by Gavin Lyall
Then one said: ‘Say, pal, if you’ve paid for your ticket and don’t feel up to the ride, I’d be happy to oblige your lady friend.’
‘Save your strength for the mooses!’
He got his feet on to the floor and swung his right at the same time.
In that light, he wasn’t likely to be too accurate, but I had to duck anyway. And if I hit back, I’d make another five enemies …
Something small and shiny-black swished over my shoulder like a scythe and clunked solidly on the Canadian’s cheekbone. He slammed back against the bar and his knees melted. Two of his mates reached him before he hit the floor, Nina grabbed me and we ran for the stairs while they were still regrouping.
As we galloped upwards, I identified the secret weapon as a small handbag covered in black sequins; I just hadn’t noticed it before.
‘What the hell d’you keep in that bag?’
‘Just a load of pennies,’ she panted. ‘It doesn’t look as suspicious as a piece of lead.’
‘When you’ve reformed the Treasury, try for the Ministry of Defence.’
We reached the front door and she said: ‘I told you.’
Chapter 7
It was raining like something out of Noah’s memoirs. The street, pavements and parked cars were covered with a grass of spray two feet high and the only sound was a steady roar like a Waterfall. Until the street was lit by a neon-coloured flash and almost immediately a gigantic explosion of thunder right overhead.
Mediterranean thunderstorms always have an over-melodramatic quality that makes them seem unreal. Unless you’re up in among them. I said: ‘Pity poor airmen on a night like this.’
‘What?’ she shouted. ‘We’ll have to go back inside and wait.’
‘With all those mad Canucks? They’d rape both of us, and personally I’m not used to that sort of thing.’
‘Coward!’
I nodded. ‘Come on – run!’
So we ran. The moment we hit the rain, visibility went down to nil. But nobody else was fool enough to be on the street, even in a car, so we blinded up the middle and reached the Castle in about fifteen seconds – soaked through.
I was, anyway. Nina was a bit better off: her hair looked fairly lank, her legs were wet to the knees and her face was dripping, but the mac had saved the rest. It didn’t seem to cheer her much.
She shook herself angrily and said: ‘My shoes were new last week and I had my hair done only this afternoon. Blast you.’
I was taking papers from my jacket pockets and laying them on the lobby desk. They were only slightly damp and buckled. ‘Never mind, you can have a free bath while you’re here.’
‘That solves everything, of course.’ She sounded rather bitter. ‘Oh, hello Papa.’
The Sergeant didn’t even notice her. His face looked lemon yellow in the thin light and his red jacket was undone at the neck. ‘Captain – thank God you’ve come. Thank God. The man – the Professor – I think he’s dead.’
I thought so, too.
He was in the bathroom, sprawled over an upright kitchen chair, head hanging over the back so that … so that … well, so that what had been in his head had dripped into the bath.
It’s the suddenness, not the sight itself. You walk up to a wrecked aeroplane and you have time to think what you’ll see, to pull the lace curtains behind your eyes. I stepped back into the bedroom and wanted to sit down with my head on my knees, but also didn’t want to, with the Sergeant watching from the corridor. And there’d been a spatter of blood and something on the wall behind the bath … Gradually the hot-cold feeling passed and I stopped swallowing.
I said: ‘You were right first time. Get on to the police.’
‘Perhaps a doctor, too? It’s normal when something like this…’
I shrugged. ‘It’s a waste of money, but … You’d better ring Kapotas as well, so let him decide.’
He nodded and moved off, for once briskly.
Then I just stood and looked around the room. It looked tidy enough: even the glasses, champagne bottles and caviar pot – empty – were all back on the tray on the window table, beside a square rigid black briefcase. Two black suitcases stacked neatly in a corner. The silk dressing-gown folded neatly on the bed – he’d been wearing just trousers, shirt and slippers.
A tidy, economical man, the late Herr Professor. Gunshot suicide’s a messy business at best, but he’d done what he could to minimise the damage. Always assuming that it was suicide, of course.
Had there been a gun?
I could go back in and look, of course … I shut my eyes and tried to visualise the scene in there, and then tried to forget the parts I recalled best. But after a minute or so, I was sure I hadn’t seen a gun. And after another minute, I accepted there was only one way to be sure.
Downstairs, the Sergeant, Nina and the chambermaid were huddled up by the desk. They looked at me with various expressions of pale apprehension.
‘Did you get the police? And Kapotas?’
Sergeant Papa nodded. ‘He says he will come.’
Nina said: ‘I think perhaps it would be best if I went—’
‘You’d better hang on, love. The cops might get snarky if they find you’d been here and gone before they arrived.’
‘Oddly enough, I was thinking of your reputation.’
I grinned. ‘Thanks, but let my reputation look after itself. It’s big and ugly enough by now.’
She smiled lopsidedly.
I turned back to the Sergeant. ‘Where’s Ken?’
He nodded at the ceiling. ‘He came in an hour ago. Not alone.’
Any point in waking – I mean disturbing – him yet? I couldn’t think of one. Then I suddenly remembered. ‘Where in hell’s the daughter? Mitzi.’
‘Out.’ Papa looked at the wall clock, which showed five past midnight so it was only ten minutes fast. ‘Before Mr Cavitt got back. Perhaps about nine o’clock.’
I looked round to check that her key was hanging on the proper peg by the pigeonhole: it was. And in the pigeonhole for 323 there was a bright green envelope. ‘What did they do about dinner?’
The Sergeant shrugged and looked at the chambermaid and they swapped a few words in Greek. Then: ‘They did not eat downstairs. I think the Professor did not eat at all, except the caviar. So perhaps she went out for food.’
‘I don’t blame her, but she’s taking her time with it.’ Still, she could be just waiting for the storm to ease. I turned to the chambermaid. ‘Can you start making coffee? Buckets of it. It’s going to be a long night.’
Nina sighed.
First to get there were a uniformed sergeant and constable – just a reconnaissance party. They shook themselves dry in the lobby and asked if I’d sent for a doctor.
‘No.’
‘Not?’ The sergeant seemed shocked. ‘But why not?’
‘Because I didn’t know one that does head transplants.’ But he didn’t get it. I said impatiently: ‘Just go up to 323 and have a look, then tell me I was wrong. Go on.’
He frowned and led the constable upstairs. They were still there when Mitzi came in. She wore a long lightweight black coat that was hardly damp, and I saw the lights of a taxi pull away behind her. And so now somebody had to tell her … Somebody like Sergeant Papa or the chambermaid? I took a deep breath and stepped forward.
She looked puzzled at our little group. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I’m afraid your father – he’s dead.’
Her face just froze, expressionless. Her mouth moved in an odd independent way, like a puppet’s. ‘No. But how?’
‘I think he shot himself.’
She looked at the stairs. ‘Is he up there?’ She moved and I stepped in the way.
‘The police are there. Better wait until … until they’ve cleared up a bit.’
Then her face slowly crumpled and she leant over the desk, head in hands, sobbing: ‘Ach, mein Vater …
I just stood, feeling like a bundle of hands and feet
without a purpose. Then Nina came forward and put her arm round Mitzi’s shoulders, and Mitzi clung to her.
The police sergeant came downstairs looking a lot paler. I pushed the phone across to him. ‘Thank you. Yes, I see what …’ he started a fast patter in Greek.
After that, things moved quite quickly. A carload of mixed uniforms and plainclothes arrived, led by a CID inspector with the hot eyes and grubby shirt-collar of a man who’s already been on duty for more than his shift. After that, some sort of doctor or forensic man who swapped half-hearted banter with the police sergeant, sighed heavily and went upstairs. And soon after, Kapotas got in.
He was fully dressed except for a tie, but unshaven and more worried even than usual. But by then we’d opened up the bar and were sitting in groups at the tables, chain-drinking coffee and local brandy. Kapotas looked around, asked a quick question of the nearest cop, got a shrug for an answer, then came over to me. ‘My God, this is all we needed.’
‘Keep your voice down.’
He noticed Mitzi, so sat down beside me.
‘Is he really dead?’
‘He’s really short of half a head.’
‘Oh God.’ He rubbed his palms into his eyes. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Don’t know. Some time after nine, probably before eleven.’ Some of the blood had almost dried.
‘Who found him?’
‘I gather the chambermaid; she’d been ringing the room to see if she could collect the champagne tray, finally she went up and stuck her head in. She called the Sergeant. I got in just after that.’
‘He hadn’t locked the door, then?’
‘Apparently not.’ Was that another example of the Professor’s thoughtfulness?
He shook his head sadly. ‘What will this do to the hotel?’
‘We hadn’t quite got the Hilton worried before.’
Then his eyes widened in horror. ‘The register! The police are sure to want to see the register!’
‘Oh Christ.’ I thought about it. There was just one uniformed cop lounging around the lobby. With luck … I got up and went over to Mitzi.
‘Miss … Braunhof – I’m sorry about this, but if we can do it without the police noticing, can you sign the register for us? It’s a small point, but..’
She looked back, red-eyed but calm. ‘Yes, of course.’ So I led a little deputation out to the desk.
Sergeant Papa started chatting up the cop while Kapotas and I pretended to be looking for something under the desk; Mitzi leant across and watched and – well, it worked. We could only hope that her signature would do for both, but at least it looked as if we’d been more careless than crooked.
I shuffled the register back into place and took a look around before heading back. That green envelope in the Prof’s pigeonhole – maybe Mitzi should open it. No, wait a moment—
‘Who in hell put that envelope up there?’
Everybody looked round, startled. Sergeant Papa cleared his throat and said: ‘I think I did – yes …’
‘You mean somebody came and gave you that—’
‘No, no. It was just lying on the desk, so I put it in the box.’
I took it down. It just had Professor Spohr, Nicosia Castle typed on it, no stamp. It felt thin and looked cheap, like some advertising handout.
‘Neat.’ I nodded grimly. ‘And not a little bit gaudy. Somebody walks in, waits till nobody’s looking, leaves that there. Then maybe he has a drink at the bar or walks round the block, comes back and takes just a glance and he can see the Prof’s staying here – even which room he’s in. And nobody knows he’s even been asking. Neat.’
The cop was looking at me, puzzled. I hoped it was because he didn’t understand English too well.
Kapotas said: ‘But he would have had to do it for all other hotels, too.’
‘Not too many. He’d start at the Ledra and Hilton and work down until he struck oil. The others would just chuck it in the dead-letter box. It wouldn’t take him long.’ I held the letter out to Mitzi. ‘Here, you’d better open it.’
Slowly, timidly, she took it, and her hands shook a little as she ripped open the flap. Then relaxed as she handed me a folded one-page timetable for coach tours of local archaeological sites.
I nodded. ‘It’s even appropriate enough not to seem too suspicious, unless you knew how secret you and your father were trying to be.’
Sergeant Papa said mournfully: ‘I am sorry. It was stupid.’
‘It does not matter,’ Mitzi said, and turned back to the bar.
‘She’s right,’ I reassured him. ‘And anybody would have done the same.’ We followed her back to the bar-room.
Five minutes later, the cop came and said the inspector wanted to talk to the hotel management. After a bit of hithering and dithering Kapotas decided that that included me, so I went up with him and Papa.
Chapter 8
They’d taken over room 105 on the first floor, dragging in half a dozen chairs from other empty rooms and a pretty squalid collection they made, seen together and none of them matching. A young plainclothes man sat at the dressing-table ready to take notes, a uniformed sergeant guarded the door from the inside – and the inspector himself.
All experienced detectives can’t look the same and I know they don’t, but when I'm in front of one … well, there’s always that something. A sense of completeness without depth, a man without personal problems or involvement, a pathologist of events dissecting from behind a professional mask. This one had it.
That apart, he looked about fifty, which any forty-year-old has a right to do at that time of night. A pale grainy skin starting to sag off the long face into pouches under the eyes, slight jowls, the beginning of a turkey neck. Thin-rimmed glasses and bloodshot blue eyes. But sharply dressed, except for that wilted shirt, in a browny-gold suit with a slight sheen, flowered tie, fake crocodile shoes.
He sat on the bed with an open notebook, scattering cigarette ash near a crammed ashtray and waved us to sit down. Then said something in Greek, noticed my expression, and added: ‘I am Inspector Lazaros. Shall we then speak English?’
Kapotas and Papa agreed and we introduced ourselves. Lazaros asked: ‘Who found Professor Spohr?’
Sergeant Papa told the story.
‘The door was not locked?’
‘No.’
He frowned at that. ‘Suicide is a private matter.’ Then: ‘Did you touch anything?’
Papa and I looked at each other. ‘The door handle,’ I suggested.
He nodded. ‘How many guests now here?’
Kapotas said promptly: ‘Fourteen.’ There’d been a heavy attrition rate in favour of places that had more than one dish on the menu and got around to making your bed before you got back in it.
Lazaros asked: ‘And how many short-stay couples tonight?’
Sergeant Papa put on a puzzled look. ‘I do not understand, sir—’
Lazaros’s head jerked impatiently. ‘Do not bugger about, Papadimitriou! I know this hotel, I know you. How many?’
‘Two,’ he mumbled. ‘Rooms 115 and 117.’
‘Thank you.’ The inspector made a note. ‘Now, did any of you know the Professor before tonight?’
We shook our heads in chorus, then I said: ‘There’s one other man who did: Ken Cavitt in room 206.’ It was rough luck on Ken, but it was going to happen anyway.
‘Do you think he came here to meet Mr Cavitt?’
‘Yes.’ I told about the daughter ringing up.
He made a couple of brief notes. ‘They met this afternoon, in his room?’
‘Yes.’
‘There were four used champagne glasses.’
‘I was the fourth. I brought him up the champagne, he invited me to have a glass. We chatted.’
‘Did he say anything that tells you why he committed suicide?’
‘Not a thing. He seemed reasonably chirpy. You don’t have any reason to suppose he didn’t commit suicide?’
He frowned down at his note
s and let out a broadside of smoke. Then: ‘I would have preferred a suicide note.’ Then looked up. ‘All right. Please wake Mr Cavitt. Now I will talk to the daughter.’ And I think he gave a little shiver.
I rang Ken from the desk. And rang and rang. Then a blurry explosion of: ‘Yes, what the bloody hell is it?’
‘It’s Roy – don’t ring off—’
For Jesus ‘sake—’
‘Sorry, Ken: red alert, scramble, all fire warning lights on. The Professor’s suicided and the boys in blue are here.’
For a long time there was just the sound of his breathing. Then: ‘He’s done what?’
‘That’s right. And they want a word and if you don’t come to them they’ll come to you.’
‘Yes. All right.’ His voice was calmer, quieter. ‘I’ll be down.’
The lights were on only at the bar end of the long room, a small patch of orange brightness that looked warmer than it felt and faded quickly into the dark cavern of the dining area. A few wisps of blue smoke from Sergeant Papa’s cigar hung in the thick stale air. He was sitting with Kapotas at one table, Nina and the monkey-faced chambermaid at another. They waved the coffee-pot at me but I shook my head and went across to the bar.
Thunder rumbled distantly and made me realise how quiet it was. I poured myself a glass of soda water and sipped. After a time, Nina got up and came across and sat on the customers’ side of the bar.
I said: ‘Sorry about all this. Makes me wonder if I should ever have gone into the hotel business.’
She smiled sideways and little crowsfoot lines crinkled around her eyes; it was the first time I’d seen – or had time to see – her in a good light. She looked older, as all women do, but not that much. And she looked clean and smelled good. Maybe I was beginning to regret something.
She shrugged and her breasts bounced gently on the counter. ‘It makes a change. And I dare say I got up later than most here.’
‘Like a drink?’ But she shook her head. ‘I expect they’ll just ask you to establish where I was and then you can go.’