Thirteen Days By Sunset Beach (10 page)

"That's a nursery. They're littler than me."

"It doesn't matter how old you are, William," his father said. "You should always be careful what you say."

"You've got it, Jules," Doug said.

While the silence seemed to grow increasingly expressive, Ray kissed Sandra's hand and released it at last. "I'm coming now, Julian," he called.

He was waiting outside the Banks apartment—wondering if anyone would respond if he knocked just once—when Julian appeared, buttoning a moderately colourful short-sleeved shirt over his shorts. As the men passed Evadne's office a young woman in a blue police uniform marched across the courtyard. "Banks," she said. "Thornton."

"I'm Mr Banks," Julian said, "and this is Mr Thornton."

Ray hoped the policewoman didn't find this as reproving as it sounded. She said nothing while she led the way to a car parked across the entrance to the courtyard as though to hinder anyone's escape. She watched her passengers take their seats and then sat behind the wheel, locking all the doors with a decisive multiple click. In moments the car was speeding away from the village. "May we know where we're going?" Julian said before Ray had a chance to speak.

The policewoman glanced at him in the mirror beneath the apparently inevitable icon of St Titus. "Sunset Beach."

"I expect you find plenty to occupy you there."

This time her glance was sharper. "You say."

"Drunken people misbehaving. Drugs too, I shouldn't wonder."

"You know about drugs."

"I've no experience of them whatsoever. I imagine you might, though." Presumably Julian saw this was a careless choice of words. "Investigating them, that is," he said without much patience. "Whatever makes the people how they are."

Her gaze found him in the mirror. "Who do you say?"

"The crowd who come out at night." When her gaze didn't let him alone Julian said "People unlike us."

"People from our country," Ray contributed. "I feel as though I should apologise for some of them."

"We can thank them. Without them we don't live how we should."

"Well, that's generous of you," Julian said, and when she stared at him "Very understanding."

The car slowed as it reached Sunset Beach, where a solitary figure dodged off the road bordered with slumbering neon into a lane. "There's one," Julian said, which put Ray in mind of a schoolboy telling tales. "He didn't look too eager to be seen."

"He will be," the policewoman said as she turned the car along a street between a taverna and a nightclub.

The street led between apartments to a crossroads with a police station on one corner, a single-storey building that stretched along two streets at right angles to its entrance tower. Like the police vehicles lined up alongside, the building was white trimmed with blue. It might have looked welcoming, Ray thought, if blue shutters hadn't covered every window. The driver released the doors and opened Ray's for him. "Come," she said.

An archway in the tower let them into a white lobby where two policemen watched Ray and Julian from behind a counter. Six bare straight chairs stood against one wall outside a corridor. The policewoman indicated the chairs with a hand before turning to her colleagues, and Ray was failing to understand or even identify a single word of theirs when Julian said "Perhaps we should have brought Douglas."

The policewoman swung around at once. "Please stay," she said and marched along the corridor.

Ray hoped Julian didn't think they were being addressed too much like dogs. "Why are you missing Doug?"

"In case we want a translator."

Julian was staring at the posters on the wall behind the counter. All the writing on them was in Greek, and several included photographs of young men and women who looked neither criminal nor local. "I expect we'll be interviewed in English," Ray said.

"I shan't have a great deal to say otherwise."

Ray did his best not to think how desirable this might be. Perhaps his silence was eloquent enough, because Julian lowered his head as if his pouting lips had dragged it down, so that Ray felt compelled to speak. "I hear you're having to deal with some problems at work."

"I'm facing challenges, if that's what you mean to say."

"I just wanted you to know we appreciate you may be under some strain."

"Has Natalie been feeling she has to apologise for me?"

"Not at all. She simply wanted me to know how hard you're working for the family."

"No harder than she does at her nursery, I should think." As Ray prepared to make the most of this rapport Julian said "Still, I'm glad if you appreciate my efforts."

"I expect everybody does," Ray said in the hope of convincing him. "You're an optimistic fellow, Raymond. I've often noticed that you look for the positive in any situation. That's no bad way to live your life, especially at your age and Sandra's."

Ray found he had to look elsewhere, meeting the eyes of the posters, flattened eyes drained of colour above captions in a language he didn't understand. "But I wonder if you realise," Julian was saying, "what a job it is to take over someone else's child."

"Maybe you shouldn't try and take her over quite so much, do you think?" Having blurted this, Ray saw no reason not to add "We all need to be ourselves."

"Assuming that's acceptable." Before Ray could declare that Jonquil was, Julian said "I take it that's how you and Sandra raised your own children."

"It is, and we're proud of them both. And all the grandchildren."

"I won't argue with you. It's obvious neither of you likes me correcting Jonquil. I've let plenty slide, believe me. I shouldn't like anyone to see how she'd present herself if her mother didn't take a stand. You'd think the girl had taken a positive dislike to mirrors."

"Tim's been a bit like that too, hasn't he? Maybe it's a teenage trait these days." As he saw this fail to find acceptance Ray said "Sandra was a bit dishevelled at breakfast as well. It's feeling free when you're on holiday, that's all."

"There's far too much indulgence in the name of freedom these days. You understand I don't mean Sandra when I say I shouldn't like to think that staying here brings out the worst." Though Julian was staring at the men behind the counter Ray didn't expect him to speak to them, let alone demand "Is there some issue? Are we not allowed to talk?"

As both men scowled in response Ray told them "We aren't trying to get out story straight and we aren't maligning your island." This didn't seem to please them, any more than "We're just glad we didn't stay in Sunset Beach."

One policeman made a comment to the other, and Ray did his best to fix the sounds in his mind in case Doug could translate. When Julian opened his mouth Ray was afraid he was about to call for a translation, but Julian said "I wonder if you think anyone else should be making an effort."

Rather than admit how much he was Ray said "At what?"

"To ensure everybody has a decent time. Perhaps Douglas mightn't keep amusing himself quite so much at our expense."

"He's always teased his sister, and she used to tease him. It's just how he is. You shouldn't mind."

"In that case I'd welcome any tips on fitting in."

"I'm not sure what you—"

"Passing for one of the family. I'm well aware I've taken someone else's place."

"We really don't feel that about you, Julian."

"Is that a way of saying there's no place for me?"

"Not by any means." If Julian was revealing a hidden self at last, Ray thought he could have chosen somewhere more appropriate. Perhaps the stares of the policemen were making him defiant, even reckless. "If you'd like my advice—" Ray said and no more, because the burlier of the policemen was striding towards them.

The flap in the counter slammed behind him like a lid, and Ray couldn't tell how ominous his tread was meant to sound. He met Ray's eyes and then Julian's, and beckoned as he turned his back. "Come now," he said.

He led them along the corridor, where the white glare of the walls was relieved only by doors bearing plaques etched with words in Greek. As the man knocked at a door, Ray deduced that the phone call he'd been peripherally aware of must have been internal. He was distracted by observing that nobody responded until the policeman knocked a second time. "Go in," the policeman said.

Julian was between Ray and the door, and stared at their escort until he opened it for them, scowling afresh. Beyond it was a white room so bare it struck Ray as close to monastic. Although the slats of the shutter at the window were only slightly parted, a stark light had gathered in the room. Below the window a slim but hardly slight man sat behind a heavy desk. His dark blue jacket bore a vertical trio of stars and several medals on ribbons. His mop of curly black hair seemed incongruous, and his thin face looked set to counteract any impression of the kind, though Ray imagined Julian deploring the unruliness. The man rose not quite to his feet as their escort shut the door, and Ray took the outstretched unapologetically hairy hand to be offering a handshake until its twin indicated the second of the chairs before the desk. "Please take a seat," the man said.

Julian waited for Ray to sit down before he did. Presumably he meant to ingratiate them both by saying "Thank you, Inspector."

The man resumed his seat without haste. "Captain Apostolides," he said.

"Our apologies. An easy mistake to make, I'm sure you'll agree. We aren't too familiar with your local ways." When none of this earned any perceptible reaction Julian pointed several fingers at the dangling badges. "We can see you've had quite a career."

"I have served my island." While he said so Apostolides looked as solemn as the photograph of some venerable dignitary on the wall to the left of the desk. "Now," he said, "you are..."

"Julian Banks, and this is my—"

"There is no haste, please." Once a pause had underscored this, Apostolides said "I thought you would be Mr Banks."

"May I know why?"

"You are the one that talks."

"If you mean when we reported the incident, it was Mr Thornton here who contacted you."

"Ray Thornton, yes." Without having looked away from Julian, Apostolides said "You are the one who wanted to be gone."

"Was there anyone who didn't, Raymond? I didn't need to ask my son's mother if she did."

"Why did she?" Apostolides said.

"He's five years old. Didn't whoever Raymond spoke to tell you that?"

The policeman left the question unacknowledged. "What did you fear for your son?"

"We didn't want him seeing what was there. Would you like your young children to know about that kind of thing?"

"Nothing else."

"I should think that's quite enough to keep from him."

"Here nothing comes that is not called for."

Ray supposed this was meant as reassurance if not a declaration on behalf of the island, but Julian retorted "I shouldn't think the fellow in the cave would agree with you."

At once the policeman's gaze seemed as keen as the rays of sunlight through the shutter. "Who in the cave?"

"The man you've brought us here to talk about. Why else have we had to come?" When the scrutiny didn't relent, Julian said "You can scarcely expect us to know his name."

Apostolides looked away at last, to fix his gaze on Ray. "You have your passports."

"Not on me. Have you brought yours, Julian?"

"Nobody advised us that we should," Julian made sure the policeman appreciated. "None of your people was in touch."

"All right, Julian, I'll see to it." Ray thought it best to show Apostolides his phone, only to find a belated report of a missed call. "It looks as if someone did try to get me," he admitted.

"We will wait," Apostolides said, folding his muscular arms on the desk.

The sense of retrieving the call from a number in England made Ray feel unexpectedly isolated, cut off from home. That was just a few hours away if Sandra needed to return, but why did he have to think about that now? The call had indeed been from the police. "I'm sorry," he said. "They did give us the pickup time and ask us to bring our passports."

"Things can interfere with your reception on our island," Apostolides said and breathed out just as hard as in. "Well, so I must write your details."

As the desk expressed the tedium with a creak of the drawer he dragged out, Julian said "Don't you delegate tasks like that? It's hardly worth having subordinates otherwise."

While Ray saw he was trying to engage with the policeman, he was afraid Apostolides mightn't realise. "Mind you," Julian said as Apostolides found a pad of printed forms, "I know what a chore it can be when you're lacking staff. When you're promoted you don't expect it to bring you more work and less sleep."

Ray couldn't help blurting "You didn't say it was that serious."

With enough resentment to be directing much of it at the policeman Julian said "I've had to say it now."

"When you are ready." Apostolides was poising a ballpoint over the topmost form. "Mr Thornton will come first," he said.

The blades of light through the shutter had swung close to Ray by the time the policeman completed the form, which entailed minutely inking words in narrow rectangles and crosses in boxes before poring over the results. At last Apostolides raised his head to ask or to warn "You teach the right way."

"I hope I did. As I said, I've retired from teaching, like my wife."

"Are you looking for a new life now?"

Before he could hold back Ray said "Coming here seems to have given her one."

"Would you say?" Julian said. "I haven't noticed any difference since we saw you at Christmas."

"Mr Banks," Apostolides said, for which Ray was painfully grateful.

Where Ray had answered all the questions as amiably as he could manage, Julian was curter. Perhaps Apostolides was growing more deliberate by contrast if not as a reprimand. At last the form was filled in and examined, which apparently required a punch line. "You think everything should be insured."

"I think it's wise to keep yourself as safe as possible."

"That is your safety." Apostolides was aligning the forms on his desk with the hairy edges of his hands, and his eyes didn't signify how much of a question he'd intended. He lifted his head but not his gaze as he said "Now we shall talk about why you were sent for?"