Cold Pressed (3 page)

"Yes. Several. Andros Metaxas, who was the tour guide,
along with five male passengers, two off-duty staff members, but no crew. I
have prepared a full list for you."

"There’s a difference between staff and crew?”

“Most definitely. In the crudest possible terms, the staff
interact with the passengers, front-of-house, as it were. The crew are
operations. They run the ship.”

“I see. Thank you for the list. I would like to talk to
these people and the ladies who were travelling with the deceased. I also will
need to visit the location. First priority is to meet the two ladies who think
they saw a crime."

Jensson gave him a long look. His eyes, the pale green of
shallow water, appeared to grow warmer. Nikos sensed his relief. Responsibility
transferred, the death and allegation were someone else’s problem now.

"All that can be arranged. I suggest you use the casino
for your enquiries as it is closed during the day. One of the witnesses is
still under sedation in the infirmary. When she's able to talk, you might want
to interview them both together. The lady who says she saw something unusual is
quite difficult to understand. She has a strong Scottish accent."

Nikos nodded. Of course she did.

“I appreciate your help, Captain. One more question, what
was that tea?"

Jensson turned the label dangling out of the pot. "Earl
Grey. Was it not to your taste?"

"It was delicious. I must remember the name."

Nikos took his mobile from his ear to look at the
screen in exasperation. It didn't help. Chief Inspector Voulakis continued to
talk, without pause for breath. Today he was in one of his moods. No matter
what Nikos said, Voulakis would misunderstand. He placed the mobile back to his
ear and looked around at the casino. Only the bar area was illuminated, low
lights glinting off bottles and chrome. Thick carpet muffled all sound and the
room smelt of furniture polish and air freshener. The voice in his ear was
silent for a second, then repeated the question.

"No sir, that wasn't what I said. I can handle this
case alone, I assure you. Another inspector is unnecessary. All I need is
someone experienced with older British people. A native English speaker,
ideally. I just need a bit of help with the language side of things."

He willed Voulakis to come to the obvious conclusion. If
Nikos could get his girlfriend assigned as language support, life would be
about as sweet as it could get. He closed his eyes as Voulakis embarked on
another long recital of the burdens he bore and the impossible demands made of
him. His eyes snapped open again as his senior officer swerved off on a
different tangent.

"No, no sir. That wouldn't solve the problem at all.
You don't need to bring someone from Britain. This can be managed locally. I
was thinking more like a language consultant. In fact, I know at least one person..."

He may as well not have spoken. Voulakis rattled on with
great enthusiasm while Nikos stared at the gleaming optics behind the bar.

"Sir, can I just..." but Voulakis had a call on
the other line and promised to call back. Nikos hung up and swore. He didn’t
want a British detective treading on his toes and taking over. It was his case
and he wanted to manage it alone. Maybe Voulakis would forget. Maybe the Brits
wouldn’t loan them anyone. Or maybe he should just achieve as much as he could
in the next few hours and solve this problem on his own. He sat at a small
table and picked up his briefcase. At least he'd remembered to download the
dictionary app. He was looking up 'dementia' when there was a sharp rap at the
door.

Before he could respond, the door opened and a tall man
strode towards him with a scowl on his face.

"This is a waste of time. Yours and mine. I don't know
what Jensson's playing at, calling in the police on the say-so of a pair of
dotty old hens. I've already talked to the coroner and the local pathologist.
It's clear that she fell. Sad, but nothing nefarious. My name's Fraser, by the
way, Doctor Lucas Fraser."

Nikos shook the doctor's hand, trying to assemble some kind
of meaning from the rapid-fire string of words.
Time, Jensson, police,
sad...

"Inspector Nikos Stephanakis. Pleased to meet you.
Where are you from?"

"Fort William. Do you know Scotland at all?"

Nikos shook his head and wondered how soon Voulakis could
arrange a British detective.

Chapter 4

The walk through the forest provoked a peculiar
nostalgia in Beatrice as she kicked up piles of spice-coloured leaves. She
stopped to admire sunlit dewdrops on a spider's web. Strands of mist still hung
over the meadows and the low sun painted the landscape with an almost painful vivacity.
A wood pigeon repeated its advice to sheep rustlers, ‘
Take TWO ewes, you
fool,
’ and a pair of magpies clattered off towards the village. Berries
against the sky amid bare branches and a chilly breeze blowing parchment leaves
across the path all combined to make her think of a phrase she’d not considered
for decades.
Back to school.

Matthew, his yellow woollen scarf wound twice around his
neck, added to the dampness in the air by continuing to drone on about planning
for the future. Beatrice changed the subject.

"Yes, well, as I've only just returned to work,
retirement – early or otherwise – seems rather premature. What time did you
book the table for tonight?"

"Eight o’clock. I know it seems premature now, but I'm
talking longer term. One has to be prepared financially to give oneself the
greatest range of opportunities."

"Eight? Isn't that a little late for Luke? I thought
his bedtime was no later than seven."

An odd expression crossed Matthew's brow. "Luke won't
be there. I told the girls that much as I adore them both, and of course, my
grandson, I would prefer to spend the evening alone with you. Though I have
invited them for Sunday lunch."

Beatrice stopped to look at him. His face was flushed with
cold, and his hair blew around his head, giving him a boyish appearance,
despite his insistence on talking about pensions.

"How very romantic of you! It's rather nice that after
all these years we can still enjoy dinner
à deux
." She linked her
arm in his and they trudged on. "I hope they've got that rabbit and prune
pie on the menu tonight."

"They'll have some sort of game. Roger is a great
believer in seasonal cooking. Isn’t that your phone?"

Beatrice registered the sound and pulled off her gloves to
reach into her pocket. Her heart sank as she saw her Chief Inspector’s name on
the screen.

"Oh God, it's Hamilton."

Matthew rolled his eyes and walked on. Beatrice answered the
call.

"Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?"

“
Where are you, Stubbs?
”

"In Devon, sir. In a forest."

“
Damn and hell blast.
”

Beatrice followed in Matthew’s wake, pressing the phone to
her ear while she waited for Hamilton to continue. Distant muttering and
computer noises were all she could make out. Hamilton's voice returned.

“
No, it's not going to work. Stubbs, you there?
”

"Yes sir?"

“
Listen here, apologies for the short notice etcetera,
but how soon could you get on a plane to Greece?
”

Matthew held the gate open for her as they left the woodland
for a sunny field. A few sheep glanced in their direction and went back to
cropping grass.

"Greece? Monday, I suppose. I'm back in London Sunday
night, so could be ready to travel first thing Monday morning."

"
Hmm. Bit more urgent than that. Suspicious demise
of an octogenarian on a cruise ship. Any chance you could get back tonight? Fly
tomorrow? I would consider this a personal favour
."

Beatrice squeezed her eyelids together. "That's rather
difficult, sir."

"
No doubt it is. But I need a trusted pair of hands.
Nothing complex, only take you forty-eight hours or so. Should be able to compensate
with time in lieu. And after all, two days on a Greek island in an advisory
role is hardly six months in Siberia
."

The cottage came into view as they descended the slope,
smoke weaving from the chimney. She'd have to forego dinner tonight and Sunday
lunch with Matthew's daughters and the always entertaining little Luke. But if
she accepted the job, she could take three extra days next week to make up for
it. What with next weekend, that made five full days of crosswords, forest
walks, pub lunches and circular arguments about her future.

"Very well, sir. I'll catch a train back this
afternoon. Could someone book me a flight for first thing tomorrow? And if you
email the case details now, I’ll study them on the journey back."

"
Tip top. Will do. All info to be sent soonest. Good
show, Stubbs. Appreciate it
." He rang off.

Matthew's head appeared to revolve as slowly as an owl's.

"You're going back to London." His intonation was
as flat and hard as his eyes.

"I have no choice. Hamilton wants me to go to Greece
for forty-eight hours. But I'll get time off in lieu, so I could be back by
Wednesday. I'll cook dinners for us, we can spend time with the girls, teach
Luke some new songs, visit the garden centre... oh Matthew, please don't be
difficult. It's work, surely you can see that?"

He strode ahead, leaving Beatrice to hurry after him. She
caught up as they reached the gate to the cottage and they trudged up the path
in silence. Matthew unlocked the front door and sat on the bench to remove his
boots. Beatrice stood in the doorway, determined to make him see the rationale
behind her decision.

"Look, I know it's disappointing, but if I give a
little now, I gain a lot more next week."

"Indeed. One must defer one's gratification. And it's
not like I have any say in the matter, after all. Come on, pack your things and
let's see if we can make the 12.23. What's happening in Greece?"

"No idea. Hamilton, cryptic as ever, said something
about a suspicious death on a cruise ship."

"How awfully Agatha Christie!" Matthew’s voice had
a forced jollity, and as his head was bent to lace his shoes, she couldn't
judge his expression. But she knew how precious their time together was to both
of them.

"I am sorry, Matthew. I hate spoiling your
weekend."

"It's not spoilt. I shall merely postpone my plans for
a week. Now would you get your skates on? It'll take us a good half hour to get
to the station."

She pecked him on the cheek and kicked off her wellingtons,
her curiosity already piqued about exactly what her advisory role might be in
Greece.

An extra five minutes spent looking for her hairbrush
meant she missed the first train and had to wait half an hour till the next.
Matthew bought her a baguette for the journey and stood at the ticket barrier
to wave her off. She apologised once again for the interruption to their
peaceful weekend routine.

“I’m used to it. Nothing involving you ever goes to plan,”
he said. “Now you’d better go. The quiet carriage is Coach C. And let me know
when you’re home.”

She boarded the train, found a seat at an empty table in
Coach C, unpacked her laptop and baguette and settled down to read Hamilton's
email. He'd included flight details and information on her accommodation. She
was flying to Heraklion, the capital of Crete, then travelling by boat to Santorini,
where the liner was currently docked. An Inspector Stephanakis would meet her
at the airport. It all sounded exotic and a world away from damp Devon
mornings. She had no idea of distance or proximity of these places but their
names alone set off all sorts of ideas. A quiver of anticipation ran through
her as she imagined herself standing on a deck, watching the sunset, wearing a
chiffon scarf and drinking a gin sling. She trained her attention on the case.

 The situation at first glance appeared really rather
simple. An old lady took an unfortunate tumble while on holiday with friends,
and one of them seemed convinced it was no accident. Not the first time an
excess of Sunday night television had affected perceptions in those with
failing faculties. In the final year of her life, Beatrice’s own mother had
often ascribed incidents from
Downton Abbey
or
Coronation Street
to her neighbours, resulting in some awkward misunderstandings.

In such a non-starter of a case, Hamilton's request for her
assistance struck her as an over-reaction. Nevertheless, she would follow
orders. If he considered it a personal favour, it probably meant politics were
involved.

Her phone rang and she checked the screen. It was Marianne,
Matthew's eldest daughter. Instantly, images of a white-faced Matthew in an
ambulance flashed through her mind. Ridiculous, she'd only left him ten minutes
ago.

"Marianne, hello. Is everything all right?"

Against a background of pop music, she heard Marianne's
laugh.

"
I was calling to ask you the same question. Dad
just phoned to ask if I'd like to join him at The Toad tonight because you had
to go back to London. There's nothing wrong, is there?
"

"Not at all." She dropped her voice for fear of
disturbing the other passengers. "My boss needs me to go to Greece to
assist with an investigation, so I have to fly out tomorrow. Didn't your father
tell you that?"

"
Yes, that's what he said. I just wanted to check he
hadn't, you know, upset you or anything."

"Far from it. To be honest, I think it's the other way
around. My dashing off has put his nose out of sorts. But he's being decent and
has accepted it with typical grumpy grace."

"
He would. And there's always next weekend to put
his plans into action. OK, so long as everything is fine between you two, I'll
call Tanya to rearrange next Sunday. I'm so looking forward to this! Good luck
in Greece and see you soon!"