1 The Assassins' Village (12 page)

That way they would never learn the truth. They would never find out.

Chapter 14. Monday

Lamentings heard i’ th’ air, strange screams of death and

prophesying, with accents terrible.

Macbeth. Act 2 Scene3

A shrill noise reverberated around the house, rudely shattering the once blissful silence.

‘Oh blast! Who the devil’s that now! I’m getting tired of all this.’

Steve slammed his coffee mug down with a crash onto the thick glass tabletop, wincing as he remembered just what it had cost him. He stomped off, muttering to himself as he went to answer the doorbell. A five-minute break was all he’d been looking forward to. Five minutes respite after clipping back an over enthusiastic oleander bush; time to be spent sitting in the shade on the back veranda. He was still finding it difficult to relax after yesterday. The whole household was in a spin.

His sister-in-law, Elaine, couldn’t settle to finish off her latest landscape. The spot where she had been working was in a remote area, she’d complained. It was some distance from the village boundaries. Its earlier tranquillity and isolation was now spoilt; the incredible thought of being down there all alone was sending icy shivers down her spine. Had she really imagined the last time she’d been there that someone had been spying on her? She confessed to Steve and Diana she was loath to go there alone and spend time painting, when perhaps a murderer might be only yards away. What if he struck again? Her nervousness was apparent as she prowled around the house in a restless state for most of the morning. Finally, in desperation Steve had persuaded her to go over to the Artists’ Gallery in the next village and see what she could do there. The gallery owners were always looking for cheap ways to improve the presentation of the local art for viewers. It really needed a thorough makeover, but most artists barely scraped by as it was, with little money to spare after they had paid all their necessary household bills. And true to form, the selfish Leslie had done nothing to assist them. Elaine had promised weeks ago to give it some thought and Steve decided that now was a perfect time as he manoeuvred her out of the front door.

As she drove off he heaved a huge sigh. Now, he could look forward to some peace at last, and despite the intense heat, a quiet hour or so spent in the garden seemed inviting. The oleander needed a good pruning, and once done he could reposition one of the huge clay pythari pots into the space. Diana, he could see up on the large airy landing. She’d said earlier that she planned to work on her book and would appreciate it if he would leave her to concentrate until at least lunchtime.

‘I’ve had a brilliant idea and I need to get it all down on paper. I’m making some good progress with my book. Give me an hour or two,’ she’d said.

The doorbell rang a second time as he padded in sandaled feet across the varnished wooden floor to the door. He flung it open, and crossed the enclosed courtyard to the pale blue painted yard gates. The cloying heavy scent from a white jasmine clinging to the wall and trellis hit him as he poked a head outside.

‘Hello you two, how are you? I suppose you’ve heard? Come on in.’

He stepped aside to admit Bernard and Jenny.
He knew
they would be the first to visit.

‘Hope it’s not inconvenient, but we’ve just heard about Leslie. Dreadful business isn’t it?’ Jenny looked shaken and alarmed. Her usually vivacious face was pale as she continued. ‘What on earth did you do when you found him?’

With a feeling of dread, Steve knew he wasn’t going to get rid of them easily, not without some explanation at least. Bernard and Jenny – especially Jenny – were the worst gossips in Agios Mamas. Making a quick decision he decided that Di could jolly well be sociable and help him out with their visitors. Hang her work for once; besides, as he kept telling her she needed a rest from it.

‘Di! We’ve got company,’ he bellowed up the stairs.

~~~

‘Well as we’ve all said before, he certainly was a strange man. I’m not sure how much he’ll be missed as he upset a fair few people,’ Jenny said as she helped herself to another cheese straw. ‘These are jolly good. Did you make them yourself Di?’

‘No, Steve did actually, and yes they are good. Who did you say he upset?’ she replied with an innocent air about her.

Jenny failed to notice as she again picked up the conversation. ‘Well, I don’t like to gossip and tell tales… but there are a few as I said. Mind you, I’m not sure if he had upset anyone that much…,’ she stopped when she saw the alarmed look that Steve and Di couldn’t help but exchange. There was a noticeable pause while she went white and then flushed pink before gasping in a squeaky voice.

‘My God! I don’t believe it! You think he was murdered!’ she could barely whisper the last word; such was her horrified excitement. Wide-eyed with anticipation she looked first at Di and then Steve. ‘You do, don’t you? Oooh! What do you know? How was he murdered?’

Again Steve and Di exchanged looks.  This time they lingered a fraction longer as they knew they had given their word. No one else knew just how brutal the attack on Leslie had been. The gruesome details had to be kept quiet for the time being. Jenny continued to gasp and splutter with her exclamations.

‘Ssh! For heaven’s sake keep your voice down. The police inspector said we’re not to say anything to anyone yet.’

‘Oh! Constable Slack! He really is pathetic isn’t he? All mouth and trousers as my mother used to say. Come on Di, we’re not daft you know. You don’t have a police inspector and sergeant turning up, interviewing people if they don’t suspect foul play. Do you?’ Jenny interrupted Diana.

‘Er, perhaps there is more than we know,’ Di said slowly, thinking fast.

‘What
do
you
know?’ she demanded once again.

‘Jenny! Behave. You’re embarrassing Steve and Di. Honestly, your tongue will get you into trouble before long,’ Bernard interjected in a firm voice.

‘No, she’s right. It’s just that the police didn’t want us to talk to other possible suspects about it. Not until they’ve finished here. They were emphatic about it you see.’ Steve replied.

‘Of course we understand. Don’t we, Jen?’ Bernard gave her a firm look. ‘Suspects did you say? Well I can safely vouch for us. Yesterday afternoon we were at the taverna with you. There you go, a perfect alibi,’ Bernard looked smug with himself as he glanced over to his wife.

Steve and Di said nothing. Yes, Bernard and Jen had been at the taverna.

Di had a niggling thought at the back of her mind that she couldn’t lay her finger on. She tried to assemble and dissemble snatches of conversation and anecdotes that she’d heard over the past months. Something connected, something to do with, what was it -? Darn it. Perhaps it would come back to her later.

‘They probably have masses of clues only they know about. They will need to keep quiet about them if they do.’ Jenny looked satisfied with herself as she made this contribution. ‘Well, okay, you’d better not tell us anything else, after all we don’t want to get you into trouble. Mind you, it’s all over the village anyway and everyone will be making wild guesses.’

‘That’s what’s worrying us,’ said Steve gloomily.

A sound from the courtyard made them all jump. Holding their breath, all four shot panicked looks at each other until Steve stood up to see what it was. Footsteps were heard, and Elaine appeared in the doorway, a painting in her hands. She looked strained and pale under her tan. She glanced at each of them in turn as they all let their breath go in a combined sigh of relief.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘Oh, it’s only you!’ a relieved Di replied.

‘Well, thanks for nothing.’ replied her sister in a terse tone.

Steve interrupted before Di could respond; the last thing he wanted was the two sisters to be in a huff around him. Things were terrible enough as it was.

‘Elaine, what Di really meant was the four of us have been sitting here going over yesterday’s tragedy and you rather spooked us.’

‘I’m not a bit surprised having a murderer living among us!’

‘Elaine! Remember what we agreed last night?’

‘Oh that! Well you needn’t worry. It’s now official. It’s all over the village. That poor man was indeed murdered! The only thing they haven’t told us is how. Not that I’m sure I really want to know.’

There was a moment of stunned silence. Di gave Steve a startled look before everyone started talking at once. It was instant bedlam.

‘Why?’

‘I wonder who?’

‘They must have followed him.’

‘Or laid in wait more like.’

‘Shut up! Shut up all of you!’

They all stopped talking at once and turned to stare at Elaine in astonishment at her unexpected outburst.

‘What is it?’ Steve asked her gently. She looked extremely upset over something.

‘Look,’ she replied, holding up her latest painting for them to see. They all gaped in bewilderment and Diana felt the blood draining from her face.

It was the same picture Elaine had shown her before. The rural scene, the fruit grove and little stone house with the donkey grazing peacefully nearby. Except, now it was as disturbing as when Di had
first
seen it. The clear sky was no longer tranquil and blue. It was a dark crimson. The whole heavens looked dark and sticky as if filled with thickened congealed blood, whereas the foreground shone with a hellish glow. It reminded her of a Hieronymous Bosch painting. The fifteenth-century artist had specialised in twisted depictions of hell.

Somewhere an unfastened wooden shutter banged sharply against the stone-wall of their house. A chill wind crept along the veranda’s edge causing Di to shiver uncontrollably. She shook from head to toe and a sob escaped her as she put her hands to her ears to drown out the pitiful wail of a baby crying.

To her knowledge there were no new-borns in the village nor had there been for many years.

Chapter 15. Monday-later

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece! Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope the Lord’s anointed temple, and stole thence The life o’th’ building.

Macbeth. Act 2 Scene3.

‘Beaten him to a pulp!’

Those had been his very words. Diana gave a slight shudder. Surely not, not Bernard? He was such a gentleman, kind and friendly; everyone liked him. He just wouldn’t, couldn’t have murdered Leslie. Could he?

She doodled with her pencil in the margin of her notebook. Well, one thing was certain, Leslie hadn’t been beaten to a pulp, and Di just couldn’t see Bernard doing anything brutal at his age anyway. She looked at the two sticklike figures she’d just drawn, posed on a cliff top.

But, there again you did get ageing murderers.  And another thing, Leslie had fallen over a cliff. Or had he in fact been pushed? She added a fallen man and a faceless phantom-like figure dressed in black at the bottom of the cliff. Had he been shoved over as a warning – just to cause injury to him and then something had gone horribly wrong? Or was he pushed on purpose? Was the intention to kill him, and then when he hadn’t died, he’d had his throat cut? And then there was the tying up of his wrists? He hadn’t been tortured, just restrained – that was a mercy.

Was this some macabre sexual ritual gone wrong, maybe? Di had read some very strange books over the years. Some secret sects practised a variety of bizarre things if indeed the accounts were all true.

A knotted rope and manacles joined the litter in Di’s sketch. Was the whole execution plan
male
orientated? It was all very disturbing. What about timing?
Did
Bernard have the time to do it that day? Diana thought back to that lunchtime. It had been very hot and sultry, and they had drunk a lot of ice-cold white wine in the Taverna in no time at all.

Probably too much as she gave a tug to her shorts, they were getting uncomfortably tight to sit at her desk in. For the first time since she and Steve had been married she knew that she was going to have to go up a clothes size. Annoying and she didn’t relish the thought of being fat
and
forty.

Think back to yesterday’s lunch.  She drummed her right hand on the desk top as she concentrated. Yes! How could she have forgotten so soon? Bernard had left the restaurant for a while. He said he needed to slip back for his wallet. She remembered Jenny being irritated with him forgetting it. Just how long had he been gone? About twenty-five minutes they’d told the police inspector. Not nearly enough time to walk to the scene of the crime and then back again. She felt a moment of relief followed by guilt wash over her; she hadn’t wanted to suspect a good friend. What had she been thinking of?

Finishing off another chapter of her book, Diana gave a great sigh. Up until now she had been getting on rather well with the plot. Some days the words had flowed over the paper covering the pages. She never reread what she had written until the next time she sat down to write, thereby giving it a fresh eye. Usually, what she had scribbled down held some surprises for her. Sometimes it read well, at other times she was left wondering just where she’d wandered off. Occasionally, it was a complete pile of pooh!

Today, she’d had an erratic day. She found she couldn’t concentrate as well as she should and the last line she’d written didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The words refused to arrange themselves logically in her head.

Thinking of logic, just why had Elaine’s painting been so horribly ruined. Who could have done this? The others had all crowded around to get a better look, and expressed their outrage that someone had the audacity to mutilate the once beautiful scene beyond repair.

Elaine said, ‘I left it out to dry in the fresh air, as the oil paint was still very tacky. The courtyard has been unlocked all day. Anyone could have come in and done this. But why?’ She looked perfectly miserable as she contemplated her wrecked canvas.

As Di had stared at the picture in horror, the bloody scene had seemed to pulse and change before her eyes, until she was left confused and feeling sick. Her overwrought mind was playing tricks once again;
there was no bloody sky, just the tackiness of still wet paint accompanied by a slashed cut right across the middle of the canvas
. She had momentarily shut her eyes, clenched her fists to stop them shaking, taken a deep breath and looked again. What was the matter with her? She dare not mention this to Steve. One more strange episode and he’d have her committed.

Perhaps she should do what he’d suggested and take a few days off. Afterall, her work wasn’t going as well as it could.

Shifting restlessly in her chair she shifted her thoughts back to her own murder mystery.

Her chief suspect couldn’t have done it, as he wasn’t quick and nimble enough on his feet. There hadn’t been enough time anyway.
Just like Bernard
. She paused, pencil in hand, eyes with that familiar slightly glazed look as she slowly drifted off into the story.

Of course! He could have driven there; he didn’t need to run at all. She made a note to herself in her planning book, maybe that would work…driven there, run over! Her memory gave a jolt.
That’s
what Jenny had said ages ago. Something about last winter and how Bernard nearly ran Leslie down in the dark. Apparently they’d had the most frightful row about it. Leslie accusing him of all sorts of things, they almost came to blows.

Di imagined two grown, elderly men, meeting on a badly-lit lane one night. There would have been no pavement as the lane was too narrow. The driver would have a sudden awareness of someone walking out onto the path, a moment’s hesitation and then, the squeal of brakes. And the fright turning to outrage, the thump on the car door, accusations and – she grinned at the thought – these two elderly men squaring up to one another on the darkened road, their silhouettes in the twin headlamps of the car. No one else was about as it was a cold, dark night and although not very late, most of the villagers would have disappeared into their houses to sit in front of a warm fire long ago. Both men, walker and driver, had been on their own. What if? What if Bernard had
wanted
to give Leslie a bad fright? According to what he’d told Steve and Di recently at the beach, Leslie had done the dirty on them sometime during last summer.

As the year had gone on, and it became apparent they had irretrievably lost all their money, Bernard would have found plenty of time and motivation to think and stew. He would have become more and more agitated and resentful over what Leslie had done.

What better, than to arrange a little ‘near miss’ to frighten Leslie? Or was it? Again, what if it was only conjecture? Had he planned all along to actually run him down? A dark night: an old car with dodgy headlights and a driver whose reactions were probably not as quick as they had been. He could have argued it all away as an accident if it had actually happened. What if this was all true? And he’d failed. Was Sunday a rerun?

A chill stole over her as she sat staring down at her work. Oh Bernard, could you? Would you have the cold heartedness of a killer, to run down someone you’d known for a long time? Had there been enough time for Bernard to drive down and back up the track on Sunday afternoon?

Diana started a fresh page in her notebook and wrote for a minute. She paused. Her next thought was particularly sobering. Bernard had been in their house recently, and was well aware of Di and Steve’s involuntary involvement. Despite his old-fashioned courtesy and slight bumbling, his mind was razor sharp. Did he know how Leslie
really
died?