by T P Fielden
‘His greatest piece of luck was the fact that the daughter in question was damaged goods – very damaged. Suffocated and flattened by a domineering father, her means of escape was to retreat into her own world. It seemed to the outside world she was a narcissist, in the clinical definition of the word, but I think that was just her suit of armour.
‘She willingly allowed Radipole to seduce her because she wanted a father-figure she could control, unlike her real-life father. Radipole’s mistake was to fall in love with her, because the only kind of relationship Helen knew or understood was to mix love with hate. That photograph I showed you from her album – they’re in Paris, the capital city of love, but the look on her face is one of despair when she should be having the most wonderful time. On his, it’s anger and, more important, disappointment.’
‘I never really knew him,’ said Elektra. ‘We – well you know what we did, but it didn’t mean I ever got to know him.’
‘Did you love him?’
‘I suppose for a moment I was infatuated. My father is just like Helen’s – cold, domineering, manipulative. Brooks no opposition. I saw what had happened between Hugh and Helen and thought, maybe I can make a better job of it than she did – but he loved only her, and used to tell me so all the time.’
‘That must have hurt.’
‘It’s why I hate him. He could have kept it to himself, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.’
‘That painful kind of love can cause people to pull a trigger. Any sort of people. People who otherwise would never dream of breaking the law. I do understand that,’ Judy said, looking sympathetically towards Elektra.
The sun was sliding behind the garden wall and they moved to a pair of garden chairs further away. From the apple tree a robin sang a long and complicated solo, taken up and echoed by his friend or partner several gardens away.
‘So who was it?’ said the girl. ‘Who killed Helen?’
‘I think you know, Elektra.’
‘No… no! No, I don’t know!’
‘When I left you here this morning I left behind the newspapers from yesterday – the ones you didn’t read on the journey down. On the hall table. They’re not there now. Did you read them?’
‘Well, I…’
‘When we talked last night after dinner, it came to me. I was in such a hurry to discover the truth that when I came to visit you at The Glen, I left something vital out. I told you that the dead victim’s name was Patsy.
‘Neither of us was concerned with a fake identity, we were both too busy looking at the photograph to see if it was Helen. We didn’t dwell on the name.’
Elektra’s hair was swaying though there was no breeze. Her head was down, her face concealed.
‘It was only when I saw the name in print, in the papers yesterday, that the thought came to me. At the time, I was convinced the murderer was Hugh Radipole, or just possibly Bobby Bunton. Both had motive and opportunity, both no doubt had the means.
‘It was only when I talked to Radipole I realised how wrong I’d been all along. Waiting for you by the bandstand, that’s when it came to me, only I needed time to work it out.’
Elektra stood up. ‘I don’t think I want you to go on,’ she said.
‘There’s no going back now,’ said Miss Dimont firmly. ‘You did look at the newspapers I left behind?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then it came to you.’
‘Yes.’
‘The alias Helen was living under – Patsy Rouchos.’
‘Yes.’
‘In ancient Greece an heiress – the daughter of a rich man with no sons – was called epikleros. When her father died, she was not allowed to keep her inheritance – the money had to stay in the family but in male hands. The epikleros was therefore expected to marry her father’s nearest male relative.’
‘Yes.’
‘Another word for epikleros is patrouchos. Hence Patsy Rouchos – a name proclaiming to all the world what Helen was – an heiress with an obligation to marry her father’s nearest relative. That relative being your father, Aristide Patrikis.’
‘Such laws haven’t existed for centuries. You can’t possibly believe…’
‘She was on the run for three years, hiding behind this false identity. Why do you think she chose that name?’
‘She’s an heiress. She inherited her father’s millions. She was upset, unbalanced. That’s sufficient, isn’t it?’
‘Why did she go missing? Her father died, she went into mourning. She stayed in the house, didn’t go anywhere. It’s not as if she ran away then, it was later. Why? Why did she wait? And then why did she flee? Why did she disappear so utterly and completely, yet bear that name which anybody with a smattering of history might work out was a very bitter joke against herself?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Elektra, ‘I have no idea. I…’
‘I think you do. You know the answers. But this is very painful for you.’
The young woman burst into tears.
Miss Dimont stood up. ‘I think you must face up to the truth. Your father will be here in the morning, he’ll go to identify the body. At that moment, the world will know who killed Helen Patrikis. I just think it would help you – help you very much, Elektra – to come to terms with what happens next if we can just sit and talk it through now.’
‘Get me another drink. I can’t bear this.’
When Miss Dimont returned from the kitchen she half-expected Elektra to have been whisked away by Stevens in the whispering Rolls-Royce, never to be seen again. Instead the young woman had gone back to the garden bench and now sat upright in the shadows, as if ready to face a judge and jury.
‘Tell me this,’ started Miss Dimont. ‘When Stavros was murdered, it must have been quite complicated sorting out his affairs. He was an immensely rich man, after all, and the circumstances of his death must have added extra difficulties. Is that so?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long did it take for his will to be sorted out?’
‘I don’t know – maybe twelve, fourteen months.’
‘And he left his estate to?’
‘Helen, of course. He left something to my father, and quite a large amount to me. But the bulk of the estate went to Helen, naturally.’
‘Had you hoped for more?’
‘I am already independently wealthy,’ said Elektra distantly. ‘My mother died when I was twelve and she left half her fortune to me. I have no need for money.’
‘But Helen did.’
‘Sorry?’
‘She’d developed a hunger, you might say a mania, for money all the time her father slowly starved her of funds. All her friends were rich, all her relations – but she didn’t have two pennies of her own to rub together.’
‘That’s true.’
‘And so we have the motive for her killing her father.’
‘That was just a theory I threw out. We had quite a lot to drink last night, you and I, it was the end of a tiring day, the long journey down here…’
‘All right,’ said Miss Dimont. ‘Let’s, just for the sake of the argument, assume that she did. She killed her father, then had to wait around for the will to be sorted out. You say it took twelve or fourteen months for the paperwork to be wrapped up – which is just about the time she disappeared.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘She killed him and disappeared the moment she’d got her hands on the money. She changed her name and used her wits and inheritance to make sure nobody could find her. You said you thought she might have gone to Switzerland.’
‘It could have been the West Indies for all I know.’
‘What was your father’s reaction to her disappearance?’
‘Look,’ said Elektra, ‘I’ve said enough. Why don’t we leave this till morning? I’m exhausted and all this is tremendously stressful. I’m not entirely sure what I should be saying any more.’
‘You won’t do a moonlight flit?’
Elektra smiled suddenly.
‘And miss another night in that deliciously comfortable bed? Where did you find that mattress? I must have one!’
They arrived too late at Temple Regis Police Station next morning to witness Aristide Patrikis formally identify the body of his niece. By the time Miss Dimont and Elektra had established the tycoon was in town, the deed had already been done. Now he sat at a table in a cold grey room, the soothing cup of tea before him untouched. Nearby, a wispy private secretary was looking out of the barred window, no doubt wishing he was back in Crete sorting out shipping collisions.
Patrikis sat slumped at the table, his skin showing white through the tan, his face haggard and his hands slightly trembling. Inspector Topham sat opposite, an empty notebook in front of him, a sympathetic angle to his body.
‘Will you be going back to London now, sir,’ he was saying, ‘or would you rather go somewhere to rest after your journey? If so, there’s a place I can recommend.’ He was thinking of The Grand.
‘No,’ said the shipping man. ‘My daughter…’ and flapped his hand at Elektra who’d just entered the room with Miss Dimont.
‘I didn’t know you were already here, Papa, I’m terribly sorry.’
‘Your father’s had a bad shock, Miss,’ said Topham. ‘But the identification has been done and the paperwork is complete. If you’re ready to take him away…’
‘I have my own car,’ said Patrikis in barely more than a whisper.
‘Well, then,’ said Topham, rising. ‘Now that you’re here, Miss Patrikis, I’ll leave you to it. As I say, it’s been a terrible shock and the sooner you and your father are home…’
‘Perhaps you remember me, Mr Patrikis,’ said Judy Dimont, sliding into Topham’s seat. ‘From the Riviera Express. I came to see you at The Glen.’
Enough of the old tycoon’s swagger remained for him to nod in a dismissive way. People did not generally sit down in front of him unless invited.
‘I hope the Inspector won’t mind, I have just a couple of questions.’
‘What.’ It wasn’t a question, nor an invitation to proceed.
‘When your niece went missing, did you call the police?’
Patrikis looked up. He hadn’t expected this after such an ordeal.
‘Not immediately, no.’
‘I wonder why not. After all, her father had been murdered. Did it not occur to you that she, too, might have been spirited away and something similar occurred?’
‘Really, I don’t think I need to…’ started Patrikis.
‘No, no, no!’ joined in Topham. ‘This gentleman has had a shock. Come on now, Miss Dimont, you shouldn’t even be in here!’
Judy turned and fixed the detective with a defiant stare. ‘Just give me a moment, Inspector, I think this may be of assistance.’
She turned back to the tycoon. ‘Though you didn’t call the police, you weren’t unmoved by her disappearance, were you? You hired people to find her, a lot of people.’
‘I did. I thought they’d be more effective across international borders than the British police with their…’ he looked down in distaste, ‘cups of tea.’
‘You have some dealings with our security services, I believe.’
‘All people in shipping – at least those who have fleets the size of ours – do.’
‘And you asked them for help. Cups of tea or no.’
‘Your MI6 has a very good reputation.’
‘But she was never found.’
‘No.’
‘For three years, a member of one of the leading shipping families in Britain managed to disappear and despite huge efforts, she was never found. Why was that?’
‘I imagine because the intelligence just wasn’t good enough. Maybe she… Look – why are you asking all this?’
‘She went to live in Switzerland. She took the name Patsy Rouchos. Patsy Rouchos! You understand the significance of that, Mr Patrikis, I think.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He clicked his fingers at the secretary and turned to Topham. ‘I think it’s time to go. Will you show me the way out?’
Topham surprised himself with his reply. ‘I wonder if you wouldn’t mind just answering the questions, Mr Patrikis. I’m sure it won’t take long.’
Miss Dimont leaned forward over the table. ‘There is a long and ancient tradition in Greece, Mr Patrikis. It’s called epikleros. An heiress may not keep the fortune she inherits from her father but must marry the father’s nearest male relative. Another word for it is patrouchos.’
‘I’m going now. I have important business to attend to – the collision of one my ships… I really haven’t the time to stay here and listen to this rubbish!’
Topham raised a hand. ‘One moment more, sir.’ He nodded at Judy.
‘After your niece finally secured the legal sign-off from her father’s will, she disappeared. You went chasing after her – not for her, but for her fortune. You saw it rightly as yours, even though you are already richer than most people in this country.
‘The clue was in the name she chose for herself – half of her wanted to be caught. Yet your people weren’t clever enough to work that out, and so there she stayed in the mountains for three years while they scoured the globe looking for her.
She didn’t even change her appearance. Most people thought with a name like that she was probably French.
‘Your daughter Elektra,’ went on Miss Dimont, raising her voice, ‘told me you became obsessed by the money. You would sit there at night in your study calling people all over the world, seeing if they could help find her. It wasn’t Helen you wanted to find, it was the money.’
‘Fantasy!’ roared Patrikis, for the first time looking directly at Miss Dimont.
‘Several times in the past few days I’ve been told how wrong I am,’ she replied, with spirit. ‘And some of the time they’ve been right. But this time I am right.’
‘Look at this,’ she said, and drew from her raffia bag Terry’s 10 × 8 prints. ‘These are the pictures we found in Helen’s picture album. She’d torn out most because she didn’t want to be identified by it, but obviously the pictures meant something special to her because she kept the album by her – even when she went to Buntorama where she was shot.
‘Look first at this one.’ She pushed Terry’s reconstructed photo of the blurry room with the foot protruding from the bottom of the frame. ‘This is her father’s bedroom in The Glen. Where you sleep now.’
With disdain Patrikis picked up the photograph. ‘I can’t see anything. It’s too fuzzy. Could be anywhere.’
‘Believe me, it is the bedroom. Elektra confirmed that to me. The foot you can see – it belongs to your brother. This is one of a series of pictures Helen took after she knifed your brother to death.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘You knew it. Of course you knew it – it was you who tore up the photos when she showed them to you. Did she say, “You keep away from me and my money or I’ll do the same to you?” Was she proud of what she’d done, killing her father?’
‘He’d always treated her very roughly.’
‘Perhaps – but to kill him? Her own father?’
‘She was not a normal sort of person. She was… unwell.’
‘Look at this, please.’ Miss Dimont showed him the family party in a restaurant. ‘There are a lot of people in this picture but there you are, sitting next to Helen. You have an arm round her shoulder and she has her hand on your knee.’
‘My birthday.’
‘She must be sixteen or seventeen. Now look at this.’ It was the photograph of Helen sitting by the pool at The Glen. ‘In the corner, in the pool, that’s you, isn’t it?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Take a look at your face.’
Patrikis picked up the photo but he was looking at the girl. Suddenly, a tear rolled down his cheek.
‘You loved her?’
‘Yes.’
‘You loved her very much?’
&
nbsp; ‘Yes.’
‘You sent out search parties all over the globe, not because of her fortune, but because you wanted her?’
‘She wasn’t like normal people, you know. More like something which had landed on this earth, a butterfly perhaps, ready to take off without warning and disappear for ever.’
‘Did she love you?’ said Miss Dimont softly.
‘She loved me like she loved everybody else. Part-time. Intense one minute, cold as ice the next.’
‘Were you lovers? You were her uncle, after all.’
Patrikis didn’t answer.
‘When you found her, finally, after all those years of searching…’
‘She let me find her,’ he blurted out. ‘She’d been living in a village high in the Alps, safe and sound. Then one day she came back to Britain, I got a message, it said she was in Devon. I came down here. She wanted me to find her!’
‘What happened?’
‘I finally discovered her in that dreadful old army camp, a cheap holiday place. Terrible! I went to her room and she was sitting on the bed. Looking so beautiful, as always. She said to me, “Look what I’ve come to – this! I’m spying on a disgusting old man so that I can go back and tell tales to another disgusting old man – the world is full of disgusting old men. And now you’re here!”
‘I told her not to be so silly, I wanted to marry her. She said it was as good an offer as she’d had, but the Orthodox Church would never allow it – it was against the law. I didn’t care. I said we could marry under her alias and we’d go and build a house and live in her Swiss village – I didn’t care!’
The room was silent. The secretary was still staring out of the window, Inspector Topham was as still as if he were standing to attention on the parade-ground. Elektra sat with her hands in her lap, head down.
‘Why did you kill her?’ asked Judy, softly.
‘She gave me the gun. She said she’d bought it when she went on the run. She said, “I want to die.”
‘I asked what she meant. Not yet thirty, her life ahead! “You don’t know,” she said. “You have no idea what this madness has made me do. I changed my name because I no longer deserved to be part of the Patrikis family – the depths I have sunk to, the things I have done. We are a proud Greek family, but I am no longer worthy. I want to die.”