Nemesis of the Dead (19 page)

‘No, you didn’t, Marjorie,’ said Corrie vehemently. ‘Dear God, if every time we wished somebody would drop dead they actually did, the world would be littered with corpses. Tell her Jack! Tell her she isn’t responsible.’

‘’Course you’re not Marjie,’ added Sid.

Jack looked sombre. For a while he said nothing, summing up the evidence associated with Dobson’s death, or rather the lack of it. Marjorie Dobson was either an unusually ingenuous woman – or a very clever one. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. There was no point in doing anything else. If she had somehow murdered her husband, there was no way in the world that here, on illusive, treacherous Katastrophos, he could find enough evidence to prove it. And even if he could, a good brief would plead all kinds of mitigating circumstances and no jury in the land would convict her.

‘Nothing you have told me inclines me to suspect that Ambrose died from anything other than natural causes. It may be that he underestimated the severity of his heart condition. Clearly, the unaccustomed exertion – rowing some distance – the shock of falling in the sea and his bouts of uncontrollable temper and excitement proved too much for him. They might well have proved too much for any man his age so I suggest you try to forget what you did in the cave, Marjorie. You were driven beyond endurance and even at the end, you tried to help him.’

Marjorie seemed to shrink back into her chair – become smaller and lighter with the lifting of her burden. ‘Thank you, Jack.’

‘What we have to do now, if you’re up to it, is decide how to proceed with regard to Ambrose’s remains. To be frank, I’m not at all sure what the options are. I’m sorry to face you with it so soon, but in a hot climate …’ Jack left the sentence unfinished. He knew the score with regard to standard procedures when a British national dies abroad but he was damned if he could see how they applied to a sparsely populated island like Katastrophos where none of the usual support structures was in place.

‘Maybe I can assist.’ Tina Stephanides spoke quietly and with much less venom than had been her custom. ‘I was born and brought up on Katastrophos and local procedures are, of necessity, more relaxed here than on other Greek Islands. A foreigner dying on the island is a rare occurrence – I can only recall one such instance in my lifetime – and the course of action is much more complicated. The next of kin must decide whether to take the deceased home or carry out a local burial, here in the churchyard of St Sophia. Naturally, the permission of the priest must be obtained for that.’

‘What about cremation?’ asked Marjorie.

‘Cremation is not permitted. For that, you would need to take Mr Dobson back to the UK. And if he is to be repatriated, his remains must be embalmed as soon as possible and placed in a zinc-lined coffin. This may cause delay and distress, since many certificates – civil registry of death, embalming certificate, doctor’s death certificate and another giving permission to transfer the remains to the UK are all required in order to ship the body. These can only be obtained on the mainland and will take time. Mr Dobson has already been dead for over eighteen hours. It will be another two days before his body can be transported to the mainland and we still have no means of communication to speed this up.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Marjorie. ‘I was really hoping to be able to go straight home when the ferry comes on Saturday.’ She looked down at her hands from which she had removed the wedding ring. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that I have no desire to take Ambrose’s body home with me and I certainly don’t want him embalmed. Our son, Dan, would not wish to attend his father’s funeral. I should much prefer to bury him here as quickly as possible.’ She looked at Tina. ‘What must I do to achieve that?’

‘Permission to sign the necessary documents for an island burial is devolved to the Mayor of Katastrophos in situations such as this. He could assist you, providing Inspector Dawes, as the only representative of UK law, has no objection to going ahead.’

Jack nodded.

‘I didn’t know there was a mayor of Katastrophos,’ said Sid, surprised.

Tina smiled at him. Everyone smiled at Sidney. ‘I think you have met him. He owns the
kafeneíon
in St Sophia.’

Sidney had met him all right – got to know him well over the last couple of weeks. He was a man in his early forties with a droopy moustache and lugubrious jowls whose ruling characteristic was his good nature – certainly unlike the pompous, self-important civic dignitaries down at the council offices whose sanitary ware Sid had installed.

‘Well, I’m blowed. Small island, innit? How soon can we get the documents for Marjie?’

‘We could really do with the help of someone who speaks Greek to ask the priest for permission to bury Ambrose in the churchyard here,’ added Corrie, looking pointedly at Tina.

‘May I suggest,’ boomed a voice from the perimeter of the pergola, ‘that in disposing of Dobson’s remains, Mrs Dobson could choose to help the environment?’ Professor Gordon, taking brief respite from his studies, was pouring himself orange juice. ‘Bury him in a cardboard box under an olive tree, madam. His decomposing body will provide the tree with nutrients and the tree will convert carbon dioxide into life-giving oxygen for decades.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Probably the only useful function your husband will have ever served in his futile existence.’

Blunt as ever, the professor was no respecter of a widow’s sensitivities.

‘Cuthbert, have a thought for Marjorie,’ said Diana, frowning at him.

‘No, really,’ said Marjorie, ‘I’m not in the least bit offended. Professor Gordon is right. I can think of nothing that Ambrose ever did in his lifetime that was kind, considerate or altruistic. I like the idea of ensuring he does this one thing in death.’ She turned to Tina. ‘Would I be allowed to bury him as the professor suggests?’

Tina looked blank. ‘There is no precedent here for such a thing but I don’t see why not, if we can obtain the necessary permissions.’

It was early evening, still and balmy. A small group of mourners – if they could be considered as such – gathered around the grave in the olive grove. At first the religious islanders had greeted the idea of an environmentally friendly funeral with consternation and the promise of long-term benefits with utter scepticism. But since it was the wish of the widow and nobody could come up with any sound reasons why it should not take place, permissions were granted. Marjorie Dobson, dry-eyed and dignified, watched as the local funeral director and his swarthy son carried out the formalities and her husband of thirty years – all of them miserable – was lowered into the ground in his cardboard box. Foreign Greek soil from the island he had so openly disliked was chucked unceremoniously on top of him. Only Ariadne boycotted the proceedings. Tiny Ariadne, with her crow’s singing voice and her sloppy slippers. With much crossing herself backwards, she invoked her saint not to take this devil’s burial as an insult.

Corrie looked down at the last remains of Ambrose Dobson. She had known him barely a fortnight but had been strongly affected by his gratuitous unpleasantness and meanness of spirit. Unlike those virtuous souls who feel the need to find some good in everyone, Corrie felt no such obligation. The man would not be missed or mourned. His grave would not be marked. Drowsing in the sunshine, watching the coffin disappearing beneath a pile of Katastrophan dirt, the myth of Diana and Acteon popped into her head unbidden. Diana had been the patroness of hunting and there was an incident, uncomfortably analogous to yesterday’s events, when Acteon spied upon Diana and watched her bathing, naked. Incensed, Diana had transformed him into a stag and his own hunting dogs had turned on him and killed him. Dogs that hitherto had been subservient to his bidding, obedient without question – like Marjorie. Corrie snapped out of her reverie, forcing herself back to reality. She had to stop these macabre meanderings – they were not helpful.

Marjorie stood on the other side of the grave. Her face was enigmatic, her thoughts impossible to divine. Corrie was transported back to Lavinia Braithwaite’s funeral. Then, Marjorie had been standing opposite her, much sadder and considerably more bereft at the loss than she appeared now. She looked up, suddenly aware she was being watched, and their eyes met. Marjorie smiled.

F
riday, the travellers’ last day on Katastrophos, dawned sultry and oppressive. For Corrie, Saturday and the ferry could not come soon enough and she had started packing already. Throughout the last two weeks, the atmosphere on the island had become increasingly claustrophobic and hostile and now she couldn’t wait to go home where things were normal. Normal, that was, if you excluded Lavinia suddenly keeling over with mysterious stomach pains so severe that her heart stopped. But wasn’t that exactly what had been happening here? Coincidence? Probably. Almost certainly. But what if there was a connection? What if that was why Jack had brought her to Katastrophos? Meeting Marjorie Dobson’s eyes across her husband’s grave, just as she had at Lavinia’s funeral, had been a chilling moment from another dimension. What if…? Stop right there, Corrie, she ordered herself. Stop looking for trouble – you’re imagining things. Just go home and don’t interfere. It’s none of your business.

Marjorie was also looking forward to going home and spoke enthusiastically about what she planned to do now she was free and would soon be considerably better off. She fancied a cruise, she said, possibly in the Caribbean. She would ask Dan and his partner if they would like to come; they both worked very hard and needed a holiday. Then she would get on with her charity fund-raising and take driving lessons, so she could use the car. Was this confident, assertive widow, Corrie wondered, the same downtrodden, dispirited ‘little woman’ of a fortnight ago, systematically deprived of independent thought or ambition, who had trotted obediently behind her cruel, despotic husband? For Marjorie, the journey to Katastrophos had been every bit as life-changing as the road to Damascus.

But not everyone was keen to leave the island. The professor was becoming increasingly agitated that
tempus fugit
and he had not yet completed the single, most important piece of work he had come to do, even though he now had all the resources he needed to achieve it. Tina, who had come home to her island intending to stay for a while, now expected she would be obliged to return to the mainland and possibly even the UK in order to answer serious charges of attempting to murder a senior police officer. For Sidney and Diana, star-crossed lovers by anyone’s standards, tomorrow must see the end of their unlikely but deepening relationship. Katastrophos had given them a glimpse of another, more fulfilling life and it was one they were both reluctant to let go.

Jack, like the professor, was acutely aware that time was running out and he could no longer risk a watching brief. He must act before it was too late. It was imperative that he spoke to Diana but, as he had feared, it was increasingly difficult to prise her away from Sidney. This morning he was lucky. He had woken at dawn, hot and thirsty, and had taken his glass of water out on to the balcony, so as not to wake Corrie. He spotted Diana, jogging alone on the beach. Jack pulled on some clothes and hurried down to join her.

‘Anyone seen Di?’ Sidney came down to breakfast early, anxious not to waste a second of his last day on Katastrophos. His last day with a woman so beautiful and clever and funny, he would never have believed she would even look at him, much less make love to him. But he had no illusions. She was used to the kind of life a rich professor could give her, and a plumber could never compete. To Diana, he had simply been an amusing diversion. Tomorrow it would end and he would never see her again. They wouldn’t promise to keep in touch, write letters, nothing tacky like that. It had been a holiday fling – heady and exhilarating – no point in spoiling it by pretending otherwise. She would forget him the second she kissed him goodbye. And once he was back home in Stoke Newington mending leaky pipes and cheering on the Arsenal, he would forget all about her. Of course he would.

Maria looked up from serving slices of yellow seed-cake with thin apricot jam. ‘Mrs Gordon was walking on the beach with Inspector Dawes earlier. I do not believe they have returned yet.’

Sid reached the shore just as Jack and Diana were returning. Jack looked sombre and Diana had obviously been crying. Sid lengthened his stride, and as he got nearer he caught the tail end of their conversation.

‘Thanks for that, Diana. It was the last place I thought to look but it makes sense after what you’ve just told me.’

‘And you’ll be there at the end, Inspector, with your handcuffs?’

‘Yes, Diana. I’m so sorry. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this but I really don’t have any choice, now. You do see that?’

‘Yeah, sure. I understand.’ She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose.

‘You don’t have to go through with this, you know.’

Diana braced herself and looked at him, steely and resolute. ‘Oh yes I do. Even if it turns out to be the very last thing I do.’

‘What’s the matter, Di?’ By the time Sidney reached them, his lighthouse smile was completely extinguished. ‘What’s upset you?’ His concern eclipsed any discretion he might have felt and he put his arms around her. She hugged him fiercely but did not answer.

‘Come on, Sid.’ Jack took his arm and began to draw him away. ‘You and I are going fishing.’

‘What? Why? I don’t want to go fishing.’ He tried to shrug Jack off. ‘I want to know what’s going on. What is it Diana has to do? Can’t I do it for her?’

‘Please, honey.’ Diana kissed his mouth in the way that always made his knees buckle. ‘Just do what Jack says. I’ll see you later.’

‘But why can’t I—?’

‘Sid, listen to me. I’m going to need your help, mate.’ Jack’s face was so grim that Sidney stopped arguing and allowed himself to be led away.

As they approached the landing stage the first thing they saw was Charon’s ferry. Jack was immediately on the alert. The ferry wasn’t due until tomorrow morning and it wasn’t like the old ferryman to change his habits. As they approached, Charon shambled ashore carrying a large box. He was even scruffier than usual and grumbled over his shoulder at someone still in the boat. Clearly he had made the trip under duress. When he saw Jack, he scuttled guiltily away to Hotel Stasinopoulos for an early ouzo with Yanni. Jack waited, keen to see who else had come across on the ferry. A familiar figure climbed carefully out of the grimy fishing smack and tottered unsteadily down the gangplank towards them.

‘Tim Watkins!’ Jack greeted him with a warm handshake and Sid gave him a manly hug. ‘What are you doing back here? I should have thought this is the last place you’d want to be.’ He looked back at the ferry. ‘Surely Ellie isn’t with you?’

Tim shook his head. It had been a terrible night crossing with lurching waves and the stink of Charon’s cheap cigarettes and he was feeling far from well. ‘No, I left her back in the hospital.’

Jack had a sudden, terrible thought. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, thanks. The doctors say she’s doing very well and I’ll be able to take her home soon. It’s because of Ellie I’m here. I didn’t want to leave her, obviously, but she insisted. Said it was important that you knew straight away. She got really worked up about it so in the end, I gave in and paid Charon to bring me over. Could we talk somewhere private?’

‘Don’t mind me,’ said Sid. ‘I’ll walk back with Di and see you later, when you’re ready to tell me about that other business, Jack.’

Jack took Tim to the now familiar gathering place where so much had happened already – the pergola under the vines. They sat at the olive-wood table and Jack poured him some of the coffee that was still lingering there. He didn’t fancy anything to eat.

‘I don’t understand any of what I have to tell you. Neither does Ellie, but she was sure you would want to know before something horrible happens to someone else on this evil island.’

Jack decided this was not a good time to tell Tim about Ambrose Dobson. He was distressed enough as it was. ‘Go on.’

‘When we got Ellie to the hospital last Sunday, the first thing they did was to carry out lots of tests to try to find out what the substance was in her system that had given her such awful pain and then stopped her heart. The toxicologist told us he had found traces of a very potent organic poison probably of plant origin. It wasn’t one he had encountered before so the doctors were at a loss to know what to give her as an antidote.’

Jack nodded grimly. Sometimes hunches turned out to be right. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming next.

‘But here’s the really strange bit,’ said Tim. ‘When they did some more blood tests two hours later, it had gone. Completely disappeared. Not a trace of it left in her body. They had never seen anything like it. They think whatever it was must have broken down incredibly rapidly after she ingested it – a sort of instantly biodegradable toxin.’ Tim hesitated, obviously uncomfortable with what he had to say next. ‘Ellie thinks … that is, she asked me to tell you … well, she believes that Professor Gordon poisoned her. Now, I’m not accusing him of doing it on purpose – although Ellie thinks he did. She believes he had a grudge against her because she’s vegetarian. But it could have been an accident, couldn’t it? I mean, he was always experimenting, leaving bits and pieces of onion bulbs and leaves lying around in Ariadne’s kitchen. Something might have got into Ellie’s salad by mistake. I can’t believe a great botanist like the professor would deliberately try to kill a young woman for such a fanatical reason. He’d have to be insane.’

Undoubtedly, thought Jack, but there was another, much more fundamental reason why Professor Gordon would want Ellie dead, although she had no way of knowing that. Sooner or later she would have to be told, but he didn’t feel it was his call and now certainly wasn’t the right time.

Tim picked up his coffee cup, looked at the thick, black sludge, then thought better of it and put it down again. ‘Ellie made me come and tell you because she was worried, you see. She said that it would be so easy to murder someone using such a poison and never get found out because by the time they got the victim on the slab for a post mortem, there wouldn’t be any proof. They would think the person died of natural causes because this toxin, whatever it is, apparently induces heart failure. I don’t know what you make of all that, Inspector Dawes, or even if it’s relevant, but at least I’ve told you, like Ellie wanted.’

Jack revised his opinion of Ellie Watkins. There was more to that young woman than the dopey scatterbrain she had at first appeared. And it had been brave of her to send Tim to let him know, because he was sure she would have preferred her husband to stay by her side.

‘Thanks, Tim. I’m grateful for the information and I know what it must have cost you to leave Ellie and come back here. What a rotten honeymoon you’ve both had. What will you do now?’

‘I thought I’d stay in our room tonight as it’s still technically ours, then go back to the mainland with you all tomorrow morning. Oh, and I nearly forgot. Charon brought over a box of spare parts in the ferry to repair the telephone system so the island shouldn’t be cut off for much longer. I thought I’d try to phone the hospital and speak to Ellie later, after I’ve had some sleep.’

That was the best news Jack had heard for ages. He would be making a few calls to the mainland himself as soon as it was possible.

Tim frowned. ‘I guess the hospital would have filled you in about Ellie’s peculiar toxin tomorrow and personally, I couldn’t see what difference a delay of one day would make, but Ellie seemed convinced it would be too late.’

Jack nodded but did not comment, because Ellie was absolutely right.

A flotilla of fishing boats dawdled across the turquoise crescent of Katastrophos Bay. Jack and Sidney were on one of them. They were going after swordfish this time and would not be back until early evening. Before he left, Jack had engaged in a rather arduous discussion with Corrie.

‘Now listen to me, darling.’ Jack turned her to face him so he could be sure she was paying attention. You could never tell with Corrie. Since they had been on Katastrophos, half her mind had been up on Olympus with Greek gods and heroes and the other half had been trying to second guess what he was working on and as usual, getting it disastrously wrong. He put on his ‘this is serious’ expression. ‘While I’m gone, I want you to go into St Sophia for the day and stay there. Get some souvenirs and have lunch out at the taverna. Have another look around the church. After all, we’re going home tomorrow, so you may as well make the most of our last day and there must be things you want to buy.’

‘I’m not sure there are,’ said Corrie perversely. Left to herself, she probably would have gone shopping but she never liked being told what to do.

‘Where
are
you going then?’ Jack seemed unusually keen to keep tabs on her.

‘I thought I’d finish packing, ask Ariadne to make me a salad for lunch, then sit out on the balcony drinking wine and watching the boats out in the bay where Sid will be fishing and you’ll be feeling seasick. A nice lazy day. God knows we haven’t had many of those since we’ve been here.’

‘Please, sweetheart. Go into town.’

‘Why?’

‘Because – well, because it may not be safe for you here.’

‘Jack, what are you talking about? Of course it will be safe. What could possibly happen to me? I’ll even make my own salad if you’re worried about bits of dodgy leaves getting into it.’ She had a suspicious thought. ‘Anyway, if something dangerous is likely to happen, why are you going fishing with Sid? Why aren’t you staying here to keep your “all-seeing eye” on things?’

Jack had sighed, wearily. He would be so bloody glad when this case was over and he was back with the squad. Working single-handed was like juggling jelly – and he still needed to brief Sidney. ‘Just for once, Corrie, won’t you please just do as I ask without asking questions?’

‘If you told me what was going on, I shouldn’t have to. I might even be able to help.’

‘Corrie, you can’t help. You just have to trust me. I need you to be out of the way.’

‘Oh all right, if it’s that important to you.’

‘Thank you, darling. I love you to bits, you tetchy old bat!’ He had kissed her gratefully and set off with Sid for the harbour, appearing suddenly very relaxed and whistling.