Cold Pressed (27 page)

Nikos knew this was an appeal to unite against a common
enemy and wished he had the maturity to resist. He was thinking about how to
frame a response when Voulakis started laughing.

"What?"

"You know what he did? This morning, when I said we'd
take pictures for the press, Xanthou went out at lunchtime to get his hair cut.
The vanity of the man! I was coming back after lunch and saw him come out of
Antonis the barber's."

Nikos joined in the laughter. "He told me he was
lunching with his new girlfriend."

"Some girlfriend! Antonis is fifty-seven and has a
moustache!"

"He's so false. Smiles and charm with Joyce Milligan
for the pictures, but did you see the way he shoved her into the Jeep? At least
Beatrice is with them. She'll look after her."

"I think he's had enough of old women today. Well, he
can go back to preening himself in front of tourists from tomorrow."

"Yes, best place for him. Why has he had enough of old
women? This case?"

Voulakis yawned. "I suppose. Not glamorous enough for
him. Plus those two ladies came in this afternoon, the original witnesses, and
he had to listen to their chatter for over an hour."

"Over an hour? Why?"

"Nothing important. They'd remembered something from
the Santorini incident."

"Did he tell you what it was they remembered?"

"A noise, apparently. After seeing that man throw the
old lady off a cliff, they heard a motorbike start. They heard it again this
morning and recalled the sound. As Xanthou said, it's probably the closest
thing to excitement in their lives, so they have to wring out every last
drop."

Nikos snapped his head to look at Voulakis.

"A motorbike?"

"So they said. It's just a way of getting involved.
That's why they went to visit the Milligan woman. Desperate to be part of the
action."

Nikos indicated and pulled over into a concrete merchant's
yard. "Wait. They visited Joyce Milligan?"

"Why are we stopping?"

"They heard the same sound of a motorbike? When?
Where?"

"Today. At the hospital."

Nikos reversed into a three-point turn and started the
siren.

Chapter 30

Joyce sighed as the car turned the bend and they lost
sight of the hospital staff.

"Such lovely people. I wonder if I can come back next
year, perhaps with fewer injuries."

Beatrice swivelled in her seat. "Even if you turned up
bouncing with health, I’m sure they'd be delighted to see you. Are you
comfortable?"

"Well, I'd rather be back there, riding pillion with
him." She jerked her head at their escort. "I asked him if he was
married, but he went all coy."

Xanthou, unsmiling, said, "He doesn't speak
English."

Joyce pushed herself round to look out the back and gave the
outrider a girlish wave, a ripple of gnarled knuckles. Beatrice chuckled to see
him lift a gloved hand in response.

"You see, the language of love is universal."
Joyce winced as she returned to her original position.

Beatrice frowned. "Joyce, are you..."

"I'm right as rain, my dear. Don't worry. Might just
give the surfing a miss next weekend."

Xanthou indicated and took a quieter road uphill towards the
centre of the island. The Jeep climbed to greener areas and Beatrice regretted
the onset of dusk. Peaceful roads, forests and views of which they would see
very little as the light faded.

"This is a quicker route than going back through the
city, I assume?"

Xanthou nodded once, like an extra not paid enough for
dialogue.

Beatrice tried again. "The journey takes around twenty
minutes, I believe?"

"Depends on traffic."

So that would suffice for small talk. They rode in silence
for several minutes, Beatrice inhaling the scent of evening foliage. She looked
back at Joyce.

"Warm enough?"

"Snug as a bug in..." The remainder of the rhyme
was drowned out by the roar of an overtaking motorcycle, startling Beatrice and
causing Xanthou to touch the brakes.

"Idiot!" Xanthou spat.

He was right. Even on such quiet roads, overtaking on a bend
was a stupid and unnecessary risk.

"Definitely," Beatrice agreed. The sound of the
bike's engine faded into the distance.

"Drivers like that will be dead soon," said
Xanthou.

"But sadly they take others with them." She flipped
down the sun visor to look in the vanity mirror. "You all right in the
back there?"

"Fine, Beatrice. A bit peckish is all."

"We'll have time for a snack at the airport. Our last
chance to sample..."

Three things happened at once. Beatrice realised the road
behind them was empty, with no sign of their escort. The police radio burst
into life, urgent voices speaking Greek, and her mobile rang. Caller display
showed Nikos Stephanakis. She hooked a finger in one ear to block out the
background noise and answered.

"
Beatrice! Stop immediately. Dean may be lying in
wait or following. I believe he's still in the area. We're about five minutes
away, so stop now and turn around. We'll meet you. Tell the outrider to keep
his position at the rear."

Beatrice looked behind them. "OK, we'll stop right
away. But our outrider has disappeared."

Nikos swore. She ended the call and tried to attract
Xanthou's attention. He was yelling into the police radio and driving faster
than was safe.

"Stop the car, Inspector! We have to turn around!"

"Don't be stupid. This is a few old ladies creating a
fuss over nothing. And Stephanakis is one of them. We're going to the airport
as planned. And if Dean is following us, turning round delivers the chicken
straight into the fox's jaws." He turned the radio volume to a background
buzz and drove still faster.

"Inspector, I am senior officer here. You obey my
orders. Stop the..."

Xanthou braked sharply, causing Beatrice to drop her mobile.
On the road ahead, stark in the glare of the headlights, lay a motorcycle and
its rider. The torso was clearly visible while the lower body seemed trapped
beneath the chassis. There was no sign of movement. Xanthou switched off the
engine, unclipped his seatbelt and withdrew his gun.

"No!" Beatrice caught hold of his jacket. "If
this is an ambush..."

Xanthou shook her off. "... then I am armed. If not, I
can help. Call an ambulance." He got out of the car, his gun trained on
the stricken biker, and approached.

Beatrice scrabbled for her phone and scanned the surrounding
woodland. The silence, the forest, the cool evening air stretched her senses to
screaming point. Once she’d located her mobile, she twisted to reassure Joyce,
who was staring past her at the road ahead.

“Beatrice...?”

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. He’s...”

 A shot blasted out, ringing round the trees and shocking
both women into silence.

Xanthou crumpled and hit the ground.

The body under the bike remained inert, but out of the
trees, a figure emerged. Dressed in a black ski mask and a leather jacket
unremarkable in its lack of identifying features, the man trained his gun on
the Jeep.

"Joyce, get down. As low as you can." Beatrice
opened the glove compartment, but found no gun. She dialled Nikos on her mobile
with shaking fingers.

"Officer down," she whispered. "Passenger
safe. Armed man approaching."

The figure moved towards Xanthou, his focus still on the
Jeep. Beatrice glanced to her left and checked the ignition. Xanthou had left
the keys there. Faintly she could hear Nikos's voice from the mobile and
Joyce's uneven breathing. A brace of sitting ducks. She released her seatbelt.
His gun still trained on the car, the man kicked Xanthou's prone body and
looked down. There was no response. He snatched up Xanthou’s gun, straightened
and began to approach the Jeep. His mask hid his features but she caught a
flash of white teeth in the headlights as he yelled in her direction, his gun
aimed at Beatrice's face.

“Stubbs! Put your hands where I can see them!”

Beatrice dropped the phone into her lap and raised her palms
to the level of her head.

Joyce’s shaking voice came from the back seat. "Go,
Beatrice. Get out now and God bless you."

Beatrice did not move. "I'm not leaving you."

The man paced towards them.

"Go on. He’s not interested in you. Get out and go.
Please don't ask me to meet my Maker with you on my conscience." Her voice
broke.

Beatrice's whole body shook, but she remained where she was.
"No. I have a duty of care."

"So did I." She was crying, her words hard to make
out. "We thought we were doing the right thing. Please, Beatrice..."

The gunman opened Beatrice’s door.

Chapter 31

As the car rounded the corner, Nikos took in the
situation in a millisecond. In the headlights, a bike and a body. The outrider.
The temptation to ride on past and find Dean arose but Nikos slammed on the
brakes, hit the hazard flashers and drew his weapon.

The motionless uniform lay at the edge of the road, his bike
on its side about twenty metres farther ahead. Nikos handed his mobile to
Voulakis, instructed him keep listening to Beatrice and to call an ambulance.
He got out of the car and approached the uniformed man. The headlights
illuminating his movements made him a perfect target if anyone was lying in
wait. He crouched beside the motorcycle officer, whose name he couldn’t recall
and holstered his weapon. The helmet was scratched and scuffed. He lifted the
visor, holding his breath. No blood, eyes closed, breathing regular, strong
pulse.

“Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

No response.

He squinted at the car and saw Voulakis setting up a POLICE
warning sign on the bend. When he looked back down, the motorcyclist’s eyes
were open.

“Hi, hello? Can you hear me?”

“Where’s my bike?”

“Here. It’s fine. Do you know what happened?”

He tried to sit up. Nikos put a hand on his shoulder. “Stay
still. Wait for the ambulance crew.”

The rider relaxed onto the ground.

“Someone hit me. A biker. He tried to overtake and I
signalled to stand back but he did it anyway and hit me with I-don’t-know-what.
I came off the bike and...”

“What’s your name?”

“Tsipras.”

“What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“What kind of bike do you ride?”

“Honda Transalp, XL700V.”

“You’ll be fine, Tspiras.”

“Is he hurt?” Voulakis had joined them.

“I can’t tell. He needs to be checked by an expert. Let’s
leave the helmet in place.” Nikos rested his hand on the rider’s arm. “How are
you feeling?”

“Weird. Dizzy. Shit! What happened to the ladies?”

The very question tearing at Nikos. He stood up and faced
Voulakis.

“Sir, I’m going after the Jeep. Dean is on two wheels and
while I’m in pursuit, I want the same advantages. I’ll take Tspiras’s bike; you
stay with him and keep trying DI Stubbs. Radio and mobile. I’m going to need
back-up so move the police vehicle to one side.”

He grabbed his mobile and ran for the Honda. It had been a
while since his motorcycle cop days, but this kind of bike and Nikos were made
for each other. He heaved it upright and swung into the saddle. Seven words
pulsed through his mind as he gunned the ignition. Beatrice’s voice,
professional and calm. “
Officer down. Passenger safe. Armed man approaching
”.

Beatrice heard Joyce flinch as the gunman wrenched
open the door.

“Get over and drive. Do it quickly and don’t make me hurt
you.”

He shoved her shoulder with his left hand, while the right
continued to aim his gun at her. She clambered over the gearstick and lifted
her legs after her.

“Mr Dean, my driving skills...”

“My name is not Mr Dean. Now fucking move!” He turned the
police radio off.

She started the car, put it into first and moved forward,
easing around the fallen bike, its dummy rider and the immobile shape that was
Inspector Xanthou.

A strong smell of ammonia hit her nostrils. Joyce Milligan’s
fear had manifested itself. The man swore and opened his window. In the mirror,
Beatrice couldn’t see Joyce at all and assumed she was still in the foot well.

“Come on, speed it up.” A bass, rough, West Country accent
through gritted teeth. In only five words, this voice revealed itself as far
from the transatlantic syrupy timbre of Toni Dean. If not Dean, who the hell
was under the mask?

She accelerated and changed gear. He slid down in his seat
and reached for something on the floor. Beatrice’s mobile. He tossed it out of
the window without taking his eyes from her.

Dusk had departed and night crept over the landscape. The
scene was monochrome and sinister in the headlights, trees casting
long-fingered threats across the grey tarmac.

“Slow down. Now turn right. Don’t indicate! Yes, that track
there. Go on.”

Sandy and overgrown as it was, the track was no match for a
police Jeep. They bounced and lurched away from the main road, branches and
brambles scratching at the windows, causing Beatrice to duck more than once.
Moonlight made visibility surprisingly clear. Nevertheless, Beatrice switched
to full beam, mainly to advertise their own visibility. Her concentration on
the terrain concealed frantic activity in her head.

How to get him off guard, how to alert the rest of the force
to their location, how to protect Joyce without getting herself hurt in the process,
how to convince the gunman she was no threat.

After a few minutes, in which Beatrice grew increasingly
concerned by the total absence of sound or movement from the back seat, the
track descended steeply into a small clearing with a stone-built herder’s
cottage in the centre. It seemed long abandoned, although there were signs of
recent activity judging by the amount of tyre tracks in the dust.