Mrs Pargeter's Package (5 page)

CHAPTER 11

Mrs Pargeter did not use the word 'murder'. She just described, as impassively as she could manage, the scene that she had encountered in Joyce's bedroom.

Ginnie, whose professional control had firmly reasserted itself after that one brief lapse, nodded grimly. 'I'll see that the proper authorities are notified,' she said, and disappeared into the taverna, instructing Mrs Pargeter to wait for her. The rep was gone for some time.

The area under the awning started to fill up with minimally-clad tourists, the level of whose tans showed, to the precise day, how far they were into their fortnight's packages. Drinks were ordered, then the waiters came with their paper tablecloth routine, and plates of food started to appear.

Mrs Pargeter didn't feel hungry, and thought that it might be quite a while before she ever felt hungry again. She ordered a bottle of retsina from Yianni, but the wine tasted metallic and emetic on her tongue, so after a few sips she gave up.

Meanwhile, in spite of the iron discipline she was trying to impose on herself, thoughts continued to seethe and bubble up in her mind.

Ginnie came back after half an hour, accompanied by Spiro. His eyes were even darker with concern, as he sat down beside Mrs Pargeter. 'I am so sorry, lady, for what has happened. It is very sad, your friend, very sad.'

'Yes.'

'The police will be along to the villa soon, Mrs Pargeter,' said Ginnie. 'Obviously there's no way the other holidaymakers aren't going to find out what has happened eventually, but I'd be grateful if you could keep quiet about the death for as long as possible.'

'That goes without saying.'

The rep picked up her shoulder-bag. 'I must go back to the office in Corfu Town. There's going to be a lot to sort out, informing next-of-kin, that kind of thing.'

'Joyce just had the one daughter. Conchita. I think I've probably got her address somewhere if . . .'

Mrs Pargeter was saved the trouble of riffling through her handbag. 'It's all right. We'll have all the details in the office.'

'Oh, very well.'

'Are you sure you're all right, Mrs Pargeter? I mean, I could easily call a doctor if you want some sedation or . .

Sedation is the last thing I want after the night I've just had, thought Mrs Pargeter, but all she said was, 'No, I'll be fine, thank you.'

'Spiro will keep an eye on you. Won't you?'

'Of course, Tchinnie. Will you have something to eat, please?'

It was interesting, Mrs Pargeter noticed as she refused Spiro's offer, that the Greeks couldn't pronounce the 'J' sound at the beginning of 'Ginnie'. The consonant came out as a kind of 'Tch'. 'Tchinnie'.

'Mrs Pargeter, obviously you won't want to stay in the Villa Eleni

'I hadn't really thought about that, Ginnie. I mean, I don't mind. I'm not squeamish.'

'I was thinking maybe you'd want to go straight back to England?'

Oh no, not yet. Mrs Pargeter was very firm in her mind about that. She wanted to wait at least until the police investigation was under way. She wanted to be sure that her friend's murder was getting the attention it deserved. And if it wasn't, she didn't rule out the possibility of doing a little mild investigating herself.

In which event, she would be well advised to stay at the Villa Eleni. Murders are much easier to investigate if you're actually on the scene of the crime.

'No, I think I'll stay around for a while,' she said coolly. 'Probably find it easier to relax and get over it out here than back in England.'

'Very well, if that's what you feel. I'll arrange to book you into the Hotel Nausica and have your belongings moved there.'

'I'd think I'd rather stay in the villa.'

'That would not be appropriate,' said Ginnie firmly.

'No,' Spiro endorsed. 'The police will want as little disturbance as possible. They will need to do very thorough investigation of this suicide.'

Well, it won't be thorough enough if they start from the premise that the death was suicide, thought Mrs Pargeter, but all she said was, 'I should think having my bags moved to the hotel would cause quite a bit of disturbance.'

'That will of course be done under police supervision,' said Ginnie. She looked at her watch. 'I'll ring through now to sort out the hotel, and get a message to you there when I know how long your bags will take.'

'Thank you. I can manage overnight with what I've got here, if necessary.' Mrs Pargeter tapped her flightbag. As she did so, she remembered what else it contained. Yes, she looked forward to opening the package that Joyce had given her at Gatwick.

'Good' said Ginnie. 'There'll be no problem with the hotel – they're not fully booked – so you can go up there as soon as you like. Spiro'll show you the way.'

'Of course. I drive you if you want.'

'That's very kind.'

'Right, I'll go and sort things out,' said Ginnie, unable to erase from her voice all traces of resentment at the inconvenience she was being put to. Then she disappeared into the taverna to phone the hotel.

'Very sad,' said Spiro, his melancholy black eyes moist with compassion. 'Sad when someone feels so bad to do this to themself.'

'Yes, if that's what happened . . .' Mrs Pargeter hazarded.

Spiro looked shocked. 'What you mean –
if
that is what happened?'

She shrugged. 'Well, I'm sure the police will find out the truth.'

'Of course. Yes, of course.'

They seemed to have run out of conversation. 'Look, I'll be fine, Spiro. I'm sure you should be getting on. You've got lots of customers.'

'No problem. The boys can deal with them. No, you have had shock. I stay talk with you.'

'Very well. Thank you.'

Though no doubt kindly meant, this solicitude was the last thing Mrs Pargeter required. All she really wanted was to be left on her own. To give her thoughts a chance to organise themselves. Maybe to go back up to the Villa Eleni for another look round. Certainly to investigate the package in her flightbag.

Still, if she was going to be stuck with him, she'd have to make some conversational effort. 'There seem to be a lot of people on Corfu called Spiro,' she began safely.

'Oh yes. It is the name of our saint. Saint Spiridon. You can still see his bones in Corfu Town if you want to.'

'Thank you very much.'

'He has been good for our island, so many men are called Spiros. First son often called Spiros. My father Spiros – I Spiros – if I had a son, he would be called Spiros.'

Mrs Pargeter looked out over the tranquil harbour and wished that this conscientious nursemaid would leave her to her own devices.

'Very sad,' said Spiro, returning to an earlier theme. 'Very sad for someone to kill themself. Your friend, Tchinnie say, lose her husband not long ago . . . ?'

'Yes.'

'Very sad, death of someone close. I know. My brother die, my father die. When something like that happen, people go a little crazy.'

'Yes.'

'They crazy – they think they can't go on – they kill themself – no problem.'

'Well, it is a bit of a problem for those who are left behind.'

'Yes, of course. I mean, no problem for them to do it. It seems the right thing to do – if you are a little crazy.'

'Perhaps.'

The conversation had once again trickled away, but Spiro showed no signs of leaving, so Mrs Pargeter moved on to another safe topic. 'You do speak very good English.'

'Thank you. You own taverna, you have speak English. So many English people come on holiday.' A gloomy shadow crossed his face. 'Not so many this year. Number of visitors down this year. But you have to speak English all the same.'

'Did you learn English at school?'

'A little. But it was not my best. Science best . . . chemistry and so on.'

'And did you continue your studies after school?'

He shrugged. 'Not possible. I leave school early. My father die, I have to take over taverna. Family business more important than school.'

'Ah. Do you ever regret you couldn't go on with your education?'

He was a little affronted by this question and answered defensively, 'Taverna is a good business. Good business for last twenty years with many tourists. Not so good last two years, but good business.'

'Yes. Yes, of course.' Mrs Pargeter decided to make use of the subject, since it had come up. 'And you say the taverna's a family business?'

'Of course.'

'So everyone working here is related?'

'Yes. Cousins, nephews, so on. All related.'

'And it's your sister who works in the kitchen, isn't it? Theodosia?'

For the first time in their conversation, he was on his guard. 'Yes, it is my sister.'

'But she doesn't speak?'

'No, she cannot. From a child, she cannot. You like some food now?' he went on, changing the subject without any attempt at subtlety.

Mrs Pargeter was not to be deflected. 'Last night, as we were going up to the Villa Eleni, we met Theodosia leaving it and—'

Spiro looked across the tables and spotted someone he urgently had to greet. 'Excuse me, I see English friends from last year. Must say hello. You let me know when you want I drive you to hotel.'

'Oh, it's all right. The walk'll do me good. I could do with a bit of fresh air.'

Spiro was far too keen to get away to notice the incongruity of Mrs Pargeter's last sentence, spoken as it was by someone sitting out of doors. He scuttled off, arms bonhomously open.

The question about Theodosia had not been wasted. Though not yielding any information, it had at least got rid of Spiro.

Mrs Pargeter waved to Yianni, who refused to accept any money for her coffee and retsina. She wondered idly whether it would be added to her running total from the night before, or if Spiro had waived payment as a gesture of compassion.

Then she set off across the waterfront towards the Hotel Nausica, a pink, almost rectangular building which rose up out of the trees the other side of the bay.

She was half-way there before the thought struck her. Why shouldn't she go up to the Villa Eleni and have another look round? There was no one to stop her, and if anyone did make a fuss, she could say she just needed to pick up some of her belongings.

She took the direct path up the hillside. It was certainly no steeper than the other one, and a lot shorter. She was hardly out of breath at all when she reached the front door of the villa.

She went in that way, ignoring the open French windows on either side. There was no reason for her approach to look surreptitious.

As soon as she was inside, Mrs Pargeter sensed that she was not alone. Silently, she moved through into Joyce's bedroom.

A tall man in uniform stood there, facing the far window. He turned at the sound of her entrance. In his gloved hands, he held the bloody bottle end which had slashed Joyce Dover's wrist.

It was Sergeant Karaskakis.

CHAPTER 12

'What are you doing here?' His English was heavily-accented but precise. Cold and efficient, like his small dark eyes and that triangle of black moustache. Mrs Pargeter was forcibly reminded of the last time she had seen Joyce and Sergeant Karaskakis together, and of her friend's shocked reaction to the sight of him.

'Well, I'm staying here, aren't I?' she replied pugnaciously. She sensed that the Sergeant was trying to overawe her, and Mrs Pargeter had always been very resistant to being overawed.

'I understood you were being transferred to the hotel.'

'Well, yes, I am, but I remembered something I wanted to pick up here.'

'You should not have come in. The villa is closed during police investigations.'

'And is that what you are involved in at the moment, Sergeant?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Police investigations? I always understood that nothing should be moved at the scene of a crime.'

He looked down at the murderous piece of glass in his gloved hands. 'I am a police officer. I am entitled to examine the premises.'

'But you're Tourist Police,' Mrs Pargeter insisted. 'I didn't know that violent deaths in Greece were investigated by the Tourist Police.'

'Of course they are not,' Sergeant Karaskakis said tetchily. 'I am merely having a preliminary look round. Then I will report back and officers from the relevant department will take over.'

'And will the "officers from the relevant department" be pleased to know that you have moved some of the evidence?'

Her words had the effect of making him put the piece of glass back down on the floor, but there was no apology in his voice as he said, 'This is not your business.'

'I'd say it was very much my business. It's my friend who's dead.'

'Yes, and of course I am very sorry about this. It is unfortunate for you at the beginning of your holiday. Also unfortunate for us. It is not good that people bring their troubles out here and do things like this. It makes for complications. Death always makes for complications.'

Mrs Pargeter didn't disagree.

'I suppose,' the Sergeant went on, 'that you will be returning to England now as soon as possible – yes?'

'Well, no,' Mrs Pargeter replied firmly. 'I've decided I'm going to stay for a while.'

'I don't think there is much point in that. You will not enjoy your holiday after this tragedy. It is better you should go home.'

The final suggestion was spoken with the force of an order. As ever, such an approach only made Mrs Pargeter dig her toes in more firmly. 'I don't want to go home until I'm confident that Joyce's death is being properly investigated.'

Sergeant Karaskakis bridled at this implied criticism of Corfiot police procedure. The proper investigations will of course take place. I was only thinking from your point of view. For you to be too involved can only be painful. What I am proposing is that you should make a statement about how you found your friend dead, about the state of mind she was in, and then you would be free to go home. The other tedious details could be sorted out without you.'

'Which tedious details?'

'Organising the return of the body, that kind of thing. Don't worry, it can all be done very discreetly.'

'Swept under the carpet, you mean?'

'I'm sorry, I do not understand. What have carpets to do with this?'

'I mean, "hushed up". You want to have Joyce's death hushed up, don't you, Sergeant?'

'That is not so unusual. It is for her family. Very few people want a great deal of publicity about a suicide.'

'I don't think Joyce's death was suicide,' said Mrs Pargeter quietly.

This really did shake him. 'What! But it is obvious. Her husband has just died, she is in a very bad state, she kills herself.'

'She didn't leave a note.'

'Maybe not. We don't know yet. Perhaps we will find one. Anyway, she told people the bad state she was in. Ginnie heard her talking about it.'

That had been rather quick, thought Mrs Pargeter, for Sergeant Karaskakis to have had time to discuss the case with Ginnie.

'Of course she committed suicide.' His voice had now taken on a bullying note.

But Mrs Pargeter was impervious. The late Mr Pargeter had told her how few bullies can cope with having their bluff called. Ignoring their threats completely was the course of action he always recommended. And he did know – rather well – what he was talking about.

'I am convinced,' said Mrs Pargeter quietly, 'that Joyce Dover was murdered.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' Now the Sergeant was really angry. 'You say things like that, you make trouble for everyone. A murder investigation causes great disturbance. You don't want that – particularly when there is no murder to investigate,' he added as an afterthought.

'I know she was murdered,' Mrs Pargeter persisted, 'and nothing you say will convince me otherwise. What is more, I am going to stay here in Corfu until the person who killed her is brought to justice.'

Sergeant Karaskakis gave her a stern, cold stare. 'You are being very foolish. You do not know how much trouble your stupid attitude will cause. This is not your country. You do not understand how things work out here.'

'I understand how justice works, and I thought that was meant to be universal. Don't you have justice out here?' she asked in deliberately infuriating mock-innocence.

'Yes, of course we do! And of course this death will be properly investigated. But it will be more easily investigated without your interference.' His voice took on a softer, more cunning note. 'Anyway, what is it that makes you think your friend was murdered?'

'Various things.'

'What things?'

'I will tell that to the appropriate investigating authorities,' Mrs Pargeter replied.

He was stung by the answer, as she had meant him to be. 'You will regret this stupidity.'

'Why?'

'You will regret it because, if you insist on calling the death murder, you automatically become a suspect.'

'I don't see why.'

'But it is obvious. You were here in the villa last night. You came out from England with Joyce Dover. She knew no one in Corfu. It is generally found that murders are committed by people known to their victims.'

'All right. So I become a suspect. That doesn't worry me, because I know I'm innocent.'

'You could still have a very inconvenient time during the investigation until you are
proved
to be innocent.'

'That's a risk I'm prepared to take.'

'You would not be allowed to leave the island. You would have to hand over your passport until the investigation was over. That could take months.'

'There's nothing I've got to rush back for,' said Mrs Pargeter with infuriating calm.

Sergeant Karaskakis made one more attempt to frighten her. 'You will only be making trouble for yourself. You would do better to mind your own business and return to England straight away. Otherwise I am afraid you might regret it.'

But Mrs Pargeter didn't frighten that easily. She smiled a sweet smile and, at least for the time being, Sergeant Karaskakis knew he was beaten.