Cold Pressed (6 page)

The driver pulled into a parking area, an ideal spot for
tourists to take photographs.

“You said Fira is the main tourist town?” Beatrice asked.

Apostolou answered. “The main tourist town is Oia.”

“Here? But this is a car park.”

“No,” Stephanakis smiled. “He’s talking about the town of
Oia. It’s pronounced ‘ee-ya’. Famous for the sunset views and very popular with
tourists, especially honeymooners. Many people come to Santorini to get
married. It is a perfect location for a wedding.”

Wedding locations were not a subject that interested
Beatrice in the slightest. Several large coaches were lined up against the
cliffs; huge protruding wing mirrors gave them the appearance of enormous
soldier ants. Their passengers spread along the viewpoint, posing, snapping and
pointing while their drivers smoked in the shade of the vehicles. Apostolou got
out of the car and rested against the bonnet for several seconds while
Stephanakis and Beatrice made for the edge.

"I'm puzzled, Inspector. There's a safety barrier all
along the front. So how on earth did she manage to fall? And if she was pushed,
how would you get an eighty-year-old over that without being seen?”

“It wasn’t here. The incident happened further along the
path. The barrier is only at the beginning. Mrs Crawford fell from the
unprotected section.”

“I see. Still, there are so many people hanging about,
surely such an incident could never go unnoticed. I imagine this place has a
constant stream of visitors throughout the day."

"Yes, it does, but between twelve and two is always a
quiet time. It's the same with most scenic sites. The islands operate on a
tourist timetable. Coach companies work with the restaurants to deliver all
their passengers in shifts. So places like this are usually empty over lunch.
Mrs Crawford died at quarter past midday."

"So what was she doing here? Why was she up here
alone?"

Apostolou joined them. "Her party failed to realise she
had been left behind. No one noticed until a head count was taken at the
restaurant. She probably got lost and missed the departure time. I presume I'm
using the word 'probably' in an acceptable way this time?"

Beatrice shot him a look, but his eyes crinkled as he
smiled. Apparently recovered, he had a dapper, genial air with an observant
expression.

"Yes, that is acceptable," she replied. "Time
of death is 12.15? That's awfully precise considering your post-mortem is
unfinished."

"Inspector Stephanakis can be more precise than I.
There were witnesses."

Stephanakis nodded slowly. "Not the ladies up on the
ridge, who claim she was thrown." He pointed above the coaches.
"Although one of them took a photograph just after the incident. Nothing
to see, of course, but the time was 12.16. But down in the bay, a couple of...
what is the name for diving without the oxygen tank? Just with breath?"

"Free diving. There were free divers at the bottom of
the cliff?" Beatrice asked.

"On a boat. These cliffs are the walls of a volcano.
They go down a further 400 metres. The free divers were preparing to jump when
they saw, and heard, someone hit the ground. They raised the alarm."

"That was at 12.20," added Apostolou. "The
local police retrieved the body an hour or so later and I attended the mortuary
at 17.00. Mrs Crawford had all the injuries consistent with a long fall. Broken
neck, severe abrasions, various fractures and almost complete destruction of
her internal organs. It's not the first time I've seen this sort of
thing."

The party walked single file down the path until Stephanakis
indicated they had arrived at the spot. The two men flanked Beatrice as they
gazed down at the sheer volcanic rock, waves crashing spume into the base. Out
of the corner of her eye, she saw Stephanakis cross himself, with a quick and
practised gesture.

"Now," she said, "let's have a look at the
witnesses' picnic spot and see what kind of a view they had."

Stephanakis looked at her feet.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing. It's very good. You are a detective. Of
course you wear the right kind of shoes."

They clambered up the cliff path, Beatrice wondering why
such a description of her footwear made her nose throb.

Chapter 7

It was hard to comprehend the proportions of the
Empress
Louise
. Standing on the quayside, eleven floors were visible and there must
have been more below the waterline. It was as tall as a cathedral and ten
blocks long – a skyscraper on its side. The pristine whiteness and uniform
patterns suggested a vast hotel complex, which was probably close to reality.

Beatrice looked at Stephanakis. “Big, isn’t it?” she said.

“Big is one word for her. She carries just over two thousand
passengers and another thousand people in terms of crew and staff. Fifteen
decks, eighty metres high and two hundred and eighty metres long. She has
eleven restaurants, four pools, three theatres, four bars, a nightclub, two
cinemas, a casino, a place of worship and a shopping mall. The
Empress
Louise
specialises in ‘seniors’, so she has a substantial medical centre,
plenty of wheelchair accessible cabins and a morgue.”

“Been doing your research, Inspector?”

“I’m fascinated by the scale of the thing. You know, this
ship is bigger than the village where I grew up.”

“Same here. Let’s hope we don’t get lost. Shall we make a
start on these interviews?”

Greek speakers to Stephanakis and English speakers
divided between them. The casino was easily large enough to accommodate two
interview areas. Stephanakis took occupied a table near the bar, close to the
door. Beatrice walked further back, past the serried lines of slot machines,
the roulette wheel and the various card tables before she found what she was
looking for. An elevated relaxation platform with comfortable banquettes and
two highly polished tables that would serve as both work station and rather
sophisticated interview room. The distance and the amount of wood and carpet
between her and Stephanakis would ensure no conversations could be overheard.
She unpacked her briefcase and gazed around the darkened space, curious as to
how different it would seem with all the flashing lights, glamorous people,
champagne, laughter, cheers and noise. She decided she could probably live
without the experience.

Her first interviewee was Captain Jensson. Tall and blond in
his impressive uniform, with Nordic blue eyes, yet disappointingly without a
proper captain’s beard. Nevertheless, he was clearly a professional. He had
come prepared. Printouts of the itinerary, the passenger list from the
excursion highlighted by gender, a file on the deceased including medical
records and a photograph of the dead woman. He’d thought of everything.

Next up, Dr Fraser. Belligerent, impatient and judging by
the difficulty of their exchange, possibly hard of hearing. He brought nothing
but attitude, adding very little to what she already knew of Esther Crawford.
His one revealing remark was his dismissal of the witness as senile. Beatrice
pressed him as to the medical accuracy of such a statement, which he brushed
off as a joke.

The Hirondelles followed, Esther Crawford’s travelling
companions. In their late seventies to mid-eighties, they were all visibly
distressed by the death of their friend. Talking to a police officer alarmed
them still further. Beatrice tried interviewing them in pairs, hoping they
might feel less intimidated, but the effect was an echo chamber of cliché and
emotion. After talking to four out of the six, the only useful piece of
information they’d given was that Esther Crawford had been a bird-watcher and often
wandered off during excursions.

Once they’d left, she wrote up her notes, the beginnings of
a headache thumping behind her eyes. The darkness, at first so calming and
discreet, now felt oppressive and cloistered. Beatrice needed some air. She
waited till her colleague’s interviewee had departed, then suggested a break
and comparison of notes so far. A bright young man, he welcomed the idea
immediately. It served her less selfish agenda as well. She could ensure
Stephanakis needed no additional support while getting an essential boost of
sugar and caffeine. Her role as mentor was to lead by example, after all.

It was a strange experience to emerge from the ship's
casino into brilliant sunshine. They chose to sit outside at The Boardwalk, one
of the smaller restaurant-cafés on an upper deck, and share their findings. The
sea breeze eased her headache before she’d even ordered coffee, plus something
honey-soaked to boost her sugar levels. She dug out her sunglasses, settled
opposite Stephanakis and absorbed the view, allowing herself to relax.

"What an afternoon! I feel like I've had the same
conversation with four different people. I'm not sure I learnt anything more
than what a sweet person Esther Crawford was. What about you? How were your
interviews with the crew?"

"I didn't learn much either. Some of the staff and crew
had gone ashore, but not to the tourist areas. No one saw anything and none of
them seemed very interested. I have the feeling all the passengers are just one
big faceless group to them."

"Not surprising, I suppose." The waiter brought
their order:
baklava
and cappuccino for her, an Earl Grey tea for him.

Beatrice lifted her face to the sun while Stephanakis
flicked through his notebook. Back home, she'd be donning her wellies to walk
through the rain with Matthew. She changed thought tracks and focused her mind
on the present.

"That doctor I spoke to. I don’t think much of his
bedside manner, do you?"

Stephanakis smiled. "Dr Fraser? He seems in a bad
temper all of the time, if that's what you mean. But I can't be sure because I
only understand about one word in ten."

"Yes, he has an accent all right. And a tendency to
shout. Perhaps that's from talking to so many people with hearing problems. I
believe he might have one himself. I'm sure a constant stream of old folks'
ailments can be tedious, but if you work on a ship like this, what can you
expect?"

"Did he tell you he never actually treated Mrs
Crawford? She saw Dr Weinberg once about her low blood pressure, who prescribed
iron tablets. But the nurse..." he opened his notepad and checked.
"Sister Bannerjee said that she came back two days later because the
tablets made her sick."

"Low blood pressure can cause fainting. I must ask her
colleagues if she suffered from dizziness at all. Although even if she did, I
can't see why she was wandering about alone or how she could fall over the edge
of the cliff." She picked up her fork and tucked into her sticky-looking
dessert.

A shadow fell over their table. "Sorry to
interrupt."

Beatrice looked up with a start. "Dr Fraser, hello
again."

"Just to let you know, I've given the all-clear for you
to speak to the ladies who think they saw the bogeyman. Mrs Campbell is still
very shaken, so don't expect too much. You may get more sense out of her
companion, Rose Mason. She seems to have her head screwed on. Of course, she
didn't actually see anything. Probably because there was nothing to see."

"Thanks for your permission, doctor. We'll visit them
as soon as we’re done here."

"Very good. Go to the infirmary reception. They're
expecting you." He strode away.

Stephanakis watched him go. "What is a bogeyman?"

Beatrice stirred her coffee in irritation.

"A non-existent scary creature designed to frighten
children. Dr Fraser is being very patronising. His perspective is relevant, of
course, but if he discredits witnesses before we interview them, that is
prejudicial. If he continues like this, we'll have to ask him to keep his
opinions to himself.”

After their coffee break, Beatrice and Stephanakis
went in search of the infirmary, following the map they had been given. It was
the first time they’d moved around the ship without a guide and soon found
themselves completely lost. Stephanakis looked from the map to the signage in
increasing frustration. Beatrice, as she always did on such occasions, asked a
passer-by. A well-dressed man approached, wearing a navy houndstooth-checked
blazer, pale trousers and open-necked shirt. He was carrying a book. Always a
good sign In Beatrice's estimation.

"Excuse me. Do you speak English?"

He stopped and looked down at her with warm, light-brown
eyes. "I do. Can I be of assistance?"

"We're looking for the infirmary, but seem to have
taken a wrong turn. Would you happen to know where it is?"

His forehead creased and unfolded. "As a matter of
fact, I know exactly where it is. You're almost in the correct place, just one
deck too high. If you go down to the end of this corridor, you'll find stairs
down to the next level. Double back on yourselves and you'll see the door on
your left." He smiled, his tanned skin wrinkling into well-worn grooves.
Beatrice smiled back. He reminded her of someone. She couldn't recall who, but
it was definitely someone she liked.

"You're very kind. Thank you."

He wished them both a pleasant afternoon and continued up
the corridor, stooping to duck under the doorway.

Maggie Campbell finished her story and took a moment
to compose herself. Her companion, Rose Mason, reached for her hand. Marguerite
and Rose. Beatrice briefly wished she’d been born in an era when it was
fashionable to name one’s children after flowers or precious stones. The two
women could have been sisters. Both wore hyacinth shades of blue, had soft grey
hair, pale powdery skin and bright eyes. Mauve shadows swelled under Maggie’s
eyes as she battled tears. She won. After several swallows, she was ready to
speak again.

"Detective Inspector Stubbs, I'm not at all surprised
people don't believe me. I still find it hard to credit myself. But I swear on
all I hold dear, I saw a man throw that lady off the cliff, so help me God. I
couldn't identify either of them, but she was wearing the Hirondelle uniform
and she recognised him. He was tall. When he met her, she seemed relieved to
see him. She wasn’t surprised, though. The sort of reaction you'd have if you'd
lost someone and then found them again." She scrunched up her eyes and
clenched her fists. "That poor, poor woman. Dr Fraser told me she'd
celebrated her eightieth birthday on board. Why would anyone do that to a
harmless pensioner?"