Cold Pressed (25 page)

"No, but I can catch up. Depends on how long this
takes."

"It won't take long. I'm quite sure Martins is
unconnected to this case. We must make certain, of course, and exhaust every
avenue of enquiry. Is there any news of Dean?”

“Nothing concrete, but the Wiltshire force sent an email
this evening. Doreen Cashmore has received two anonymous phone calls. She found
the first message on her answer phone. A male voice saying ‘Welcome home’. The
second call was more threatening. When she picked up, a man said ‘Hello Doreen.
You can run but you can’t hide’. She’s gone to stay with her family for a few
days.”

“Could they tell where the calls originated? This might be a
smokescreen.”

“They’re working on it. All they know is the caller did not
dial an international prefix. Whoever called her is in the UK.”

“Hmm. Until we have proof he’s followed them, let’s work on
the assumption he’s still here. Now we really should get this interview over
with. I’d prefer to observe, if you don’t mind. I think it might complicate
things if I were in the room."

She stood up but he remained seated and looked up at her.
“Have you told me everything I need to know, Beatrice?”

Her eyes flicked downwards and she exhaled.

Tiredness made Nikos take a risk. "Voulakis said I
would like working with you. He was right. Not what I expected but definitely
an education. I respect your judgement. What I don't understand is why you'd
risk being alone with a potential killer. Everyone on board knew who you were
and why you were there. Martins engineered situations just to get close to you.
Taking him to your room was..."

"Stupid. I agree. I feel more foolish than you know.
Perhaps there is one thing I should say. Oscar Martins expressed an interest in
me.”

“I know. That’s what I said.”

“No, I meant a different kind of interest. Of the... er...
romantic nature."

Nikos kept his expression blank. "He made a pass at
you?"

"I suppose you could call it that. He kissed me."

“And what did you do?”

She dragged her gaze to meet his. “I kissed him back.”

For the want of any better ideas, Nikos wrote that down.
“Right. I see. In that case...”

“Yes. It’s better if he doesn’t know I’m here. You conduct
the interview, I’ll observe from behind the glass.”

Either Oscar Martins was telling the truth or he
maintained one of the best poker faces Nikos had ever encountered. No, he’d
never met Toni Dean nor seen his act. No, he had no connections with the
Hirondelles and had not dined with them once. Swallows Hall was not a name he
was familiar with. He could offer little evidence of his activities ashore, as
he explored the islands alone. Yes, he had left Detective Inspector Stubbs
immediately prior to the attack on Joyce Milligan. Surely the
Empress Louise
had CCTV cameras which would prove his assertion that he had returned directly
to his own cabin?

The
Empress Louise
had no CCTV, but Nikos knew key
card records would confirm if anyone had entered Martins’ cabin at that time.
Whose hand used the card was another question. Was he playing dumb? The man
appeared eager to help and perfectly calm, so perhaps it was time to push him.

"We'll check. My problem is this. I have a list, not a
long one, of people I wanted to question further. In one day, two people on
that list disappear. No official check out, no request for a refund, nothing.
When someone does that in the middle of a murder investigation, it makes me
suspicious. So to eliminate you from my list, I need an explanation, Mr Martins."

"Of course. I apologise." He studied his hands for
a moment. "Here you are, interviewing me, when far more pressing problems
demand your attention. Particularly as I presume your colleague is still in the
UK, handling that end of the investigation?"

Nikos said nothing.

"So then, let us be brief and you can get on with your
job. I chose to leave the cruise for wholly selfish reasons. Since losing my
wife, I tend to steer clear of personal relationships. Cruise ships such as the
Empress Louise
are stuffed to the gills with lonely folk on the prowl.
As far as I’m concerned, they're welcome to each other. All I want is some
occasional conversation, a change of scenery and plenty of peace and quiet.

“On this occasion, I encountered someone unexpected, in pursuit
of something far more intriguing than a replacement spouse. I found myself
drawn to her. She wasn't the slightest bit impressed with me or my books, which
made me like her all the more. The same evening the unfortunate Milligan lady
was assaulted, I made two startling discoveries. Firstly, the object of my
affection was in a long-term relationship. Secondly, I'd fallen in love with
her. What a silly old fool.

“In the cold light of day, I saw the situation as hopeless.
Staying on the ship would only make things difficult for her and painful for
me. I took the easy way out, Inspector. Better to leave immediately and do my
best to forget her."

Nikos scratched his stubble, wishing there was a way round
the unavoidably embarrassing question. "For the record, Mr
Martins..."

Martins looked up and past him at the mirrored window.
"I think we all know I'm talking about Detective Inspector Beatrice
Stubbs."

04.02. Beatrice was awake in her hotel room, staring
through the darkness at the ceiling. Once again, Oscar's face flashed into her
mind, looking directly at her as if the mirrored glass did not exist. Once
again, she felt her colour rise, even as she lay alone in the dark.

Nikos had joined her in the observation room immediately
after Oscar's confession and she'd been grateful for the lack of light. They
agreed to release him without charge and Beatrice, the unforgivable coward,
stayed where she was until a car had taken Oscar to an airport hotel. Hiding
was gutless, certainly, but the alternative was too awful to contemplate. The
pain in his eyes had been almost unbearable when she was in the next room. If
they'd come face to face...

She turned over, towards the column of blue light from the
hotel’s neon sign seeping through the curtains. The feeling was unbearable
precisely because she knew it only too well. She'd made her decision to cut off
all contact with Matthew almost a quarter of a century ago but the agony of
emptiness that followed was as raw in recollection as it had ever been. The
hollow sense of nothing to look forward to, the conviction she could never be
happy again, the constant ache of missing him and knowing he was going through
the same. No matter how much she told herself she'd done the right thing, it
made no difference and she banished all thoughts of alternatives.

And now Oscar was in another hotel room across the island in
the same misery, wishing he'd never boarded the
Empress Louise
. She
squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to address the question of her own
feelings. The discomfort and embarrassment, the fillip to the ego, the guilt
and sadness all mingled together to echo what she’d said to James.
I can no
longer bear to be in my own skin
.

Her attraction to Oscar was undeniable and she’d sensed the
danger from the start. Yet she spent time with him, enjoyed the attention and
even, if she was brutally honest, took some gratification from his attempts to
charm her – all the while ignoring her partner of twenty-four years and his
plans for their future together. The pattern of behaviour was not new.
Immature, evasive and rebelling against... what? She scrunched up her eyes and
tried to block out the question James had put. His voice and image took shape
in her mind like a hologram.

To what extent are your fears about marrying Matthew related
to your fear of becoming Pam?

The problem with truths is once they’re inside your head,
you cannot block them out. The time she spent with Matthew was perfect. Growing
runner beans. Village life and knowing everyone’s business. Bickering over
breakfast. Cooking together and entertaining the girls. Mushroom-picking and
walks in the forest. Sunday afternoons doing the crossword in the conservatory.
She relished it all, at weekends. Much more so because she could still be the
outsider with the exciting busy job in the city. She could escape.

To what extent are your fears about marrying Matthew
related to your fear of becoming Pam?

In a whisper, she answered Hologram James as truthfully as
she could.

“Because if that part of me is gone, there’s nothing left to
chase. All the time he can’t have me, he’ll keep trying. Once I give in, I’ve
played the final card and I’ve been netted. Then all I can look forward to is a
slow withering of interest until someone more exciting and lively catches his
eye.

“My God. I’m actually afraid of myself.”

She turned over again and tried to empty her mind by doing a
few half-hearted yoga breaths. She had to be up in three hours. Her internal
cinema screen replaced James with a close-up of Oscar’s eyes. The colour of
real ale in the firelight, crinkled up with laughter. Hypnotically intense and
magnetic. Flat and deadened behind the glass.

Her mind flitted back to the taxi driver, and his 'Do as you
would be done by.' When faced with personal gratification or the honourable
thing to do, Oscar had chosen the latter.

Which made him a better person than her.

Chapter 28

The taxi hurtled along route 95 to Sgourou. Maggie
nudged Rose and smiled. She was relieved to get a reassuring nod back. Rose had
not been keen to spend their last day in Greece on a hospital visit. It had
taken all Maggie’s persuasive powers to drag her along, citing her own
experience in a foreign hospital, thousands of miles from home, frightened and
weak and very alone.

Maggie could not explain the sense of responsibility she
bore to the Hirondelles, but she had to do something. A kind of atonement.
After breakfast, they sought police permission to visit Joyce Milligan. The
inspector, dressed more like a Brighton rocker than a detective, granted it
easily.

The hospital had the air of a private nursing home and the
approach bore out what the officer had said. This little clinic was much easier
to keep secure than that sprawling great place in the centre of Rhodes. It had
its own driveway, a small car park and none of the attendant chaos that comes
with A&E facilities. The security checks at reception were rigorous and
Maggie appreciated the inconvenience for Joyce's sake. An orderly escorted them
to a private room, which had an officer outside and nurse within.

Perhaps because the safety arrangements had absorbed her
attention, Maggie was unprepared for the emotional impact of seeing Joyce. Her
face was a nightmarish patchwork of grey-blue bruises and raw pink abrasions,
stitched together with ugly black thread. Although she was sitting up in bed, a
tube ran into her nostril and a neck brace supported her head. Her wintry blue
eyes looked pitifully vulnerable without her glasses. Maggie's throat swelled,
preventing speech.

Rose never had that problem. "Joyce, we're so happy to
see you!" She stood at the foot of the bed, her tone cheerful. "Looks
like you've been in the wars."

A familiar light danced in Joyce's eyes and her voice
surprised Maggie with its strength.

"You should see the other fella."

The nurse smiled at their laughter and stood up to leave.
Maggie was glad, as her presence and that of the orderly made her
self-conscious.

"Not lost your sense of humour, then?" she asked.

"No, just my teeth."

Maggie couldn’t swallow her gasp. "He knocked your
teeth out?"

"Knocked them over, strictly speaking. They were in a
glass by the bed. Fortunately, I always carry my old ones as spares ever since
my sister's bulldog tried them on for size."

She flashed them a cheesy grin, provoking more laughter.

Rose parked herself at the end of the bed. "We thought
a visit from us might cheer you up. How come it's the other way round?"

"You're very considerate and I'm grateful. Seeing two
friendly faces is an absolute tonic. Now, where's the gin?"

Maggie glanced at the door and dropped her voice. "Even
if you were allowed, which I doubt, we'd never have smuggled it past security.
They're ferocious."

Joyce followed Maggie's sightline. "Spoilsports. No, I
can't complain, they are taking very good care of me. I reckon they'll be glad
to see me go, though, I must be a terrible nuisance. If the old bellows hold up
after today's tests, I get a police escort to the airport and a first class
flight home, courtesy of the cruise line. Speaking of which, shouldn't you be
en route to Patmos by now?"

Rose explained the most recent developments, remaining
factual and neutral about their departure and the cancellation of the cruise.
Maggie leant against the windowsill to admire the grounds. It was nice to see a
bit of greenery after all the sea and sunshine. Flowers and shrubs alongside
brightly coloured benches surrounded a cluster of sun umbrellas over a patio.
Maggie could think of worse places to convalesce. Several people in dressing
gowns or uniforms strolled the path, a motorcycle courier walked back up the
drive and an ancient Volkswagen took three tries to fit into a parking space.
The driver finally emerged, a bent old man carrying a string bag of oranges who
didn't bother locking the car.

That was when she heard it. The chainsaw rattle of a big
bike, tearing through the silent afternoon. The sound distressed her for some
reason. She had a feeling she'd heard it before.

After a late lunch back at the hotel, during which
Rose chattered on enough for both of them, they retired to their room. Since
beginning the cruise, they’d fallen into the habit of having an afternoon nap.
In Greece, it seemed rather continental and modern, as opposed to sad and
wasteful at home in Edinburgh. But today, Maggie had too much on her mind to
sleep. She lay in silence for a few minutes then sat up and looked over at her
friend’s bed.