A Poisonous Journey

by Malia Zaidi

  I wash quickly, slip into a soft cotton nightgown and open the window again to allow fresh air and the soft light of the moon to filter into the gloom. The large bed seems to welcome me with open arms, cool smooth sheets enveloping my tired body in a gentle embrace. My head nestles into the pillow, and my thoughts drift away.

  CHAPTER 21

  I wake with a start. DARS THF. Darius. Thief. The code, the journal. The jumble of letters dances through my mind. We have been blind! Darius. He was blackmailing Darius. Him a thief? Can it be? How would he have known? A moment of doubt plagues me, but I bat it aside. Instict tells me I am right. What should I do?

  Sitting up in bed, back straight, jaw tight, I decide to tell the others. I can’t let this remain unsaid. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I search for my slippers, still lost to the dark of the room. As I make for the door, I pull on my robe.

  The hallway is dark and utterly silent, and I suddenly feel foolish about rousing everyone to bring up a miserable new development, especially after we had such a lovely evening together. With some hesitation, I stand in front of the door to Daniel’s room, which is closer than Briony and Jeffrey’s. Should I really wake him? Yes. The idea has firmly taken root in my mind, and I cannot shake it off until I have passed it on.

  Two gentle knocks against the door. Stepping close, I hold my ear to the wood. Nothing. I knock again. What if he doesn’t answer? I listen. There is movement. I hear the approach of shuffling steps.

  The door opens and a puzzled Daniel appears, patting down his hair. "Evelyn?" he whispers. In the gloom I cannot read the expression on his face. "Is everything all right? Has something happened?" His questions are hurried, and he leans slightly towards me as he speaks.

  "Yes, no. I don’t know … Daniel—"

  "Wait, let me get a candle." He disappears for a moment, then reappears, spectre-like, holding a flickering candle that sets his face aglow.

  "Daniel, do you remember the ‘DARS THF’ entry in Caspar’s journal?"

  He wrinkles his brow. "Yes, what of it?"

  "I think, it means ‘Darius,’" I explain, conviction suddenly absent in my voice. "Darius Thief."

  Though the hall is still dark, I can see Daniel pale, his expression changing immediately. He opens his mouth, shakes his head and rubs his chin before finding his tongue.

  "My god! You are right. How could we have missed it? All of us." He runs a hand through his hair and I see the other, still holding the candle, trembling slightly, causing rivulets of molten wax to run like tears down the sides. Carefully, I take it from him, thinking of Briony’s dismay at wax stains in the carpet.

  "I can’t be certain, of course, but it is too coincidental, do you not think so? Or did Caspar know any other Darius?"

  "No," He shakes his head. "It’s not an uncommon name, but we’ve been here only a little over two months. How many people named Darius would he have been likely to meet?"

  "If he had known more than one, he might have added the first letter of the last name to his code. Although he would have known which Darius of his acquaintance he was blackmailing," he winces.

  I add a meek, "sorry."

  "Sadly, I believe you are right. How could he do this? Darius is a friend, how could he blackmail him?" Daniel leans against the frame of the door. "I don’t think I knew him very well at all."

  "Don’t let all this spoil your memories of him." Without thinking, I place a hand on Daniel’s arm.

  "He was a blackmailer, a womanizer, a philanderer … I have been blind." Knowing nothing to say in defense of his former friend, I opt for silence. He goes on, "And Darius a thief? I cannot believe it? He is so proper. Civilized in every way. Quite a bore, if you pardon my judgement."

  "Maybe it was a misunderstanding. Caspar might have read too much into something he knew little about."

  "It must be true, if he kept it written in that nasty book of his." Daniel sighs. "I suppose, we ought to tell Jeffrey and Briony."

  "They will forgive us if we wait until the morning. I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I wanted you to be the first to know. The news will keep. We can let them get a few more hours rest."

  "Yes. You’re probably right."

  "Daniel … do you think this means Darius might—"

  "Be the killer?" Daniel shrugs, "I do not know. I know too little of what I want to know and too much of what I don’t."

  "We will have to tell Dymas."

  He gives me a resigned nod. "We will. It must be resolved soon, somehow."

  "I hope so." We stand together another moment, silent, the quivering light of the candle enveloping us in its soft glow, casting dancing shadows onto the walls.

  "We should try to get some more sleep." Daniel says, making no move to back away. We always seem to find ourselves in moments such as these where some intangible force holds us together, but something more powerful pulls us apart.

  "Yes," I say quietly, knowing more sleep will be hard to come by this night. I turn around still holding his candle, its warm light guiding me safely to my room.

  CHAPTER 22

  Jeffrey and Briony take the news with surprising calm. Jeffrey shakes his head and mutters something like, "what is this world coming to," and his wife, shadows beneath her bright blue eyes, shakes her head and stirs half-heartedly in her porridge.

  Daniel and I decide to go into town and learn whether the Inspector can be found on a Sunday. Jeffrey is keen to withdraw to the library to work, and Briony begs off as well, claiming the urgent need to catch up on her letters, reminding me that I really ought to do the same when time permits.

  Dymas, as is discovered by a quick telephone call, is at the station, closing a different case and will see us before he goes home at midday. Once dressed, we borrow two bicyles and make our way down the gravel drive to the main road. It is a warm day, the sun climbing ever higher into the cloudless blue, the fragrance of wildflowers and herbs along the lane filling our nostrils. We reach the road and swing ourselves onto the saddles. I am wearing soft brogues, which make the act of pedaling up and down the uneven landscape slightly more manageable. My hat, a straw cloche with a smattering of tiny flowers on the side, shades my face. The air sweeping at us as we roll down to the village is glorious and fresh and makes me grateful, once again, to be alive in this place.

  Once in Miklos, we climb off our bicycles, pushing them along, until we reach the police station. Leaning them against the wall, trusting in the goodwill of the villagers not to steal or vandalize, we enter.

  I straighten my hat and smooth the front of my blouse. Daniel watches with a curious expression. After a short conversation with the desk sergeant, we find we are in luck. Inspector Adriano Dymas has returned from another inquiry and can be found in his office. We follow the sergeant down the hallway to the familiar door. His short knock is answered, and we are admitted.

  Dymas is seated behind his desk, much as we last left him. Sleeves folded up to his elbows, which are resting on the tabletop, littered with papers. He looks up as he sees us enter and gets to his feet.

  "Inspector, these are—"

  "Yes, yes. Thank you Stavros. Hello, Miss Carlisle, Mr. Harper, you wanted to speak to me?" He motions to the empty chairs in front of his desk.

  "Inspector, have you had a chance to think any more about the entries in the journal?" Daniel asks as we agreed he should.

  Dymas frowns thoughtfully. "I am afraid I can add nothing new to what we already know. You have wasted your journey."

  "We think we may have come across an enlightening idea," I start, my eyes focusing on the inspector.

  "Oh?" He forms a steeple with his hands, elbows again resting on the table.

  "We think the ‘DARS THF’ entry stands for ‘Darius Thief.’"

  Daniel continues, "The only Darius of our acquaintance is Darius Calandra, a curator at the museum in Heraklion. Of course, it is possible Caspar knew another man of this name, but I think it unlikely."

  "Darius Cala
ndra?" Dymas’ eyes widen. "Darius a thief? I cannot believe it. He is the picture of a model citizen."

  "That may well be." Daniel concedes. "But he is human, and humans make mistakes. Theft is one thing, murder another."

  "Good God, man! Now he’s a murderer? This is maddness. I know Darius, he is not a violent man."

  "Think of the way Caspar was killed," I am trying for a calm tone, "poison is not a violent weapon. It creates distance between the murderer and the victim. It is clean and difficult to trace. An intelligent man like Darius might have considered this."

  Daniel raises his hands in a placatory gesture. "We do not want Darius to be guilty, but if Caspar was blackmailing him, there is a motive. Further, if Darius didn’t go to the police about the blackmail, he was likely guilty of the theft he is accused of."

  Dymas shakes his head and leans back in his chair, eyeing us with wary eyes. "I hope you are wrong. He is a good man, and he would have ruined his life, if this is true."

  "Someone ruined Caspar’s life," Daniel coldly retorts. "True, it seems he was not a very good man. Nevertheless, he was alive, and now he is dead. He deserves justice, if nothing else."

  "Of course. I apologize." Dymas nods. "I will think about how to act on this new information."

  "Surely you will question him?"

  "Yes, that is certain. Still, how to do it without causing alarm? I need to have a strategy. Darius is an intelligent man. He will wonder why I am asking, and he may panic. I interviewed him shortly after the murder to establish his alibi, since he was on the list of your dinner guests and therefore one of the last people who saw the victim alive. His alibi sounded solid enough. He was at the museum. A number of people confirmed this."

  "He would only have needed an hour to go to the villa and come back. He has a car. Daniel, do you remember, we saw him driving to the villa days after the murder when we were walking to Miklos?"

  Daniel nods. "His car would not have been as fast as the Delage. It may have taken him longer to get there and back to Heraklion without anyone noticing his absence. Perhaps you are right, inspector. I hope so."

  "I will call the museum to see whether he is in today. We may have resolution by this evening. I will inform you of any news or," he adds frowning, "if an arrest is made." Understanding this to be our dismissal, we rise. Dymas, too, gets to his feet.

  "Goodbye." Dymas looks weary as we take our leave. I share his hope that our suspicion is proven wrong. Darius appears like such a mild-mannered and kind man. While this does not prove his innocence, it makes me wish for it.

  "What are you thinking?" Daniel’s voice pulls me back to the present. We are walking down the narrow, sunlit alley running along the side of the police station. Few people are about. Those who are send us friendly smiles and go about their business.

  "I don’t know. I just don’t know what to think."

  "Isn’t it somehow surprising that such crimes still shock us?" Daniel asks, without turning to me. "We have experienced so much violence, so much human evil in our lifetime, and still we are disturbed by a single man’s murder." His tone is matter-of-fact.

  "Wouldn’t it be terrible if we didn’t care, if we weren’t disturbed by such tragedy? Isn’t it a sign of our humanity that we react to new horrors with sadness, anger and fear?" I watch his profile as he gives a gentle nod.

  "Let us have something to drink." Daniel gestures at Hector’s Café, which has appeared right when we need it. Upon settling into the same chairs we occupied days ago, Daion, the owner, approaches with a cheerful smile.

  "A coffee and—" Daniel casts me a questioning glance.

  "A lemonade, please." Daion disappears inside, returning within moments with our drinks and a small plate of rectangular biscuits.

  "On the house," he says, and turns to a group seated at another table opposite us.

  Daniel hestitates a moment, eyeing me curiously. "I am sorry if I spoke too harshly. I am not truly so cynical." He takes a small sip of coffee and winces as it scalds his tongue.

  "It’s all right. I understand, and in many ways it is true."

  "Hm …" is all he adds.

  I let my gaze wander to the people strolling by, allowing Daniel a moment to collect himself and steer the topic of conversation onto a different path.

  "Oh, damn," he exclaims, surprising me. I nearly knock my glass off the table.

  "What is the matter?"

  "Sorry, sorry." His right hand has flown to his forehead. "I forgot to ask Dymas about funeral arrangements. I wanted ask how soon we can bury him."

  "I suppose he will tell you once they release the body."

  "You are probably right. Still, I would like to get it over with. There need to be some measures taken toward resolution, not only for me …" He breaks off, gazing at his hands.

  "For Caspar as well?" I finish the sentence. He looks up and nods.

  "I am not a religious man, but somehow I feel his spirit, does that sound mad?"

  "Not at all," I reply.

  "I want him and this horrible business laid to rest."

  "We could go back to the station, if you like?"

  "No, no. You are right. Dymas will tell us."

  I nibble at one of the biscuits for something to do, to give myself a moment to think, rather than much of an appetite. Daniel mentioning Caspar’s spirit touched a raw nerve near the surface of my too-thin skin. The idea of spirits, ghosts of those loved and lost hovering around, has always been a comforting idea for me. While some memories can be sheer misery, the thought of some part of my parents accompanying me, warming me, is one I secretly cling to with all my heart. When the distractions of everyday are not enough and lonliness looms, I draw strength from these spirits, be they real or in my mind.

  "Evelyn, are you all right?"

  "What? Oh, sorry. Yes, I’m quite all right." I smile and take a sip of the lemonade.

  "Did I upset you?" His forehead creases, and he presses his lips together.

  "No, don’t worry. I was only thinking."

  "What about? Your family?" Catching himself in this intimate enquiry, he blushes and quickly adds, "Sorry—"

  "You must stop apologizing!" I cannot help but smile at his tense face. "It’s all right. I won’t collapse at your feet at a sign of distress."

  "I know you won’t." His expression softens. "You have proven yourself quite courageous."

  "Have I? I haven’t done anything."

  "Oh, you may not notice it, not every woman would be able to cope with what has happened—"

  "Not every woman!" I shake a finger in playful reproach. He grimaces.

  "Again, I apologize. Every person. Better?"

  "Go on."

  "I am only saying, you have coped very well, considering that you came here for a relaxing holiday in the sun. I am grateful to be able to discuss everything with you. Jeffrey is a good friend, but he is busy with his own life and didn’t much care for Caspar. Briony and I don’t truly have very much in common. Besides, she is clearly troubled by something herself." He lowers his eyes for a moment and swirls the remaining coffee in his cup.

  "I am happy you trust me." My tone is light, though I feel the weight of what he has said, acknowledging the strange bond, which has formed between us as a result of this tragic event.

  "Cheers to that." Daniel lifts his cup and I clink mine against it.

  "To good friends!"

  "Indeed, good friends." Some emotion I cannot identify crosses his suntanned face, and then it is gone.

  CHAPTER 23

  After our refreshments have been removed and our bicycles retrieved from the police station, we are on our way again. The ride is more difficult this time, mostly uphill and soon the muscles in my calves burn from the effort. The air is pleasant, neither too hot nor too cool, and I enjoy the awareness of my body’s strength as we labor up the winding road.

  My mind drifts to the conversation we had at the café. Daniel is afraid of being happy, of laughing, of enjoying life aga
in. He feels the heavy weight of guilt, much more than I do. It is a guilt that comes from surviving, from being the one that remains to live a life of which only a shell remains all else having been shattered and broken. I am certain he is lonely, too. Drifting from one place to another, not finding an anchor, not want to. Is he escaping to outrun memories or ghosts? Mentioning Caspar’s spirit revealed a glimpse of his turmoil.

  We reach a bend in the road, and Daniel glances back at me, making sure I am following. Nothing is said. We let the wind tug at our hair, and I fear for my hat. As we ride along the side of the mountain, gulls circle above us, white and gray shrieking figures in the peerless blue sky. Despite anxiety weighing heavy on my mind, my muscles relax. This island has crept under my skin. The ever-present sun, the vibrancy of colors, smells of salt, and herbs and dry earth fill my senses with something akin to ambrosia. It is a balm for my scarred psyche, and I apply it with devotion. My skin has taken on a healthy, golden tone, and my cheeks feel hot and flushed as I pedal harder. The sun is in our backs now, and its warm rays caress the exposed skin at the nape of my neck.

  When we turn again, a group of Kri-Kri—Cretan mountain goats—come into view, cocking their heads at us as we roll past. To our left a small orange grove appears, a lush speck in this barren scene. I wish I could paint, or had a camera that could capture these striking contrasts. In truth though, a picture could never evoke the majesty of this place. What makes it come alive—what makes me almost sense the very heart of the earth I tread on—is being here in this very moment and creating a living memory inside of me. What is an image of the sea, if I cannot smell the salt? What a photograph of the donkey, if I cannot hear its friendly bray? Whatever happened, I am here and I am alive.

  Supplied with renwed energy by this elation, I push past Daniel, lifting my hat in salute, and roll down the last stretch of dirt road to the villa, glowing pale and beautiful ahead.

  When we enter the house breathless from our effort, which turned into a race I am proud to say I won, we are greeted by Niobe, bearing a tray.