Angel of Death

by Charlotte Lamb

  Or was there something more sinister behind his departure? If that had been Sandra on the jetty at Delos why had Alex walked past without doing a double-take, without appearing to recognise her? It was such an odd coincidence that Sandra should have been there the same day.

  She put a hand up to her mouth, struggling with sickness. Had it been Sandra? What if her imagination was playing tricks on her again?

  At times she didn’t know what was real and what only existed in her own head. Last night she had dreamt of Tom again, of his drowning cries, and then the dream had changed, she had been in the office listening to the terrifying sounds from the bathroom across the courtyard. Her mind danced with death, day and night, and Alex was part of it all.

  What if he had gone away so that someone else might come here, while Alex was safely in Piraeus, with a perfect alibi?

  Was someone coming now, to kill her?

  Terry got a phone call from Bernie on the following Thursday morning. ‘I’m told she is somewhere abroad, definitely not in this country, but her whereabouts isn’t on the police computer, so my friend can’t find out that way.’

  Terry’s teeth ground together. Hoarsely he asked, ‘Is there a way he can find out?’

  ‘Only by going down to London, somehow making contact with the detective in charge of the case. Apparently my friend knows someone in that station, but he’s not keen to turn up out of the blue, could be dodgy. Might arouse suspicions in his direction. Obviously he isn’t keen to break cover like that. He has a reputation to protect.’

  ‘I’m sure you could persuade him, Bernie.’

  ‘Maybe – but you’ll owe me, Terry.’

  The casual manner did not disguise the underlying demand. Terry had been expecting to have to pay a price. He was not surprised, but his heart sank. How much more was this going to cost him? He had been paying ever since it happened – in torment of mind as much as money.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll pay up. How much?’ he asked resignedly.

  Bernie laughed and something in the sound made Terry wince. ‘I wouldn’t ask you for money, old son. No, no. Not between old friends like you and me.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘You’re into this modern technology . . . what do they call it? IT? Doesn’t mean a thing to me, but my boys are up to speed on all that stuff and they think you could be very useful to us. They’ve checked you out and they’re impressed. They tell me you’re a growing strength in that market.’ He paused, softly said, ‘Are you ready to help us out if we ask?’

  Terry smiled with bitterness. ‘Of course, Bernie.’ What else could he say? If you ask for a favour you have to repay it. You get nothing for nothing in this world.

  ‘Good boy,’ Bernie purred. ‘Knew you would, knew you would.’ A pause, then he asked, ‘Tell me, if you’re so hot on technology, why didn’t you tap into the police computer yourself? My boys tell me it’s possible. What they call a hacker can tap into anything, even the government or army computers, they say. Even break into the revenue boys’ computers and we’d all like to do that. Why didn’t you try?’

  ‘I did, that’s how I knew she was definitely in the witness programme, but I couldn’t find an address. I thought there was some other data somewhere under a code key I couldn’t find. How soon can your policeman get to London and meet up with Maddrell?’

  ‘I’ll talk to him today, try to get him to go down there right away. That will depend how he’s placed at the moment, whether or not he can take a day or two off. He won’t want to make it obvious, he’ll have to have a good reason for going to London. I’ll be in touch when he comes up with anything. Oh, and one or two of my boys would like to come down to look around your business, get an idea of what you’ve got and where you’re at. OK?’

  ‘Delighted,’ Terry managed to get out. ‘Ask them to give me a ring about it first, I’ll give them lunch and show them round myself.’

  He put down the phone and sat staring out of the window, facing the fact that he was back in that world for good now, would find himself up to his neck in dirty water from this moment on. Easy to imagine the uses Bernie and his boys would put the business to, they would move in here and take over, and there was little he might be able to do to stop it. If he argued he might well end up with a bullet in his head, and then they would run the factory, using Sean to cover what was really going on.

  Sean wouldn’t have a clue how to fight them. They would blackmail him with the murder, terrorise him; especially if they had already killed Terry himself. The boy had been brought up soft, spoilt. He thought he was clever, thought he was tough – but he didn’t know what the words meant.

  Terry put his hands over his face, groaning. My boy. My boy. What’s going to become of him now?

  Chapter Eleven

  It was raining heavily as Sergeant Neil Maddrell arrived for work that August morning. Shaking his wet umbrella in the entrance lobby he looked gloomily out at the grey sky. Some August! He hadn’t had a holiday so far this summer.’ Time he did. Somewhere hot where the weather was reliable. Spain or Italy. He would go into a travel agent and get some brochures, hunt out a cheap trip to the Mediterranean. Spend a couple of weeks lying on the sand, sunbathing. Not thinking. Not worrying. It sounded great.

  He found a fax on his desk from Chief Inspector Carol. Merry Christmas to everyone at the station although they were careful never to use the nickname in his presence. George Amos Carol had no sense of humour whatever; he would not have laughed. Heavy in body, heavy in nature, with greyish wrinkled skin and a large nose, like a horn, he prowled the station like a rhinoceros, charging at everyone he met, barking out questions and orders, terrifying young constables who dithered and dropped things under his stare.

  ‘What’s he up to now?’ Neil asked his boss, who shrugged her plump shoulders.

  ‘A review of the Finnigan case, apparently. He wants to go through the papers with you.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘He thinks you’re wasting police time over it.’

  Neil groaned. ‘He’s going to order me to drop it?’

  ‘He says he hasn’t decided yet and wants to hear your side of things, but I think he has.’ Her ginger eyebrows bristled. ‘The man likes fast results and low costs. This case has dragged on for weeks without any resolution, so he wants to bring down the guillotine.’

  ‘Damn him.’

  ‘I didn’t hear that, Neil. Have a quick read of the papers yourself, make sure you’re up to speed on it before you see him. One of his favourite tricks is trying to catch you out on some small detail. Don’t let him do that.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Neil said grimly, and spent the next hour going over the case, then wrote a report emphasising every reason why they should continue with it. At a quarter to eleven he took a coffee break, had a mug of black coffee out of the machine in the corridor, then went up in the lift to the next floor.

  Inspector Burbage was already with Chief Inspector Carol. They were discussing another case when Neil joined them, but stopped talking to nod to him.

  ‘Come and sit down, Maddrell,’ the Chief Inspector grunted, that horn of his pointing at Neil. ‘Jessica tells me she has already informed you how I feel, what’s on my mind, so let’s get straight down to the facts. This witness, Miranda Grey, is the only one who claims to have seen this murder . . .’

  ‘Heard,’ Neil interrupted. ‘She only heard it.’

  ‘She didn’t even see anything, that’s right.’ Carol licked his right index finger and began turning pages in the folder of evidence in front of him.

  ‘She doesn’t give a description of the girl.’

  ‘She didn’t see her. But she heard what she was saying about being pregnant with young Finnigan’s child, and heard the noise of drowning.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I’ll come to that in a minute. So, we have a witness who didn’t see anything, only heard noises.’ Merry Christmas lifted his hard, dark eyes to stare at Neil, his horn nose pointing belligerent
ly. ‘A witness who’s well known to be neurotic. Has had a nervous breakdown, was in a psychiatric ward for months, where she kept claiming to hear somebody drowning.’

  ‘Her husband,’ Neil reminded. ‘He did drown, within earshot of the poor girl. But all that happened three years ago. She has recovered completely.’

  ‘Ah, but has she?’ the Chief Inspector pounced triumphantly. ‘You can never be sure with nutters. She could be having another breakdown. There was no sign of anyone having drowned, no body was found, nobody else heard or saw anything. The boy has a respectable background, father wealthy, engaged to a very rich young woman, there’s nothing against him.’

  ‘But a girl is missing, sir. A girl who knew him, had been dating him for some time.’

  ‘Girls go missing all the time, man! There’s no proof she isn’t alive. She’s probably with some other man somewhere. Sounds to me like that sort of girl. Always hopping into bed with someone, running off with them. The point is, Maddrell, you have no real evidence. Just a neurotic witness who has previously claimed to hear people drowning and has been in a psychiatric hospital for months.’

  ‘I believe her. If you had met her, you would believe her, too, sir. She’s a good witness.’

  ‘Look, Maddrell, you have no body, you can’t go into court with what this girl says. You can’t rely on her evidence. Even if you found a body, the defence would tear her to shreds.’ He flicked through the pages of the folder again. ‘And without a body we wouldn’t have a hope in hell.’

  ‘If the body turns up, sir . . .’

  ‘If it hasn’t turned up by now it isn’t very likely that you’ll find it, is it? The so-called body could be walking around anywhere. No, you’re wasting police time and money. Drop it, Maddrell. Get on with your other work. Forget this case.’

  ‘Sir, we shouldn’t forget that the witness, Mrs Grey, was knocked down by a hit and run driver immediately after we interviewed her. We have plenty of people who saw what happened and it appears to have been quite deliberate. Doesn’t that suggest someone was trying to silence her?’

  ‘It suggests to me that someone knocked her down, panicked, and drove off without stopping. I don’t see any connection to the accusations she had made. Plenty of people do get knocked down by hit and run drivers, every day.’

  Neil looked helplessly at Inspector Burbage who looked back without expression. She wasn’t getting involved, he could see that.

  ‘Forget about this case,’ the Chief Inspector said. ‘Plenty of other work piling up, deal with that.’ He made a gesture of dismissal and Neil rose.

  ‘Sir,’ he said with barely hidden resentment. ‘By the way, I’m due some leave – could I take it soon?’

  ‘Why not? Now would be a good time. A break, that’s what you need, take your mind off this Finnigan case.’

  He took the lift down to his own office and stood by the window, staring bleakly out. He couldn’t disobey, he had to do as he was told and drop the case.

  Miranda Grey was on her own now. He hoped to God the Finnigans didn’t find out where she was, that was all. He really ought to get in touch with her, let her know that the case was being dropped, warn her to be careful. And Greece would be the perfect place for a holiday.

  Alex Manoussi had had a long, hot, hard morning. He needed to get away from the boat yard, sit in the shade at his favourite harbour-side restaurant, under the awning, drink an ice cold beer, then eat a light lunch – hummus to start with, then salad with fish or maybe lamb.

  His table was ready; the waiter quickly brought him a high glass of beer, the sides dewed with condensation from being put into a bowl of chopped ice for a few minutes.

  ‘Thavmasseeos,’ he breathed, taking a long swallow. ‘Wonderful, perfect, I was dying for that.’ He took another mouthful, then asked, ‘Any specials today?’

  ‘Streidia, very good oysters, with shallots and parsley. Or there’s a salad of feta cheese and oranges. Or Kavouras.’

  ‘Ah, crab, I haven’t eaten that for a while – how is it served?’

  ‘Plain, boiled, with green olives, olive oil and lemon juice. Very simple, but good. And the main courses – we have squid, in red wine and oil, a stifado, a good casserole with herbs, tomatoes and vegetables. And the meat special of the day is choirino – baked pork chops with aubergines, potatoes and green beans.’

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll start with the crab and half a dozen oysters, then have the pork chops.’

  ‘And wine?’

  ‘Just your house white.’

  ‘Today that’s from Crete, a Gentilini. a good flavour but not expensive.’

  ‘Fine.’

  He had just started eating his starter when a shadow fell across him. Looking up he started, eyes widening.

  ‘Sandra? What on earth are you doing here?’

  The Greek men in the restaurant all lifted their eyes to stare at the blonde in the clinging leopard-skin tunic which emphasised her large breasts and rounded hips. It clung so close she might as well be naked.

  ‘We’re just finishing a cruise around the Greek islands – flying home from Athens. You remember Jack, don’t you?’

  He nodded to the other man, noting with distaste the gold earrings, the heavy gold watch, the glisten of oil on Jack’s hair.

  ‘Did you enjoy the trip?’

  ‘Yeah, it was OK,’ Jack said. ‘Is the food good here? Good restaurant, is it?’

  ‘Excellent. I can recommend the fish, particularly.’

  ‘I like the look of those oysters.’ Jack’s smile revealed even, capped white teeth. ‘Good for the sex life. An aphrodisiac, they say, don’t they?’

  ‘They say,’ agreed Alex.

  ‘The cruise ship stopped off on Delos,’ Sandra said.

  Alex stiffened, met her mocking stare. ‘Oh? Beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘We saw you there, didn’t we, Jack?’

  Jack nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘We were going back to the ship. You were landing.’ Sandra paused, watching him. ‘You had a girl with you. I recognised her. She used to work for Terry. Did you know he’s been looking for her for weeks?’

  Alex shook his head coolly.

  ‘I haven’t talked to him lately.’

  ‘He didn’t tell you he’d sacked the girl?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, he has. She caused him a lot of trouble, which is why he wants to find her now. Is she here, in Athens? Does she work for you? At your boat yard?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ disbelieved Sandra, her panda eyes wide, red mouth parted and glossy. ‘So if we went along there now we wouldn’t find her?’

  ‘No, you would not. Everyone who works for me is Greek.’

  ‘Do you know where we can find her?’

  He shook his head, took another oyster.

  ‘Well, why was she with you at Delos?’

  ‘I met up with her at Mykonos, recognised her, as you did. When I said I was going to Delos she said she would like to visit it too, so I invited her to sail to Delos with me.’ He hoped to God Sandra and Jack had not sailed on to Mykonos on the cruise ship, had not been there when he and Miranda landed that afternoon and strolled round the town, had not seen them together.

  ‘Where did you take her after Delos?’

  Sandra had a sharp, insistent way of questioning that grated on him.

  ‘To Mykonos.’

  ‘Was she staying there?’

  He nodded without actually answering.

  ‘Did she say when she was going home?’

  ‘No.’ He swallowed the oyster, took a sip of the cold wine. Jack watched him, shifting impatiently.

  ‘Time’s getting on, Sandra and I’m starving. Why don’t we get a table, have lunch here?’

  ‘No, I want to go into Athens, eat at a good American hotel. I don’t want any more Greek food, I’ve had enough to last me for years. Come on.’ She gave Alex a hard, almost threatening look. ‘I’ll be talking to Terry
later today. I expect he’ll be in touch.’

  No doubt he would, Alex thought, watching her and Jack walking away. What bad luck running into the two of them here. The world was smaller than anyone would guess.

  Well, at least Sandra clearly didn’t know about the hotel, hadn’t realised he did not live full time in Piraeus – the question was, did Terry? Terry had visited him here, in Piraeus, years ago, in the early days of their business connection. He had been very curious about Greece, never having been there before.

  Alex recalled that his mother had cooked one of her wonderful Greek meals for Terry, who had been very appreciative. They had driven Terry round Athens, shown him the sights, the Parthenon, the Plaka, the beauties of the museum, the gold mask of Agamemnon, dug up in Mycenae, the bronze statues of naked athletes, the mighty bronze of Poseidon hurling his trident, god of the sea and of earthquakes, the bull god, brother of Zeus.

  ‘I’m not too keen on museums, normally, but I must say this is pretty spectacular,’ Terry had said. ‘How old did you say those bronzes were? Amazing, that people were so clever all that time ago. Makes you think, doesn’t it?’

  The evening before he left they had taken him to an excellent restaurant where he had eaten the best food Greece could offer; had picked out a live lobster from the large tank along one wall of the room, laughed at the elastic bands on its claws, enjoyed it when it arrived cooked on a great platter, with a fresh lemon mayonnaise sauce.

  They had all got on well; talked about business, politics, travel. But had they ever mentioned the other side of their family life – the island, the hotel? Alex could not remember.

  He decided to sail home on Saturday morning, see Miranda, warn her that Sandra was going to tell Terry she was in Greece.

  Maybe she should move on, find a new place to hide? He grimaced. He didn’t want her to leave the island, didn’t want her to go away.

  That Friday evening, Miranda rang her mother and had to wait some time before the phone was answered. Dorothy sounded out of breath.