The Tomb of Zeus (30 page)

L
etty wondered, as she crept down to the ground floor, how many crimes were committed in the hour of the siesta. She guiltily hoped that the one she was about to embark on wouldn't be discovered and go down in Mariani's records. It was a fortnight since Phoebe died and Letty was no nearer to offering her shade the solution she felt was demanded. She was conscious that the excitement of her discoveries at Kastelli had overshadowed the concerns of the Villa Europa, conscious also that this was welcomed and even engineered by Theodore. She was becoming increasingly a thorn in the man's side, an irritating and openly hostile presence who would not be tolerated for much longer.

There was one more thing she felt impelled to find out, something she had been promising herself she would do the moment the opportunity offered. And here it was at last. The Sunday lunch had been a traditionally heavy meal. Stifling a yawn, Theodore had retired to his room, as was his custom. Eleni had taken George off for a rest and Gunning had cheerfully allowed himself to be lured to the library by Dickie and Stewart, who were desperate to be filled in on the developments in Kastelli.

“Don't worry about me,” she'd said, settling down with a book in an armchair in the drawing room. “I'm going to pretend to finish
War and Peace.
”

She reached the hall and stood for a moment listening to the sounds of the house, calculating where everyone would be and how long she had to carry out her search. She moved silently down the rear corridor, almost feeling the ball of thread in her hand as she crept towards Theodore's lair, as George had called his father's study. A draught caught the back of her neck in icy fingers, and continued on its way, trickling down her spine. She stopped and listened again. Had she heard a door open? Nothing more.

Reaching the door Gunning had told her belonged to Theo's room, she tapped discreetly twice and waited. Receiving no response, she turned the doorknob and pushed. Like all the other rooms in this house, the door did not have a lock. She slid inside. She knew exactly what she wanted to establish. Theodore Russell would not, according to Gunning, have had the knowledge of the text of
Hippolytus
to enable him—had he killed his wife—to select exactly the pages to act as her suicide note. And yet his skilful steering of Gunning through the implications had made Letty suspect otherwise.

Trembling at her presumption, she left the door slightly ajar, though the warning sound of boots ringing down the tiled corridor would be of little use to her. There was no other exit from this small room. A window looked out over the garden but offered no escape route. Vile old Dionysos, directly in line, caught her eye and scoffed. The sill was high and a large desk occupied the space below it.

The ordinariness of the room began to have a calming effect on her. There was nothing alarming here or even noteworthy. She sniffed the air. A not unpleasant smell of tobacco and a trace of something else…something chemical. She noticed a half-smoked pipe lying in an ashtray on the desk, whose surface was perfectly neat; inkwell, blotter, and pen tray were arranged with naval precision. Books lining two of the walls were in alphabetical order within their categories. A swift glance along the shelves told her what she wanted to know.

To the left of the desk, within easy reach, was a group of six textbooks. Their spines were familiar to her from her own school-days: grammars, primers, dictionaries. She took out one she remembered:
An Approach to Ancient Greek.
It was well-thumbed with answers pencilled in over the questions at the end of each chapter. The name in the front was
Charles St. George Russell,
but the writing in the body of the text was Theodore's. Encouraged, Letty looked further, finding on a low shelf a collection of Greek and Roman literature.

A self-taught classicist? A man too unconfident, too proud, to embark on a discussion with a scholar like Gunning who came with a glowing reputation from Professor Merriman? Russell would never engage in a struggle with a man he knew he could not outdo, she thought. Yes, he would keep quiet on this. Letty sighed. It seemed a petty and demeaning victory she had won over Theodore, and she started towards the door. Hand already on the doorknob, her attention was tugged back into the room by a feeling of unease. She glanced around again, trying to locate the source, and suddenly she had it— At the heart of this intimate space, this quiet retreat, was an
emptiness.
There were no photographs. None of wives, parents, not even one of George. There was one painting on the wall. She went closer, surprised to find an oil of the young Theodore himself in naval uniform.

The only other framed offering was more surprising. She crossed the room to examine it. It was, strangely, a half-page of yellowing print cut from a German newspaper. Letty could just make out that it carried the report of the sinking of a ferryboat attempting to cross the Rhine in June 1914. Thirty-five passengers, German and foreign, had lost their lives in the disaster. Someone had written at the bottom:
R.I.P. ILSE RUSSELL
and below that in a child's hand:
I love you, Mamma.

In a room crowded with personal mementoes it would hardly have been remarkable but here it stood out, the last, perhaps the only, reminder of the death of a loved wife and mother in a far-off land. Bleak and touching, it was the one emotional note she could tune to. Letty felt tears start to scald her eyes, the unexpected tragedy calling to her over a waste of seas and time.

Turning to leave, she caught sight of an object tucked away to the side of the desk and she stopped in her tracks. A small Vuitton suitcase nestled there. Surely
her
suitcase? The luggage label was still attached to the handle so the question was easily answered. She picked up the case and put it down on the desk. Empty, as it should be, judging by its weight. And, yes, the label was hers, one of the shipping company's own, the blue and white of the Stella Maris line, giving her address at the Villa Europa on one side and, on the other, her return address c/o Professor Merriman in Athens. She had assumed it was safely stowed away in an attic somewhere with the rest of her luggage. What was it doing here in Theo's room? And when did he intend to return it to her?

She clicked the clasps and opened the case. The sight of the dark blue silk lining greeted her, but nothing else. Eleni had emptied it on her arrival and nothing so much as a hair grip remained. Letty felt inside the two ruched pockets in the lid. Nothing. She was about to close the case when she noticed the smell. Glue. There was quite a strong smell of glue trapped inside the small space. Full of suspicion, she began to slide her fingers along the lining until she found what she was looking for: a stiffness in the silk marked the place on the left side where the seam had been cut open and stuck down again. She poked at the area below and felt a flat but lumpy form. Reaching for the paper knife on the desk she slid it carefully along, reopening the incision. It put up a very poor resistance, damp as it still was with unset glue. The operation was obviously quite recent. As recent as this morning?

Letty reached inside and drew out a woman's stocking. Not one of hers. Phoebe's, perhaps? She shook the contents of the stocking out into the suitcase. Five small objects gleamed against the blue silk, making her catch her breath in astonishment. Mechanically, she made an inventory: a pair of gold earrings in the form of bulls' heads, a ring with a representation of the goddess in a boat, a chalcedony seal stone set in gold, and, most devastating, a broad gold pendant showing the goddess with spreading arms, a dove settling on each wrist, lions curled at her feet. The delicately crafted jewel still bore, in its crevices, crumbs of earth from Juktas.

Letty stood staring, unable to move, sickened as the wickedness of Theodore's scheme became clear to her. He would plan to engineer her departure to suit himself and, as she made her way to the port with her things, a messenger would arrive with a discreet note. The customs official would have no difficulty in spotting her. He would, smiling, summon the police officer on duty to witness events when he asked the young English miss to open up her baggage.

And, even if she escaped arrest, at the very least the young English miss would, at a stroke, find her reputation in tatters, any thoughts of a career at an end. Even Andrew would find it difficult to support her in such circumstances, she guessed. The establishment would sympathise with Theodore, who would, more in sorrow than anger, make feeble attempts to account for her actions. “Well, women and jewellery, you know…Too tempting…Young Miss fancied herself as Sophia Schliemann, no doubt.”

She was standing holding the betraying pendant in her hand when she heard a heavy tread along the corridor. An unmistakable tread. Letty flinched and, ridiculously, looked about her for a weapon. Not even a doorstop presented itself.

A
nd then, a shout along the corridor. A peremptory call. “Sir! Mr. Russell! It's found! You left your pipe up in the drawing Iroom. Miss Talbot found it under the chair. She's about the house somewhere, looking for you to return it.”

The footsteps had halted. Theodore turned, grumbling. “Thank you, Eleni. I'll go in pursuit. Though I'll probably get my head bitten off. And be subjected to a lecture on the evils of tobacco.” He stomped off back towards the stairs.

Letty swiftly replaced the contraband and pressed the lining together as best she could. She put the case back where she'd found it. A time bomb is no danger if you know where and when it's likely to go off. She'd let him go on thinking he had the upper hand for a while longer.

Before she left the room, she paused to pick up his pipe and put it away in her pocket, breathing her own thanks to Eleni. The Spirit of the House, Gunning had called her fancifully. Not necessarily the compliment he had intended, Letty felt, now she knew the house better, but it was good to think that someone in this malevolent place was looking out for her.

Her examination of the room had thrown up as many questions as it had solved but, with renewed vigour and knowing at last exactly what she had to do, Letty made her plans for the rest of the day. Plans that included a trip to the offices of the Stella Maris line at the port and an audience at the embassy if she could arrange it at such short notice. Depending on what she found there, a consultation with Inspector Mariani would follow. She had, since Phoebe's death, been haunted, been harried, been drained by a need to find out the truth, and she thought she was within a whisker of turning up the evidence she needed. There could be only pain ahead, and most of it for others, but she was contemplating a noxious and growing boil that needed to be lanced, and as skilfully as possible. Mariani could do it. He had the instruments to hand. All she had to do was place them in his capable fingers.

The urgent knocking came at the door at six-thirty. Gunning, passing through the hallway in search of an ashtray, remembered Eleni was busy putting George to bed and the rest of the house-hold was already in the drawing room having cocktails with Phoebe's younger sister and her French husband. They had chosen to stay in a hotel nearby during their stay on the island, rather than under Theo's roof. Good move, Gunning thought. Alice clearly disliked and mistrusted Theodore, and Theo had, in an aside to Gunning, described the pair as the leeches who were making off with his money. A potentially awkward party. Letty, who, strangely, seemed determined to enjoy herself, had set him the task of oiling the social wheels, being the life and soul and a few other impossibilities. Young Alice and her husband had turned out to be a charming and entertaining couple and he found, to his surprise, that he was annoyed by the threat of an interruption. He actually wanted to return to the gathering. He didn't want to greet whoever was on the other side of the door.

He opened it anyway and in rushed Harry Stoddart.

“Oh, hello, Harry. Come to see George? You're a bit late—he's just going to bed.”

“No, no! It's not George I'm concerned for. I'm quite sure he's in good hands or I wouldn't have released him. I would have come earlier—should have come earlier—but…there's been a problem. I need Laetitia. Please, will you summon Laetitia at once?”

“Not sure I can spare her, old boy,” said Gunning doubtfully. “Not sure she'd want to leave the party. She's all dolled up in her best oyster silk what d'ye call'ems? Evening pyjama suit? Would that be it? Pearls down to her bum, you know the sort of thing. And onto her third cocktail by now.”

Harry was getting increasingly agitated. “I don't care if she's in a rabbit suit or her birthday suit—she's got to come to the jail with me. Right now! It's Ollie! Mariani called by the house half an hour ago with his henchmen and they took Ollie away with them. They've got her in the lockup! Ollie's been arrested!”

“Ollie's got herself arrested? On a Sunday evening in Herakleion?” Gunning was disposed to laugh. “That takes a bit of doing! What on earth's the charge?”

Harry could hardly allow the words to pass his gritted teeth: “
Disturbing the peace,
” he admitted. “And
affray
—whatever that is. Lucky, I suppose, that they stopped short of a wounding charge but they could see that was never going to stick—the man could still walk.”

“Harry?” said Gunning faintly.

“She went for one of the coppers. Had the sense to keep her hands off Mariani but his sergeant really annoyed her. She, er, well, you must have noticed the elephant's foot umbrella stand in the hall?”

“Used it many a time, old boy. It's an arresting object,” said Gunning, guessing the outcome.

Harry glowered. “It's not a laughing matter. She picked it up-must weigh a ton—that's how angry she was, and she dropped it on the man's foot.”

“Ouch!” said Gunning, cringing.

“Well, damage not too bad, considering…police boots being what they are. But, listen, William—that's not the worst of it. No, not by a long chalk. The ‘affray’ is a holding charge. Just an excuse to get her down there and grill her. They've got their sights on her for something much, much more sinister.”

“Grievous bodily harm?”

“No, no! Murder! To be precise: murdering Phoebe. I know…I know…Piece of ridiculous nonsense! But Mariani was very sure of himself, and quite determined to get her away from the house, and me, to frighten her into a confession. Huh! He doesn't know Olivia!” Stoddart said with an odd flash of pride. “She'll give him what for! But the officious fool wouldn't allow me to accompany her. Must have thought I'd speak for her, prompt her or something. She's quite capable of speaking for herself. But it's not right, hauling a chap's wife off into the night like that without so much as a toothbrush. I threatened. I pleaded. I called his bridge club membership into question. I finally got through to him using a lever Ollie herself would not have approved of: impropriety.”

“You've lost me, Harry.”

“In this town, you can't have it known that you've interviewed a lady by herself in a prison cell. Just not done. When he calmed down—I must say Ollie was being rather vociferously uncooperative—enough to raise anybody's blood pressure—he saw the sense of this and agreed to a chaperone. Only one name would satisfy the inspector, however. Mariani insists on Laetitia! He will accept none other.”

Harry looked for a moment at Gunning with speculation. “I say, William…not something going on there as shouldn't be, eh?”

Gunning put on a knowing expression. “Let's hope there
is,
Harry. I must say—I had wondered myself…It could all work to our advantage, don't you think? Look, I'll fetch her out and you must mark her card. I shall insist on escorting her there—and back again. I'm damned if that young squirt is going to hold on to Letty as well.”

Letty decided the inspector was already regretting his use of shock tactics by the time she presented herself at the police lockup down by the harbour. He looked subdued and hunted. He was pacing about by himself in an office and Ollie was sitting quietly in the adjoining cell, staring through the bars, looking, Letty thought, like Queen Victoria who has just detected a blocked drain in the Palace.

Gunning waved a reassuring hand at her and she nodded in acknowledgement. He then, and largely for Olivia's reassurance, went into a very English speech, genial, disarmingly cooperative, setting out for Mariani his expectations and requirements. Mariani assured Gunning that his niece would be treated with the highest respect. To his credit, Gunning didn't twitch an eyebrow, let alone send a wounded look at Letty. It was acknowledged that her participation in the interview was deeply appreciated. Compliments were exchanged. One officer to another before they went over the top, Letty thought. They even checked their watches together. Satisfied that the ground rules were clear, he retreated with Harry to the Stoddart house to ply him with whisky.

Mariani was pleased to see her. He rolled his eyes in a conspiratorial dismissal of the preceding flummery and got down to business. “Miss Talbot. So glad you could come and accompany your friend. Mrs. Stoddart has, I assure you, come along willingly to help me with my further enquiries into the death of Mrs. Russell.”

An irritated “Pshaw!” from the cell cast some doubt on this.

“She has not been arrested. My injured officer will not be pressing charges. It is important that I have her evidence and her account of her activities on that afternoon with reference to no other person—forgive me—including yourself. May I ask you to remain silent until I address you?”

“Yes, of course,” Laetitia agreed, more puzzled by the minute. She sensed that Mariani was questioning his precipitate action but he must, she calculated, have had a good reason for it. If intimidating Ollie was part of his plan, it wasn't working and the inspector was going to have to salvage what he could.

He went to the door of the cell and asked politely, “Would you mind letting us in, Mrs. Stoddart? We're ready to begin.”

Olivia glared and pulled away the chair she'd wedged against the door.

The women settled down opposite Mariani around a small table. Letty attempted to squeeze Olivia's hand encouragingly, but Olivia snatched it away.

“Now, tedious, I know, but would you please go over the timing of your return from Knossos on the Sunday afternoon when Mrs. Russell was taken ill? Miss Talbot was with you on that occasion and has given her evidence.”

“Ah!” thought Letty. “He's using me to keep Ollie on the straight and narrow path of truth. But then—why would she want to stray from it?”

Olivia accounted for her movements until she had said good-bye to Laetitia on her doorstep. That would have been at about two o'clock and Letty would confirm this. Letty nodded. She then went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and had a snooze in her arm-chair, as she usually did on a Sunday. Harry must have got back at some time, because the next thing she was conscious of was a messenger from the Russells shouting and banging on about an accident at the house and demanding his instant attention.

“Yes. I accept that you were on your doorstep at two o'clock—an estimated hour before Mrs. Russell died. It was a lively Sunday—a festival under way and many people and traders up from the country especially to join in,” said Mariani. Letty nodded again in agreement.

“I and my officers joined the crowds at the same time today—a Sunday likewise—noting the traders and others who might have been there in the streets at the same time on the fateful day. So soon after the event, they had not forgotten what business they did, what clients they'd seen, strangers who'd passed. Miss Talbot was commented on and described by several. And so, Mrs. Stoddart, were you.”

Olivia's cheeks, mottled red with indignation, began to lose their colour.

“It took you, Miss Talbot, half an hour to return home to the Villa Europa, wandering as you did, past the boutiques along the busy avenue. It took my officer six and a half minutes following alleyways away from the crowds. But along these less used streets the inhabitants of the houses take a keener interest in passersby than the ones who live on a busy thoroughfare. They sit on their doorsteps and watch what little of the world goes by, go by. We traced your passage along several streets, all heading by the quickest and most secluded route to the Europa.”

He flourished sheets of paper. “I have sworn statements if you care to see them. We start with Mr. Pappandreiou, who runs the bakery…”

Olivia shrugged her indifference.

“You reached the Villa Europa at two-fifteen, give or take a minute either way. You were seen not to approach the front door but to slip into the coach house alongside. From there, access to the rear courtyard and the open door of the library is available to all who choose to try. Mrs. Russell's bedroom is also accessible by means of an obliging wisteria, as has been ably demonstrated, I understand, by Miss Talbot's disabled uncle. We must assume therefore that any reasonably able-bodied and determined intruder could have taken the same route. I must ask you, Mrs. Stoddart: Why did you set off at once for the Europa and, having got there, did you enter the house? Having gained access, did you murder your friend Phoebe?”

Letty broke her vow of silence. “I'm sure you're not obliged to answer those questions, Olivia. Your answers could be very incriminating. I advise you to keep quiet until you can summon a lawyer in the morning.”

“Don't concern yourself, Laetitia! I don't need counsel. The truth will speak for itself.”

Olivia couldn't have cared less what the inspector's opinion of her was, but Letty noticed she directed a defiant gaze sideways at her and she was troubled by it.

“Pretty obvious, I'd have thought! Adultery not an entirely new concept on the island, Inspector? King Minos is reputed to have suffered similarly. I suspected that my husband was having an affair with Mrs. Russell and was determined to catch them out. In flagrante delicto if at all possible. In circumstances leaving no room for denial or argument. And who knows? If only Miss Talbot, here, had been able to cycle faster, I might have managed it!” she finished with a savage glance at Letty.