The Beth Papadakis Thriller Box Set

by Cara Alexander

  James shifts in his chair, the guy’s beginning to irritate him. ‘What about my phone number? How did you get that?’

  The Greek smiles, slightly. ‘It was easy. I went to your food shop. I told the Spanish woman working there I was an old friend of yours, that I needed to speak to you, I said it was very urgent and she told me.’

  James’s wife Isabelle often works in the delicatessen when it’s busy, or when he’s out. He’s lost count of the times he’s asked her not to give anyone his number. Running his fingers through his hair he surveys the man sitting opposite him. ‘It doesn’t make sense, why choose me when there are so many Greek journalists who would jump at a scoop like this?’

  The Greek shrugs his shoulders and looks at him. ‘I read your newspaper articles, I know how you think, I’ve checked you out.’ Then as an afterthought he adds. ‘I have to be careful.’

  The waiter saunters over, flicks the table with a red cloth, places a glass of beer in front of James, then walks back to the open bar door and lights a cigarette.

  James sips the ice-cold beer relishing the moorish taste of the amber liquid. He sits watching the Greek for a few minutes, in a way he’s enjoying the drama of the situation, he just wishes his friend Dev was here, he’d know what to do.

  In his shirt pocket is a hundred-euro bill which he keeps for occasions like this. He reaches inside his pocket, then stops, maybe the Greek will want more?

  As if reading his mind, the Greek waves his hand. ‘I don't want your money, I just want you to take this seriously, they must be stopped.’

  James nods, drains his beer and looks at his phone. It’s getting late, he must hurry, Helen will be waiting for him.

  He leans forward and picks up his car keys. ‘When do you think this will happen?’

  The man looks surprised. ‘If I knew I would tell you, but it won't be long, I might find out more tonight, but you must promise not to repeat what I have said, otherwise...’

  He makes a gesture across his neck.

  ‘Don't worry, this is between you and me, I'll wait for your call.’

  The man nods.

  James stands up to go.

  There’s the sound of shooting - everything goes black for James.

  The headlines on the Athens tabloid press the following morning read:

  SHOOTING IN ATHENS BEACH BAR LATE THIS EVENING - ONE DEAD, ONE ON LIFE SUPPORT IN HOSPITAL

  1

  ELIAS

  Athens, 5 February

  11.00 pm

  The office buzzes with life like any other city newspaper on a weekday night.

  With a sigh of relief Elias closes his laptop, he leaves the office, strides towards the elevator and presses the button to go down. The thought of an ice-cold beer on his veranda at home makes him lick his dry lips.

  ‘Elias, come back!’

  Oh no! Now what!

  Stavros, the chief editor is standing at the office door looking at him excitedly. ‘Come and see what’s just come in!’

  Elias dutifully returns to the office and stands staring at the huge computer screen on Stavros’s desk.

  The newsflash reads - SHOOTING IN GLYFADA BEACH BAR.

  Elias raises his eyebrows; he knows what’s coming.

  Stavros points to the screen. ‘On your way home, make a detour, find out what’s happening, we can get this in the early morning edition if you hurry.’

  Elias nods, what can he say, they’re already short of staff and this looks big. ‘Is the photographer there,’ he asks, turning to leave the room.

  ‘He’s on his way, call me when you get there, now hurry.’

  It’s nearly midnight by the time Elias reaches the scene of the shooting. Police tape cordons off the small side street from the main highway where the bar’s located.

  In front of the shattered bar window, shards of glass lay strewn across the terrace. Two bodies lay twisted and still.

  Onlookers stand gazing in horror at the terrible scene.

  A TV film crew are in the process of setting up their lighting equipment but there’s no sign of Elias’s photographer.

  With his pass showing, he ducks under the police tape and peers at a paramedic standing nearby. ‘Are they alive?’

  The paramedic points to a stretcher being taken away.

  ‘This one might stand a chance, but not the other one.’

  ‘Any idea who they are?’

  The paramedic shakes his head. ‘The waiter’s inside, they can’t get much out of him, seems he was smoking outside the bar door when it happened.’

  Elias walks back towards the waiting ambulance wondering who the poor bastards are. He glances down at the blood-soaked body being carried to the ambulance and stares in horror at the man laying on the stretcher.

  The paramedic’s watching him and comes over. ‘Are you alright, do you know him?’

  Elias stands staring as if in a trance. ‘It’s my friend,’ he groans. ‘It’s James.’

  2

  BETH

  London, 5 February

  Early morning - 8.30 am

  My carry-on luggage slithers and slides as I hurry inside Bayswater Tube station. Suddenly there’s a rumbling sound. Everyone charges to scan their tickets, I run with them.

  Once through the barrier, I’m carried down the stairs by this mass of people onto the train. The doors slam shut, then the train hurtles through the underground tunnels of London.

  My case is between my legs, I’m squashed by people either side of me. Usually I try to avoid the horror of the London rush hour, but today I’m on an early morning flight to Greece. Yesterday's general strike in Athens caused many flights to be cancelled so I’m hoping my flight’s still okay, so far it is, but these things have a habit of changing.

  At Earls Court station I change to the Piccadilly line for the train to the airport. It’s much faster than the other train, but even more crowded.

  I’m covered from head to toe in warm winter clothes, my arms are pressed against me so there’s no chance of unzipping my coat. The guy facing me is inches away from my face. At every stop more people pile in, I start feeling nauseous and close my eyes.

  We must be nearly there, how many more stops?

  At last a voice booms from the loudspeaker announcing we’ve arrived at Heathrow Airport.

  In desperation I give the guy next to me a shove, retrieve my luggage from between my legs and charge up the escalators to the airport.

  A cold blast of air hits me as I run the few yards to airport departures, it’s strangely quiet, not a good sign. Maybe my flight’s been cancelled? A quick look at my phone tells me it’s still okay. I make my way through customs and check for my flight gate number.

  By the time I reach the gates most people have boarded, the plane’s almost full. I booked an aisle seat, I think it’s the best place to sit if you’re travelling alone, especially if it’s a long flight.

  Across the aisle from me is a young Greek guy, his eyes are closed. I stow away my bag in the compartment above my seat then sit down. The two seats next to me are empty, if it stays like this I can stretch out.

  No such luck, a few minutes later a young couple arrive, I stand up to let them pass to sit down, then a few minutes later we take-off.

  As the plane ascends, I glance across at the small window and watch the retreating grayness of London, soon to be replaced by the blue skies and warm weather in Athens. What luck to be sent to Greece, if only for a few days.

  I settle down for the four hour flight, the young Greek guy opposite me crosses himself, the woman next to him takes a swig of something from a small bottle, she catches my eye and gives me a wink, then carries on drinking. I smile then close my eyes and start thinking of Athens.

  After I’ve dropped my luggage off at the hotel, I’ll see Helen, we’re having lunch at one of our favourite restaurants. I wrap my coat around me, I’ll try to sleep for a few hours, I didn’t get much sleep last night. I close my eyes, I can’t usually sleep when I’m
travelling…

  A voice cuts into my dreams.

  ‘Fasten your seat belts, please.’

  I must’ve slept through the entire journey, I quickly sit up.

  The plane begins its descent and lurches sideways, the sparkling blue Mediterranean Sea and pine topped mountains of Parnassas are visible through the small side window of the plane.

  Grabbing my luggage from the overhead locker I head for the door, wait five minutes till it opens then clamber down the rickety airport steps onto the tarmac of Athens International Airport Eleftherios Venizelos.

  It’s hot, compared to London - 24 degrees in February is not unusual. With a surge of renewed energy, I hurry through customs then take the metro to Syntagma Square.

  Fifty minutes later I’m in the very heart of Athens. Shielding my eyes from the unaccustomed sunshine, I survey the square, the open-air cafés, the old Grand Bretagne Hotel, nothing has changed.

  Sighing happily, I make my way to my hotel. I’m staying at the Plaka Hotel, not as luxurious as the Grand Bretagne, but with an amazing rooftop terrace and stunning views of the Acropolis. Helen wanted me to stay at her place. If it was just Helen it would be okay, but her husband’s there. As you probably guessed, I’m not a great fan of her husband.

  Within minutes, I’m on Ermou Street, the main shopping district of Athens, my hotel’s just a ten-minute walk from here.

  When I arrive; I’m greeted like a long-lost relative. I’ve been here a few times before and they remember me.

  My room is on the top floor, so I take the elevator, drop off my bag and ten minutes later I’m sipping an ice-cold beer on the rooftop terrace.

  I give Helen a call, but it goes to voicemail, she’s probably still at her meeting, I’ll finish my beer, have a quick shower, then go to meet her as arranged at Mont Parnes.

  3

  HELEN

  Athens, 5 February

  Early morning - 8.00 am

  My phone’s ringing, it must be James, we arranged to meet last night but he didn’t showed up, he didn’t call, which is most unlike him.

  I run into my bedroom, pick up my phone from the bedside table, but it’s not James, it’s my husband, Theo, he didn’t come home last night.

  ‘I thought you would be at work by now, Helen.’ He’s silent for a minute, then carries on. ‘I want to use the house today I have some business to do. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, so make sure you’re out by the time I get there.’

  My phone slips from my hand, then the house phone starts ringing.

  ‘Good morning Helen, sorry to call you on your house phone but your cell phone was busy. We need to talk, it’s quite urgent, can we meet at the café in the square?’

  I sigh with relief, it’s Dev. ‘I can be there in half an hour, is that too early?’

  ‘No, that’s fine, by the way, I mean Syntagma Square, not Kolonaki Square, is that okay?’

  ‘Yes, of course, see you soon.’

  With a sigh of relief, I head for the shower, I’ll be glad to get out of here.

  A few minutes later, with a towel wrapped around me I peer out of the living room window at the square below, no sign of Theo, yet.

  Back in the bedroom I quickly get dressed, slip on my underwear, slide on my jeans, grab a blue top from the chair then slip on a pair of flat black shoes.

  I leave the house glad to have missed Theo. But on turning the corner, I freeze, it’s his car, then I groan, there’s a woman in the front with him. Gritting my teeth, I run past the car and down the street.

  Ten minutes later I arrive at the square, Dev’s sitting on the café terrace waiting for me.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ he asks, giving me a worried look as I walk over and sit down.

  Talking about Theo will only make me feel worse, so I tell him about James. ‘I’m okay, but I’m worried about James, I arranged to meet him last night, but he didn't show up, have you heard from him?’

  He shakes his head. ‘No, but I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, you know what he’s like.’

  ‘But it’s not like him, Dev,’ I reply, frowning. ‘He’d definitely call me if he couldn’t make it. As it was, I waited till the place closed...’

  ‘You mustn’t worry, you’ve got enough on your plate, I'm sure there’s a good explanation. Now what about a drink, coffee, tea?’

  ‘Espresso, please.’

  He beckons to the waitress, orders two coffees, then looks at me. ‘Did you try calling his house phone?’

  I shrug, imagining what his wife would say if I did. ‘I don’t like phoning him at home, his wife, well, she’s not very friendly.’

  Just then the waitress appears with our coffees. When she’s gone Dev takes an envelope from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. ‘Be careful they don’t fall out.’

  I draw in a sharp breath, inside are photos of my husband. The first photo is of him in a restaurant with a woman. They look very friendly, too friendly. The next photo makes me gasp, it’s a photo of him, he’s naked, he’s having sex with the woman.

  Dev lights a cigarette then passes me his phone. ‘There’s more...it’s a video.’

  I take his phone and sit staring in horror at the images of my husband in front of me. He’s having sex with another naked woman.

  ‘How on earth did you get these?’ I mutter, handing him back his phone and the photos.

  He shrugs. ‘I have my ways.’

  I nod. Although I’ve been expecting this, it’s still a shock to see him in bed with other women.

  ‘Look, I know this must be hard.’ He stops, draws hard on his cigarette then stubs it out and looks at me. ‘You now have everything you need; you have grounds for divorce.’

  Over the past few weeks Dev and I have become quite good friends. Dev and James are friends from way back, that’s how I got to know him. This isn’t really the kind of thing Dev does, so I’m lucky he agreed to help.

  ‘Is there somewhere you can stay for a few days, till this is over?’ Dev asks, breaking into my thoughts.

  I shake my head. ‘No, today I have a meeting with a couple of French travel agents, then I’m meeting an old friend from London. Can we talk about this tomorrow, Dev?’

  ‘Of course, give me a ring when you’re ready to discuss it.’

  Before leaving my office, I try calling James, still no reply. I make my way to Syntagma Square and from there take the bus to the teleferique, it only takes seven minutes in the cable car to Mont Parness, much quicker than taking a taxi.

  I force a smile to my lips as I climb the steps to the hotel entrance, then I walk over to reception to see if my potential business partners have arrived. I’m told they have, they’re waiting for me in the bar.

  4

  BETH

  Athens, 5 February

  Later that day

  As I leave the hotel the delicious aroma of fresh coffee and pastries hits me. It’s 4.20 in the afternoon, Athens time, we’re two hours ahead of London. I haven’t eaten since early this morning, I only had time for a small slice of toast and I’m starving.

  I quickly pop into the baker’s shop to buy a tyropita (cheese pie) and a take-away coffee, then look around for a cab.

  Almost instantly a yellow cab pulls up beside me - Greek bouzouki music blares from inside.

  ‘Mont Parnes Teleferique?’ I ask, poking my head through the open window.

  The driver nods, I open the back door and slide inside.

  Athens is always busy and today’s no exception, it should only take about twenty minutes to get to the teleferique, from there I’ll take the cable car to the casino.

  I sit enjoying the familiar sounds of Athens happy to be back. The sun’s shining, it’s a lovely day, I lean back and smile to myself.

  The driver looks at me through his mirror. ‘Your first time in Athens?”

  ‘No, I used to live here.’

  He nods and hums along to the song on the radio, it’s one of my favourites.

&nbs
p; I’m enjoying the ride so much I decide to keep the cab for the rest of the journey, this way I avoid the cable car which I’m not too keen on anyway.

  A popular Greek song suddenly blasts from the car radio, the driver sings along, worry beads swing above the car dashboard, I smile to myself, I’m really enjoying this. Taking the cable car would've been quicker but I prefer driving through the familiar streets of Athens, there’s so much to see.

  After the divorce, my son and I returned to the UK and stayed with Mum for a while in Oxford. To say the experience was traumatic, not staying with Mum, but the horrific events which occurred, is an understatement. When we eventually moved to London, I rented an apartment, found a school for Jamie and got a job. We’ve been there ever since. My ex lives here in Athens.

  The cab climbs higher and higher, up the narrow mountain road, small icons in memory of those who’ve lost their lives are on many of the corners. The roads are quite treacherous, you really need to be a good driver if you’re driving here.

  When I was a teenager, I was in one of the old buses going to Mont Parnes, we were half-way up and the bus suddenly stopped and began sliding backwards. We were just a few inches from the edge. I can still remember the screams and shouts of sheer panic, the bus driver shouting, ‘grígora, grígora érchontai sto brostinó méros tou leoforeíou,’ (quickly, quickly, come to the front of the bus). The weight of everyone moving forward saved us from going over.

  Just thinking about it reminds me of the dizzying drop below us. We drive higher and higher up the mountain until at last the cab stops outside the casino.

  After paying the driver, I stand inhaling the crisp mountain air and familiar scent of pines. I used to love coming here, I wonder what it’s like now.

  I walk up the steps, go through the doors and see Helen waiting for me.

  She runs over and hugs me. ‘Let’s go to the restaurant, it's not very busy, I was there just now having coffee with the French guys.’