Cold Pressed (26 page)

"I want to go back, Rose."

Rose, on top of her duvet, her hands folded across her
stomach, didn't open her eyes. "Me too. I'm about ready for home. If we'd
known Joyce was going back today, we could have booked the same flight. Never
mind. We'll be on our way tomorrow."

"That's not what I mean. I want to go back to that day
on Santorini. I want to remember everything that happened."

Rose opened her eyes and frowned. "And the point of that
would be...?"

"I have a feeling I forgot something. Today, a wee
memory popped up and I want to go over it again. Just to be sure."

With a deep sigh, Rose rolled to face Maggie.
"Marguerite Campbell, it'll guarantee more nightmares, I warn you."

"Humour me. We wanted to explore Santorini on our own
and we ordered a picnic."

"Very well. Yes, the picnic. We rented that moped and
went looking for a spot where no one else could find us."

"Those narrow roads and all the tourist coaches made me
nervous."

“Then we found that little lane up the cliff.”

“You had your cornflower dress on.”

“And you had a sun hat. There was a smell of rosemary.”

"I saw a butterfly. I couldn't find the salt."

“We thought we were so clever, avoiding the crowds.”

"We argued about the cruise. It was so quiet."

"Yes, the silence. The peace." Rose closed her
eyes.

"Then I picked up the camera and saw those two people
in an empty car park. I recognised the Hirondelle uniform. The man was a member
of staff, I thought. You said I was rubber-necking. He picked her up and threw
her and I couldn't understand what I was watching and I pressed the shutter
just after he'd gone and I cried and you asked me what's wrong and it wasn't
quiet any more because..."

"The motorbike."

"Yes, a big snarly noise..."

"... like a chainsaw."

"You remember!"

"Yes, I do. Because you could hardly speak and I
couldn't even hear you when you did."

"The thing is, Rose, it's a special kind of motorcycle.
I can almost see it. Handlebars high up, long sort of body and the people who
ride them always have beards and sunglasses."

"Choppers. Like in
Easy Rider
. You're spot on.
How peculiar we should think of that now. When we gave our statements, I was so
busy talking about what we'd seen, I never thought about what we heard. I'm not
sure it's important, but we should inform the police anyway. How about we go to
the station after our nap?"

"I think we should go now."

Chapter 29

Nikos owed Beatrice a break. She put up a bit of a
fight, but the combination of exhaustion and the awkwardness of last night soon
prevailed. He insisted she get some rest. He'd slept better than she had, that
much was obvious. Her face was shadowed and worn, like an ancient gravestone.
He offered the use of his hotel room, which she eventually accepted. It would
be another long day and she needed to get some sleep before escorting Joyce
Milligan home that evening. Nikos took the Martins report and the details she'd
found in Britain into the station.

In his pre-caffeinated state, he opted to avoid Xanthou and
instead, in a corner of the police cafeteria, he reported directly to Voulakis.
The reaction was not what he expected. Voulakis, jubilant, assured him they
would both be home in Heraklion tomorrow. The suspect had been identified and
traced to Britain; the Martins lead proved a dead-end and he could not wait to
tell Hamilton that Beatrice Stubbs was breaking old romantics' hearts. As soon
as Joyce Milligan was off Greek soil, they were home and dry. It was over to
the Brits. They should both expect some high-level recognition for a job well
done. He hurried off to call a photographer.

Nikos, unconvinced, got another coffee and found an empty
space in the open plan office where he could use his laptop. Before recording
the events of yesterday, he read the case notes, updated this morning by
Xanthou. Something was wrong. Doreen Cashmore’s answering machine had recorded
another threatening phone call, this time traced to a payphone in a Dorset
shopping centre. Three calls. No action. On the ship, three murders and one
attempted with no hint of warning. This man used surprise to his advantage, so
why advertise his intentions now? The result would be a terrified target,
increased security and fewer opportunities for him to strike. It had to be a
distraction. Attention on the Cashmore woman left him free to attack any other
of the Hirondelles.

He had no choice but to call Xanthou. The response was
typically unhelpful. No, he had not requested CCTV footage from the shopping
centre in the UK. That would be a job for the British police. For the Hellenic
Force, and the Rhodes Region in particular, this case was over. And he had a
lunch appointment with his new girlfriend, so if Nikos didn't mind...

What a
malaka.
Nikos ignored the attitude and sent a
rapid email to his contact in Wiltshire, asking for advice on getting images of
the payphone or caller from the shopping centre security team. He called the
hospital and checked Joyce Milligan was fit for travel. He bribed a sergeant
into bringing him a falafel salad from the canteen and reread all his notes on
Toni Dean. His eyelids were beginning to get heavy when his email pinged.
Wiltshire's DS Helyar confirmed that Dorset Police had requested the footage
from Brewers' Quay Shopping Centre. Security officers at the centre partially
identified the caller at the precise time Doreen Cashmore received her third
threat. The individual in question was known to security officers as an
occasional nuisance, harassing schoolgirls, smoking joints and drinking alcohol
on the premises. His name was Jez Callaghan, he was approximately twenty-five
years old and his place of employment was Sunnyside Caravan Park, Weymouth.

Nikos checked Dean’s website. The same caravan park. An
indistinct image was attached. Baseball cap, angular bones, baggy jeans.
Difficult to get too much of an impression of his face, but it was obviously a
young man who looked nothing like Frank Sinatra. He emailed back, with a polite
request that Jez Callaghan be brought in for questioning.

When Voulakis and Xanthou returned from their
respective lunch meetings, Nikos was on the phone to Beatrice, who was
impatient to be involved. He waved his notepad with some urgency and caught the
cynicism in Xanthou's sly look. On the other end of the line, Beatrice
announced she would come into the station to discuss procedure and hung up. The
phone rang again immediately. It was the front desk.

Nikos got to his feet and addressed Voulakis. “There are two
witnesses at reception who say they have some information about this case. I’ll
go. Just need to update you quickly first.”

“No, no, you sit down. Xanthou can handle the witnesses. His
English is fluent. But of course, he had an excellent teacher!”

He laughed at his own joke, eliciting the first unified
response from his inspectors since the case began. Voulakis didn’t seem to
notice their cold lack of amusement and continued grinning at them both.
Xanthou shook his head in disgust and left the room.

Voulakis heaved himself into the chair opposite Nikos,
exuding goodwill and the unmistakeable scent of coffee and ouzo. That explained
it. His boss’s humour, crude at the best of times, reverted to schoolboy when
he’d had a drink. He nodded and scratched his belly while listening to Nikos
explain his discovery.

"Excellent! You are an exemplar to us all. The fact is,
we can now hand this case over. We write up all our findings and hand it over.
Successful conclusion for us! We should celebrate!"

"If Toni Dean is not in the UK, there is nothing to
celebrate. He could still be here. When Xanthou returns, we need a briefing
before the police escort departs for the airport. Everyone must be aware of
this threat."

"Nikos, relax. You never stop! It's over and you did a
great job. I'm giving you a glowing report. Let the Brits take it from here and
we can get back to Crete. I don't know about you, but I find the food here very
bland. We leave at four, pick the old woman up, take some pictures and send her
off to the airport. Tomorrow's front page will be all about the heroic joint
efforts by the Hellenic Police to keep the dear old thing safe from a nasty
lady-killer. Let's just finish the paperwork and we can get a flight home
tonight."

Although far from fresh when she arrived at the
station, Beatrice looked better than she had that morning. When Nikos returned
with a coffee for her, she was sitting bolt upright opposite Voulakis. A
worried frown pinched her brows as she listened to the arrangements.

"A single outrider doesn't exactly qualify as a police
escort, Inspector."

Xanthou entered the room and spoke before Voulakis could
reply. "It's all we can spare. There's a summit at the Palace this week,
involving several VIPs. It requires a lot of extra security."

"And don't forget you have Inspector Xanthou himself,
who is trained in personal protection. It's not a long journey and we really
have no reason to expect any problems," said Voulakis, with a reassuring
if slightly patronising smile.

"As you say, it is not a long journey, and if you and
Inspector Stephanakis are coming as far as the hospital, could you not come to
the airport with us?"

Voulakis raised his shoulders to his ears and shook his head
with exaggerated regret.

"Sadly not. We too have a flight to catch this evening,
so must return to file our reports and close the case from the Greek side. I'm
sure you understand how important the paperwork is." He wandered away in
the direction of the coffee machine.

Beatrice followed him and continued talking. Nikos wished
her luck, but held out little hope. If his boss could take the lazy route, he
would.

Nikos looked at Xanthou. “And the witnesses?”

Xanthou ignored him, checking his emails.

Nikos cleared his throat and spoke louder. “Inspector
Xanthou, what did the witnesses want?”

“Nothing. A waste of time. God, I am so looking forward to
seeing the back of all you old women.”

The one positive thing about the journey to Sgourou
was having Beatrice as his sole passenger. Voulakis wanted to ride in the Jeep
with Xanthou and examine the security features himself. An arrangement that
pleased everyone.

She was quiet at first, looking out of the window. After
about ten minutes, she spoke. "I wish it were you taking us to the
airport."

"So do I. But so long as Xanthou and the other officer
stay with you until you're in the Departure Lounge, I don't foresee any
problems."

"No. Although I'd be a lot more relaxed if we knew Dean
was definitely in the UK. Yes, you're right, the man would be insane to try
anything here. You know, I am heartily sick of flying. When I get back, I am
point blank refusing to travel anywhere which involves airports for at least a
year. By which time, I hope to be retired."

"Retired? Already?"

"It's early retirement, if I can take it. I've had
enough, Nikos. Time to leave it to hungry young talents like yourself. And I
wanted to say, I really do think you are a talent. Working with you was a
pleasure."

Nikos kept his eyes on the road but couldn’t hold back the
grin. "Coming from you that means a great deal. For me, it's been a real
learning experience."

"Mostly on how to be unprofessional when it comes to
suspects, I imagine." She returned her attention to the passing scenery of
garages, ceramic factories and furniture stores.

"Shit happens, Beatrice.”

She didn’t respond, her forehead leaning against the window.
The light industrial units petered out, leaving trees and shrubs.

“Listen, I'm not going to judge you. I wouldn't be with my
girlfriend if we hadn't bent the rules a little. Do you ever think you'll come
back to Greece? I'd like to introduce you to Karen. I think you two would get
along." He indicated and pulled into the hospital driveway.

"Thank you. Yes, I think I probably will, one day. But
it won't be on a bloody cruise liner. And I would be delighted to meet Karen.
If you two ever happen to be in London, give me a call. I'll show you some of
the city's best-kept secrets."

"I'll take you up on that. Oh shit, look at this. God
help us."

Voulakis, Xanthou, a motorcycle outrider, two doctors and a
nurse stood around a seated Joyce Milligan in front of the hospital door, while
a photographer rearranged the tableau.

It took half an hour to get a sufficient variety of
poses to satisfy Voulakis and do a formal round of thanks and farewells. Nikos
ground his teeth. They could have dispensed with this whole PR job, escorted
their guests to the airport and been on their way back by now. It was strangely
sad to say goodbye to Beatrice, especially with an audience. Thankfully, Joyce
complained that she'd received no cheek kisses and raised a laugh to break the
moment.

The cases were stowed in the Jeep, Joyce Milligan was
stretched out in the back seat, the staff waved on the steps, the motorcycle
outrider was in position and the party was finally ready to depart. Voulakis
belted himself into the passenger seat and sighed with satisfaction. The Jeep
pulled away, the bike behind it, and with one last wave at the medics, Nikos
followed them down the drive. An impulse tugged at him to turn left instead of
right, but he gave a quick toot of the horn and turned back towards the city,
watching them recede in his rear-view mirror.

"Relax, Nikos. They're in radio contact and we can keep
up with them every step of the way."

"We could have been with them every step of the way if
we'd skipped the photographs."

"Getting good PR for both regional forces and Scotland
Yard cannot be underestimated. Yes, I was on the fussy side with the
photographer, but it's important to project the best image of all of us. I
wasn't going to let Xanthou, and therefore the South Aegean Region, grab all
the limelight."