by Ellis, Tim
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes. Except . . .’
‘I knew it.’
‘You could have polished those crutches.’
‘You’re a pig.’
‘You’re a pig – Sir! I think the sun, sand and sangrias have gone to your head.’
The waiter held the chair out for Richards to sit down. ‘Sangria is a Spanish drink, Sir. The national drink of Cyprus is a Brandy Sour, but you could also try a Zivania or a Raki.’
‘See, you don’t know everything . . . Sir.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t recall saying I knew everything.’
‘You act like you do . . . Sir.’
‘I don’t think you need to keep calling me . . .’
‘You want to make up your mind . . . Sir.’
‘Would Sir and Madam care for a drink?’ the waiter interrupted.
‘I’ll have a lager,’ Parish said.
‘Cypriot Keo lager, or something more traditional, Sir?’
‘Is the local brew any good?’
‘We think so, Sir.’
‘I’ll have a glass of that then.’ He looked at Richards. ‘Would Madam like a medium red or white wine?’
‘Don’t think you can make me laugh.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘I’ll have a medium white wine, please,’ she said to the waiter.
‘Certainly, Madam.’
‘Can you call me Miss?’
‘I can try, Madam.’
After the waiter had left to organise their drinks Parish said, ‘You don’t like being a madam?’
‘Do I look like a madam?’
‘I don’t know. What does a madam look like?’
‘You always answer a question with another question.’
‘Do I?’
‘What are you having for dinner?’
‘What’s on the menu?’
‘See.’
‘See what?’
The waiter returned and took their orders. Parish had the Stifado – beef casserole with onions, and Richards chose the Melitzanosalata – the eggplant salad.
‘You want to eat food high in protein now,’ he said.
‘I’m sure you’re not going to keep the reason to yourself.’
‘I’m simply trying to help.’
‘Go on then – enlighten me?’
‘Well, protein will bulk up your arms, so that you don’t tire on long journeys.’
‘I should have trusted my instincts. I knew you’d spew out a load of rubbish.’
‘A load of rubbish . . . Sir.’
She nearly choked on her wine. ‘You’re crazy.’
‘I thought I was a pig.’
‘You are – a crazy pig.’
The waiter arrived with their food and they began tucking in.
‘Have you phoned your mother yet and told her what a mess you’ve got yourself into?’
‘I thought I’d wait until she’s put Jack to bed.’
‘Good idea. It’s no good ringing her when she’s up to her eyeballs in disposable nappies. The dogwalker will also be knocking on the door to take Digby for his evening constitutional.’
‘Do you trust her?’
He’d arranged for a fifteen year old girl – Sophia Duddell – who lived three doors away to walk Digby in the evenings. As far as he could tell she was reliable, didn’t drink or take drugs and there were no hot rods revving up outside her house at all hours of the day and night.
‘You understand that this dog means more to me than my own life?’ he’d said to her.
‘I’ve seen you talking to him, Mr Parish.’
‘Sophia is a good girl,’ her mum vouched for her.
‘Well, forgive me for mentioning it, but you would say that, wouldn’t you?’
‘I say it because it’s true.’
He’d glared at Sophia as if she was a suspect in a multiple murder inquiry. ‘You’ll take good care of him?’
‘I promise.’
They’d agreed twenty pounds a night – a hundred pounds for the week – on the understanding that Digby made it unscathed through said week.
Now, he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the napkin and took a drink of the Keo lager, which – to be truthful – wasn’t any different from the more traditional lagers. ‘I don’t trust anybody,’ he responded to her question.
‘What, not even me?’
‘Especially not you. You’ve proven yourself untrustworthy at every opportunity.’
‘You’re talking about men again, aren’t you?’
‘So tomorrow, you can stay in your room and man the phone. In fact, we’ll make your room the incident room. We need a whiteboard . . .’
‘Excuse me.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll be by the pool.’
‘You’re working.’
‘I can work by the pool.’
‘In that jumble of string and knots you call a bikini?’
‘I have others.’
‘I knew I should have sent you home.’
‘You just want to keep me in my room away from men.’
‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘I can look after myself.’
‘I think we’ve established that you have trouble in that department. In fact, a department store is a good analogy. Faced with high-quality and poor-quality merchandise, you choose the poor-quality goods every time.’
‘Paul isn’t poor quality.’
‘No, but you didn’t choose him, did you? Name one man who hasn’t come apart at the seams after less time than you can shake a dirty stick at.’
‘There was . . .’
‘I’m waiting.’
‘We don’t have a whiteboard.’
‘I didn’t think so. Not one man has been worth a pound of . . .’
‘Do you mind – I’m eating? Yes, we need a whiteboard. Where are we going to get a whiteboard?’
‘Why are you so interested in whiteboards all of a sudden?’
‘You’re the one who brought up a whiteboard.’
‘We’ll ask at reception to see if they have one in the hotel. If that fails, I could ask to borrow one from the Army – they’re bound to have a whiteboard.’
‘So, what are you doing tomorrow?’
‘Me? I’ll be doing all the work and worrying about what you’re getting up to back here.’
‘You needn’t worry about me.’
‘You’ll stay in your room then?’
‘I will not.’
He pressed his hands to his cheeks with the heels of the palms together under his chin. ‘Oh, woe is me.’
She laughed. ‘Stop making me laugh.’
‘If I get back tomorrow night and discover that you’ve met a man, or had sex, that you’re in love, pregnant, engaged or married – I’ll throw you on the next plane out of here.’
‘Can you lower your voice, please? People are staring.’
‘Well?’
‘I promise.’
‘A promise is a comfort to a fool.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s a song by Gregory Isaacs. It’s about a woman who makes promises she has no intention of keeping.’
‘I’m not that woman.’
‘I certainly hope not.’
The waiter took their empty plates away and brought their desserts. Parish licked his lips at the strawberry and almond crumble, while Richards had the watermelon.
Richards stuck a finger in his crumble, hooked out a piece and manoeuvred it into her mouth. ‘So, you haven’t told me what you’re doing tomorrow.’
‘A driver is picking me up at nine o’clock in the morning . . .’
‘That woman?’
‘No. She’s not a driver, she’s a Lieutenant apparently.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘So it would seem. She only came to pick us up at the airport because I’m a VIP.’
‘And me?’
‘And you. So, the
y’re sending me someone with bigger breasts, a shorter skirt, bright red lipstick and a nice smile.’
‘Who can drive?’
‘I don’t think that’s really necessary. Anyway, I’m meeting the Deputy Commander of the British Forces in Cyprus, Air Commodore Peter Beckett in Episkopi.’
‘Then?’
‘Then I don’t know, but I expect I’ll need to talk to Major Durrell, the Cypriot police who are dealing with the case, examine the forensic report . . .’
‘The report they gave us is rubbish. Why can’t they write proper English?’
‘Maybe they’re wondering why we don’t speak and read Greek.’
‘Nobody speaks and reads Greek.’
‘The Greeks do . . . and the Cypriots.’
‘English should be made compulsory in schools.’
‘It is. It’s their second language.’
‘Yeah well, if that report is anything to go by they’re not teaching it very well. Do you think the Major did it?’
‘No.’
‘Oh! What about the message printed in English that had been placed in her mouth?'
‘Seventy-six percent of Cypriots speak English.’
‘That’s a lot.’
‘Yes, so I don’t think the message being printed in English is relevant.’
‘What about the message itself?’
‘What about it?’
‘What do you think it means?’
‘I think it means God is waiting.’
‘Very funny. What about the other women?’
‘What about them?’
‘I’m not enjoying this conversation.’
‘Look, let’s just forget about the murder for now. Tomorrow, I’ll find out a lot more about what’s going on. I’ll get the chance to speak to Major Durrell, I’ll meet the key players, discover what evidence the Cypriot Police have that makes them believe the killer is the Major and so on. Tomorrow night we’ll see where we are.’
‘Those other women are dead, you know.’
‘You don’t know that. Not every dead person is the victim of a serial killer.’
‘I know, but these women are.’
He didn’t want to encourage her, but he’d been thinking along those lines himself. Would Kitty West, Feri Leonidas and Janie Gayle be joining Caterina Makhairas in the mortuary?
Chapter Six
‘It’s about time, numpty,’ Xena said as he walked into her room. ‘I’ve been out of my coma all day and you couldn’t even be bothered . . .’
Tears jumped into his eyes at the sight of her. She was as white as porcelain, and looked as though she’d just crawled out of the desert on all fours. He leant over and wrapped his arms around her.
‘Are you crazy?’ she said, but she didn’t struggle to free herself. ‘Stop molesting a senior officer.’
‘I thought I’d lost you, Sarge.’
She gave a weak laugh. ‘You’re not going to get rid of me that easily, Stickamundo.’
When he and Koll were driving out of the University he’d decided that he’d had enough for one day. He was a Sergeant now after all. He was in charge, and he could decide when they finished. And anyway, by the time they got back to Hoddesdon it would be after five o’clock.
‘We’re done for the day,’ he’d said to Koll.
‘Oh! We’re not going to Genetest? Or to see Doc Paine in the mortuary?’
He’d forgotten all about visiting Doc Paine for an update on the experiments that had been carried out on Mathew Pitt. There was nothing he could do with the information tonight anyway. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It’s late, and I want to go and see DI Blake. Give the Doc a ring and tell her that we’ll come and see her about ten o’clock in the morning.’
Koll rang the Doc. ‘She said that was fine.’
‘Good. I’ll drive you back to the station now, and we’ll carry on with our investigations tomorrow. In the morning, while I’m briefing the Chief, you can get one of the clerical staff to start running those names through the database.’
‘Okay.’
He pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Stop asking stupid questions. Did I dream it, or wasn’t I a DI the last time you came to visit me?’
He smiled. ‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’
‘How convenient. So, how are you managing without me?’
‘Great. Me and Koll are getting along okay. The Chief gave us two cases today . . .’
‘That’s not the right answer, numpty.’
‘Oh yeah, sorry.’ He grinned. ‘Well, to be honest, I don’t like being in charge. I’d much prefer it if you stopped pretending to be ill and came back to work. I’m struggling. I’m bereft of ideas. I don’t think we’ll solve the case without your . . .’
‘That’s a bit better.’
‘It’s going to be a while until you do come back to work though, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t underestimate the power of boredom, Stickaroo.’
‘Do you want me to bring you anything in – like books, magazines, or . . . ?’
‘A phone.’
‘Didn’t Staff Nurse James say . . . ?’
‘Are you taking orders from that bitch or this bitch?’
He rubbed the patchy stubble on his chin. ‘Hmmm – that’s a tricky one.’
‘It’s only tricky if you make the wrong choice.’
‘Or I could make my own decisions.’
‘You remind me of a skydiver jumping without a parachute.’
‘I feel like one as well, but I’m not going to bring you in a phone.’
‘I thought we were partners.’
‘We are, but you need to get better, and I don’t think a phone will help you do that.’
‘You’re a qualified doctor now?’
‘If I brought you a phone you’d be trying to run the investigations from your bed. Next, you’d want a whiteboard, and then Koll and I would have to come here for briefings. Your room would turn into the incident room. We’d have to bring all the files in, a computer and a printer, some clerical staff, Di Heffernan . . .’
‘I don’t want that bitch anywhere near me.’
‘She sends her regards by the way, and hopes you get better soon.’
‘What did she really say?’
‘She would have sent you a box of Anglesey Farmhouse Chocolates if she hadn’t eaten them all.’
‘The bitch. One of these days . . .’
‘. . . you’re going to be best friends and laugh about the things you used to say to each other.’
‘Are you attached to the NATO Peacekeeping Force as well?’
‘I’ve just found out Koll is lying low.’
‘Lying low? What the hell does that mean?’
‘You know – in hiding. That’s why she’s at Hoddesdon.’
Xena didn’t say anything.
‘Do you want to know why?’
‘No I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you keep making me ask why. Just get on with the story and stop pretending you’re presenting Jackanory.’
‘She says that Shrub End Police Station in Colchester is riddled with corrupt officers – she’s going to act as a witness against them.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘Nope.’
‘She must have some balls then.’
‘Yeah, she’s okay.’
‘Now I’m worried.’
‘About what?’
‘They’re going to come after her.’
‘They’ve got to find her first.’
‘I’m worried about you, numpty.’
‘Me? I’m all right.’
‘You think they’re going to leave any witnesses when they kill her?’
‘We’re talking about police officers, you know.’
‘Police officers who have everything to lose if she acts as a witness against them.’
‘You’re being paranoid.’
‘So, tell
me about your cases . . .’
He narrowed his eyes and glared at her.
‘Merely out of interest – that’s all. I might be able to offer some advice. I promise I won’t turn this room into police headquarters.’
‘Just make sure you don’t. I miss you, and I want you to get better soon.’
She squeezed his forearm – it felt like a butterfly landing to take a breath. And he recalled that a butterfly landing on you symbolized rebirth or renewal. He began telling her about the murders of Mathew Pitt and Samantha Morrow, but she drifted off to sleep and began snoring like a tuba symphony before he’d gone very far.
For a while, he held her hand and watched her eyeballs jump about under her eyelids. What was she dreaming of? Was she through the worst of it now? Would she make a full recovery and come back to be his partner again? He had never been religious, but he mumbled a few words under his breath of a prayer that for some inexplicable reason had lodged somewhere in the dark folds of his brain:
‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.’
***
Xena opened her eyes after Stick had crept out and pressed the buzzer for a nurse.
Nurse Beverley Dando appeared. ‘Yes?’
‘You could be a bit more polite.’
‘I’m copying you.’
‘Don’t talk a load of bollocks. Everyone will tell you I’m one of the nicest people . . .’
‘I have work to do.’
‘Where’s Staff Nurse James?’
‘Off duty.’
‘Who’s in charge of my care then?’
‘I am.’
‘You’re only a nurse.’
‘I’m sorry. Do you want the director of nursing to come down here to care for you specially?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was there anything else?’
‘I need my phone.’
‘Staff Nurse James has left specific instructions . . .’
‘It’s an emergency.’
‘What is an emergency is for you to get plenty of rest.’
‘No, you don’t understand . . .’
‘What I understand is that you’ve been in a coma for over a week and . . .’
‘If you don’t let me make one phone call, I’m going to get out of bed and crawl to a public phone.’
‘Don’t be an idiot.’