’ Harrison released him. ‘Go.’

  The man slid beneath his arm and bolted around the corner. Harrison moved in the opposite direction, stretching his stride as far as he could without breaking into a run, aware that Amy was practically jogging to keep up with him.

  His skin was still prickling, as if the black-haired man was somewhere behind them. He glanced around but could see only a sea of strangers. ‘Keep an eye out.’

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘He works for Kostas. Kostas knows Tim is here, looking for her, and he’s paid this guy to get rid of him.’