‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She offered her gloved hand. ‘I truly appreciate you coming today. I wanted so much to thank you personally, and I haven’t felt much like travelling anywhere. I’m avoiding town. The police have asked us to stay close to home, where they can keep an eye on us.’
He shook her hand and felt nothing through the leather. She did, however, smell distinctly boozy. He was glad it was only a short drive to her house. ‘How are you, Elizabeth?’
She filled her lungs with salty air and nodded. ‘I am ... starting over, if such a thing is possible. My car is just here.’ She had left her Merc in the disabled bay. Harrison opted not to berate her for this.
She got in and slammed her door. Before starting the engine, she said, ‘Quentin has been charged with human trafficking offences related to the apartments at Western Harbour. I expect you’ve heard.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, please. I hope they lock him up forever. There were nine girls working there, all living in one apartment, not a single one of them over twenty. The poor things, I can’t fully understand why they didn’t simply walk away from there.’
‘Can’t you?’
Elizabeth chose not to answer his question, or perhaps not to hear it at all. ‘I think this must have all started way back when he and Kostas first met. This has been going on under my nose for years and I had no idea. I never picked up on things that should have been obvious. I am so disgusted with myself, with my complicity in all of this. It will haunt me for the rest of my days.’ She shook her head abruptly, ‘I honestly didn’t know about the girls.’
Harrison wondered how far her ignorance stretched. She had known something, if not everything; she might have intervened earlier, if she had cared less about protecting her wealth.
‘However, I did know about Lucy. I made her do it. I threatened her. I allowed him to use her.’ She pushed up her sunglasses and wiped tears from her eyes. ‘It was Quentin’s idea, to put her on display like that. It wasn’t just her voice. He made her tease and flirt like a prostitute, so he could make money. And I didn’t stop it. She was a child.’
‘You were frightened of him,’ he said, without much compassion.
‘I was, but it’s no excuse.’ She started the engine and sped down the hill toward the town.
Harrison held on and tried not to inhale her alcoholic breath or her cloying perfume. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to her trying to off-load her guilt. ‘How is Lucy, anyway?’
‘She’s letting me house her and feed her because she has nowhere else to go. Neither of us feel particularly safe in the house. We may have to sell it after all, because I’m not sure I can bear to live there anymore. I miss my dog more than I can say.’ Her eyes filled up again, and she ran her black-gloved fingers beneath them.
‘Is Lucy speaking to you?’
‘Essential exchanges only. Have you ever had a stray cat turn up in your garden? It doesn’t matter what you do, it will never allow you to touch it or love it. That’s how Lucy is. She’s a damaged girl. You know that, of course.’ The loss she felt was like cold, sucking sand. ‘I got some other news from Greece yesterday. I haven’t told Lucy yet, so please don’t say anything. Kostas is dead.’
‘Really?’ A shudder went through him. ‘How?’
‘He shot himself. I suppose he knew he was either going to prison or facing assassination by one of his former colleagues.’
Or he believed he still had a hex hanging over him, Harrison thought.
‘Kaliope rang me, actually. She’s in a terrible state, and she blames me, at least in part.’ Her voice caught and she gunned the car through a junction. ‘I actually find it hard to believe that he was involved in all of this. Quentin yes, but him? He was so good. I know that sounds ridiculous now. I just really thought he was.’
Harrison studied her quietly. Her grief was real. ‘It’s alright to be sad.’
‘Thank you for saying that.’ Her eyes flickered toward him. ‘You’re the only person who hasn’t immediately passed judgement against me. I’d like to thank you for that also.’
‘You’re my client,’ he said coolly, grateful that his skull was a good deal less transparent than hers. ‘What about Victor Mikos?’
‘Lucy has given statements and apparently Quentin has also ratted him out. To my knowledge, he hasn’t been charged yet. We can only hope that he will be, for everyone’s sake. I’m not sure I’ll rest until I know he’s been locked up for a very long time.’
Harrison decided he wouldn’t be taking a holiday in Greece anytime soon. ‘It may be a good thing for Quentin that he’s in jail at this point.’
‘I hope the brutes in there punish him in the worst possible ways,’ she replied, with dark delight. ‘Anyway, thanks to you, neither of those monsters will be harming any other women.’
Thanks to Amy, Harrison thought. He felt alone and unexpectedly lost without her. They had made a good team and she had made a harrowing job almost bearable. Common sense told him this should be his last case, but he didn’t know how to tell her. The university wasn’t going to have endless patience with him. He had told an almighty pack of lies about his absence, and it might have been enough to fool Gordon Leigh-Davies on this occasion, but he couldn’t afford to repeat it. Another one like this could get him sacked.
Never mind that. Another one like this could get him killed. They’d been lucky to get out of Greece alive.
The Merc shimmied too fast over the gravel drive and ground to a halt in front of the house. Before getting out, Elizabeth turned to him. ‘I’m sorry for my cross words the last time you came here.’
‘No apology needed.’
‘I would value your friendship, Harrison. We could meet for tea, from time to time, when I’m in town.’
‘I don’t make a habit of staying in touch with clients, Elizabeth. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh.’ She was sniffy and disappointed. ‘May I ask why?’
‘It’s ... cleaner. I’m taking your money for services provided, that’s all. I’m as mercenary as anybody else. Don’t take it personally.’
‘I don’t believe that. However, it’s up to you.’ She cleared her throat, opened her handbag and pulled out a plain brown envelope. ‘I’d prefer to give you this now, to save questions from Lucy. I’ve included your travel expenses and a little extra, as a token of my gratitude. Consider it compensation for all your troubles.’
‘You don’t have to ...’
‘I do. Please, just take it and save an embarrassing argument.’
‘Well. Thank you.’ He could feel the stack of notes inside the envelope, but didn’t open it to count them. He tucked it into his inner coat pocket.
A weak sun had penetrated the clouds. It provided no heat and did little to dispel the gloom that surrounded this house. It brought a feeling of frozen suffocation, like being buried in wet snow. One cup of her gut-melting coffee and he could add this house to a growing list of places he never had to come back to.
‘Lucy wants to see you,’ Elizabeth said, leading him into the study.
She was playing the piano. Harrison felt her presence before he saw her, the signature seductive tingle. Her voice was sweet and dangerous as a siren’s. She stopped when she saw him.
‘You look like shit.’
‘But still alive, which is the most important thing. As are you.’
She smiled. ‘I’m trying not to think about the alternative.’
‘I’ll let you talk,’ Elizabeth said, and retreated hastily.
Lucy watched her go with cold, lupine blue eyes. The sunny, sweet girl Elizabeth had described for him was gone, maybe forever. ‘I called Tim’s mum. The Greek police are now searching for his body in the sea near Kostas’s estate.’
Harrison sat down and felt slightly sick. There was still a very small possibility that he and Amy were both wrong about what they’d seen. ‘I’m glad they’re taking it more seriously now.’
‘I was so awful to him. It’s
my fault if he’s dead.’
‘You’re not the criminal here, Lucy.’
‘No.’ She danced her fingers over the high keys, making a soft, birdlike trill. ‘No, I’m not. And I’m going to give evidence against my dad. Mum and I both are.’
‘Will you stay here with her, do you think?’
‘For a while, at least until I can get some work and find a place. Mum and I ...’ she paused and changed course. ‘It’s a big house. We can avoid each other when we need to.’ She looked at him with a strange expression. ‘So how do you do it?’
‘What?’
‘The psychic thing. I thought you were kidding about hexing Kostas, but Mum told me about it. What’s your trick?’
‘There’s no trick.’
She raised a single eyebrow and laughed. ‘Right. My mother might be willing to believe anything, but I’m not.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘Prove it,’ she demanded, staring at him.
‘No. Like I said, nobody’s forcing you to believe anything.’
‘Prove it,’ she repeated.
Harrison took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on her. More images of her life trooped one after the other into his mind. He knew what she wanted him to see. Her eyes met his, daring him to say it out loud. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell the police, Lucy. Tell them everything that bastard did to you when you were little. Tell them how he used to come into your room at night. Tell them everything you’ve never uttered a word about to anyone in your life. Put him away and get your life back. Don’t let him destroy you.’
Her eyes filled with tears. She stood, crossed to the window and stared out at the meagre mid-day light.
‘For a long time, I didn’t understand that it was wrong, until he said if I told anyone, he would kill me.’
Harrison nodded and sat with this knowledge, carrying its weight with her.
Eventually, she spoke again in a determined tone. ‘I don’t understand how you know about all that, but I will tell the police. I will tell them everything, I promise you.’
Harrison nodded, accepting her unspoken gratitude, and levered himself off the settee. It was the solstice, the turning point, and that always brought a little hope. He wanted to be out walking, somewhere remote and far from people. ‘In that case, I think I’m done here. I’m going to beg a lift back to the station.’
‘Mum’s been drinking. I’ll take you.’ Lucy followed him out through the grand, frigid hall, pausing by the front door to pull on her coat and a pair of boots. Outside, she said, ‘I owe you my life. If there is ever anything I can do for you, just tell me. I’ll do whatever you like.’
He knew exactly what she was offering. He paused by the door and looked at her across the roof of the car. A lock of pale hair blew across her lips.
‘Lucy, you don’t owe any man anything.’
THIRTY-NINE
Amy finished her nightshift and walked home in the blue pre-dawn. She moved quickly, having learned to stretch her natural stride to keep up with Harrison, and the weariness of her long night fell away from her. The streets were empty and the city so quiet that birdsong was the dominant sound: sparrows in a hedge, starlings on an overhead cable, and a late squadron of geese high above. Her belly growled but she enjoyed the keen sharpness of hunger. It wakened all of her senses, especially the one that was only hers. She was still learning to recognise it, to be open to it and not to be frightened.
As she walked up South Clerk Street, she allowed a part of herself to sail, kite-like, up into the frosty morning. From a height, she could look down on the illuminated streets, spreading out like blood vessels from a heart. She could see Ricky, up early and restless for something to do, smoking in the kitchen.
She could see her sad, insomniac mother drinking tea and watching television at home in Belfast, and her brother Malcolm sleeping off his hangover. Later, her other brother Jeremy would come with his wife and their two little girls: the two nieces Amy had rarely seen, and who were being raised to believe that their auntie was mad and dangerous to know. Sometime between the overdone turkey and the store-bought pudding, they might all entertain their own thoughts of her. These would be more or less vindictive, tinted with a little miserly charity: they might allow themselves to feel sorry for her, or privately embarrassed by the way they had sometimes spoken to her. But they would not share these words with each other, and they would be relieved that she wasn’t there.
She was also relieved. It was better to be alone on Christmas Day than in the company of toxic people, even if they were your family.
She stopped on North Bridge, on the exact spot where she had first met Harrison. Now she looked down over a melee of coloured lights and fairground rides in Princes Street Gardens, and thought back over everything that had happened since then.
‘This isn’t what you want to do,’ Harrison had said. He was such an oddity, stepping out of the fog and reaching straight inside her, as if there was a door in her chest. He had taken hold of something in her, brought it out into the light and then given it back. It felt different now. She felt like a different person from the one he’d first met, five weeks ago. He had helped her see that a different life was possible to the one she’d felt so trapped in. With her new vision, she could see many roads laid out in front of her. All she had to do was choose.
‘Anyone special in your life these days?’ Aileen Jones asked her son, after dinner, pudding and too much wine. Her two single female friends had said their goodbyes and they were alone together for the first time that day. Harrison didn’t look forward to being on his own with her; his mother’s company was always easier when there were other people present. Her feelings about him were too painful and conflicted for him to carry for very long.
‘Not as such.’
‘I wish you’d find someone. I do worry about you, you know.’
It was her standard peace offering, but it never went anywhere. They were both afraid of allowing any more depth than that into their conversations. The list of things they couldn’t say to each other was longer than he could tally. He stood up and began gathering the dirty plates. ‘I’m fine on my own. You don’t have to worry.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘I give you permission not to worry about me,’ he said, because it felt like what she needed to hear. Then he added, ‘Anyway, you know it’s pointless lying to me.’
‘Stop that.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not lying, Harrison.’
‘Okay,’ he said, to avoid an argument. He carried a precarious load of dishes into the kitchen, leaving her sitting. After a couple of minutes, she followed, carrying the wreckage of the turkey. Her makeup had worn off and she looked tired and semi-drunk. The plates clanked together as she loaded them into the dishwasher.
‘Good dinner,’ he said.
‘You can take some of the turkey home with you.’ Aileen straightened up. ‘You’re too thin.’
‘I didn’t eat much while I was ill.’
‘You’re run down, obviously.’
‘I’ve been working flat out.’ She didn’t know about Greece and he had no intention of telling her.
‘And you should get the flu jab.’
‘Remind me next year. Mum, do you still have those boxes of Dad’s old notebooks and stuff?’
‘They’re in the cupboard under the stairs, I’m sure. I haven’t looked in them since I moved into this house, so I can’t guarantee they haven’t disintegrated or been eaten by mice.’
‘Do you mind if I dig them out?’
She stared up at the ceiling, trying not to show him her annoyance. ‘Why, Harrison? We’ve been through them so many times. You’re not going to find him in there.’
Harrison looked at her. ‘Have you finally given up on him?’
‘He’s dead,’ Aileen said, and she sounded more definite than she ever had. ‘It’s time.’
He pictured his dad, Alastair Jones, all six-foot-five of him,
with his ginger beard and huge, resonant laugh. How could a man that big simply disappear? ‘We don’t know that.’
‘How come, with everything you…’ she flourished her hand in the direction of his head, ‘…everything you claim to know, you can’t accept it?’
‘Because I don’t actually believe he is dead. I think he’s out there somewhere, Mum, I really do.’
‘Well, he’s dead to me. Either he made a choice or it was made for him, and that’s that. But you can pull out the boxes if you want to. You can take them home. I have no interest in looking at them again.’
He’d never heard her so adamant. Maybe it was a positive step for her, after so many years, to finally close the door. For her, it was a door that could never be re-opened. For him, it could never be closed. ‘Okay. Thank you.’
After she went to bed, he sat on the floor in the guest bedroom, opened the first of two dusty boxes and withdrew a black hardback notebook. These were his father’s field notes, the observations and descriptions from his various expeditions, very like Harrison’s own fieldnotes from Bolivia, except that they were concerned with plants, not people. The pages were yellowed and Alastair’s tiny pencil script was faded, but the power was still there.
He held the notebook between his hands and felt the excitement and curiosity that his father had poured into the pages. He’d read the notes so many times, he practically had the words memorised. In his teens, he’d been through them over and over, compulsively looking for clues, convinced his father must have left a coded message hidden in those pages. He didn’t want to look for anything now, or be reminded once again that the message he sought wasn’t there; he just wanted to remember what his dad felt like.
But still, maybe if he looked with different eyes, he would see something new. From the top pocket of his rucksack, he took a small plastic bag containing a handful of dried Salvia leaves. He took one out and looked at it for a few seconds, wondering where it would take him. He never wanted to make another journey like that last one into the Cerro Rico, no matter how useful that had turned out to be. Maybe this time it would take him somewhere better.
Siren Song (Harrison Jones and Amy Bell Mystery Book 1) Page 26