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

by Rebecca McKinney

  To what end? What could he possibly hope to achieve on his own? Harrison waited for a few minutes, hoping that some lingering intention might come to him. There was no sense of a struggle or forced entry into the room. All he could feel was a vague, confused need to move on, like that of a drunk man trying to find his way home. Tim Cartwright’s motivations were not even known to Tim Cartwright.

  He walked back along the corridor and slipped into his room. ‘Well, Amy Bell, once again your dreams prove prophetic.’

  ‘Oh, you are kidding me. He’s gone? Honestly?’

  ‘Looks that way. The bed’s made, so either he didn’t sleep in it at all or he took the time to make it before he left. I’m guessing the former.’

  ‘Why? Where would he go?’

  ‘To get a fix? To play the hero and rescue Lucy on his own? To piss off back to England? Any or none of the above. Who knows? Nothing’s coming to me.’

  She got out of bed and peered down at the street. ‘To get himself whacked.’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go look for him?’

  ‘Is there any point?’

  Amy hesitated. ‘If something happens to him, it’s our fault. We should have kept watch over him.’

  ‘We should have, but it’s not our fault. He chose to leave.’

  ‘And so my vision is going to come true? He’s going to end up in the water somewhere and there’s nothing we can do about it? This is just like all the other times that ...’ she broke off.

  ‘Just because you’ve seen the future doesn’t mean you have any power to change it. Just ask Oedipus about that one.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It’s an ancient Greek story. My school was big on the ancient Greeks. You remember what I said when this all started, right?’

  ‘You said that not everybody is alive when you find them. But we found Tim alive and we lost him.’

  ‘No, we did not lose him. We warned him, but he still left of his own free will.’

  ‘Nobody ever fucking believes me. What’s the point of this, Harri? What’s the point of having this thing nobody else has, if I can’t do something good with it?’

  ‘Maybe the point is that there is no point. You want a cuppa?’

  ‘Might as well. I won’t be going back to sleep now.’

  He filled the little kettle and set it on to boil, then went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and consider the day ahead. He didn’t want to say it to Amy, but things might be less complicated today without Tim in tow. At least nobody would have to be assigned to babysit him. Still, he had no clue how it was going to play out. He could visualise how he and Kostas were going to talk their way onto the boat, but how they were going to get off again with Lucy – maybe a drugged and dozy Lucy – was another matter entirely. He had to believe that Kostas would be willing to do what he had to do, or pay what he had to pay, to negotiate her release. Kostas knew that Harrison was holding evidence against him, like a gun at his back. The man had a lot more than his reputation at stake.

  He scrubbed his face and wondered what state Amy would be in when he came out. She was pouring hot water into the mugs and stirring the instant coffee granules. He could still feel the clamour of conflicting emotions in her, but they were tempered by acceptance. This reassured him that she was not about to melt down.

  ‘It looks like it’s going to be a nice day, at least,’ she said.

  He looked out the window. Above the glow of the streetlights, he could just make out a few stars in the clear sky. An orange glow had started to creep up the side of the buildings across the street.

  ‘That’s a relief. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah. You are right, he made the choice all by himself.’ She handed him a mug and studied him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘So ... I was just wondering if you brought any nicer clothes with you. Because they properly dress up here, and Victor is going to smell a rat if you turn up in jeans and a shirt that looks like it’s been slept in.’

  ‘That’s because it has been slept in. I had the same thought.’ He took a sip of coffee and pulled his tweed waistcoat and trousers out of the rucksack. They were badly creased.

  Amy nodded toward the small wardrobe recess. ‘You’ll be pleased to know there’s an iron. You’ll look like a proper professor in those. A Scottish one at that.’

  ‘I don’t want to look like a professor. Lara said they made me look hipster.’

  ‘Who’s Lara?’

  ‘My ex-girlfriend.’

  ‘Well, I suppose they’re better than the alpaca jumper.’

  ‘No comment.’ He shook out his shirt and tie. ‘What are you going to wear?’

  ‘Nothing special, you’re going on the boat without me. We need one person keeping watch from the shore, and it makes the most sense for that to be me. I’ll find a place to hole up and wait, and do what I need to do if it all goes a bit pear-shaped.’

  ‘What, buy yourself a cappuccino and pretend you don’t know us?’

  ‘No, like play frogman and haul your sorry butt out of the water, Indiana.’

  ‘Good to know you’ve got this all planned out.’ He was starting to mind less when she teased him. In fact, he was almost starting to like it. ‘You’re talking to the karate master, don’t forget.’

  ‘Karate master my arse. Let me see your moves.’

  He laughed. ‘You want to see my karate moves?’

  She stood up and squared off in front of him. ‘Go on then, Jones, take your best shot.’

  ‘Okay.’ He took off his glasses. ‘I’ll try not to hurt you. There’s this ...’ He swept his foot toward hers, making the briefest contact with her skin before pulling back. ‘Or ... this is Kin Geri, the groin kick. Can be painful.’

  She danced backwards, sniggering.

  ‘Or there’s this ...’ He spun and kicked his foot toward her face. This time, instead of backing up, she caught him by the ankle, gave him a shove and sent him sprawling backwards onto the floor. He had half a second to think about the jolt of pain that went through his hip before she lost her balance and fell on top of him.

  ‘Fucksake, Amy, are you trying to cripple me before the day even starts?’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ she gasped, ‘I didn’t mean to do that. Sorry.’

  Without his glasses on, all he could see of her face was a pleasing rosy blur. Her weight on him was warm and he was in no hurry to move out from under her. He let his head fall back onto the carpet and, without thinking about it, brought his arms up around her. She relaxed against him and placed her head on his chest. He could feel her breath quickening and her heart beating too fast.

  ‘Oops.’ She pushed herself up onto her hands, kissed him on the lips and lingered there. ‘That’s to say thank you, in case it all goes pear-shaped today.’

  He allowed himself a few seconds to imagine the possibilities that could unfold from here. ‘It’s not going to go pear-shaped today, and you don’t have to thank me for anything.’

  ‘This isn’t very professional of us, is it?’ Her breath was warm against his cheek.

  ‘Not very.’ He lay a moment longer, fighting to stop himself from sliding his hands under her top. ‘I didn’t expect this.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s nice to be surprised. It doesn't happen very often. However, you’re right. Not very professional.’ He eased himself out from beneath her and got up. The hip he’d landed on gave a twinge of protest, and he rubbed it as he put his glasses back on and returned to his cooling coffee. ‘So … I know you bought a knife yesterday.’

  She sighed and picked herself up off the floor. ‘Ooh, now there’s a mood killer.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Amy, please don’t bring it today. I don’t want ...’

  ‘Harrison, I’m bringing it. You won’t talk me out of it, so don’t try.’

  A chill travelled like icy fingers up his spine. ‘What have you seen? Do you know something?’

  ‘I don’t know anyt
hing, but I have a feeling.’

  ‘What kind of a feeling?’

  ‘I have a feeling I may have to use it.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  ‘Where is Tim?’ Kostas asked as they climbed into the Range Rover. He looked approvingly at Harrison’s tweeds and less so at Amy’s parka and jeans. She met his gaze defiantly and decided that in the bright light of morning, he wasn’t as good looking as he was in photographs. The skin around his eyes was artificially tight: probably Botox.

  ‘Our friend Mr Cartwright is feeling unwell,’ Harrison answered smoothly. ‘He decided to stay in the hotel today.’

  Kostas accepted this with only a flicker of the eyebrows, and they rode quietly to the port of Piraeus. Amy watched Kostas shift around in his seat and rub his hands nervously on the legs of his trousers. He was twitching with anxiety. After a couple of minutes, he withdrew his phone from his pocket and tapped in a text message.

  Amy glanced at Harrison. His face was grim, but he remained silent.

  Kostas said, as if trying to convince himself out loud, ‘I’m positive that if Lucy is content to leave the boat, Victor will release her from her contract.’

  ‘For your sake, I hope that’s true,’ Amy replied. The morning’s information from Colin Muir was that Victor Mikos was suspected of involvement with any number of organised criminal activities, but that there had never been a convincing enough case against him to make any charges stick. Muir thought it highly likely that he had at least some of the local law under his thumb.

  At Piraeus, a narrow strip of tarmac between two quays was occupied by a collection of blue and green pup tents. Refugees sat on blankets looking out, hung up wet clothes to dry in the cool sunshine or walked aimlessly around their camp.

  Kostas dragged in a dramatic sigh. ‘There were thousands here before the authorities moved everybody on. You see why I must help.’ Still trying to win their sympathy, despite what they knew about him.

  Amy met Harrison’s eyes. He looked back, and it didn’t take any psychic effort at all to know that he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to Kostas.

  Hydra was a shock after the bustle of Athens. Under a bright blue sky, it looked exactly as it had in the pictures Amy had studied: pale grey or whitewashed stone houses with tiled roofs, stacked steeply up the hillsides around the half-moon harbour. The pictures had not prepared her for just how quiet it was. Everything moved slowly. Donkeys, evidently the island’s main vehicle for the transportation of goods, waited patiently and stomped their hooves. Feral cats stretched languidly on sun-warmed stone. You could hear the slosh of water against the hulls of the boats, children playing in one of the courtyards, the scratchy chatter of a radio.

  It ought to be the kind of place where people could leave their doors unlocked and where no violent or dishonest act would ever be committed, but still, it was home to a man like Victor Mikos. She couldn’t believe nobody here knew what his business was.

  Or maybe they did.

  As the crowd of passengers dispersed and the hydrofoil left on its return journey to Piraeus, they walked around the harbour. Most of the craft were small: power cruisers, sailboats and fishing boats lined up neatly in the inner harbour, but there were two much larger yachts on the far side of the outermost stone pier. One of them, gleaming white with tinted windows, was the Circe. Seeing it there made Amy’s stomach twist around on itself.

  Pretending to be tourists, they strolled toward it. There was nobody visible on deck, but equally no way of telling who might be peering out of the blacked-out windows. When they got close enough, Harrison paused and closed his eyes for several seconds.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kostas asked.

  ‘She’s definitely in there,’ Harrison said, ignoring him. ‘Come on.’ He indicated for them to follow him away from the boat, and said, ‘Kostas, if Victor doesn’t agree to let her go freely, I want you to offer to buy Lucy for me.’

  ‘Buy her? For ... how much?’

  ‘As much as it takes. Do you want to put a value on this girl’s life the way you do all the others?’

  ‘No, of course not. I care about her.’ Amy noted that he didn’t acknowledge the second half of Harrison’s question. The lack of denial was as good as a confirmation.

  ‘Fine then. This is my plan.’ He spelt it out for them. ‘Are you clear what you need to do?’

  Kostas nodded, then leaned in and spoke very quietly, ‘You must understand that if I am compromised in any way, none of you will make it back to Scotland.’

  ‘We do,’ Harrison said. ‘Which is why you have nothing to worry about from us. We’re doing you a favour, are we not? If Merriweather finds out what you’ve done with his daughter …’

  Kostas raised his hand to cut him off. ‘He has no reason to find out.’

  ‘Well then.’ Harrison looked content. ‘Make the call, if you’re ready.’

  Kostas withdrew his phone from his pocket and hesitated for a moment, glancing at Harrison first and then out toward the Circe. Then he took a deep breath and placed the call to Victor Mikos. Several seconds passed, and then he gave a boisterous greeting in Greek. The conversation contained what seemed to Amy an ominous amount of laughter. They could be saying anything, and she and Harrison would be none the wiser.

  Eventually, he tucked his phone away. ‘He is expecting us.’

  Harrison took Amy’s hand and squeezed it hard. She could feel a rapid pulse, but couldn’t tell if it was his or her own. In her head, she heard him say, Keep watch. You’ll know if I’m in trouble.

  She nodded to indicate that she understood, and said aloud, ‘Good luck. And be careful.’

  She watched them stroll along the pier, chatting like old friends. Waiting was always the worst thing. There had been so much waiting in Afghanistan. Waiting at bases, waiting in trucks, waiting for men, waiting for all hell to break loose, waiting to see who would come back in one piece and who would come back in pieces. It had been the most difficult skill to learn: far worse than running into a firefight or the aftermath of an explosion. However high the butcher’s bill, it was always better to know than not.

  Harrison and Kostas disappeared around the far side of the Circe. Amy wandered in a leisurely way around the harbour, peering at Christmas decorations for sale at an outdoor market stall. She found her way past the office of the port police, upstairs from the island museum. It was reassuring to know where to run, in case it came to that.

  After half an hour, she strolled along the pier toward the Circe, taking pictures as she went. She found a place to sit at the far end, where she could watch the yacht while pretending to watch the sunlight playing on the water. She took off one trainer and dipped her toes into the water, testing its temperature. It was cool, but bearable in comparison with the North Sea this time of year. In other circumstances, she could spend a happy week here, swimming in the sea and running along car-free roads into the scrubby hills.

  With the sun on her face, she allowed herself to imagine putting Lucy on the hydrofoil to Athens and staying here with Harrison. They could stay right through Christmas. They could disappear.

  She sent her thoughts toward the yacht. Are you okay?

  Nothing came back.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘Victor, my dear friend!’ Kostas held his arms wide to embrace a potato-faced man with artificially black hair. After the ritual cheek kissing and back-slapping, Kostas introduced Harrison.

  ‘I would like to introduce you to Alastair McKenzie, my friend and associate from Scotland.’

  ‘Ah, Scotland,’ said Victor, pumping Harrison’s hand so heartily it hurt. Harrison steeled himself for the shock waves, but received next to nothing. The man was emotionally dead; it was the signature of a psychopath. Psychic trickery would never work on him. ‘Just like our precious young lady.’

  ‘Alastair met Lucy at my home in the summer,’ Kostas said. ‘He has not stopped talking about her since. I couldn’t deny him the chance to see her today. I do hop
e Lucy will consent to sing for us this afternoon.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Victor nodded and led them to the ship’s stateroom: an opulent chamber of leather upholstery, gleaming wood and brass. ‘She is below decks, warming up her voice as we speak. I cannot tell you, Kostas, what an asset she has been to me. Although,’ he chuckled, ‘she did suffer badly from seasickness at first. Do sit down, gentlemen. What do you care to drink? I have the most excellent single malts, which may be to your taste, Mr McKenzie.’ He held up a bottle. ‘For example, this thirty-year-old, limited edition Talisker which I acquired recently.’

  ‘Who am I to refuse such a generous offering?’ Harrison said.

  Victor poured three glasses of the whisky and brought them to the table. ‘To your health. Yamas.’

  ‘Yamas,’ Harrison repeated. ‘In Scotland we say slainte.’ He brought the glass to his lips and took a sip of the most expensive whisky he’d ever tasted. And because Victor was obviously awaiting a verdict, he said loudly, in the most bullish aristocratic voice he could produce, ‘God, that’s bloody good.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Victor laughed. ‘Please, have more. Mr McKenzie, what is the nature of your business?’

  ‘I manage my family’s estate in Argyll,’ Harrison explained. ‘My parents have both passed on, and I’m the sole heir. The place is quite frankly a ball and chain around my ankle. With regret, I’ve decided the time has come to sell the estate. Kostas came to stay last year, and do you think I could get him to leave?’ He slapped Kostas between the shoulder blades and fear reverberated up his arm. Although he hid it well, Kostas was terrified. ‘He fell arse over tit in love with the place.’

  ‘Like you have fallen in love with Lucy.’

  Harrison allowed himself to reveal a sheepish grin.

  ‘I have a vision for a beautiful, exclusive Highland retreat,’ Kostas said. ‘Peace and quiet, the ultimate getaway, with of course the finest food and spa, and ...’

  ‘And women ... Blissful,’ Victor purred. The door of the stateroom opened. ‘And speaking of the finest women. Lucy, my dear, come in.’