Cold Pressed (17 page)

The words, the rhythm and the sentiment might all have
left the casual observer unmoved. Yet Joyce Milligan’s voice, fighting emotion
to deliver a powerful, heartfelt eulogy to her friends, had goose bumps
creeping over Beatrice’s skin by the second line.

The priest thanked her and introduced the last element of
the service. ‘One of Esther and Beryl’s favourites’. He signalled to the back
of the hall. The latecomer made his way down the aisle, bent to shake hands
with all six of the Hirondelles and expressed his condolences with sincerity.
Beatrice watched him operate. Blond hair, a deep tan, a charming if somewhat
feigned manner. He took his position behind the photographs and nodded at the
priest, who pressed a button on the CD player. The intro to
My Way
burst
thinly into the space and Beatrice’s toes curled. Then Toni Dean began to sing
and her cynicism melted into chocolate marshmallow with caramel on top.

“Beautiful service. Lovely idea. Such a touching way
to say goodbye. Thank you for inviting me. So sorry for your loss. Beautiful
service. Very moving. Not at all, happy to be of help...”

The litany continued as the party milled about before the
dead women’s photographs. She praised the young soprano and admired Joyce
Milligan’s reading. She was working her way towards Doreen Cashmore when Toni
Dean stepped into her path.

“Detective Inspector Stubbs. Just wanted to say hello. Toni
Dean, entertainer. Very pleased to have you with us even on such a sad
occasion. If today tells us anything, it’s how much these dear ladies touched
lives. I wish you great success with your investigation.”

“That’s very kind. I enjoyed your song very much. You do
have an extraordinary voice.”

“Thank you. When Miss Milligan asked me to sing this song
for this occasion, I bit her hand off. It’s a lovely way to say goodbye to
someone you...”

Over Dean’s shoulder, Beatrice saw Joyce Milligan and Doreen
Cashmore leading the way to the exit.

“Indeed. Nice to meet you. Thanks again,” she said and
hurried off in their wake.

Doreen Cashmore was happy to join in the general
approval of the service, compare the detail with other funerals she’d attended
and reminisce about Beryl and Esther, but separating her from the rest of the
Hirondelles proved a challenge. Ostensibly as a supportive gesture, the women
had made a vow – that none would be left alone – not even with an officer of
the law. Gentle persuasion and an emphasis on Beatrice's own role as protector
met with polite resistance from the surviving ladies. She chose not to insist,
although she had every right in her investigative role, as she wanted to elicit
the information without recourse to pressure. Despite all the friendliness and
encouragement to attend the service, Beatrice registered the atmosphere of
closed ranks. Less vulnerability, certainly, and less chance of anyone veering
from the party line. An opportunity would arise, eventually. All Beatrice
needed to do was keep her eyes and ears open.

By teatime, Nikos had still not returned to the boat, but
the South Aegean sergeants were ready to report the results of their
interviews, such as they were. Of the fourteen individuals who had left the
ship in Santorini, only five could not prove their movements; two women, three
men. Yet when Beryl Hodges and Maureen Hall died, Efthakia Dellas was at her
post in the communications room, Toni Dean was running through his Rat Pack
repertoire onstage in the ballroom, Kostas the chef was in the kitchen, and senior
stewards Lukas Karagounis and Susana Iliou were supervising evening service in
the Grand Dining Room. No single staff or crew member remained without an alibi
for at least one of the deaths.

Beatrice sat alone in her guest cabin, her focus switching
fruitlessly between the various PDF versions of the ladies’ wills, the
spreadsheet of suspects on her computer and the view of the Aegean. No
surprises in the list of beneficiaries. Children, grandchildren, a cancer
charity, a sister. She had put in a request to the Wiltshire police to see if
they could establish any connections but held out little hope.

Two methods of murder. Two people? One favours smothering
and chest compression. You don't have to be especially strong to suffocate an
octogenarian, so this person might have quite a different build to the man seen
on the cliff. It could also be a woman. Experience had taught Beatrice the
danger of gender assumptions. The cliff man had greater brute strength and a
sense of opportunism. One ensures the alibi whilst the other performs the act.
At least one might be staff or crew, explaining access to key cards. She made a
note to cross check the alibis and anything linking all five staff visitors to
Santorini.

If a passenger were an accomplice, it would make sense to
observe the police investigation. The Hirondelles had not sought her out, but
accepted her presence with a similar skittishness as a flock of sheep might
show towards a collie. Apart from Maggie and Rose, only Oscar had made any
friendly overtures. Yet he had actively prevented her from discussing the case
and asked no searching questions.

Whether the killer was a passenger or ship employee, whether
he worked alone or with a partner, the fundamental question remained. Why?
Precedents existed, such as the Californian woman who killed and buried her
tenants then claimed their benefits. The Tunisian who murdered more than
fifteen elderly women in Southern Italy eventually confessed to sexual
gratification as his driving force. As for The Stockwell Strangler, whose
oldest victim was ninety-four, his motivations were both financial and sexual.
None of the women on the
Empress Louise
had been molested, and if there
were no monetary advantage, what would make someone go to such lengths to end
the lives of ladies enjoying the third age?

The telephone in the cabin lit up and emitted a purr.

"Hello, this is DI Stubbs."

"
Hello Beatrice, Oscar here. Congratulations! We
thought we'd given you the slip in Crete, but you tracked us down."

Beatrice smiled. "Elementary, my dear Oscar. Equipped
with a detailed itinerary and scheduled arrival times, tracking this great
white vessel was a doddle. How are you?"

"
Frazzled. Been out exploring and actually feeling
my age. I'm planning a nap, can you believe? But before I surrender to The
Sandman, I wanted to enquire as to your plans for dinner. Last night's
conversation, scintillating as it was, seems unfinished. Especially as
bellowing over the background row of the average taverna tends to obscure the
nuances. Could I lure you ashore, or failing that, into one of the less
pretentious eateries aboard?"

Beatrice considered. He really was good company and helped
her forget the case. Which was currently the last thing she needed.

"I'd love to. I really would, but tonight I plan to treat
my partner to dinner in return for picking his brains. Perhaps another
evening?"

"
Ah, the handsome Inspector Stephanakis. I stand
down. I could never compete with such rugged good looks. I wish you an
educational evening. And should our paths cross tomorrow, I would consider
myself blessed."

Beatrice's laughter was genuine. "Talk to you tomorrow,
Oscar. Bye for now.”

She focused once again on her spreadsheet, only to be
interrupted by a knock at the door. She opened it to see a pretty blonde girl
in a cabin attendant’s uniform.

“Hello?”

“Detective Stubbs, my name is Vicky Morton, Cabin Attendant
Service Personnel. I spoke to Inspector Stephanakis earlier today about the
death of Beryl Hodges.”

Beatrice remembered. The tour guide’s girlfriend. “Oh yes, I
know. You delivered her drink.”

“That’s right. I did. I wasn’t much help, I’m afraid.
Anyway, Inspector Stephanakis said if I thought of anything, any detail I could
remember, I should let him know. But I can’t find him.”

“He’s gone ashore. If you have something to say, you can
talk to me. Come inside. Does this mean you’ve remembered something?”

Vicky followed her into the room and closed the door. “Sort
of. When Mrs Hodges let me into the cabin, she was in her nightgown and she’d
already taken her teeth out. Ready for bed, I thought. So I put the milk on the
table and I saw a slice of birthday cake.”

“Yes, she’d been to Esther Crawford’s eightieth birthday
party.”

“Right. But she wasn’t going to eat cake without her teeth.
She told me to put the milk on the bedside table and draw the curtains for her.
I asked if I should put the cake in the fridge and she waved her hand, you
know, like the Queen.”

Beatrice said nothing. The girl had thirty seconds to get to
the point or would be noted as a timewaster.

“I wrapped it in a plastic bag and popped it in the fridge.
It was the only thing in there.”

“And? Why do you think this is relevant?”

“Inspector Stephanakis mentioned that Mrs Hodges was
allergic to seafood and kept an EpiPen in her fridge in case of a reaction.
Thing is, when I put that cake inside, the fridge was empty. I mean empty, like
it had never been used.”

“There could be several reasons for that. She had only just
arrived, so she might not have unpacked it yet. Or if the injection device
needed to be chilled, perhaps it was in the mini-bar instead.”

“That’s what I thought, but Inspector Stephanakis definitely
said the fridge. Anyway, I just went down to G Deck and asked the cleaning
crew. They were the ones who cleared the room after the body was removed. They
told me they found four of those EpiPens on the top shelf of the fridge next to
a slice of cake. What I’m saying is they weren’t there at half past nine the
night before. If she had a reaction in the night and went looking for her
medicine in the fridge, it wouldn’t have been there.”

Chapter 19

Of all the crappy luck. Two years after he thought his
nemesis had gone for good, his very first case as inspector had to involve
Rhodes, the South Aegean Region and Demetrius Xanthou. It was as if Fate was
laughing at him.

Once Mrs Campbell and Mrs Mason were settled in their hotel,
he drove Dr Fraser to the police station with dread in his stomach. However, an
interview room was prepared, the desk clerk expected him, an English-speaking
sergeant was waiting to assist and Xanthou made no appearance. Nikos began to
hope they might actually avoid each other. The second surprise was Fraser’s
willingness to talk. He hadn’t expected much more than a repeat performance
from the defensive Scot, so his humility came as a shock.

“Inspector, you should know that my career as a physician is
now over.”

“If that is the case, I’m sorry. I’m afraid we had no choice
but to remove you from the ship. It was a decision made jointly with the cruise
line management.”

“I know. Jensson told me. You were right to do it; I’m not
stupid enough to deny that. To be honest, I’m relieved. This situation has gone
on too long and is not sustainable. When it begins to harm others, it’s time to
face the problem.” He fiddled with his coffee cup but did not drink. “I have an
addiction, Inspector. OxyContin, an opoid-based painkiller. It’s the only thing
that gets me through the day.”

Nikos took a second to process that information. “How long
have you been dependent?”

“Since a back injury in 2009. It happens a lot. I’m not the
only one. Doctors are trained to look out for the repeat prescription seekers.
Whereas doctors themselves don’t need a prescription and we hold the keys to
the medicine chest, so there’s nothing stopping us.”

Nikos tore off a sheet of paper from his notepad. “Please
could you write down the name of the drug for me?”

Fraser scribbled something and then wrote several more words
in block capitals beneath. “Medical name and brands. Over five years, I’ve not
paid for one pill but this has cost me everything. My marriage fell apart, my
career atrophied, I lost several jobs, the offers dried up, my colleagues in
the medical profession avoid me and I know I’ve been guilty of negligence.”

Nikos, scrambling to comprehend, tried to formulate a
question but the doctor hadn’t finished.

“My kids would rather I didn’t visit and most of my friends
have drifted away. Not Jensson, though. We met years ago, doing the Norwegian
routes. Great man, full of ideas and intelligence. We played chess when we
could and enjoyed the occasional debate. Our paths only crossed once in a blue
moon, but we kept in touch. He’s a pal, the kind of friend you call when you’re
up Shit Creek. He put his own neck on the line to offer me the Senior Physician
post on this cruise. He trusted me.”

A strange chill blew across Nikos’s neck and he knew without
doubt Xanthou must have entered the observation room behind the mirrored glass.
He tried to push those judgemental eyes from his mind and focus on the man
opposite.

“Do you feel you deserved his trust?” Nikos asked, wishing
the other person in the room was Beatrice, not a blank junior officer, and that
his interviewee would speak simple English.

Fraser clenched his hands together as if in ferocious
prayer. “From the minute I wake to the minute I lose consciousness, one single
thought process dominates my brain. How to get it, when to take it and how to
hide it. No, I didn’t deserve this post; I’m barely competent and better
practitioners than me are still in medical school. As for the deaths of these
ladies, I take full responsibility for a less than thorough post mortem on the
Hodges woman. That’s all. I didn’t kill her. I can hardly focus on the conveyor
belt of habitual daily complaints, let alone plan a succession of murders.”

“Do you think you misdiagnosed the death of Beryl Hodges?”

“Very likely. And in doing so I lost any chance of
redemption. Worst of all, I’ve probably lost the only friend I had left.” His
head dropped onto his knuckles and Nikos gave him a moment.