Cold Pressed (29 page)

“No. Responsibility belongs to The Hirondelles. A fucking
bunch of dried-up spinsters took her choices away. And mine too. You conniving
hags, with no life of your own, you destroyed us. You might as well have
drowned me at birth. But you didn’t and I found you and made each of you pay.”

He cocked his weapon, aiming at Joyce’s forehead. “It’s
finished now. You are the last.”

“I’m not the last.”

“You are. The Hall woman is going to live the rest of her
life terrified of her own shadow, which is exactly what she deserves. Couple
more calls should bring on a heart attack, I reckon. So yes, you are the last.”

Joyce spoke, her voice weakened but steady. “You killed two
of my friends and then you sang at their memorial service.”

A flash of those teeth again. “Yes, I enjoyed that. Nice
touch, wasn’t it?” He opened his mouth and sang the first line of
My Way
,
not taking his eyes off her.

Joyce stared right back.

“Me too. Few regrets. Just the one. I really wish I had.”

Dean’s expression did not change. “What? Wish you had what?”

“Drowned you at birth.”

Waiting for the right moment was a matter of
assessment, opportunism, snap judgement and a cool head. The lighting was poor
and Nikos found it impossible to judge the layout at such a distance. At one
point, Dean came to the window and stared out into the darkness. Nikos could
not see the man’s gun and without any knowledge of the scene inside, dared not
pull his own trigger. Nor did he dare move in case he gave his position away.

Dean retreated and Nikos heard shouting. This was the right
moment. In a low ducking run, he reached the window and flattened himself
against the wall.

Dean kept up a monologue, of which Nikos heard snatches. ‘My
father wasn’t a movie star,’ ‘Responsibility belongs to The Hirondelles,’ but
the content was of less importance than the sound. Each time his voice became
less distinct, Nikos knew he’d turned away from the window. He edged closer and
moving his torso like an Egyptian dancer, managed to get his eye and gun around
the window frame.

Dean had his back to Nikos, whereas Beatrice and Joyce faced
in his direction. His blood raced as he saw the tape across Beatrice’s face and
her hands behind her. Neither woman could see him, their attention held by the
man towering over them with a gun dangling from his hand.

Joyce Milligan said something and Nikos detected a change in
atmosphere. Dean’s voice rang out in song, an eerie sound in the moonlit
forest. Nikos watched him step back and aim his gun at Joyce Milligan. He had
to take the chance. He aimed for the right shoulder, an attempt to disable rather
than kill, and upwards in case the bullet continued its trajectory. He pulled
the trigger and for the first time in his life, shot a man in the back.

Dean jerked forwards, the gun slipped out of his grasp and
clattered onto the flagstones, and he went down, first onto his knees then onto
his left side, and collapsed.

Nikos pressed his hands onto the windowsill and heaved
himself up. He climbed over the sill and landed softly on the ground beside
Dean. He picked up the handgun and clicked on the safety catch, stuffing it in
his belt.

Beatrice’s breathing was shallow and her eyes bulged. He
holstered his own weapon and went to release her. She shook her head and used
her eyes to indicate Dean. He looked over his shoulder. The man was inert and
posed no threat. He tore the tape from Beatrice’s mouth.

“He’s got Xanthou’s gun!”

A rush of movement behind Nikos set off an automatic reflex.
In one fluid movement, he withdrew his weapon, twisted over his shoulder and
without a second’s hesitation, pulled the trigger. Dean jolted and slumped
back.

Above his own ragged breathing in the shocking aftermath of
the gunshot, he heard Joyce Milligan reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

Blood trickled like a meandering stream from a bullet hole
on the right shoulder of the leather jacket. But the fatal shot was to the
neck, an ugly wound now pulsing blood in gouts. In Dean’s left hand, a police
issue Heckler and Koch. Due to the nature of the injury, Nikos did not attempt
to check the carotid pulse, instead taking Dean’s gloveless right hand to
confirm what he already knew.

Nikos Stephanakis had just killed a man.

Chapter 33

Joyce Milligan's wish to return to the Kalithera
Clinic in Sgourou was granted far sooner than she could have imagined. Beatrice
doubted the staff had sufficient time to change the sheets. Distressed and
emotional, the octogenarian was cleaned up, given a sedative and as much
reassurance as possible. Reduced yet visible security remained in place. While
Toni Dean would be committing no further acts of revenge, the question of an
accomplice had not been resolved.

Beatrice wanted to go to the Andreas Papandreou Hospital to
see Xanthou. His condition was critical and her collegiate loyalty compelled
her to his side. But she also wanted to remain at the scene to gather evidence
with Nikos and the crime scene crew. After all, she had been the only person to
witness who, what, when and how. Plus she knew why.

In the end she did neither. Voulakis insisted she go to the
clinic with Joyce and get checked by a doctor. He escorted Xanthou to hospital,
and Nikos took charge at the scene. The Hirondelles had been informed so as not
to prolong the agonies. For the moment, Beatrice was redundant.

After Joyce had finally let go of Beatrice’s hand and
submitted to sleep with a grudging resentment, Beatrice bit her tongue and
underwent a full examination. Her mind was full of Xanthou's waxy pallor, the
terror of facing a masked gunman, the shock of watching a person killed in
front of her and the constant voice reminding her of all her mistakes. She
needed to be with Nikos. Her white angel repeated
Dean's dead. It's over. He
can't hurt anyone else.
Her black demon said nothing. He simply shook his
head.

At eight o’clock she arrived at the police station to
find Nikos alone in the canteen, bent over his laptop. He saw her and stood up
to pull out a chair.

“Are you OK? Shouldn’t you be at the clinic?” he asked.

“I’m fine. The doctor said so. A bit shaken, obviously, but
I had to come here. Any news?”

His shoulders sagged. “No. Critical is the last I heard.”

“Why are you in the canteen? I went looking for you in the
office.”

“Guess how popular I am with the Rhodes officers? While one
of their inspectors is fighting for his life, I have to report him for
misconduct. He dismissed two important witnesses and ignored key evidence which
could have averted the situation. Not only that but disobeyed an order to turn
around. The South Aegean Division of the Hellenic Police is going to hold an
inquiry. Here, in Rhodes. Voulakis and I will have to testify.”

“What happened to the outrider?”

“Dean broadsided him and he crashed into the forest.
Concussion and some stitches is all. He’ll have to take the stand as well.”

Beatrice waited for his eyes to stop roaming. “Regardless of
Xanthou’s injuries, you wouldn’t be doing your job if you didn’t accurately
report what happened.”

“If that stupid bastard dies, he’ll be a hero and we’ll look
like cheap rivals trying to score a point.”

“You couldn’t have done otherwise. The truth has to come
out.”

“I know.” He formed a visor with his hands and looked down
at his keyboard. Beatrice waited. That was one of the main reasons she was
here. Sharing their joint experiences and the emotional impact was an essential
part of the debrief. It should never be rushed.

He looked at her sideways, his deep brown eyes clouded. “I’m
the one who should really be under investigation. I shot a man.”

“Was that the first time you’ve had to kill someone in the
line of duty?”

His jaw clenched and he nodded once.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything as trite as ‘It
gets easier’. It doesn’t, at least not for me. I’ve been put in that situation
twice, where you’re forced to choose your own life over someone else’s. I chose
mine and those two people’s deaths, or rather lives-that-might-have-been, still
haunt me. The fact is, you shot someone who would have shot you, or me, or
Joyce instead.”

“I didn’t know that at the time.”

“You did. I told you he was armed.”

“I didn’t see the gun. I couldn’t see his left hand. The
light was bad, he wore a black glove and I just reacted to the movement. He
could have been unarmed and asking for help.”

Beatrice observed the muscles work in Nikos’s jaw. “In an
extremely pressured situation, you made a judgement call. It was the right one.
Beating yourself up over whether it might have been wrong is pointless and a
waste of energy. So stop it.”

The silent, empty, darkened canteen seemed to echo her
words. The laptop screen illuminated Nikos’s eyes.

“Is it that easy?”

“No. I told you. It doesn’t get easier. You have to fight it
every day. Ask yourself what would have happened if you hadn’t shot Dean when
you did. Right now, I’d be on the phone to Karen, breaking the news of how a
second’s indecision led to the premature end of your career. Of your life.”

He said nothing and Beatrice let the image play out in his
mind. Eventually he looked at her again, resignation ageing his smooth
features.

“You’re right. Thank you. As first cases go, I could have
had an easier one.”

“But would you have learned as much? About yourself, I
mean.”

“Maybe not but at least I’d be able to get some sleep. This
week...”

The display lit up on his phone. He answered and Beatrice
watched his face for clues as the conversation, monosyllabic and in Greek, told
her nothing. He didn’t talk for long and placed the phone back on the table.
His jaw muscles began pulsing again.

“That was Voulakis, at the hospital. Xanthou died twenty
minutes ago.”

Chapter 34

Admin Assistant Melanie squealed when Beatrice walked
into the office at New Scotland Yard on Friday afternoon.

“You been in Greece!” she said, in the same tone one would
use when congratulating a person on a promotion or pregnancy.

“Yes, I have. Why...”

“It’s on my shortlist!”

Beatrice took a second to re-enter the alternative world of
Melanie. “Ah, the honeymoon destination shortlist.”

“No, Beatrice! You’re getting scatty, you are. This is for
the Hen Weekend. Honeymoon’s been sorted for ages. Luxury Caribbean cruise for
three weeks.”

“Oh yes, cruise ships. I’ve heard they’re lovely.”

“Holiday of a lifetime. So, dish the dirt on Greece, then.
Food, people, toilets, air-conditioning, door handles, quality of entertainment
and safety levels for single women?”

“Melanie, let’s have a coffee one of these days and I’ll
fill you in on... did you just say door handles?”

“Too right. Couldn’t get on with them in Milan. Me and my
sister got stuck in the restaurant bathroom for half an hour ’cos we couldn’t
figure out how the door handle worked.”

“I see. The thing is, I need to talk to Hamilton. Is he in
his office?”

“Yeah. In a right antsy mood an’ all. Best of luck.”

For the first time, Hamilton’s scowl actually lifted
when she entered the room. Rather than their usual arrangement – she opposite
as if in the headmaster’s office – he stood up and gestured to the visitor
corner. With a certain discomfort, she sat in the leather armchair while he
opened a cabinet.

“You’re not driving, are you, Stubbs?” he asked.

Door handles, driving... she was beginning to feel as if
someone had changed the code and forgotten to tell her.

“No sir. I don’t, if I can help it.”

“Good. It’s Friday evening, almost, so I think a small toast
to your achievement might be in order. I presume you drink whisky?”

“Yes, sir.” Her unease grew. Hamilton in ‘a right antsy
mood’ was offering her a drink and using expansive terms such as ‘achievement’?
Something was wrong.

He handed her a crystal glass and raised his own. “A job
well done. Serial killer apprehended, case closed and satisfied collaborators.
Your good health!”

“Good health,” she replied and took a sip. The taste was
strong, peaty, smoky and warm. It made her think of wild coasts and heretics.

Hamilton eased himself into the chair opposite and crossed
his legs. “Chief Inspector Voulakis is very pleased. The loss of the South
Aegean Inspector was a damn shame, but as far as I understand, that was largely
his own fault. Operation closed and most satisfactory. Apparently you and the
Stephanakis chap made a jolly good team. Might be able to offer him something
here at a later stage.”

Beatrice tried a quick smile. Hamilton’s brow creased.

“What is it, Stubbs? Come on, spit it out.”

“I agree, sir, the case was brought to a conclusion of sorts
and I’m pleased the remaining ladies are safe. Inspector Stephanakis made a
superlative colleague. I’d very much like to work with him again. It’s just
that witnessing two fatal shootings tends to spoil the mood for celebration
somewhat.”

“Hmm. Full picture, Stubbs. On the instructions of Inspector
Nikos Stephanakis, Wiltshire police arrested one Jeremy Callaghan, identified
as the anonymous caller. Also known as Jez. Didn’t take much for him to buckle.
Seems he and Dean, real name Keith Avis, have worked at the same caravan park
for the past five years. This Callaghan character gave DS Helyar some
illuminating information.”

“How do you mean, sir?”

“Avis was a dangerous mixture. Towering ego. Possibly a case
of over-identification with his act. Believed he should be pulling crowds in
Vegas. Not only that, but a bully, a blackmailer and an extreme right winger.
Member of more than one questionable organisation. Usual paranoia about
immigrants and homosexuals bringing the country to its knees, and strong views
on the role of women.”