‘We get bodies drifting up on the beach now and again, but mostly we just have the odd burglary, petty shoplifting, vandalism, taking and driving on a Saturday night, when the pubs kick out, and a murder around once every couple of years – often domestic, the last one a man hit his wife on the head with a meat hammer, and before that a wife poisoned her husband because he was sleeping around.’
‘Sounds a nice quiet life.’
‘It’s very much a community life. We know most people, they know us. When a house gets done, we go round and lift the usual suspects. They’re not too bright upstairs, our criminals. We often find the goods stored in a garage, or under the stairs. We have a good clear-up rate.’
‘I might move here.’
Declan laughed. ‘Have you found somewhere to stay for the night?’
‘Not yet. I came straight to the station.’
‘Ah, well, now, I’ll find you somewhere.’
They were walking round to the back of the hospital. The morgue was housed in a stone building not much bigger than a garage. Neil shivered at the coldness inside and Declan gave him one of his shrewd, piercing looks.
‘Sure you want to do this?’
‘Yes,’ Neil said, hesitated, then confessed, ‘I need to see she’s really dead.’
‘Did you know her?’
‘No, but for a while I thought my witness might be lying, or crazy.’
‘Ah, sure, you want to set your own mind at rest. I understand. OK, Michael, bring her out.’
The attendant pulled out a drawer from the row of metal cabinets along one wall, then whisked back the white cotton sheet.
The body was horrific; swollen, silvery, glistening like some great fat fish, no features left on the inflated head for him to recognise. His eyes flashed briefly to the naked body then away again as sickness rose in his throat.
‘Enough?’ Declan asked, watching him.
Neil managed a nod. He reeled out of there and leaned on a low stone wall.
As they drove back to the police station, he kept his eyes shut, the window open beside him and a rough, clean wind from the sea filling his lungs, helping to expel the after-taste of the morgue. That scent of decay and antiseptic was deadly. He hated it.
Back in his small, shabby office Declan opened a drawer and got out a bottle and two glasses.
‘Join me?’
‘Please,’ Neil said through white lips, afraid he might throw up any minute, which would be humiliating in front of this stranger. He had seen dead bodies often enough before, but that one had been the worst in his experience.
Declan put a file box on the desk. ‘X-rays – she’d been to a dentist recently, she broke an arm in childhood and it was set badly, and there’s a scar on the abdomen. Appendix. Forensic says it’s quite old; she was maybe late teens when she had that done.’
‘Yes, that fits what we know.’
‘Did you know she was pregnant when she died. Around three months gone.’
Neil nodded. ‘I was told she said she was.’
‘Ah, but it’s sad. I always hate it when the corpse is pregnant. Two deaths for the price of one, God help us, and the babe with no life at all. You should be able to get a fix on her with all that, though.’
‘Oh, yes. I’m sure she’s the girl I’ve been looking for – what about the lungs?’
‘The lungs?’ Declan stared at him blankly.
‘What does forensic say about how she died? Did she drown in the sea?’
Declan flipped pages, leaning forward to read, stabbed a finger at a page. ‘Ah, you’re right, there – sorry, I did notice it, but I’d forgotten. I’m working on a few other cases at the same time. You know how it is. There’s no salt water in her lungs at all, she was dead when she went into the sea. But there’s water in the lungs – only it’s tap water. Probably died in a bath.’
Neil began to smile. ‘Got him.’
‘Ah, it’s a joy, entirely, isn’t it?’ Declan sympathised. ‘Come on, now, and I’ll find you a bed for the night. I know a nice quiet place where you can get bed and breakfast for twenty pounds. My wife and I would be very happy to have you eat your dinner with us. She’s making braised steak in Guinness tonight. With dumplings, light as air. I tell you, man, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven. Maureen is a wonderful cook. I’m a very lucky man. Are you married, Neil?’
‘No, not yet, but I’m working on it.’
Declan grinned. ‘Good man.’
Terry Finnigan got the phone call early next morning while he was eating toast and marmalade and drinking coffee in a misty morning light.
‘Not good news, I’m afraid,’ Bernie told him, wheezing. ‘They’ve found the body. It came up in a trawler’s net, off Ireland. They identified it by the teeth, and some old operating scar – and she was pregnant, of course.’
Terry shut his eyes, breathing carefully. What bloody bad luck. All these weeks and then some fisherman nets it. In another couple of months there would only have been bones; no evidence left. Why couldn’t it have stayed down there?
He swallowed, asked flatly, ‘Has your man tracked down the other girl yet? Miranda.’
‘Not exactly, but he did pick up some gossip about the detective on the case flying to Greece last week. He wasn’t booked for a holiday, maybe that’s where she is?’
‘Greece?’ Terry was astounded, his mind racing.
‘Yeah. Anyway, warn Sean to expect a visit, get your brief on side, ready for when they come. Keep me in touch with what’s going on, won’t you, Terry?’
‘Sure, of course.’
‘My two boys are coming to see you tomorrow. Andy and my computer expert, Liam. Ten o’clock, at your office, OK?’
‘OK,’ Terry said indifferently, no longer caring. What did his business matter compared with what might happen now to his son?
Sean was still in bed, his blinds down, the room in soft shadow. Terry crashed open the door, yanked the sheet off him as he walked past to pull the blinds up and drench the room with morning light.
‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Sean spluttered, sitting up.
His father looked down at the boy’s naked body in that tumbled, heated nest, his temper rising. Look at him! All he thought about was enjoying himself; partying all night, sleeping all morning. It was Sean’s self-indulgence, his obsession with his own pleasure, that had brought all this about. If he hadn’t slept with that girl none of this would be happening. Rage filled him. He slapped his son round that sulky, flushed face, still stupid with sleep, and saw incredulous amazement come into Sean’s eyes.
He had never struck the boy before. He should have done. Maybe some of this was his fault? He had brought the boy up as if he were a prince, given him everything he ever wanted, often before he had even realised he wanted it. No wonder Sean thought he had a right to take what he liked, do what he liked. He had never before met real life, been forced to pay for what he had done.
‘Get up, get dressed, come downstairs. We’ve got to talk.’
‘You hit me, you bastard!’ Sean’s hand curled into a fist. ‘I’m not a kid. You’ve no right to lay a finger on me! I should knock your face through the back of your head.’
‘They’ve found the body.’
Sean was very still, staring. ‘They can’t have.’
‘They have.’
‘I weighted it down . . . it couldn’t float up.’
‘It didn’t. It was dredged up in fishing nets.’
Sean went white. ‘Where?’ he whispered.
‘Ireland.’
Desperately the boy gasped, ‘But by now it must be . . . unrecognisable. It’s been down there for weeks. They won’t be able to tell who it is!’
‘They will. These days they’ve got all sorts of ways of proving identity. They can take a hair from her hair brush and get her DNA. And they’re like death and taxes, they never let go. They’ll prove it, somehow, and God help you when they do.’
‘Even if they can tell it’s her,
they can’t prove I did anything.’
‘With Miranda’s evidence they can.’
Sean swore hoarsely. ‘That bitch! We’ve got to shut her mouth. With her out of the picture the police won’t be able to make a case.’
Terry sighed. Sean was right. ‘Bernie says that detective, what’s his name . . . the one who’s dealing with the case, has gone to Greece. I wonder if that’s where Miranda’s been hiding?’
A car rolled up the drive, wheels grating on gravel, and Terry frowned. ‘Now who the hell is that? Not them, already?’ He looked at his son almost despairingly. ‘Get up, get dressed, come downstairs.’ Then he ran down the stairs two at a time and pulled open the front door, staring at the couple confronting him.
‘Sandra? I thought you were on some cruise.’
‘We just got back.’ She swayed past him on very high, glossy black heels. Jack followed her like a dog, keeping close to her, as if afraid Terry might hit him.
The idea did occur, but Terry decided not to indulge himself. He had enough problems without getting into a punch-up with Jack, or quarrelling with his ex-wife. ‘Coffee?’ he offered, walking into the dining room. ‘This is still hot.’ He lifted the steel vacuum jug and waved it.
Sandra sat down, crossed her legs, her black dress sliding upwards to reveal supple, tanned thighs.
‘Lovely. I fancy some toast, as well, please.’
Terry slid two slices of bread into the toaster on the sideboard.
‘Where’s Seany?’ Sandra cooed, pouring black coffee for herself and Jack, who was jingling his gold bracelets in a sleepy way.
‘Getting up. You going back to Spain right away, or staying on over here for a while?’
‘We’re flying to Spain day after tomorrow.’
Sean appeared in the doorway, his hair still damp from a shower, wearing a sleek casual outfit: pale biscuit slacks, a chocolate brown shirt, a cashmere beige cardigan over it.
‘Sean baby, you look great – you’ve got real style, I love the gear,’ his mother said, extending her arms, and he reluctantly allowed himself to be engulfed in them and kissed.
‘You look pale,’ Sandra said, leaning her head back to look closely at him, then turned accusing eyes on Terry. ‘The boy looks pale – what have you been doing to him?’
‘What have I been doing to him? Sandra, he’s been lying about on sofas watching videos, or sleeping late, while I’ve been running around like a blue-arsed fly, trying to save his bacon.’
‘No need for language like that! He’s not well, poor boy. But never mind. Sean, I’ve found that girl for you. What’s her name – this PR girl you’ve been looking for.’
‘Mum!’ Sean burst out, ‘You aren’t kidding me, are you? Where is she?’
‘Greece,’ she said, stroking his hair. ‘Seany, you ought to blow-dry this hair right away. You don’t want to catch a cold, it’s dangerous to go around with wet hair.’
‘I’m OK, Mum,’ he wriggled, pulling out of her arms.
‘What d’you mean, Greece?’ Terry grated, looking at her with dislike, taking the brown toast from the toaster and dropping it on a plate which he pushed in front of her.
She pulled the marmalade dish over and began spreading. ‘You know – that country on the other side of Italy. Greece. We went there on our Mediterranean cruise and we saw Miranda.’
A rush of angry colour flowed up Terry’s face. ‘Don’t be such a drama queen, Sandra. Stop pussyfooting around and tell us the facts. Where exactly did you see her, and when?’
‘The cruise ship stopped at this little island called Delos. We all went ashore in little boats. While we were queuing up to go back to the ship, after . . . and, God, it was boring. Just a lot of grass and broken bits of statues. Anyway, I saw that girl landing in another boat – and guess who she was with? That Greek chap you do business with. Alex something. It was his boat.’
‘Alex?’ Terry sat down, breathing thickly. ‘Are you sure it was him?’
‘Certain.’
‘And we saw him, in that place near Athens, when we arrived back from the cruise,’ Jack chimed in. ‘He was eating lunch. Sandra stopped to talk to him. You asked him about the girl, didn’t you, Sandra?’
‘Yeah. He admitted she’d been with him, claimed he’d picked her up in Mykonos, that’s another little island, not far from Delos, but at least they have great shops and no broken statues. I bought a wild silk blouse there, Yves St Laurent – a lovely damson colour.’
‘Delos?’
‘No, I told you, Mykonos. They have great bars, too.’
‘Tavernas,’ Jack said. ‘Greek drinks are weird, though. I hated retsina, and ouzo tastes like that French stuff, aniseed, what’s it called? Pernod?’
‘Do shut up about Greek drinks,’ Sandra snapped at him. ‘Alex said the girl was having a holiday on Mykonos, he’d met her by accident.’ She shrugged and bit into her toast, crunching noisily. ‘Who knows? Maybe it was the truth.’
‘When was this?’
‘End of last week,’ Jack said.
‘God Almighty,’ Terry erupted. ‘Why didn’t you ring and let me know at once? Don’t tell me you didn’t have your mobile with you? Or that there were no phones on this ship?’
Sandra swallowed her toast, gave him an indignant stare. ‘I tried to ring here a couple of times but you weren’t in, then I tried the office, and left a message – but I couldn’t tell your new assistant I’d found that girl, could I? It might have been a dodgy thing to do. If the police were listening to your calls and heard that they’d have known you were looking for her, and it could have gone against you.’ She wiped her crumbed fingers on a paper handkerchief. ‘I was using my brains, don’t know why I bothered. As soon as we landed we came straight here to give you the news. And all I get is insults and bad temper. We might as well still be married.’
‘Sorry,’ Terry said, grimacing. ‘I’m anxious, that’s all. Look, did you get the impression Alex was telling you the truth? Do you think he did just meet up with Miranda like that?’
She stood up, her blonde hair catching the light. ‘I don’t know. Well, I’m not sure – but no, my instincts told me he was lying. Now, don’t ask why, I can’t say. I just felt it, instinctively.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We’d better get going. I want to do some shopping in the West End.’
When she and Jack had departed Terry stood on the steps staring at the sky.
‘So Bernie was right,’ Sean said. ‘She was in Greece, that’s why Maddrell went there.’
Terry nodded grimly. ‘And that’s why I’m going, too. We have to find that girl and silence her before the police can move her on somewhere new.’
‘If you go to Greece it will look suspicious!’
‘Ah, but I’ve got a great excuse. I do a lot of business with Alex Manoussi. I’m going there to liaise with him on the spot.’
Chapter Twelve
Miranda had settled into her job now and was enjoying it. There was sufficient variety to keep her interested all day, especially when she had to deal with hotel guests. A number of Americans stayed there, few of them spoke Greek, she was often called upon to translate for them.
The hours were quite long, but she had one afternoon off a week. Alex went back to Athens on Sunday evening and on Tuesday she broke off work at mid-day to eat lunch with Pandora in her room, the meal served by Milo from a trolley. They had egg and lemon soup to start with, then salad with feta and olives. Pandora ate very little and seemed listless, silent.
‘Aren’t you well?’ Miranda asked anxiously, still wondering about Charles and Elena. That kiss she had seen – what had that meant? Did Charles love his wife? Milo clearly did not like him – why not? What did Milo know, or suspect?
‘I’m so bored lying in bed all day. I wish I could go out just once in a while.’
‘But why can’t you? If you were wheeled out to a car you could be driven anywhere.’ Miranda could easily understand how she must feel. Outside the window the sun glitter
ed on the grounds; on the silver birch shimmering in shadow, on roses and lavender carefully watered every evening to keep them alive. People walked past in swimsuits, carrying towels, making for the beach, or one of the swimming pools. Children scampered, laughing. ‘It must be a drag to have to stay indoors in weather like this.’
‘Oh, it is, especially when I’m alone for hours. Charles is always so busy. I know running a hotel is a full-time job, I just wish I could go out now and then.’
‘I don’t see why not. Ask your doctor if you can.’
‘I seem to have been in this room forever. Ever since we got here, anyway. Do you really think they would agree?’
‘There’s no harm in asking, is there?’
Pandora picked up the phone beside her bed and dialled. ‘Charles? Can you come here? Miranda’s had an idea I want to put to you. OK, in five minutes.’
Putting the phone down she gave Miranda a half-pleading, half-rueful look. ‘You don’t mind if I blame you? You never know with men, how they’re going to react. Charles wants me to stay put until the baby comes, he doesn’t realise how depressed I get, and I don’t like to make too much fuss.’
‘He loves you, anyone can see that.’ Miranda pushed away the memory of Charles kissing Elena. The other woman was probably more interested in Alex, who was free and available. ‘He’ll want you to be happy. I can’t see why there should be any real objection, so long as you don’t overstrain yourself, try to walk, get out of the car. A short drive could make all the difference to your mood, and that’s important, especially at the moment. You need to be cheered up. Tell him.’
‘He may not be able to spare the time.’
‘Then get Milo to take you. Or me! I can drive.’
Charles came in, overheard what she was saying and raised his eyebrows. ‘What are you two plotting?’
Pandora told him in a rush, her voice shaky.
He scratched his chin uncertainly. ‘I think we should ask the doctor if it’s OK, first, don’t you?’
‘Ring him now, then,’ urged Miranda, getting up, but Pandora caught her hand.
‘Wait – if I can go, come with us. We’ll drive to my favourite church, you can go in and say a prayer, light a candle to the virgin.’
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