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

by Rebecca McKinney

  Lucy Merriweather entered, carrying a guitar. She was wearing a plain red silk shift dress and a pair of silver sandals. In the photographs Harrison had seen, she had been a muscular girl, but her bare arms were pencil thin and her hipbones protruded through the silk. She wore red lipstick, thick black eyeliner and mascara, which didn’t quite manage to hide the shadows around her eyes.

  Her golden hair fell loose to her waist.

  ‘Kostas!’ she said.

  Kostas stood, embraced her and kissed her hand. ‘Lucy, I have missed you so much.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ Her voice broke.

  He placed a finger over her lips. ‘Hush, my love. Please, don’t be upset. Look, there is someone here to see you. You remember my friend Alastair. He has come all the way from Scotland to see you again. I’m afraid you have made the poor man fall helplessly head over heels.’

  Lucy looked blankly at Harrison, mouth half-open. ‘I don’t ...’ She glanced back at Kostas, ‘I’m sorry, I ...’

  Harrison got up to greet her. Like Kostas, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Squeezing it, he looked into her eyes, and the sordid details of her life came to him like reflections in shards of a broken mirror. She’d run away from a lot more than he’d realised. A lot more than even her mother realised. She smelled of alcohol and her mind was clouded. She was resigned and ready to accept whatever fate was going to deliver next.

  He forced himself to speak. ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again.’ Please don’t say you haven’t seen me before, he thought as pointedly as he could. There was no way of knowing if it would reach her. ‘I hope you’ll do me the honour of singing for me.’

  She slipped her hand out of his fingers and stepped back, radiating bewilderment. ‘Okay. ‘I’ll do a Scottish song, if it’s alright with Victor.’

  ‘Lucy, everything you sing is alright with me,’ Victor said.

  ‘I learned this a long time ago.’ She sang The Dowie Dens o’ Yarrow. The ballad unfolded tragically, telling the story of a girl whose father wanted to force her into an arranged marriage with a gentleman rather than allowing her to marry the boy she loved. Lucy sang it in broad Scots, in a voice sweet and clear as a blackbird’s. By their baffled expressions, Harrison suspected that Kostas and Victor understood few of the words. The song was her code, he realised. She was telling him a version of her own story, disguised in the verses of an ancient ballad.

  When she finished, while Kostas and Victor were still applauding, Harrison kissed her on the cheek and made a show of lingering to nuzzle her hair. He whispered as clearly as he dared, ‘Don’t say anything. Grab your passport and hide it under your dress.’ She stiffened in his arms, but he knew immediately that she understood. Harrison let go of her, sat down beside Kostas and Victor again and said, ‘Lucy, I’m afraid you’ve broken my heart all over again. I wonder if you might wait in your cabin. I have something to discuss with Victor.’

  She gave him a sideways look and said seductively, ‘I know what your game is. You get nothing for free here.’

  ‘Some things are worth paying for,’ he replied.

  When she had gone, he turned to Victor and said, ‘I want to marry her. Kostas and I would like to make you an offer for her. Kostas has agreed to pay whatever you require for your satisfaction, and in return he will receive a very favourable price for my estate.’

  ‘You really do love this girl?’

  ‘With all my heart. I will be forever in your debt.’ They eyeballed each other across the table for a couple of seconds, and Harrison knew that Victor wasn’t buying it. The old man knew a game when one was dealt out.

  Even so, he liked to play. He closed his eyes and allowed a pained expression to cross his face. ‘You must understand that Lucy is precious to me too. I couldn’t let her go to just anyone. I think of her as a member of my little family here. Almost like a daughter.’

  ‘But she’s not your daughter. I believe you do business with Quentin Merriweather.’

  Victor’s eyes became meaner. ‘We have worked together, on occasion. What do you know about that?’

  ‘Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not in the habit of passing judgement on another man’s business. But Quentin worries for Lucy. He would like her to be home in Scotland, and wouldn’t like to think she was unhappy in any way.’

  Kostas cleared his throat before this line of conversation could progress any further. ‘Victor, I must confess. You know that I have also fallen under Lucy’s spell and I care very deeply for her. Alas I am a married man and I still love Kaliope, so I must do the honourable thing and release her into the arms of my lonely friend.’

  Victor made a show of considering their protestations, with an excess of huffing and sighing. He uncorked the Talisker and refilled all three glasses. He swilled his glass and stared down into it.

  Then, at last, he nodded. ‘If this is real love, then who am I to put a price on that? If she is willing to go with you, then you may take her freely.’

  ‘Sir.’ Harrison shook Victor’s hand, once again detecting next to no emotion. ‘Your generosity does you credit. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me.’

  Victor smiled. ‘That is all the thanks I need. Let’s bring Lucy back and see what she says.’ He rose from his chair, pressed a button on an intercom, and issued an order to somebody at the other end. ‘She’s on her way.’

  When Lucy returned, he asked her to sit with them at the table and, like a seasoned matchmaker, set out the proposal.

  ‘My dear, Mr McKenzie has professed his love for you in the strongest possible terms and I believe he is an honest and good man. I have agreed to let you go only on the condition that you do so happily.’

  Harrison reached across the table and took her hand. ‘Will you marry me, Lucy? Come home with me?’

  ‘Marry you?’ she repeated.

  He nodded, holding her gaze. ‘Will you come home to Scotland with me?’

  ‘Yes. She forced out a breath of giddy laughter as understanding dawned. ‘Oh my God, yes, I ... will.’

  ‘Ah, wonderful,’ Victor said. He placed his own swollen hands over theirs. ‘Then our business is concluded. Lucy, my dearest girl, I am so sorry to be losing you. You please wait here with your fiancé, and I will have your things packed and brought up. Excuse me for a moment.’ He disappeared out of the stateroom.

  ‘Have you got your passport?’ Harrison asked Lucy, who was sitting like a cat on a fencepost, ready to spring away.

  ‘Yeah. Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘Tell you later,’ he said. He got up and went to the door, listening intently for voices. It was strangely silent. Victor hadn’t alerted any of his staff to his suspicions; he wanted to take care of this business himself, without attracting attention. His intention wasn’t to kill, just to threaten Harrison into leaving without a fuss. He couldn’t afford to attract attention; the whole operation depended upon this island safe haven, where nobody saw or said a thing.

  ‘He’s not going to let me go,’ Lucy said, her voice breaking with panic.

  ‘Victor will keep his word,’ Kostas lied.

  ‘Quiet, both of you,’ Harrison snapped. He closed his eyes and tried to follow Victor. The old man was in a smaller, windowless cabin with a desk and a safe concealed behind a panel. He opened the door, removed a gun and slipped it into the waistband of his trousers. It seemed that Amy’s dream of a commando raid had not been as wide of the mark as they had hoped.

  ‘He’s coming back,’ Harrison said, his heart banging. ‘Kostas, take off your belt.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Your belt.’ Harrison did the same, and stood beside the door, holding the length of brown leather in his left hand. ‘Stand behind me.’

  ‘You can’t…’ Kostas floundered, realising Harrison’s intentions.

  ‘Yes, I can,’ he said, realising that the whisky had probably made him over-confident. There didn’t seem to be any other choice now. ‘Do it
.’

  Shocked into submission, Kostas took off his belt. He and Lucy moved into place behind Harrison and pressed themselves against the wood-panelled wall.

  Victor paused momentarily when he saw they were no longer in their seats. Harrison delivered a sweeping kick to his groin, dropping him to his knees, and followed it with one to the belly, winding him. As he lay shuddering on the ground, Harrison hauled his arms behind his back and looped the belt twice around his wrists. ‘Get his ankles.’

  Kostas did as he was ordered, securing Victor’s feet. Harrison looped the two belts together so that Victor was bent back on himself in a way that no doubt caused his stiff, bulky body considerable pain. He writhed, still struggling to regain his breath. Harrison fished the gun out of the man’s trousers and pointed it at his head.

  ‘One telephone call from me, or my friend who is waiting for us just outside, and your whole sordid little trade will come crumbling down around you, Victor. You, Merriweather, and Mr Gianopoulos here. What do you say, Kostas? What do you think Victor should do?’

  ‘He should keep his fucking mouth shut if he knows what’s good for him,’ Kostas said, very clearly, all pretence of friendship dropped.

  ‘And that’s what he’s going to do.’ Harrison stood up, still aiming the gun at Victor’s head. ‘Go, both of you.’

  Kostas and Lucy scurried out of the stateroom, and Harrison backed out behind them, pulling the door shut behind him. None of Victor’s staff accosted them on the way out; Harrison suspected they were ordered to their cabins while Victor did business. He dropped Victor’s gun quietly into the water on the way out and caught hold of Lucy’s hand.

  ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Harrison walked hand in hand with Lucy off the Circe, with Kostas following behind. They walked straight past Amy, who was sitting in the sun at the end of the pier, writing in a notebook. She let them go by and, half a minute later, got to her feet and walked after them.

  At a safe distance away from the Circe, she caught up with them. Up close, Lucy stank of old wine. She looked pale, ill and far too young. Under her makeup, her skin was waxy. Even the most striking beauty could ebb away under the wrong circumstances, and hers had been wrong for a very long time.

  ‘The next hydrofoil is leaving in twenty minutes,’ Amy said. ‘We can make it.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Lucy asked, squinting into the bright sunlight. She looked like she’d been in a cave for several weeks. ‘Does somebody want to explain to me what’s going on?’

  Harrison kept walking. ‘You’ll be glad to know you’re not getting married.’ He sounded shaken and a little bit drunk.

  She shielded her eyes and tried to focus on him. ‘You said your name was Alastair?’

  ‘Oh ... no, sorry. My real name is Harrison Jones. This is my partner, Amy Bell.’

  She wrenched her hand from his and stopped dead. ‘Harrison Jones? Alastair McKenzie was more believable. Who are you, police or something?’

  ‘No. Private investigators.’

  ‘Private fucking investigators? Who sent you? Was it you?’ She turned to Kostas.

  ‘No, but they enlisted my help and I was only too glad to give it. Oh Lucy, I am so desperately sorry.’

  ‘What are you sorry for?’

  ‘For the things he made you do.’

  ‘You bastard. How the fuck do you know what he made me do? How much money did you take for me?’

  ‘None at all, I promise.’

  ‘I suggest we have this conversation at another time,’ Harrison said hurriedly. ‘We need to get onto that bloody hydrofoil and away from here.’

  ‘What’s up?’ Amy asked. ‘How much did you have to pay him?’

  ‘Nothing. He was persuaded to let her go.’ He glanced at her. ‘Just keep…’ He waved his hand behind him. ‘Watch our backs, will you?’

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘I’m fine.’ But his voice was clipped, as if he was afraid of tempting fate.

  They walked as quickly as they could toward the quay where people were already lining up to board. Amy’s heart was racing as she glanced over her shoulder. The warning drone was louder now, and she had the same feeling she used to get on deployment, moments before something blew up. But scanning the harbour, she could see nothing untoward. ‘I think we’re clear.’

  ‘Aren’t you people even going to tell me where you’re taking me?’ Lucy demanded. ‘You can’t just put me on another boat.’

  ‘We’re all going together,’ Kostas replied. ‘We will go to Athens, and then the three of you will fly back to Scotland where you will see your mother.’

  She rounded on him. ‘Don’t you speak to me about my mother. My mother doesn’t care whether I live or die, and neither do you. If you loved me, you would have let me stay with you. You would have left Kaliope for me.’

  ‘Lucy, your mother hired us to find you,’ Harrison said.

  ‘That’s bollocks.’

  ‘She didn’t think you’d believe it either, but it’s true. Look, you don’t have to go back to her if you don’t want to, but we need to get away from here.’

  They joined the queue for the hydrofoil and moved toward the gangway. Lucy fidgeted and looked out towards the Circe, almost like she wanted to run back to it. She slid her hands up her bare forearms.

  ‘It’s going to be alright,’ Amy said, trying to reassure herself as well as Lucy.

  ‘I don’t feel well. I’m so cold.’

  ‘You can borrow a jumper once we’re on board. Do you still have your passport?’

  ‘I don’t ...’ her eyes darted between the three of them. Then she hitched up her dress and slipped it out of her underwear.

  ‘I tried to escape, but ... ’

  ‘Let’s talk once we’ve got somewhere more private,’ Amy said, touching her arm. She withdrew their open-ended tickets back to Athens, including the one she’d optimistically bought for Lucy. The boat was busy and shapeless worries danced around on her chest, but the heavy metal gangway felt like a threshold into a safer place. She followed Kostas, Harrison and Lucy up the ramp, scanning in front and behind them, and wishing she had someone to watch her own back.

  Kostas boarded and walked through the doors into the seating area. As Harrison offered his ticket to the collector at the door, a man in the dark blue uniform of the Hellenic Coast Guard stepped into view and blocked his way.

  ‘I’m sorry sir, I cannot let you on board. You must come with me. And the ladies.’

  ‘What’s the problem here?’ Harrison demanded in a voice that was not his own. ‘Our friend has just boarded.’

  ‘Mr Gianopoulos is free to go.’ He grasped Harrison’s arm and wrenched it harshly, forcing him to spin around.

  ‘Are we under arrest? What crime have we committed?’

  His tone was more argumentative than Amy thought wise at this stage.

  The officer didn’t answer. ‘You must come with me. You women follow me, please.’

  ‘Kostas!’ Lucy shouted, pointlessly. Kostas had already disappeared, without a glance backwards.

  The officer frogmarched Harrison down the gangway, through the crowd of staring people. When they had gained a little distance from the hydrofoil, he stopped, still gripping Harrison’s arm. He nodded at Amy and Lucy.

  ‘Walk in front of me. With him. Keep your hands where I can see them. Now move.’

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ Amy demanded, trying not to let her voice betray the fact that she had seen this coming. She should have said something. She should have warned Harrison.

  ‘To the police station.’

  ‘The police station’s the other way.’

  ‘You have been accused of the theft of property from the yacht, Circe. You will be taken for questioning.’ They were moving too quickly back in the direction of the Circe. Amy’s legs felt wooden, as if they had lost their connection with her brain, but the situation unfolded like a map in front of her.


  The officer looked to be in his late fifties, with a paunch and a smoker’s wheeze: feathering his nest with Victor’s payoffs before slipping into a comfortable retirement. She was confident that she could take him down, if she had the guts to do what was necessary. She would have to be quick. Forcing herself to keep walking as calmly as possible, she allowed him to march them all the way along the stone quay toward the yacht. They needed to get around the other side of the boat, away from the village square and its unsuspecting citizens, so that the mob didn’t descend immediately and finish the job for him.

  They came alongside the stern of the yacht. A voice burnt into her memory shouted ‘Now. Go now!’ She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath and stopped short.

  As she expected, the officer raised his arm to prod her in the back. She stepped back against his hand, trapped his arm under her own and spun toward him as explosively as she could. With her free hand she grabbed his throat, while at the same time driving a knee into his groin. He wobbled and took a step back from her, wrenching his arm free and grasping for the pistol at his hip.

  Harrison lunged forward. Amy screamed, ‘Harri, the gun!’ But momentum had already taken control of him. He seized the man by the collar and delivered a single, driving punch to his solar plexus.

  The officer was stunned. He collapsed face forward onto the ground, the gun tumbling out of his hand. Amy snatched it and trained it at the back of his head until she was confident that he wasn’t faking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw motion on board the Circe.

  She threw the gun into the water, snatched Lucy’s hand and said, ‘Run!’

  THIRTY-SIX

  They made it back to the hydrofoil just as the gangway was lifting, and were allowed to board without further challenge from the crew. The unspoken understanding of this place seemed to be holding; nobody had seen a thing. From his seat, Kostas observed them with a passive expression and an aura of hate. Lucy paused at his row and opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘Walk past,’ Harrison muttered. She said nothing and moved along. They slipped into seats, afraid to speak until the engines began to rumble beneath them. Sweat dampened his shirt. He cleaned his glasses and tried to regain control of his breath. His head spun and the back of his neck prickled. He glanced around, scanning the other passengers for signs of suspicion. There was nothing unusual, except the same restrained venom and fear coming from the direction of Kostas. Good, Harrison thought. Let the man stew in it for as long as possible. He deserved that, at the very least.