1 The Assassins' Village

by Faith Mortimer

  ‘I was going to ring you later today,’ she continued. ‘When, well when I had a moment.’

  She looked away as if she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. The clock in the corner sounded unnaturally loud in their silence. Both strangers were lost in their thoughts.

  Thomas took a cautious sip of the hot coffee. It tasted bitter. A bit like how he felt inside he told himself. Stealing another look at his stepmother, Thomas decided she was looking more haggard and older than he remembered. Her shirt was grubby with the top button missing and her hair was wild and looking like it needed a good brushing.

  If only his father had been more approachable and lovable, human. Cutting himself off from his family when he started living with Sonja had been cruel. Of course he had paid their mother alimony to support her whilst she was left to bring up two young demanding children, but it barely covered their growing needs.

  Looking back Thomas realised they had existed just above the poverty line with never any money left over after she’d taken care of their basic needs.

  Thomas remembered going to scouts and frequently being laughed at by the other boys. One occasion, they were all taking part in a cross-country sponsored bicycle ride. Arriving at the start in good time, Thomas was excited at the prospect of a really long bike ride with boys he considered friends. The village policeman checked the boys’ equipment, making sure there were no glaring problems with bald tyres, faulty brakes and broken bells. Thomas’s old Raleigh was in good working order; the only problem was Thomas. His legs had grown so long; his knees hit the handlebars when he pedalled.

  The policeman and scoutmaster were kind but firm. ‘You’ll hurt yourself son and you won’t be able to peddle fast enough to keep up with the others. Can you find another bike to borrow?’

  Thomas felt ashamed. The bike had already been passed onto his younger sister. Up until now, he just about managed to continue getting around on it, running errands for his mother to the corner shop. He knew he couldn’t ask his mother for the money for a new one, and he’d barely two pounds saved in his piggy bank.

  All his friends owned their own bikes. No one in his circle possessed a spare one big enough that he might borrow. The scoutmaster and policeman looked at each other, understanding his problem. ‘Perhaps,’ they said, ‘you could help by giving out water during the ride? Or wear a Marshall’s tab and warn pedestrians of the cyclists coming through the parkland.’

  Thomas hung his head in misery. It was no good. What was the point? He wanted desperately to be a part of the team, part of the action. Giving out water and marshalling was for grown-ups. Boring and sissy, and he’d probably get laughed at all over again. He was always being laughed at lately; children could be so cruel. He’d outgrown his shorts, and suffered chapped, blue knees in winter. His mother couldn’t afford long trousers at that moment, next year if he could make do in the meantime.

  He hated raising his hand each new term to claim the free school lunches. He knew his mother scoured through the second-hand box of school clothes looking for a blazer that still had the elbows intact. He kept out of the deeper puddles because his left foot welly had a split just above ankle height. Next year he would need a bigger pair. Life was so unfair sometimes.

  But he knew, despite all the hardship and misery in his younger days, he and Victoria were given as much love and kindness from their mother as they could wish for. Adoring his little sister, Thomas cared and protected her as any big brother could. The little family of three were close, looking out for one another, and probably because they had no money for material things they really never needed them. It was just sometimes they had wished….

  As the years passed and Thomas grew up, he realised that the anger he felt was not for himself, but for Victoria and especially his mother. She didn’t deserve to look old and worn out, far older than her years. His school friends’ mothers looked much younger, colourful, and full of fun and vitality. He’d studied their fashionable, smart clothes and well-cut hairstyles, envying their cars when they picked their children up from the school gates. With a guilty, sinking feeling in his stomach he thought his mother could have been mistaken for his granny. Standing next to the other mums she looked grey. She was grey, thin and quiet; especially after her breakdown. At the time it occurred, the two children hadn’t known what was happening. It was only years later, when Thomas was thinking more about them and less about himself, that he wondered about the pills and the headaches and the afternoons when she forgot to pick them up from school. As he grew older it all began to sink in.

  He knew it took two to make or break a relationship, but Thomas realised Leslie never fully fulfilled his part. During their ill-fated marriage, and certainly after the divorce, Leslie hadn’t taken enough care for providing for his cast-aside family. A card at Christmas and birthdays usually accompanied by a ten-pound note or a visit when Leslie took an occasional trip back to the UK. That was about the sum of it.

  Leslie had a new life to lead. A younger, fresher wife (although there was little difference in looks at the moment) Thomas noted. Leslie had a new country to live in, an exotic house, and perhaps most of all a huge ego to pamper.

  Oh God! He felt sick. It was all pathetic. Why had he come? He should have taken heed of what his sister said. It had only been the promise of a new will and the bonus of inheritance for the children.

  ‘It will enable them to have a good start in life. They are father’s grandchildren after all.’ Not that he had been a real grandfather to them.

  Giving a start, Thomas was so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t realised Sonja was speaking.

  She was seated on an upholstered chair across the room from where he sat. On the whitewashed wall behind her there was an eclectic display of some of Leslie’s art. Huge unframed canvasses adorned the bare wall, their bright colours vying with each other. It was both startling and attractive.

  ‘I don’t know when they’ll release the body for burial. When they’re satisfied I suppose. I’ll have to arrange with the Anglican Vicar in Limassol. Make the arrangements. He’ll have to be buried, they don’t cremate here.’ Sonja’s voice was toneless.

  Burial! Of course, Sonja would have to do all that here. There was no point in flying his father home to England. Correction, Thomas thought, this is - was his home.

  ‘If you want any help, please ask,’ he heard himself saying. ‘My flight back is in two days’ time but I can extend that if you wish.’

  ‘No need thank you. The burial will be simple. No fuss, no flowers and certainly no reception after. I don’t want all the nosy parkers coming here. You needn’t stay if you don’t want to,’ Sonja replied tersely, arms folded across her thin chest as if wanting to create a permanent barrier between them. Thomas felt a flash of annoyance despite his antipathy towards his father. She was so unfeeling, how could Leslie have loved her in place of his mother?

  ‘I probably will anyway. I don’t know.’ Thomas dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I haven’t had time to give it any thought yet, and anyway, there’s my sister, she has to be told. She’ll probably want to come out for the funeral.’

  There was a lengthy pause as wife and son contemplated the burial of Leslie’s body. Breaking into Thomas’s thoughts, Sonja picked up the desultory conversation.

  ‘His will is simple. He left everything to me, including his pension, which will of course be halved now. I’m afraid your mother’s portion will stop. She can’t expect me to pay her a gratuity out of my own money.’

  Blinking, Thomas looked at the sour-faced woman before him. Sonja was a woman he’d never known despite the longevity of his father’s marriage to her. Sonja had always hated Leslie’s first wife for some reason. As for Thomas and his sister, they were merely a blot on his father’s past life. Thomas was sure Sonja regarded them as an annoying reminder and totally extraneous as far as she was concerned. They were not, and never had been worth worrying about.

  Thomas felt the numbness fall away. The earlier
feeling of an icy band around his heart melting as a fiery anger spread throughout his body. How dare she! Insulting his mother at every opportunity, Sonja ensured they too were pushed to one side. Thomas knew she persuaded Leslie to visit them on only very rare occasions. And now, she talked about money! Well, she had a shock coming to her and Thomas would take great delight in delivering the message.

  He stared back at this stranger in front of him. Despite the difference in their ages, there were similarities between Sonja and his mother. Both looked older than their years, sharing grey hair and thin bodies. His mother had permanent worry lines between her once fine hazel eyes, despite Thomas regularly sending her generous amounts of money for luxuries that she couldn’t normally afford. He tried to be a good son to her; taking her out for weekends, supervising remedial work on her Victorian cottage and ringing her twice a week. Nevertheless, she worried about money and every other little thing in her life.

  Looking at Sonja, she reminded Thomas of his mother and her hard life. Despite himself Thomas actually felt sorry for his stepmother. Here was another woman to suffer at the hands of his father. Should he tell her or take the coward’s way out and let the solicitor deal with it all? If he was a nice person he would break it to her gently.

  ~~~

  Driving back down to his coastal hotel, Thomas was barely aware of the magnificent views surrounding him. Jumbled thoughts were tearing around in his head; he’d never forget that last look on Sonja’s face.

  ‘Whatever do you mean? I don’t believe you! Not one word of it! Leslie would never do that to me. Never!’ she’d gasped.

  ‘I’m sorry, but it’s all true.’

  ‘No! You’re making it up, just to be spiteful. You surely have a warped and macabre sense of humour,’ Sonja spat at him. Her face was turning a furious mottled colour.

  Thomas took a moment before replying. Refusing to rise to her argument, Thomas kept his voice quiet and controlled.

  ‘No. No I’m not. It’s all true. This is why I am here. Dad altered his will leaving everything to Victoria and me. The only thing you will get is the new house.’

  Unbelievably, an ashen-faced Sonja paled even more as the implication sunk in. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she whispered. Thomas gave a small sigh. He hated being here and still couldn’t believe he was having this conversation.

  ‘Look I’m sorry if it’s come as a shock to you. But believe me, I am telling you the truth. Both Victoria and I were surprised at his change of plan. We certainly weren’t expecting anything like this.’

  Thomas was not going to say anymore and then changed his mind.

  ‘At first, we were going to have nothing to do with it. You could hardly expect us to when you think about it. We’ve never had much communication with dad since you came along. Then we thought, well why not? It’s not for us, but for our children, his grandchildren. He owed them that much for his neglect over the years.’

  ‘Neglect! Oh pooh!’

  ‘Yes neglect,’ Thomas replied angrily giving Sonja a hard stare.

  ‘The residual money left over from the sale of this house and his stocks and shares will all go to them. It’s what Victoria and I want.’

  Sonja’s eyes flashed in rage at his words. ‘And what am I supposed to live on?’

  ‘I should imagine you’ll have thought of yourself over the years and made your own proviso upon his death.’

  As Sonja shot him a look of pure venom, suddenly Thomas didn’t care. He’d struck home with this hard, cruel woman.

  Feeling a load float off his mind, Thomas carefully reversed his car out of the parking space to begin the journey away from the village. He knew Sonja would blame him and Victoria for the turnaround of things. But, that was her problem, not theirs.

  Switching his thoughts to his mother, Thomas tried to imagine what she’d say when he told her. He knew she’d be sad and upset over Leslie’s murder, but on the plus side, the cause of her heartaches and depression was no longer going to haunt her. And despite what Sonja had said, the pension from Leslie’s estate would continue. At least they could all be grateful for no other disruption in his mother’s life.

  Thomas pulled the hire car over into a convenient lay-by. Now was as good a time as any to telephone his wife and sister. He knew they’d be shocked; but nothing as shocked as he’d been an hour ago. Suppressing a sigh, Thomas felt enormity of it all hit him. It wasn’t over yet. He still had to visit the police and find out the full facts. Feeling depressed, tired and sick, Thomas asked himself one question. What were the police going to tell him?

  Chapter 24. Tuesday

  Nought’s had, all’s spent, where our desire is got without content.

  Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 2

  The police made a positive move, and finished interviewing the villagers. The interviews seemed to go on and on; everyone in the village loving to talk about their own theories. The police painstakingly sifted through the lot; false trails, idle speculation and amateur sleuthing. One person at last admitted seeing something pertaining to the crime on that dreadful afternoon.

  Tony finally realised it was in his own interests to come clean and declare what he had witnessed that fateful Sunday. At first, he worried that he might be implicated in some way. He wasn’t entirely stupid. He might have got away with ignoring Leslie’s plight if he had just been injured, but as he was dead, then Tony was a key witness.

  After a restless, sweaty night he worked it out in his mind. He replayed back to himself just what he intended to say. He had left the lovers’ scene and gone straight away to the taverna. He arrived hot, dusty and breathless. Within seconds, he drank a whole litre bottle of water. His thirst slaked, he then, without saying a word to the others about what he’d seen or where he’d been, began to tuck into the lunch laid out before him.

  When the police tackled him later, he couldn’t give them a good reason why he failed to mention any of this to his friends during lunch. He had kept turning it around in his mind as he waded like a glutton through the many courses. Not until the police really pressed him did he remember Alicia and Leslie fighting at all. He said nothing about originally planning to use the information for his own purpose and advantage. No mention of blackmailing Leslie for having sex with Alicia. He knew Leslie wouldn’t have wanted that to get around and back to Sonja. It would have been the ideal way to stop Leslie’s own blackmailing and smearing Tony’s name in his little black book of memoirs. But now Leslie was dead, Tony could relax, couldn’t he?

  The police were furious with Tony after discovering he’d wasted valuable police time. ‘If only you’d disclosed this row between Leslie and Alicia sooner.’ They’d stormed at him.

  Once admitting that it looked like Alicia had pushed Leslie on purpose, it became obvious to Tony that the excited police believed they had found their culprit.

  ‘I was confused, that’s why I took so long coming forward,’ he whined. ‘I wasn’t entirely sure at first that she meant to push him over, but thinking about it, it was a big argument and she was very cross. Furious even. In fact, I would say she looked murderous.’ He blustered to the police inspector. ‘Could a fall like that have killed him?’ He put his sweaty hands together, to stop them shaking with nerves. He knew how to make it sound good; to firmly place all blame on Alicia.

  The policemen ignored Tony’s question, simply followed their own agenda with excited questions

  My God, he thought as he fought to stop his hands trembling. Forget about Leslie’s black book and blackmail. When Alicia pushed Leslie, she meant to. She wanted him dead. And that meant that she had committed murder! Tony shuddered to himself, remembering Sunday. It dawned on Tony that as he’d seen them that day, who else might have witnessed the whole event? He told the police what he knew, before anyone else did it for him.

  Understandably they were incensed; Tony had let nearly three days go by before coming forward with his story. Three days possibly wasted and the trail becoming cold.

  Tony was
at first his usual cocksure self, until thoroughly chastised by the inspector. He slumped down in his chair, as they made him go over it again and again, bit by bit what he had seen and heard.

  ‘No, he hadn’t gone down the slope to see for himself how Leslie was. Alicia was dealing with it. Besides, he didn’t think he could have climbed down all that way anyway. No, he only saw Alicia that afternoon down there, no one else, and he didn’t hang around to see just what she was doing once she’d got down to where Leslie lay… It hadn’t been any of his business. She was capable of helping Leslie by herself.’

  The two policemen looked at Tony in silence and complete disbelief. Here was a specimen of humanity who thought nothing for his fellow man.

  Bringing their paperwork to a close with his signature on his statement, they dismissed Tony from their company with barely-veiled contempt. The man’s total lack of any feelings of remorse or altruism stunned them; made them feel dirty. And these were men who dealt with extremes in their work almost every day.

  Feeling sorry and yet relieved, Tony slunk away from the makeshift police office in the council hall towards his own house. Keeping his head down, not wanting to meet anyone, he failed to notice Diana until he was level with her courtyard gates. Holding a heavy-looking watering can to her chest she watched him approach. Tony jumped when she spoke to him.

  ‘Tony, you look as if you’ve lost a pound and found sixpence. What’s up, apart from what’s happened here recently? Diana lowered the can to the potted plant at her feet and upended it.

  Tony watched the water pouring from the spout onto the dry soil. A faint whiff of moistened leaf and dirt came to his nostrils. ‘It was Alicia!’ he burst out in relief.

  ‘What was? Tony, what are you on about?’ she exclaimed, frowning at him.

  ‘I mean, that it was Alicia that did it! She’s the one who killed Leslie. I saw them.’