For the first time in their conversation, he was on his guard. “Yes, it is my sister.”
“But she doesn’t speak?”
“No, she cannot. From a child, she cannot. You like some food now?” he went on, changing the subject without any attempt at subtlety.
Mrs Pargeter was not to be deflected. “Last night, as we were going up to the Villa Eleni, we met Theodosia leaving it and –”
Spiro looked across the tables and spotted someone he urgently had to greet. “Excuse me, I see English friends from last year. Must say hello. You let me know when you want I drive you to hotel.”
“Oh, it’s all right. The walk’ll do me good. I could do with a bit of fresh air.”
Spiro was far too keen to get away to notice the incongruity of Mrs Pargeter’s last sentence, spoken as it was by someone sitting out of doors. He scuttled off, arms bonhomously open.
The question about Theodosia had not been wasted. Though not yielding any information, it had at least got rid of Spiro.
Mrs Pargeter waved to Yianni, who refused to accept any money for her coffee and retsina. She wondered idly whether it would be added to her running total from the night before, or if Spiro had waived payment as a gesture of compassion.
Then she set off across the waterfront towards the Hotel Nausica, a pink, almost rectangular building which rose up out of the trees the other side of the bay.
♦
She was half-way there before the thought struck her. Why shouldn’t she go up to the Villa Eleni and have another look round? There was no one to stop her, and if anyone did make a fuss, she could say she just needed to pick up some of her belongings.
She took the direct path up the hillside. It was certainly no steeper than the other one, and a lot shorter. She was hardly out of breath at all when she reached the front door of the villa.
She went in that way, ignoring the open French windows on either side. There was no reason for her approach to look surreptitious.
As soon as she was inside, Mrs Pargeter sensed that she was not alone. Silently, she moved through into Joyce’s bedroom.
A tall man in uniform stood there, facing the far window. He turned at the sound of her entrance. In his gloved hands, he held the bloody bottle end which had slashed Joyce Dover’s wrist.
It was Sergeant Karaskakis.
∨ Mrs Pargeter’s Package ∧
Twelve
“What are you doing here?” His English was heavily-accented but precise. Cold and efficient, like his small dark eyes and that triangle of black moustache. Mrs Pargeter was forcibly reminded of the last time she had seen Joyce and Sergeant Karaskakis together, and of her friend’s shocked reaction to the sight of him.
“Well, I’m staying here, aren’t I?” she replied pugnaciously. She sensed that the Sergeant was trying to overawe her, and Mrs Pargeter had always been very resistant to being overawed.
“I understood you were being transferred to the hotel.”
“Well, yes, I am, but I remembered something I wanted to pick up here.”
“You should not have come in. The villa is closed during police investigations.”
“And is that what you are involved in at the moment, Sergeant?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Police investigations? I always understood that nothing should be moved at the scene of a crime.”
He looked down at the murderous piece of glass in his gloved hands. “I am a police officer. I am entitled to examine the premises.”
“But you’re Tourist Police,” Mrs Pargeter insisted. “I didn’t know that violent deaths in Greece were investigated by the Tourist Police.”
“Of course they are not,” Sergeant Karaskakis said tetchily. “I am merely having a preliminary look round. Then I will report back and officers from the relevant department will take over.”
“And will the ‘officers from the relevant department’ be pleased to know that you have moved some of the evidence?”
Her words had the effect of making him put the piece of glass back down on the floor, but there was no apology in his voice as he said, “This is not your business.”
“I’d say it was very much my business. It’s my friend who’s dead.”
“Yes, and of course I am very sorry about this. It is unfortunate for you at the beginning of your holiday. Also unfortunate for us. It is not good that people bring their troubles out here and do things like this. It makes for complications. Death always makes for complications.”
Mrs Pargeter didn’t disagree.
“I suppose,” the Sergeant went on, “that you will be returning to England now as soon as possible – yes?”
“Well, no,” Mrs Pargeter replied firmly. “I’ve decided I’m going to stay for a while.”
“I don’t think there is much point in that. You will not enjoy your holiday after this tragedy. It is better you should go home.”
The final suggestion was spoken with the force of an order. As ever, such an approach only made Mrs Pargeter dig her toes in more firmly. “I don’t want to go home until I’m confident that Joyce’s death is being properly investigated.”
Sergeant Karaskakis bridled at this implied criticism of Corfiot police procedure. “The proper investigations will of course take place. I was only thinking from your point of view. For you to be too involved can only be painful. What I am proposing is that you should make a statement about how you found your friend dead, about the state of mind she was in, and then you would be free to go home. The other tedious details could be sorted out without you.”
“Which tedious details?”
“Organising the return of the body, that kind of thing. Don’t worry, it can all be done very discreetly.”
“Swept under the carpet, you mean?”
“I’m sorry, I do not understand. What have carpets to do with this?”
“I mean, ‘hushed up’. You want to have Joyce’s death hushed up, don’t you, Sergeant?”
“That is not so unusual. It is for her family. Very few people want a great deal of publicity about a suicide.”
“I don’t think Joyce’s death was suicide,” said Mrs Pargeter quietly.
This really did shake him. “What! But it is obvious. Her husband has just died, she is in a very bad state, she kills herself.”
“She didn’t leave a note.”
“Maybe not. We don’t know yet. Perhaps we will find one. Anyway, she told people the bad state she was in. Ginnie heard her talking about it.”
That had been rather quick, thought Mrs Pargeter, for Sergeant Karaskakis to have had time to discuss the case with Ginnie.
“Of course she committed suicide.” His voice had now taken on a bullying note.
But Mrs Pargeter was impervious. The late Mr Pargeter had told her how few bullies can cope with having their bluff called. Ignoring their threats completely was the course of action he always recommended. And he did know – rather well – what he was talking about.
“I am convinced,” said Mrs Pargeter quietly, “that Joyce Dover was murdered.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Now the Sergeant was really angry. “You say things like that, you make trouble for everyone. A murder investigation causes great disturbance. You don’t want that – particularly when there is no murder to investigate,” he added as an afterthought.
“I know she was murdered,” Mrs Pargeter persisted, “and nothing you say will convince me otherwise. What is more, I am going to stay here in Corfu until the person who killed her is brought to justice.”
Sergeant Karaskakis gave her a stern, cold stare. “You are being very foolish. You do not know how much trouble your stupid attitude will cause. This is not your country. You do not understand how things work out here.”