“Philippos chose at this point to exceed his instructions, smart lad! He decided to follow up the financial slurs by tracking down a rival taxi firm. He took a ride in the cab of one of their operatives. You know how drivers like to gossip … Once around the Acropolis with a captive audience and they’ll reveal the secrets of the universe to a complete stranger. So long as he shares the driver’s political opinions and has an understanding ear. And Philippos knows how to offer that! Out it all came in torrents! ‘That Volos clan! Those buggers get all the best concessions! And that costs money! Where does the funding come from?’ The driver quoted Rumour as his source for the assertion that the money was foreign money. ‘About time someone checked. Turkish money. Could that be legal?’
“It was said that the Volos family came originally from Macedonia. They’d had wealthy landowning relations up there before they were all cleared out. Ottoman Turks by descent. ‘Well, half-and-half, probably’ was the driver’s opinion. ‘Registered as Muslim, anyway, and we all know what happened to them! Put on a boat and sent back to where they came from, the Turks. To a country glad enough to have them … so what did they think they were up to—coming back again on the sly and buying up the city?’”
The inspector sighed with satisfaction. “That was the gist of it—the rest was pure scandalous speculation—but my colleague Theotakis is on to it. Shaking out the records department.”
He watched Letty’s face becoming increasingly stricken as she listened to his account, making connexions. He added quietly: “And I took the step of ringing Andrew’s bank and summoning up the chest he bequeathed to Miss Laetitia. They’re going to get it out of their strong room. I’ve ordered it for four o’clock. We’ll have a look inside and then send it straight back again. Their delivery service is discreet and armed, I understand. And, depending on what we find, we’ll supplement with backup of our own. I’m thinking—as I see you are, miss—that it may well provide us with answers. With motive for two murders …”
“And one attempted murder,” Gunning reminded him.
“A murder as yet unachieved,” said the inspector. “A murder well past what an architect might call ‘the planning stage.’ Works in progress and awaiting further action, I fear, Gunning.”
“And, in the circumstances, you won’t be requiring …?” Gunning, grim-faced and hesitant, was interrupted by a decisive reply.
“No, indeed. I’m sure we’ll all feel easier if Miss Laetitia retains possession of her pistol.”
Chapter 29
Maria was clearing away the remains of their sandwich lunch, eaten from trays on their knees in the drawing room—a scene that would have horrified the late mistress—when Chief Superintendent Theotakis was announced. The robust clouds of blue tobacco smoke wreathing his head would have had Maud running from the room with her nose in a lace handkerchief. In deference to her shade, which seemed to be never far away, Letty hurried to find an ashtray into which he might tip the spoil heaps of his capacious pipe. “So this is where it happened?” The superintendent got straight down to business, allowing Montacute to walk him over the scene of Maud’s plunge from the balcony. His commanding presence and swift assimilation of the facts of the crime scene reassured Montacute to the point where he felt able to slip into the recital a reference to his experimental ejection of Letty from the balcony.
The superintendent’s eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed again in humorous speculation. “Good Lord! And you condoned this activity, miss? Simulated defenestration by Montacute? A considerable test of nerve, I’d have thought!”
“No danger. My bodyguard was on hand to see fair play,” said Letty, indicating Gunning.
Theotakis looked sharply at Montacute’s black eye, sighed, and spread his hands in a brief gesture of incomprehension. He hurried on to his next point and, finally satisfied: “No, no. I’m happy to settle down in here,” he said when invited to retire to the library. “That chair looks comfortable.”
He installed himself in Maud’s chair, unwittingly assuming her ancient authority by doing so, and indicated that they should sit opposite on the sofa. He began his summary.
“Autopsy progress, first of all. We have a completed report on the professor (here’s a copy), though the examination of his wife is still continuing. Nearly there, I understand, and no surprises—broken spine, cracked skull, other internal injuries. We’re just awaiting elucidation and expansion by her own medical man. More than a polite gesture, you understand—it’s always a wise precaution where there’s a possibility of suicide. It would be reassuring to have an informed opinion on her state of mind. And Peebles is obviously the man to supply this.” He hesitated for a moment and affected to refer to a document in his file. “Reason to believe that there is a question of mental instability in the family … a grandmother receiving special care back in an institution in England, I understand from your witness, Percy?”
“‘Loopy as a crocheted doily’ was the layman’s term supplied by the unfortunate lady’s other granddaughter.”
“Ah yes … the granddaughter, presently enjoying our hospitality at police headquarters.” The superintendent frowned and glanced at Letty. Obviously toning down the strength of his criticism of a colleague, he asked: “Arrest perhaps a little premature, Percy?”
“Think of it as protective custody, Markos,” said Montacute. “Family under unexplained attack and Miss Templeton the next one in line, so to speak.”
“Well, she gives us no trouble—for the moment. And is the source of much information regarding the two victims,” Theotakis conceded. “Very forthcoming on the Merriman marriage. It seems to me we do well to hold fire on the circumstances of Lady Merriman’s demise, pending Peebles’s statement on the old lady’s mental robustness. We must allow that Miss Templeton’s opinion may well be informed by personal prejudice. Wretched man! Taking off into the country without a by-your-leave!” he said testily.
“It is the weekend, Markos!” Montacute protested. “And I don’t think the doctor felt obliged to stand about waiting on us. In the circumstances. We … I … did rather muscle in and take over last night. In fact, I remember dismissing him,” the inspector confessed awkwardly. “‘Nothing more you can do, Doctor … Don’t worry, we’ll take it from here…’ I remember saying. Fences to mend there, I fear.”
“You agree, then—we withhold a decision from friends and family until we can speak with full authority? Family members especially are always reassured to hear that there is a comprehensible reason for taking one’s own life. ‘Suicide whilst the balance of mind was disturbed’… everyone understands and accepts that. Some even have the sense to take it as a warning and look into the state of their own souls.”
Everyone nodded sagely.
“As to the professor … the pathologist confirms all he said at the scene of the crime. And crime it certainly was. No chance of this being a self-inflicted injury, of course. You will see from the diagram that the wound to the heart was either carefully and professionally delivered or the result of a ‘lucky’ stab by an amateur. Impossible to say either way. ‘A single thrust penetrating the right ventricle,’ according to the doc. Blade? Two-edged, bayonet-style. We have the profile and should be able to have a shot at matching it were the actual weapon ever to come to light. Death instantaneous. Some bleeding, though not copious.”
“Height of attacker? Are they able to—Ah, here we are!
“As you see: Assuming the victim to have been standing at the time and the blow to have been dealt underhand”—he demonstrated a typical dagger lunge—“we must contemplate an attacker of the same height as the victim, or slightly less. Between five feet nine inches and six feet are the boundaries they suggest.”
They turned over a page of the copy on Montacute’s knee and read on.
“The blood samples I took from the foot of the ekkyklema when it was parked in its original position …?” said the inspector. “Here we are … Two blood types identified. Animal blood and huma
n, type two, which was Merriman’s.”
“And if you look on, to the foot of page six, paragraph number twenty-seven, you’ll see that the contents of the bottle—the swabs you took out there on the orchestra floor-conform. Animal and type two. Someone trod in the messy cocktail and then walked …”
“Or danced,” said Letty. “The chorus was all over that spot, stamping and wheeling. There we were, checking people’s underpinnings for secreted swords when we ought to have been looking at their shoes. Were you able to make out a pattern—a shoe shape? High heel? Sandal? Buskins? I noticed that the meticulous Melton had gone to the trouble of having a pair of leather buskins made for himself. A stickler for authenticity. Said he required the extra height the Greek boots give you to tower over the chorus. And he must be about six foot two in his socks anyway.”
Montacute shook his head. “I looked at it by torchlight …”
“And I again by daylight,” supplied the superintendent, “but I think we have to say—nothing conclusive. Smudges.”
“But it does tell us that it was one of the company,” said Gunning, confirming all their thoughts. “We’re not looking for a person who sneaked onto the site from the street, did the deed, and ran off the way he’d come. It was someone who killed him and then tracked the blood of his victim and the ox blood he himself poured over the body onto the orchestra floor and then calmly got on with his rehearsal. Anybody could have wandered anywhere without attracting attention. Even a scream would have been taken for Melton’s tuning up for his dreadful solo.”
“Someone, at all events, that you interviewed last night, Letty?”
His question was a gentle urging to search her memory.
“Thetis,” she said, “was the only one with visible stains on her clothing. But she handled the corpse—we all saw her lean over it. The robe was voluminous—it could easily have trailed in the blood.”
“It did,” said Montacute. “I removed it last night from her room and sent it for testing.”
“No attempt to hide or wash it, I suppose?” asked Theotakis.
“None. It was lying in a heap on the floor. She just stepped out of it and ran.”
“And, as Miss Laetitia was guessing, animal blood with a trace of human and makeup were all in evidence. And all could have been picked up by the contact described. As could the stains, the residue, on her leather sandals, abandoned along with the robe,” he added uncomfortably.
“They are being processed as we speak,” supplied Theotakis.
“But there’s the knife—what did the killer do with the knife?” she asked.
Theotakis sucked on his pipe and squinted against the plume of smoke he released, then admitted: “Nothing found.
We’ve been combing the whole scene since first light, working outwards from the centre to the furthest point anyone could hurl a dagger.” He gave a brief grin. “Troops enjoyed the dagger-hurling bit! And no damage done to the site, Miss Talbot! We even explored the channel under the pavings from the god’s pillar to the edge of the skena. Any idea what that was all about?”
Montacute answered. “One of Andrew’s conceits! It’s for the libation ceremony. He dug it to carry the poured wine away from the statue. He intended to make all good after the performance, but …” He shot an apologetic glance at Letty. “I for one thought that was going a bit far. We’ll just have to hope no investigator in the future mistakes it for an authentic piece of archaeological evidence.”
“Ah. Well, my squad took extreme care,” Theotakis said again. “We did find a few inexplicable objects I wouldn’t care to mention in mixed company, along with a gold ring, an ancient and empty man’s wallet, and a displaced portion of one of the priests’ carved stone chairs. My man was quick to spot what that was. I’ve sent it along to the museum; the restoration department will know what to do with it. But, oddly, in the bushes, we came across some more shattered remains!”
He enjoyed their puzzlement for a moment and went on to disappoint them: “The remains of no fewer than three—I don’t exaggerate—three of those heads of the god Dionysus. Swept up into a pile, as in a builder’s yard. On a site cluttered with classical remains, you could perhaps pardon my chaps for passing on to the next thing, but they saw something that caught their attention.”
“Which was …?” Montacute asked dutifully.
“They all had a smashed nose.”
“The modern Vandal, like the original, always goes for the projecting pieces of anatomy first,” Gunning commented.
Montacute was more suspicious. “Target practice, are you thinking? Any bullet holes?”
“No, nothing of the kind in the area. The noses had been knocked off by a heavy blow.”
“Smashed, you say? And three of them? Andrew’s bit of classical fantasy?” Letty asked.
“No. He’d hardly have left outside something so valuable as those sculptures would have been if authentic, exposing them to the elements and the plunderers. You can buy those busts in the Street of the Potters at the Kerameikos end for a few drachmas. They’re very convincing! People buy them to hide amongst the shrubbery in their gardens. I have one myself,” he confessed. “Not Dionysus, though! Too knowing by half! He leers at you. Always seems to know exactly what you were up to the night before! No, I choose to take my morning-after coffee on the terrace under the uncritical and radiant gaze of his half brother, the Sun God, Apollo.”
Letty’s head drooped. Another piece of fakery—another of Andrew’s disappointments. She was beginning to wonder what exactly she would find in the chest when it arrived. More copies? More traps and deceits?
“And the drinking glasses?” Montacute remembered, searching through the report. “The two on the professor’s desk? Any prints?”
“Page twenty-five, at the bottom,” said the superintendent. “We tested the drink. In both glasses. Nothing but the innocent traces of uncontaminated water inside. Merriman’s glass had his prints all over the outside. The other … nothing.”
“Nothing? What do you mean? Someone must have held it? Drunk from it?” Letty objected.
“It was largely clean, miss. A lip smear on the rim, no trace of lipstick. So, no use to us. No fingerprints.”
“So the guest wore gloves, or paused long enough to wipe his prints from the glass before leaving?”
“Are we surprised that the word ‘professional’ pops into our minds at every turn?” murmured Gunning.
“Frustrating!” the inspector summarised as they reached the end of the report. “Leave a copy with me, will you, Markos, and I’ll look through again. There may be two ends in there we’ve failed to join up.”
“Before I leave,” said Theotakis genially, “just fill me in on the events of the morning, will you, Percy? I have an article to compose for the Athens News and would welcome a few pointers …” He turned to Letty and his smile intensified. “I hear we almost lost one of our witnesses in distressing circumstances? And on this occasion the danger was not simulated?” His tone was warm, teasing, and invited a confidence. Letty decided it would be wise never to underestimate the superintendent. “Road bandits again is what we’re saying to the press, by the way. After the Delphi debacle in which the inspector played a starring role the other week, the public will shake their heads in dismay and eagerly lap up a second instalment of a story of ambush.”
“You risk spreading panic with an invention like that, Superintendent,” Gunning objected.
“No. No. Quite the reverse! Unfortunately, the shots were heard. And investigated! A cliff-top hiker took it upon himself to hurry to the spot and witness from a safe distance the last few minutes of the confrontation. He presented himself at the gendarmerie and gave a very graphic account of events, full descriptions of the participants, the lot! He then communicated his excitement and his anxiety on behalf of the public to the Athens News. No, Gunning—our hand is forced! Tourists will be reassured when they pick up the hint, ever so gently dropped, that the attack was premeditated and targeted
at one person only. To be precise: at Montacute, who is becoming quite a celebrated man and gallant figure about Athens. Everyone is aware that two of the Delphi mob are on the loose and still being sought. Large reward on their heads! All the embassies chipped in—our foreign guests go in great fear of hostage-taking and the like. The public won’t question that the thugs are now seeking vengeance in their uncouth and clannish northern way for their countrymen shot dead by the inspector. Unfortunately … can that be the right word?… they mistook Sergeant Perkins for his boss! Wearing his superior officer’s Sunday-best outfit—kindly lent to him in order to impress a young lady—at the time of the attack, the sergeant drew the bullets intended for Montacute … Despite being outgunned, the intrepid young officer managed to repel the gang. Oh, there are many intriguing angles to this story! I hurry back to finish it. A word in the right ear and it could make the front cover of Le Petit Journal!”
Letty wasn’t surprised to hear that her own practical contribution to the proceedings seemed to have been edited out. Ladylike screams and perhaps a swoon would be acceptable.
“Oh, by the way—young Demetrios …” Theotakis paused in his narrative for a moment. “That was the lad who attacked me with a feather duster in the hall when I arrived? Still here? I’m surprised he hasn’t run off. Don’t dismiss him. Leave him in place. He’s a channel to the Volos men. May come in useful. I set Records to stir about in their family history as you suggested, Percy. I’ll let you know what they come up with.”
A Darker God Page 25