One Way Ticket (14 page)

So close, yet so far. There were too many
suspicious minds round here and not enough of the old community spirit. Now I
wanted people to talk about Tina Lloyd, no one was interested. I felt like
jumping on a table and shouting at everyone for not helping the police. Between
them, they probably knew enough information to work out who the murderer was.
It would make an interesting kind of party game anyway. Seeing our hostess
nearby, I suggested to Kate this new version of the murder mystery. She looked
at me as if I had grown a second head.

“I’m not proposing a vigilante group or
anything,” I tried to reassure her.

“This is a party,” she said. Her voice
sounded a bit funny, almost robotic.

“You don’t want to get everyone together,
then? Discuss the murder?”

She stared at me until I walked away, and
for a little time after that.

It seemed a good moment to leave. Looking round
for Aunt June, I eventually found her dancing with Kostas to another Elvis
song, something about tonight being so right for love. This was an escape just
in time. Interrupting the lovebirds, I handed over the car keys. “I’m leavin’, I’ll
walk home.”

17 Always On My Mind

I realised I had gone a little
too far back there, but solving this case had become a bit of an obsession with
me. There just wasn’t enough going on in my life, I suppose - no man, no
friends, not a very challenging job, no English language television – it left
me with too much time on my hands. Too much time to obsess about a murder case.

Not that I was getting anywhere with it.
Okay, I admit it, I’d pictured myself steaming in, solving the case from under
the nose of the police force, and earning a fair amount of kudos. Yes, I’d even
imagined posing for that photo being presented with the key to the city, for
the front page of the newspaper. Like I said, I had too much time on my hands.

This detecting lark was proving a lot more
difficult than I’d thought. On the walk into town, I mulled over the notes I’d
read in the file again. Tina’s sister wasn’t the nicest person I’d ever met but
her alibi had been checked and there was no motive (so far). I wondered what
her son was doing for Christmas. No, I told myself, you’re not getting on that
roundabout again. What about Simon Richards? He’d been pretty aggressive. He
was the sort to fly off the handle and do something rash. He didn’t feel like a
killer though.

Without realising it, I’d taken the road
that led to the seafront. It wasn’t the quickest way home. Perhaps I did
realise it, perhaps there was some Freudian thing going on here because I was
about to walk past the one place I’d been avoiding since my arrival. There was
a light on inside, it looked open. I came to a halt outside the internet café
and decided this must be what they call destiny.

Cutting off my old life had been pretty sudden
and absolute. Maybe it was the novelty of being in Cyprus wearing off, or maybe
it was just because it was Christmas, but I’d been thinking of back home more
and more the last few days. It would be nice to hear from some old friends, especially
after that bloody awful party. And now here I was.

The man inside looked pleased to see me.
In the age of wi-fi and smart phones he was probably grateful for all the
business he got. When I thought of all the time I used to spend on my smart
phone, checking my social media accounts, reading about what other people were
having for breakfast and what they were doing with their hair, I felt a little
pang of sadness, that was a large gap in my life.

Waiting at my terminal for the latte I’d
ordered, I was surprisingly jittery. Getting back in touch was a big step. What
had my friends thought about my sudden departure? What news would await me? Instead
of plunging straight into poking and tweeting, I thought I’d ease myself in
gently, do things the old fashioned way, use email. I entered my id and
password and clicked log in. My heart sank at the message I saw.

‘Wrong password entered’ it read. Damn
technology. Whoever said ‘Progress peaked with frozen pizza’ was right.

It had been so long since I’d used the email
account I had a sinking feeling I wasn’t going to remember it. After thinking
for a second, I typed the password again.

‘Wrong password entered’ came back once
more. Would it lock me out totally if I failed on the third try?

I stopped, not knowing what to do – try
the password again or go to one of my social media accounts? They had the ability
to track where you were; one used to flag when friends were nearby in a scary,
stalkerish way. Forget that, I wanted to find out what was going on not alert
everyone to my whereabouts. I took a deep breath and tried to remember the last
time I’d used the password.

It had been in Swindon. I’d just come back
from
his
house. It was the moment I’d decided getting out of the country
was a good idea, especially after what I’d just done. I’d logged on and sent a
‘Goodbye world’ message to pretty much everyone in my address book after I’d
changed and burnt the clothes I’d been wearing. I could almost visualise the
password I’d entered that evening.

There. I typed it quickly before it went
again. This time it went through and my account loaded. I had 112 unread
messages. So, some of my friends had tried to get in touch, that gave me a warm
feeling.

The first few emails were from eBay
telling me to add reviews for things I’d bought ages ago. I deleted them. The
next was from an online store telling me of the great sale they were having. I
deleted that too. And so was the next, and the next. Were any of these emails
actually for me? After I’d deleted the spam, I had 9 messages left. Not much
for almost three month’s absence. I left, depressed.

It wasn’t the taste of home I’d hoped for.
On the climb up the hill to the villa I thought how replaceable friends seemed
to be nowadays. My so-called friends certainly seemed to have replaced me. The
path got darker and darker as I went up. At first it seemed like a metaphor,
reflecting my lonely way in life. Then it just seemed downright dangerous, soon
I couldn’t actually see where I was going.

“Crappin’ hell,” I shouted, stumbling off
the path into a ditch. Even better, it was witnessed by someone.

“Are you alright?” Helena, our neighbour,
asked, leaving the bin she’d been wheeling outside her house and walking over
to where I was trying to pick myself up from the ground.

“I’m okay, thanks,” I said.

She gave me a hand to stand up. As I put
my weight on my foot, I felt a sharp pain stab through my ankle.

“Ooh, aah. It’s alright, I can make it.”

“Hold on, I’ll get my son,” she told me.

I’d only gone a couple of wincing steps
when Michalis came running over.

“You have to be careful, walking around here
in the dark,” he pointed out.

Remembering it was the season of goodwill,
I bit back my response and limped on.

“Let me give you a hand,” he said, and before
I had a chance to protest, he’d grabbed my hand and draped my arm over his
shoulder. I can’t deny it was a lot easier having someone help to take my
weight.

We limped up to my aunt’s villa, his arm
about my waist, my hip bumping into his thigh (he was a bit taller than me) at
regular intervals. I felt vaguely embarrassed at this close proximity
considering I had only spoken to the guy once before. After assuring him I
could manage when we got to my doorstep, I thanked him and levered myself
inside, promptly falling onto the hall floor in an inept manoeuvre I hoped he
hadn’t seen.

It only added to the evening’s depression that
getting up close with an almost attractive man, who my aunt kept mentioning was
single, had not interested me at all. My only thought had been to get rid of
him as soon as possible.

“What’s the matter with you?” Aunt June
asked when she got home, about an hour after I’d limped in the door.

“How long have you got? I fell off the
path.” I decided not to tell her about being helped by Michalis for fear she
would be ringing wedding planners first thing in the morning. “That hill is
lethal, it’s not properly lit.”

“Alright, no need to bite my head off.
There are some bandages in the cupboard if you want one.”

I stomped to the living room to put my leg
up on the coffee table.

“What is wrong?” Aunt June asked in an
exasperated way, following me in as I collapsed onto the sofa.

“Nobody cares! That’s what. Nobody cares.”

“You’re talking in riddles,” my aunt said,
sitting in the chair opposite.

“I just checked my emails. Three months
I’ve been away. Three months. Do you know what I got?”

“An award?”

Boy, she could be sarcastic when she
wanted to be.

“Ha, ha. No. Nine messages. Nine. And do
you know what they were?”

“I can’t wait to find out.”

“One was from my exercise class telling me
it wasn’t on last month. One was a group invite from someone I was at school
with years ago to some bloody art show in Scotland, followed by another
afterwards telling me what a success it was. And three were stupid chain emails
someone kindly passed on telling me how lucky I would be if I sent them to five
other people.”

“Oh dear. And the others?”

“All from the library. Apparently a book I
ordered is ready for collection and my other books are overdue.”

My aunt appeared to be struggling not to
smile.

“Where was the concern?” I asked. “The
messages asking where I was? Has anyone even noticed I’m not in Swindon anymore?”

“Didn’t you tell them you were going
away?”

“I sent a quick email before I left. I
thought some of my friends might at least have been curious about where I’d
gone.”

“You didn’t tell them you were coming
here?”

“No,” I started before stopping. I was
moments away from dropping myself in it. My aunt didn’t know all of what had
happened back home. “I was having trouble with someone,” I told her. “At work.
I thought it best not to tell people I was coming here in case he found out.”

“What like a stalker?”

“I was not stalking him!”

“Jennifer, what has been going on?”

“It’s a long story. Nothing for you to
worry about.” I got up feeling I’d shared enough for one day. “Maybe some other
time,” I told her and hobbled off to bed.

My ankle was still a bit sore the next day
but not as much as my ego. Not a single concerned message from any of my
so-called friends. It was lucky I’d decided to stay in Cyprus, they obviously weren’t worth going back home for.

Aunt June had left a note in the kitchen.

‘Having a lie-in dear, feeling a bit
tired,’ I tried not to imagine from what, ‘but I think you should sort out your
overdue library books.’

Was that really the part of last night’s
conversation she was most concerned about?

‘p.s. can you get me onto that twittering
thing?’

I decline to comment.

18 So This Is Christmas (War
Is Over)

I’d offered to cover the festive
week in the office. Not only would this spare me witnessing Aunt June and Kostas’
public displays of affection on a full stomach, but I hoped I might hear how
the Tina Lloyd case was developing. Despite discreetly asking around, I hadn’t
found anyone in the department willing to tell me what was happening so far. Being
rejected by people back home was only making my mind focus on the murder even
more.

On Christmas Eve, I armed myself with a
bottle of sherry before heading to work. I was determined to force a little cheer
on my colleagues and see if I could get any info out of them. As it turned out,
I didn’t have to force too hard. Considering no one had wanted to go out for a
drink, they certainly drank enough of it when offered. There weren’t many of us
in work so it quickly became a party atmosphere, especially when a couple
bottles of wine were produced. Hopefully the local criminals were doing
likewise outside.

I’d been trying to spark a conversation about
the investigation when Addi walked in. Someone called him over to share the fun
and I had to offer him a sherry. It was the first time we’d spoken in a couple
of weeks and it felt pretty awkward to me. No one else seemed to notice.

“Kala Cristouyenna,” Addi wished me as he
sampled the sherry (that’s Merry Christmas to you and me).

A big cheer saved me from having to think
of some clever reply. Someone had produced a bottle of Cyprus brandy. Apparently this was a sign the party had really started.

I’d like to point out now that sherry and
Cypriot brandy don’t mix that well together, or so Sergeant H found out to his
detriment. It made a nice change to be the observer instead of the one throwing
up somewhere inappropriate (in this instance, Vara’s desk drawer, that would be
a nice surprise for her when she came back to work). I wouldn’t have thought he
had it in him, if I hadn’t had the misfortune of witnessing it all coming out first
hand. It’s always the quiet ones.

Once we’d gotten him cleaned up and
shipped off home, people started drifting away themselves (you couldn’t blame
them, vomit isn’t known for its party atmosphere enhancing properties). Soon
there was only a handful of us left, one of them Addi. I would have moved
elsewhere too, but the unfortunate part of starting a party in your own office is
you don’t have the option of leaving.

A movie on someone’s phone (Sergeant H
throwing up I suspected) caused the others to crowd round, leaving Addi and me
standing awkwardly alone.

“Kala Cristouyenna,” Addi told me again.

“You said that already.”

He perched alongside me on the edge of the
desk.

“I haven’t been in here for a while.”

“No.”

“Things are going well, are they?”

“You know, the usual.”

“At least you have the sergeant’s filing
system to entertain you.”

Despite my best attempts, I couldn’t stop
the corners of my mouth turning up. Addi looked relieved the air between us
seemed to be thawing a little.

“Got a lot of family coming for Christmas
tomorrow?” I asked.

“Not too many, only about 30.”

Only 30? I tried to imagine 30 people
squeezing into Aunt June’s villa. A tin of sardines would be roomier.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it.” Now we were
back on speaking terms, it seemed reasonable to go in for the killer question. “How’s
the case going?”

“Oh, you know,” he began, before being
interrupted by his phone. Pulling a face at whatever was on the display, he
quickly answered it. When he closed it again, he looked a bit pale.

“The Mayor’s office. I’ve got to go,” he
muttered and rushed off.

I should’ve known, he hadn’t changed at
all. Still dumping people in favour of more influential contacts.

The big day arrived and passed
in a haze of whisky fumes. I told Aunt June she should pace herself, but she
insisted on carrying around the bottle of single malt I’d given her as if nursing
a baby, taking a few nips every so often. It was no wonder she hadn’t wanted to
cook the full roast dinner, toast would be a challenge in her state. Kostas and
I managed to rustle up a passable meal but it wasn’t the traditional turkey fare
I knew and loved.

Despite our best efforts, Aunt June and I
just couldn’t get a family argument going, and with none of the usual television
specials to watch, it really didn’t feel much like Christmas to me. It was
almost a relief to telephone my mother to wish her season’s greetings, and
receive a lecture in being a bad daughter in return. That was more like it. Worse
still, I had interrupted the Queen’s speech. Unpardonable. I couldn’t have
timed it better if I’d tried. After a ten minute diatribe on my thoughtlessness,
it began to feel a lot more like the Christmases I remembered. Aunt June spoilt
it slightly in the evening by putting on a record of Mrs Mills piano classics to
sing along to, instead of sticking to hours of boring, mindless telly. I decided
to have an early night, making sure to insert the large ear plugs I’d had the
foresight to furnish myself with.

It didn’t feel right to have to get up for
work the next day but I’d foolishly volunteered so I had to go in. The department,
when I arrived, was almost deserted. I could tell it was going to be one of
those dull days that stretched on forever whilst I tried not to think of
everyone enjoying themselves at home. Still, it was an ideal opportunity to
find where Addi had hidden Tina Lloyd’s file. I’d learned nothing at the
impromptu drinks party on Christmas Eve, no one had been interested in talking
about work, so perhaps this could make up for it. It was starting to become a
little frightening just how many of my waking thoughts were consumed by this
case.

I was just lingering by Addi’s desk when
the man himself came strolling in. I straightened up and tried to look
innocent. Two minutes earlier and he would have caught me going through his
in-tray.

“Morning, didn’t realise you were working
today,” I blurted out, edging away from his desk.

 “Good morning,” Addi replied, all smiles
as if our row had never been. “Nice day yesterday?”

“Not especially.”

“Mine was pretty quiet.” How could thirty
visitors be ‘pretty quiet’?

“Better get back to work,” I muttered and disappeared
before he could ask me what I was doing there.

I went back to my empty office and tried
not to think about Boxing Day back home – all those lovely leftovers that would
be sat in the fridge waiting to be eaten, usually along with a joint of ham, a
selection of cheeses only seen once a year, and lots of chocolates and cake. A
bit of a contrast to the sad looking ham sandwich and black spotted banana that
were sitting in my lunchbox. I consoled myself by looking up the weather back
home and was delighted to see it was thirty degrees colder there, grey and
raining.

A few minutes later, I was surprised to
see Addi come into my office and plop himself down on my desk just like he used
to.

 “Aren’t you interested in how the case’s
going?” he asked.

“The Tina Lloyd case?” I queried, trying
to play it cool whilst my heart started racing twenty to the dozen. Was he
about to tell me he’d solved it?

“Yes.”

I looked up from my computer screen. “Am I
allowed to know?”

Addi scuttled around the desk, making me
swivel round in my chair a little. “Actually,” he looked round quickly, even
though it was just the two of us there, “it’s not going very well.”

“Really?” Sad to say I felt a little
pleased that he hadn’t been able to solve it without me.

“I was wondering if you could help me.”

“Me! You didn’t even want me to know what
was going on a few days ago.” It’s amazing how easy it is to get a bit shouty
sometimes.

“I’m sorry, the chief told me I wasn’t
allowed to talk about it to anyone.”

“The chief?” We both knew our argument had
been nothing to do with the chief.

“He’s a stickler for that kind of thing.”

“So, what’s happened? Why are you willing
to talk to me about it now?”

“The chief’s off this week, I’ve got to do
the investigation on my own.” Addi’s head dropped down. “The mayor got
involved. I have to give updates to his office, every night.”

“Oh.”

“He’s worried it may affect tourism. I
haven’t got any updates to give him, it’s starting to get really embarrassing.”

“Right.” I hadn’t entirely forgiven him
for what he’d said during our argument and he obviously wasn’t about to
apologise.

“If we get this cleared up, your aunt
could rest easy,” he said as if trying to guess what I was thinking. “She
wouldn’t have to worry about a murderer being on the loose.”

Yeah, that’s why I was interested. I
already knew my answer, I just didn’t want to appear too keen and bite his hand
off.

“Okay,” I said as if doing him a massive favour.
“Why don’t you go get the file?”