A Darker God (34 page)

“‘Loopy as a crocheted doily’ was the layman’s term supplied by the unfortunate lady’s other granddaughter.”

“Ah yes … the granddaughter, presently enjoying our hospitality at police headquarters.” The superintendent frowned and glanced at Letty. Obviously toning down the strength of his criticism of a colleague, he asked: “Arrest perhaps a little premature, Percy?”

“Think of it as protective custody, Markos,” said Montacute. “Family under unexplained attack and Miss Templeton the next one in line, so to speak.”

“Well, she gives us no trouble—for the moment. And is the source of much information regarding the two victims,” Theotakis conceded. “Very forthcoming on the Merriman marriage. It seems to me we do well to hold fire on the circumstances of Lady Merriman’s demise, pending Peebles’s statement on the old lady’s mental robustness. We must allow that Miss Templeton’s opinion may well be informed by personal prejudice. Wretched man! Taking off into the country without a by-your-leave!” he said testily.

“It
is
the weekend, Markos!” Montacute protested. “And I don’t think the doctor felt obliged to stand about waiting on
us
. In the circumstances. We … I … did rather muscle in and take over last night. In fact, I remember dismissing him,” the inspector confessed awkwardly. “‘Nothing more you can do, Doctor … Don’t worry, we’ll take it from here…’ I remember saying. Fences to mend there, I fear.”

“You agree, then—we withhold a decision from friends and family until we can speak with full authority? Family members especially are always reassured to hear that there is a comprehensible reason for taking one’s own life. ‘Suicide whilst the balance of mind was disturbed’… everyone understands and accepts that. Some even have the sense to take it as a warning and look into the state of their own souls.”

Everyone nodded sagely.

“As to the professor … the pathologist confirms all he said at the scene of the crime. And crime it certainly was. No chance of this being a self-inflicted injury, of course. You will see from the diagram that the wound to the heart was either carefully and professionally delivered or the result of a ‘lucky’ stab by an amateur. Impossible to say either way. ‘A single thrust penetrating the right ventricle,’ according to the doc. Blade? Two-edged, bayonet-style. We have the profile and should be able to have a shot at matching it were the actual
weapon ever to come to light. Death instantaneous. Some bleeding, though not copious.”

“Height of attacker? Are they able to—Ah, here we are!

“As you see: Assuming the victim to have been standing at the time and the blow to have been dealt underhand”—he demonstrated a typical dagger lunge—“we must contemplate an attacker of the same height as the victim, or slightly less. Between five feet nine inches and six feet are the boundaries they suggest.”

They turned over a page of the copy on Montacute’s knee and read on.

“The blood samples I took from the foot of the
ekkyklema
when it was parked in its original position …?” said the inspector. “Here we are … Two blood types identified. Animal blood and human, type two, which was Merriman’s.”

“And if you look on, to the foot of page six, paragraph number twenty-seven, you’ll see that the contents of the bottle—the swabs you took out there on the orchestra floor-conform. Animal and type two. Someone trod in the messy cocktail and then walked …”

“Or danced,” said Letty. “The chorus was all over that spot, stamping and wheeling. There we were, checking people’s underpinnings for secreted swords when we ought to have been looking at their shoes. Were you able to make out a pattern—a shoe shape? High heel? Sandal? Buskins? I noticed that the meticulous Melton had gone to the trouble of having a pair of leather buskins made for himself. A stickler for authenticity. Said he required the extra height the Greek boots give you to tower over the chorus. And he must be about six foot two in his socks anyway.”

Montacute shook his head. “I looked at it by torchlight …”

“And I again by daylight,” supplied the superintendent, “but I think we have to say—nothing conclusive. Smudges.”

“But it does tell us that it was one of the company,” said Gunning, confirming all their thoughts. “We’re not looking for a person who sneaked onto the site from the street, did the deed, and ran off the way he’d come. It was someone who killed him and then tracked the blood of his victim and the ox blood he himself poured over the body onto the orchestra floor and then calmly got on with his rehearsal. Anybody could have wandered anywhere without attracting attention. Even a scream would have been taken for Melton’s tuning up for his dreadful solo.”

“Someone, at all events, that you interviewed last night, Letty?”

His question was a gentle urging to search her memory.

“Thetis,” she said, “was the only one with visible stains on her clothing. But she handled the corpse—we all saw her lean over it. The robe was voluminous—it could easily have trailed in the blood.”

“It did,” said Montacute. “I removed it last night from her room and sent it for testing.”

“No attempt to hide or wash it, I suppose?” asked Theotakis.

“None. It was lying in a heap on the floor. She just stepped out of it and ran.”

“And, as Miss Laetitia was guessing, animal blood with a trace of human and makeup were all in evidence. And all could have been picked up by the contact described. As could the stains, the residue, on her leather sandals, abandoned along with the robe,” he added uncomfortably.

“They are being processed as we speak,” supplied Theotakis.

“But there’s the knife—what did the killer do with the knife?” she asked.

Theotakis sucked on his pipe and squinted against the plume of smoke he released, then admitted: “Nothing found.

We’ve been combing the whole scene since first light, working outwards from the centre to the furthest point anyone could hurl a dagger.” He gave a brief grin. “Troops enjoyed the dagger-hurling bit! And no damage done to the site, Miss Talbot! We even explored the channel under the pavings from the god’s pillar to the edge of the
skena
. Any idea what that was all about?”

Montacute answered. “One of Andrew’s conceits! It’s for the libation ceremony. He dug it to carry the poured wine away from the statue. He intended to make all good after the performance, but …” He shot an apologetic glance at Letty. “I for one thought that was going a bit far. We’ll just have to hope no investigator in the future mistakes it for an authentic piece of archaeological evidence.”

“Ah. Well, my squad took extreme care,” Theotakis said again. “We did find a few inexplicable objects I wouldn’t care to mention in mixed company, along with a gold ring, an ancient and empty man’s wallet, and a displaced portion of one of the priests’ carved stone chairs. My man was quick to spot what that was. I’ve sent it along to the museum; the restoration department will know what to do with it. But, oddly, in the bushes, we came across some more shattered remains!”

He enjoyed their puzzlement for a moment and went on to disappoint them: “The remains of no fewer than three—I don’t exaggerate—
three
of those heads of the god Dionysus. Swept up into a pile, as in a builder’s yard. On a site cluttered with classical remains, you could perhaps pardon my chaps for passing on to the next thing, but they saw something that caught their attention.”

“Which was
…?”
Montacute asked dutifully.

“They all had a smashed nose.”

“The modern Vandal, like the original, always goes for the projecting pieces of anatomy first,” Gunning commented.

Montacute was more suspicious. “Target practice, are you thinking? Any bullet holes?”

“No, nothing of the kind in the area. The noses had been knocked off by a heavy blow.”

“Smashed, you say? And three of them? Andrew’s bit of classical fantasy?” Letty asked.

“No. He’d hardly have left outside something so valuable as those sculptures would have been if authentic, exposing them to the elements and the plunderers. You can buy those busts in the Street of the Potters at the Kerameikos end for a few drachmas. They’re very convincing! People buy them to hide amongst the shrubbery in their gardens. I have one myself,” he confessed. “Not Dionysus, though! Too knowing by half! He leers at you. Always seems to know exactly what you were up to the night before! No, I choose to take my morning-after coffee on the terrace under the uncritical and radiant gaze of his half brother, the Sun God, Apollo.”

Letty’s head drooped. Another piece of fakery—another of Andrew’s disappointments. She was beginning to wonder what exactly she would find in the chest when it arrived. More copies? More traps and deceits?

“And the drinking glasses?” Montacute remembered, searching through the report. “The two on the professor’s desk? Any prints?”

“Page twenty-five, at the bottom,” said the superintendent. “We tested the drink. In both glasses. Nothing but the innocent traces of uncontaminated water inside. Merriman’s glass had his prints all over the outside. The other … nothing.”

“Nothing? What do you mean? Someone must have held it? Drunk from it?” Letty objected.

“It was largely clean, miss. A lip smear on the rim, no trace of lipstick. So, no use to us. No fingerprints.”

“So the guest wore gloves, or paused long enough to wipe his prints from the glass before leaving?”

“Are we surprised that the word ‘professional’ pops into our minds at every turn?” murmured Gunning.

“Frustrating!” the inspector summarised as they reached the end of the report. “Leave a copy with me, will you, Markos, and I’ll look through again. There may be two ends in there we’ve failed to join up.”

“Before I leave,” said Theotakis genially, “just fill me in on the events of the morning, will you, Percy? I have an article to compose for the
Athens News
and would welcome a few pointers …” He turned to Letty and his smile intensified. “I hear we almost lost one of our witnesses in distressing circumstances? And on this occasion the danger was not simulated?” His tone was warm, teasing, and invited a confidence. Letty decided it would be wise never to underestimate the superintendent. “Road bandits again is what we’re saying to the press, by the way. After the Delphi debacle in which the inspector played a starring role the other week, the public will shake their heads in dismay and eagerly lap up a second instalment of a story of ambush.”

“You risk spreading panic with an invention like that, Superintendent,” Gunning objected.

“No. No. Quite the reverse! Unfortunately, the shots were heard. And investigated! A cliff-top hiker took it upon himself to hurry to the spot and witness from a safe distance the last few minutes of the confrontation. He presented himself at the gendarmerie and gave a very graphic account of events, full descriptions of the participants, the lot! He then communicated his excitement and his anxiety on behalf of the public to the
Athens News
. No, Gunning—our hand is forced! Tourists will be reassured when they pick up the hint, ever so gently dropped, that the attack was premeditated and targeted at one person only. To be precise: at
Montacute
, who is becoming quite a celebrated man and gallant figure about Athens. Everyone is aware that two of the Delphi mob are on the loose and
still being sought. Large reward on their heads! All the embassies chipped in—our foreign guests go in great fear of hostage-taking and the like. The public won’t question that the thugs are now seeking vengeance in their uncouth and clannish northern way for their countrymen shot dead by the inspector. Unfortunately … can that be the right word?… they mistook Sergeant Perkins for his boss! Wearing his superior officer’s Sunday-best outfit—kindly lent to him in order to impress a young lady—at the time of the attack, the sergeant drew the bullets intended for Montacute … Despite being outgunned, the intrepid young officer managed to repel the gang. Oh, there are many intriguing angles to this story! I hurry back to finish it. A word in the right ear and it could make the front cover of
Le Petit Journal
!
”

Letty wasn’t surprised to hear that her own practical contribution to the proceedings seemed to have been edited out. Ladylike screams and perhaps a swoon would be acceptable.

“Oh, by the way—young Demetrios …” Theotakis paused in his narrative for a moment. “That
was
the lad who attacked me with a feather duster in the hall when I arrived? Still here? I’m surprised he hasn’t run off. Don’t dismiss him. Leave him in place. He’s a channel to the Volos men. May come in useful. I set Records to stir about in their family history as you suggested, Percy. I’ll let you know what they come up with.”

He turned to a fresh page in his notebook. “Now! Come along, Miss Laetitia! A few words for the editor, please, on your feelings at coming under gunfire …”

    “Not sure I like the idea of being confined to barracks,” said Letty when the superintendent finally took his leave. “I haven’t been gated since I was at school. Still, there’s my old room all ready for me here, and if one has to be kept under surveillance
it’s as comfortable a place as any. Will someone tell Mrs. Rose what I’m up to?”

“Don’t worry about the details.” Montacute was his old peremptory self. “I’ll have a quiet word with Maggie. And look on the positive side—it’s likely that you would have been spending most of your time by the telephone anyway over the next days.”

She looked at him, questioning his certainty.

“Being Maud! The last thing we heard the old girl say was that
you
were her stand-in, Miss Laetitia. I don’t suppose she ever thought it would go so far, but …” He shrugged his shoulders. “Here you are. At the centre of it all. You’ll have to field enquiries about ceremonies, memorials, where to send the flowers, and so on, but, more important, it falls to you to reorganise the performance
of Agamemnon.”

“Reorganise the play? Me? Don’t be silly! I hardly know it. You’ll have to do it yourself!”

He ignored her and pressed on. “I think it was sensible of the superintendent to agree to the rescheduling of the first night of the play. Mrs. Venizelos was much looking forward to it … guest of honour, friend of the leading lady, and all that.” He added confidingly: “It would never be made public and you’re both to keep very quiet about it—but there is more than a chance that her husband will be accompanying her. The two central priests’ marble seats will be held ready, anyway. If Prime Minister Venizelos doesn’t turn up, then the spare seat will be seamlessly occupied by the British Consul or his representative. Some smooth-talking gent from the Embassy, Frederick Wentworth if she’s lucky, will slip on his white tie, polish up his small talk, and offer his arm to the lady.”