Cold Pressed (20 page)

A rush of anger erupted in Beatrice. She stalked to the
table and refilled her glass, counting to ten in her head. Rather than having
the intended calming effect, the numbers fuelled her temper.

"In point of fact, I pay a professional counsellor to
help me analyse my behavioural patterns. He's very good at guiding me towards
an understanding of my own motivations. The one thing he never does is tell me
why I act a certain way or attribute a gesture to his own deeper comprehension
of my psyche than I have myself. So when I share a secret with someone who then
imposes some cod psychology on my words, intimating my embarrassing truth is
nothing more than some primitive fan dance, I find it infuriating to say the
least. If I wanted you to piss off, Oscar, believe me, I would have no
hesitation in saying so!"

His expression, backlit by the lamp, was unreadable. Another
surge of emotion swelled as she debated asking him to leave. The problem was,
now she didn't want him to go. He came towards her and placed his hands on her
shoulders.

"Beatrice, I'm sorry. That was incredibly arrogant of
me. For you to share what you describe as 'the embarrassing truth' must have
been painful and I should have been more sensitive to the compliment. But with
classic egotism, I interpreted your honesty only in relation to myself."

His eyes searched her face. She replayed his words and
understood what he was saying. Her anger collapsed. Her voice, in complete
contrast to her most recent outburst, was hushed.

"I wasn't telling you to back off because I didn't
realise you were..." she discarded several alternatives and still the
right expression eluded her.

Oscar's lips twitched. "Coming on?"

She couldn't reply, her senses muddled by the heat of his
hands, the scent of his cedar wood cologne and the expression on his face.

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. "In
that case, I'm seriously concerned about your skills of observation." His
pupils expanded, a few fireflies of colour floating on the edges.

A pulse beat at her throat as his thumb brushed her
collarbone, sending whispers across her skin.

"Can I just clarify one thing, Detective Inspector? Do
you, or do you not, want me to piss off?"

A voice in her head began making a series of statements.

This is the perfect time to laugh, apologise for shouting
and tell him not exactly to piss off but that it is getting late. Your moods
have been erratic all day and you have not yet taken your stabiliser. Sudden
flares of lust and lack of good judgement are, as you well know, sure signs of
your condition. Break his gaze and speak, woman.

The roaring in her ears drowned it out. When Oscar bent to
kiss her, her body moved to meet his, as if she had no say in the matter. The
touch of his lips triggered a simultaneous liquefying sensation and
intoxicating euphoria so that his steadying hands on her shoulders seemed the
only things keeping her upright. She released a huge, shivery breath as his
mouth moved to press butterfly kisses on her neck and the diminished voice in
her head floated clean away.

Then he stopped. He lifted his head, looking over her
shoulder. "There's someone outside the door," he whispered.

An envelope lay on the mat. Oscar broke the clinch, wrenched
open the door and looked both ways up the corridor. Beatrice, light-headed and
dizzy, picked up the white
Empress Louise
stationery.

"No one there," he said.

"They can't have got far. You go left, I'll go right.
Quick!"

She rushed barefoot along the corridor, shaking with a
maelstrom of emotions. As she turned the corner, the envelope clutched in her
hand, she collided heavily with someone coming the other way. Doreen Cashmore
had the air of a wild animal exhausted by the hunt.

"Mrs Cashmore, are you all right?"

"I changed my mind. I was coming back to get the
letter. I shouldn't have written it. It's not my place but it's been on my
conscience, you see. That poor woman had nothing at all to do with it. I can't,
I just can't..." Her face screwed into a wretched grimace and she began to
weep dry hitching sobs that sounded like a gate blowing in the wind.

"Come. Let's sit down and sort this out. You really
shouldn't be wandering about alone, especially not at this hour. This
way."

Doreen allowed Beatrice to manoeuvre her back along the
corridor and pulled a tissue from her sleeve to blow her nose.

"I couldn't get out before. I had to wait till Joyce
went to bed. But she was playing cards on the computer till late and...
oh!"

As they approached the guest cabin, Oscar stepped out of the
door, glancing quickly at the elderly lady and back to Beatrice.

"Ah. I was just coming to find you." His eyes
locked onto hers.

Beatrice's stomach effervesced and she forced herself to
look away. "Mrs Cashmore, this is a friend of mine, Oscar Martins. Oscar,
Mrs Cashmore is a bit upset, so we're going to have a chat in my cabin, if you
don't mind."

"Of course not. I'll leave you in peace. I hope you
feel better soon, Mrs Cashmore. And perhaps we can continue our discussion
tomorrow, Detective Inspector?"

Mrs Cashmore was still blinking at Oscar so didn't spot the
transformation of professional police officer into fourteen-year-old girl.

"I... umm... well... yes, that's a distinct
possibility. See you tomorrow then."

"See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams. Goodnight,
ladies."

They watched him walk down the corridor until Beatrice came
to her senses and ushered Mrs Cashmore inside. While making her guest some tea,
she splashed cold water on her face, took her stabiliser and prepared to
concentrate on the job. She'd save thoughts of Oscar till later.

Chapter 22

Finding a place to make a private call with no danger
of being overheard by the police patrol or anyone else was impossible. In the
end, Nikos walked all the way back to his cabin to call Karen.

It might make him late for the cabaret, but it was worth it.
Of all people, Karen would understand why today’s encounter with Xanthou had
got under his skin. With her usual perceptive analysis, she said Xanthou’s
behaviour showed him to be insecure and threatened. His problem, and no one
else’s. No, she’d received no emails from the cocky little git, but if she did,
she’d delete them. She wanted Nikos to come home. She missed him and when he
got back, she would chain him to the bed to stop him leaving again. By the end
of the call, he felt warm, righteous and a little bit horny.

He checked his watch. The show had already started. He
hurried back to the entertainment decks and The Man with the Golden Voice.
Fortunately, the ballroom was laid out in cabaret, rather than theatre style,
so Nikos's late arrival caused the minimum of disturbance. A waiter showed him
to his seat and took his order for still water. Toni Dean was coming to the
final chorus of
King of the Road.
Behind him, spotlights picked out the
backing vocalists, two tuxedo-clad men and a woman in a black sheath dress
singing into a single microphone, while two showgirls in sparkling swimsuits
and an abundance of feathers struck poses every few bars. The band, at the back
of the stage, consisted of a piano, drums, a trumpet and a saxophone, along
with a double bass and a synthesiser. Dean swayed from foot to foot,
convincingly Sinatra-sounding, flashing his teeth at every opportunity.

Nikos settled back and wondered what wicked observations
Karen would make if she were here. She could always puncture the artificial and
pretentious with a well-chosen barb. She'd have something to say about the
showgirls' eyelashes and fixed grins, for sure, not to mention Toni's
perma-tan. She insisted on watching the Eurovision Song Contest every year,
'for comedy value'. If only she was here. He loved the way she reduced Xanthou
so effectively to a ‘cocky little git’. Voulakis, when he'd been their senior
officer, could see there was a problem, but laughed it off as professional
jealousy. In fact, he used to fan the flames, in the misguided belief that
competitiveness would make them both work harder. He had no idea how personal
and destructive Xanthou could be.

Toni (Frank) was introducing the cast with a showman's
patter. The crowd applauded and whistled as 'Sammy Davis Junior' and 'Dean
Martin' strolled onto the stage to join in with a rendition of
A Lovely Way
to Spend an Evening
. Nikos, already bored, browsed the glossy programme and
realised that each entertainer would have a section of the show to himself,
beginning with Frank and ending with a finale involving all three. So what did
Toni Dean do while his colleagues took the stage?

Nikos made some rough calculations and decided to leave at
the interval and miss the start of the second half. He’d just have time to find
out what Kostas got up to after ten o’clock before returning to watch the
offstage movements of Toni Dean. He sat back to listen to
My Kind of Town
and found himself humming along
.

Kostas, clearly in a hurry, left the kitchen with a
bag. Nikos almost lost him a couple of times as he slipped around corners and
through doorways. Tailing an experienced staff member round a cruise ship
without alerting said individual to his presence – Nikos could remember easier
gigs. The chef, whose familiarity with layout far exceeded his own, ducked into
a crew elevator and the doors closed. Nikos waited several seconds before
approaching to watch the numbers descend. G Deck. Below sea level and where
crew quarters were housed. Kostas was staff, so certainly had a cabin on A Deck
or above. All staff and crew facilities, including mess, buffet and recreation
facilities were in A Deck. The only things on G Deck were laundry, refuse,
engines and the lowliest quarters. What would he need down there?

As a senior member of staff, Kostas had access to all areas.
Crew, staff and passenger facilities were at his disposal. So what would draw
him to visit the most basic, below-sea section, where engineers slept on bunks
and shared a toilet? In the same crew lift he'd seen Kostas take, Nikos pressed
the button for G Deck, wondering if he'd emerge into a full-fledged ceilidh
with Kate Winslet dancing the polka.

He didn't. The gangways stood silent, every door closed and
apart from the far louder sounds of the engines and the smell of cooking fish,
no different to six levels above. He turned left, for no other reason than he
sensed that was where the smell came from.

The first open door led to an empty cabin, with two unmade
beds and laundry hanging from a makeshift line across the sink. The second
opened into a communal area, where a few men played cards and others argued or
laughed in small groups. They turned to stare as he crossed the threshold. One
man shook his head and pointed towards the ceiling.

“No place for you. Go back upstairs.” Nikos withdrew, opting
not to use his police badge. Kostas was nowhere to be seen. He retraced his
steps to the lift and decided to turn one last corner in the other direction,
before abandoning hope of finding the vanished chef.

Storerooms and offices. Each bearing an abbreviation: HT/HR
Office, LC/LS Store G2, IT/ITS, PLCPO, C/S/C Storage. Nikos tried every door.
No indication as to meaning or usefulness and each one locked. A fruitless
exercise and now he'd have to hurry not to miss the Rat Pack changeover. Back
to the elevator. As he watched the numbers descend, he heard a door open, a
soft goodbye in Greek and footsteps coming his way. Kostas started at the sight
of the inspector. Nikos noticed the chef’s jaw harden and saw the bandage on
his hand. He assumed a relaxed pose to counteract the chef's folded arms and
greeted him in Greek.

"Yeah, I followed you. It's my job. I have to check
each staff and crew member's alibi. Yours, in the kitchen from six till eleven,
didn't stand up. I know you leave during dessert and only come back to check
the cleaning. I can't remove you from suspicion until your alibi is proven.
You're not being persecuted. You're not the only one."

Kostas cursed under his breath. "No such thing as
privacy. Just like a TV show. Performing, all the time."

"I don't know. Not my area of expertise. What did you
do to your hand?”

“Cut it. Meat cleaver slipped. Do you want to see?”

“No. All I have to do is make one hundred percent sure that
you were somewhere else when three elderly ladies died. You told the Rhodes
sergeant you work in the kitchen till eleven pm. You don't. See my point,
Kostas? I need to know what you do between ten and half past."

"Come." Kostas jerked his head back up the
corridor. Nikos checked his watch. 'Frank' would be handing over to 'Sammy'
about now, and heading off to do what exactly? He shrugged and followed the
chef.

Kostas rounded the corner and knocked on a cabin door and
called out. “Tsampika? It’s me again.”

The door opened and a tall, gaunt woman peered out. Her
expression darkened when she saw Stephanakis and looked to the chef for
reassurance.

“This is Inspector Stephanakis. He’s not interested in you,
he’s checking my alibi. He wants to know what I do in the break. Will you tell
him?”

She addressed Nikos with a resentful glare. "He visits
me. Every night."

Stephanakis could guess the reason but had to get
confirmation. He winced at the indelicacy of the question.

“Can I ask why?”

Kostas answered. "It’s the only chance I get to see my
sister."

“Your sister?”

"Yes. Tsampika is crew, on the laundry team. Since her
husband lost his job and their savings got swallowed by rent increases, she has
to work. On the ships, she earns enough to keep her family by leaving them for
two weeks every month. It's not the worst job in the world. I gave her a
reference, but not as her brother. Some people down here know we're related but
the powers-that-be don’t know anything. Crew are not allowed on passenger
decks, so if we spent time together on A Deck, it would raise eyebrows. That’s
why I visit her in her cabin and bring her some decent food when we both have
free time. She doesn’t have much."