Cold Pressed (5 page)

She shook his hand. "Very well, thank you. You must be
Inspector Stephanakis."

"Correct. Welcome to Greece. How was your flight?"
He relieved her of her bag, which he passed to the driver.

"Lovely. From London to Athens, I had the good fortune
to sit next to the most fascinating lady. A sculptress who has lived there for
over ten years. She gave me some very helpful cultural advice. For the first time
I can recall, a flight went almost too quickly."

They followed the driver to the exit, where a police car was
parked outside the door. The heat surprised her. London, when she left, had
been a shivery five degrees.

Stephanakis opened the rear door. After checking she was
comfortable, he went round the other side and joined her in the back. He shot
some instructions at the driver in Greek and glanced at his phone. His
chivalrous manner and clean-shaven face appealed to Beatrice. Very proper. He
fixed his attention on her with a nervous smile.

"DI Stubbs, I am very pleased to meet you. I just got
promoted to the role of inspector, and it is very exciting for me to work with
someone with such a track record. But I must apologise in advance. This is my
first investigation and although it is not really complex, my boss thought my
enquiries would benefit from an experienced officer, so..." He looked down
at his phone once more.

Beatrice smiled, well used to preparing speeches before
joining a new team.

"... I will need your patience. I know this area and
police procedure very well and I hope I can contribute much."

"Don’t worry, Inspector. I understand this is your
first case. But they wouldn’t have promoted you if you weren’t competent. I
trust you entirely to lead this case to its conclusion, and I want to stress,
I’m assisting you. You're the boss."

He nodded, his uncertain smile and restless eyes expressing
both gratitude and trepidation.

Beatrice smiled back and looked out of the window. This
would be just the tonic she needed. A mini-break disguised as work, with
sunshine, delightful scenery and an open-and-shut case. She'd think about
Matthew when she got back.

The driver dropped her at the hotel to settle in and
Stephanakis promised to return in time to take her to lunch. She dumped her
bags and as always on arriving at a hotel room, checked the bathroom for
cleanliness. Perfectly satisfactory. Even the end of the toilet paper had been
folded into a neat triangle. She bounced on the bed, explored the mini-bar and
took a bottle of water out onto the balcony. A sense of foreignness overcame
her and gave her a sudden thrill of anticipation. The building opposite was
cracked and crumbling, large chunks of plaster revealing the bricks beneath.
Faded green shutters framed the windows and a cluster of mopeds were strewn
rather than parked under the shade of a palm tree. Electric cables hung above
the narrow street like necklaces in a costume jewellery store and a blue sign
announced the name of the street in Greek. In a gap between dusty apartment
blocks, beyond decorative balconies with plants in terracotta pots, past roof
terraces with rattan furniture and pergolas, lay the sea.

Beatrice beamed and took a deep breath. Yes, in amongst the
scent of petrol rising from the street and stale chemicals wafting from the
air-conditioner unit, she could detect ozone. Closer to land the water was
paler, the colour of cornflowers, deepening to an intense azure as it met the
sky, which seemed bigger and bluer than it could ever be in London.

The telephone rang. Stephanakis was waiting to take her to
lunch.

"It's nothing special, but a place I use a
lot," he said, as he guided her along the pedestrianised street. “I
thought you might be hungry.”

Beatrice was admiring the sandy colours and the mosaic
kaleidoscope created by the sea-blue shutters, white umbrellas, wrought-iron
benches and lamps lining the avenue between the trees. Echoes of beach
everywhere, as if it had crawled up the street and into the consciousness. She
realised the young inspector was waiting for a reply.

“Hungry? I could eat a horse.”

He gave her a look of mock alarm.

“Horse might be a problem, but I could arrange a goat.”

"So long as it’s dead and comes with chips, I’ll eat
anything. I am entirely in your hands."

Noisy and crowded, the taverna smelt delicious. Several
people greeted Stephanakis and shot curious glances at her. Without warning, a
cheery sort with a once-white apron shouted something incomprehensible at
Stephanakis and grabbed Beatrice to kiss her on both cheeks. Stephanakis
muttered a brief explanation and the man laughed from the belly.

"Detective Inspector Stubbs, this is Dinos. He owns
this restaurant and cooks the food himself."

"God Save the Queen!
Kalimera!"

"
Kalimera
!” she replied, grateful for the crash
course from the sculptress on the plane.

Dinos found them a tiny table and Stephanakis checked the
blackboard.

"Would you like me to translate the menu?"

"I eat everything and I am very hungry. So let's order
the dish of the day, lots of bread, a jug of wine and get cracking."

Stephanakis stared at her for a second. Then he broke into a
grin and relayed their order to Dinos, who evidently approved. He clapped his
hands together, gripped her shoulder and said "Very good!” With a shake
and a wink, he barrelled off towards the kitchen.

"Well, if the food is as hearty as the welcome, we're
in for a treat. Good choice, Inspector."

"Dinos is a minor local celebrity and he’s obsessed
with your royal family. You should have seen how he decorated this place for
that wedding. But he’s mostly famous for his food. So don't worry, your meal
will be delicious."

"I can't wait. And that is no idle platitude. Now, can
we talk about the case? From what I've read, an elderly lady’s tragic fall has
been rather blown out of proportion by some of her companions. They suspect a
deliberate attempt to harm her. Do you see any evidence of that?"

Stephanakis furrowed his brow. "That’s not quite right.
The ladies who saw the fall are not of the same party. We will interview the
witnesses as soon as the doctor gives permission. But their story seems
unlikely. The deceased was eighty years old; the witnesses are both retired and
saw the incident through a camera. It’s very hard to get a clear account of
what happened. That’s why I requested a specialist, someone accustomed to
interviewing in English. So I’m happy you are here. My language skills aren’t
bad but I have real problems communicating with some of these older ladies or
people with a strong accent. Your help is really appreciated.”

As he spoke, Beatrice studied the young man. A smooth olive
complexion, with cappuccino-coloured lips, shiny black hair and mahogany eyes
added up to a very pleasing overall effect. Nascent wrinkles at the corners of
his eyes added a feathery effect to his lashes. His polite manner and
respectful attitude had already impressed her and now he had passed the first
test. With careful diplomacy, he’d corrected her inaccurate assessment of the
case, topping it off with a sprinkling of humility.

"I'm happy to be here,” she said, and meant it. “Can
you tell me anything else?"

"Esther Crawford was travelling with a group of friends
from England. Every year, they take a cruise together. Seven women, all in
their seventies or eighties, who call themselves 'The Hirondelles'. The woman
who claims she witnessed a murder is from Scotland and in her sixties. As far
as I know, they had no contact with each other."

"Who else have you spoken to?"

"The captain, one of the ship's doctors, two of the
deceased’s companions and the Santorini police who recovered the body."

"So what is your plan?"

"Should we visit the site first?"

Beatrice cocked her head on one side.

He took the hint. "OK. First, we should visit the site
and check the facts. Next, we interview the witnesses. If there is reasonable
doubt, we conduct an investigation. I'm sure this can be resolved in a couple
of days."

"Sounds like you have it all under control, Inspector.
So should I act as interviewer while you take notes? Mind now, here's the food."

Dinos placed the plates on the table with a flourish. "
Stifado
!"

A rich-looking meat stew with jewels of oil floating on the
surface, some roast potatoes decorated with cloves of garlic and sprigs of
rosemary, a platter of bread and a generous terracotta jug of wine. The time to
talk shop was over. She gave Dinos an approving smile and picked up her fork.

“How do you say
bon appétit
in Greek?”

"
Kali sas órexi
."

"And the same to you."

The speedboat bounced over the waves and the island of
Santorini grew larger on the horizon. Beatrice admitted relief. After the first
half hour of sea spray, Mediterranean blue water, glittering sunshine and wind
on her cheeks, exhilaration gave way to discomfort. Bless Adrian for insisting
she tucked the Hermès headscarf he'd given her into her handbag. Without that,
factor 50 sunscreen and her dark glasses, things could have been a lot worse.
Stephanakis had stopped checking her every couple of minutes after it was clear
she would not be regurgitating her lunch and now kept his eyes on the island
ahead. She followed suit.

At first sight, the island did not live up to the pictures
she had seen during her research. Stark, forbidding cliffs rose from the sea,
while cruise vessels and ferries filled the busy harbour. A switchback road
scored a zigzag up the cliffs like a lightning strike. Not at all the kind of
environment to host terraces of blue rooftops, pots of geraniums or ginger
cats.

The police boat slowed and all the signs of a busy
commercial port emerged. Filthy water, slicked with oil. Massive rusting chains
upon which noisy seabirds perched, adding their own form of decoration. The
fresh whiff of the sea was overpowered by diesel and exhaust fumes, and the
sound of ferries, coaches, and larger boats drowned out the now-familiar buzz
of their own engine.

Stephanakis left his post beside the driver and sat next to
her. He raised his voice above the noise.

"This is Athinos, the ferry port. Most cruise ships use
the Old Port, in Thira. But the only way up to the town of Thira is donkey or
cable car. For the ladies of the
Empress Louise
, that was not an option.
They travelled by coach to Fira, the main city, which is where everyone goes.
The classic Santorini of the postcards. So we follow the same route. The
pathologist will meet us at the dock."

"The island has its own pathologist?"

Stephanakis watched as the boat nosed a path towards a
berth. "No, he is based in Heraklion, but he always takes the SeaCat. He
has problems with small boats."

Not only small boats, it seemed. The hue and tone of
Konstakis Apostolou's expression reminded Beatrice of a morgue wall. He
exchanged pleasantries in English, a strong scent of peppermint on his breath,
before climbing into the police car with less enthusiasm for life than of one
of the local donkeys. Stephanakis, in the front, conversed with the local
officer; Apostolou, beside Beatrice, rested his head against the window while
she gazed out at the sea and the distant calderas. The switchback road provided
a constantly shifting perspective, climbing higher and higher; each new turn
giving more spectacular views. Something inside her seemed to lift; not her
heart, and certainly not her stomach, but in her solar plexus; this place, this
endless landscape, this miracle of geography filled her with a joy which
threatened to boil up and explode.

The road levelled out and the driver trundled along the
coast. Beatrice decided Apostolou needed a distraction. Normally, discussing a
corpse with a queasy sort would be inappropriate, but in this instance, it was
practically home from home.

"What a wonderful view, Mr Apostolou! But I'm sure
you're used to it by now and bored by a tourist's chatter. Could we make the
most of our time? Would you mind if I asked a few questions regarding your
initial examination?"

His head swivelled in her direction. The cold black eyes and
skin the colour of uncooked pastry made her think of a gecko.

"Yes. No. I don't mind."

"On initial examination and after the full autopsy, did
you find any evidence to make you suspect anything other than accidental
death?"

He wound down the window a few centimetres and breathed. His
goatee beard was a masterpiece of precision.

"No, nothing at all. She obviously overbalanced, lost
her footing and fell over the edge. No one could survive such a fall. At eighty
years old, she probably had a heart attack before hitting the ground."

Beatrice gazed out at the bay, maintaining her smile.

"You say 'probably'. In all my experience of pathology,
that's a word rarely used in physiological terms. When hazarding a guess as to
circumstances or perpetrators, perhaps. But as to the definitive state of a
corpse? Do you believe Esther Crawford had a heart attack? Before or after she
fell?"

He tilted his head to the incoming breeze. Colour, if only a
faint peach, returned to his cheeks.

"My investigation is not complete. I can tell you only
that an elderly woman fell to her death from a cliff. A post-mortem on such a
body will take time, especially with the complications of her being a tourist.
And a two-hundred-metre drop makes any examination problematic. Regardless of
what we find, one old woman's delusions will not reanimate the deceased."

Stephanakis leaned around to face them. "We stop at the
site of the incident now, and then proceed to Fira, which is where the coach
party stopped for lunch. We follow their route. But this is the place where Mrs
Esther Crawford died."