The Divided Child (48 page)

           
"But
whoever made the phone call luring the policeman away had to know when he was
due to go off duty and when the morning man would be coming on.
 
Paul had quite a chat with him that
night.
 
Yiorgos Spyropoulos might
well have mentioned the hours of his shift -- in passing, of course."

           
"You
make quite a convincing case," he said.
 
"I might almost believe Paul
were
the kidnapper if
it weren't for one important point:
Michael wasn't kidnapped
."

           
I
stared at him.
 
"What are you
talking about?
 
Of course he was
kidnapped!"

           
"A
young boy walks out of a hospital and disappears.
 
There’s no indication of a struggle.
 
The boy is seen walking toward the
hospital's entrance alone, and when he’s questioned about his presence in a
hospital corridor so early in the morning, he lies and says he’s visiting a
sick sister.
 
What evidence is
there to show that that boy was taken against his will?"

           
"What
about the phone call telling the policeman to report back to the police
station?" I demanded.
 
"That's evidence."

           
"Is
it?
 
A man leaves his post ten
minutes early, and then, when the boy he’s supposed to be guarding disappears,
claims to have done so because of a fake phone call from his constabulary.
 
Personally, I don’t believe the call
ever took place.
 
I think he left
early because he was tired and bored and mistakenly thought ten minutes
wouldn't matter."

           
It
was possible; I remembered Yiorgos Spyropoulos’s wary face.
 
"Are you saying Michael just ran
away on his own?"

           
“Yes.
 
Is that so surprising?” Geoffrey
said.
 
“He's already had two close
calls.
 
If you were frightened and
didn't know where the danger was coming from, what would
you
do?"

           
"But
he's only nine years old,” I said.
 
“He has no money, no place to hide, and the police are looking for
him.
 
If he was doing this on his
own, shouldn't someone have found him by now?"

           
"Perhaps.
 
But he's a clever little fellow and
fairly resourceful.
 
Greeks have a
considerable soft spot for children.
 
I'm sure he could have persuaded some family to take him in, give him a
meal, perhaps even drive him to some other part of the island or give him a
lift on the ferry to the mainland."

           
"But
he doesn't have his passport."

           
"No,”
he said, “you’re right.
   
He can't leave the country.
 
But he can get pretty far away and it might take some time to track him
down.
 
The way things stand at the
moment, perhaps the longer it takes the better."

           
"You
can't be serious!
 
You
like
the idea of Michael wandering around Greece completely at the mercy of
strangers?"

           
His
expression turned grim.
 
"He’s
probably safer with strangers right now, than with those familiar to him, one
of whom is very likely a murderer.
 
That's one reason I think you should give up trying to find his
imaginary kidnapper."

           
I
tensed, suddenly realizing why he had been so insistent on driving me to
town.
 
"What's the other
reason?"

           
A
muscle along his jaw twitched, and he turned and flashed me an impatient
look.
 
"Do you really need to
ask?
 
One woman's dead, another's
in hospital with a bullet in her chest.
 
For heaven's sake, Christine, don’t you have any sense of

self-preservation?"

           
"Of
course I do.
 
I'm still alive,
aren't I?"

           
"Let's
be clear on this: your snooping days are over.
 
Michael's missing, but probably safe.
 
You're the one who seems in the most
danger at the moment.
 
Mavros has
promised me that there'll be some men assigned to keep an eye on you by this
afternoon, but in the meantime I plan to stick to you like glue and make sure
you don't get into any trouble."

           
"And
what about Paul?" I demanded.

           
"You
mean your suspicions of Paul.
 
For
now, the less said the better.
 
If
he
is
involved in all this, he's probably acting for someone else, and
you don't yet know who that someone else is."

           
"Let
me get this straight,” I said.
 
“I'm to do nothing and say nothing, and you’re going to hang around
until the Lieutenant's men arrive to make sure I behave?"

           
We
had entered Corfu and were turning toward the older part of town.
 
Geoffrey eyed me warily.
 
"That was my intention, but that
chin of yours bodes ill for my plans.
 
It’s set at that particularly stubborn angle that proclaims 'I'll do
whatever I think best, and no one is going to stop me'."

           
"I'm
still worried about Michael,” I insisted, “and I still think Paul had something
to do with his disappearance."

           
Geoffrey
made an exasperated sound.
 
"What if I agree to make discreet inquiries about Paul myself?
 
Will that satisfy you?"

           
I
lowered my chin to a more compliant angle.
 
"Yes."

           
"And
you'll take no more risks?
 
You
won't go trying to find out what happened to Helen or who pushed her over that
cliff?"

           
"I'm
sure Lieutenant Mavros can investigate that better than I can."

           
He
relaxed.
 
"I'm glad you're
finally showing some sense."

           
"I
suppose you want me to go straight back to my hotel and stay there?"

           
"For
today at least, yes."

           
"Well,
then,” I said, “if that's the plan, may we stop on the way so I can buy a few
books to read?
 
There’s a good
English bookstore I found the other day, up one of those streets behind the
Listón."

           
He
glanced at me suspiciously.
 
He
was, I thought, getting to know me a little too well.
 
He suspected I was up to something, but didn't know what.
 
Problem was, neither did I.
 
I was determined to give him the slip,
but I wasn't at all sure how to go about it.
 
All I had for the moment was the nebulous memory that this
particular bookstore had a back entrance.

           
We
parked in a small but bustling square to the east of the maze of narrow
shop-lined streets to which the Listón serves as a sort of gateway. After a
mere twenty minutes and two wrong turns I managed to find the book shop, and we
entered to find it unoccupied save for a kneeling dark-haired woman making room
on the shelves for the contents of a just-opened carton.

           
She
glanced up as we walked in, smiled, and then returned to her work.
 
I left Geoffrey to stare impatiently
out the front window and began browsing the shelves, slowly working my way
toward the back of the shop.
 
There
the room bent to the left into a small annex not visible from the front.
 
At the far end of this annex was the
door my hopes were pinned on.

           
When
I disappeared from Geoffrey's line-of-sight.
 
I half-expected him to come rushing back to see what I was
up to.
 
But though I stared
unseeing at shelf after shelf and counted slowly to one hundred, he never came.

           
This
was my chance.
 
I crossed to the
door and turned the knob.
 
It
opened easily and noiselessly, and I was about to step out when I realized that
the door did not, as I'd assumed, lead out to a back alley or another street,
but instead opened on a small walled courtyard that had no other exit.
 
Frustrated and disappointed, I returned
to the front of the shop.
 
Geoffrey
was asking the kneeling woman about finding a telephone.

           
"I'd
invite you to use ours, but I'm afraid it's on the fritz at the moment,"
she apologized in English spoken with a soft Australian twang.
 
"There's a public one across the
way," she pointed.
 
"Over
at the grocer's."

           
He
thanked her and started towards me.
 
Anxious to appear immersed, I grabbed up a book.
 
Coming up behind me, Geoffrey leaned
over my shoulder and read the title out loud, "Hmmm.
 
The History of Nudity in Greek Art.
"
 
He reached past me and began thumbing
through large full-color plates illustrating the book's theme in eye-catching
detail.
 
Feeling positively
adolescent I felt my cheeks burn pink.
 
"Why Miss Stewart, you never cease to amaze me," he chuckled
in my ear.
 
"I never dreamed
you had such interesting tastes in literature."

           
I
slammed the book shut and set it down on a nearby table, then turned to face
him.
 
"Was there something you
wanted?"

           
He
nodded, a trace of laughter still in his eyes.
 
"I need to place a telephone call.
 
I thought if you were still looking
about," the green eyes glittered suspiciously, "I might dash across
the way and do it now."
 
His
expression sobered.
 
"I'll
just be a moment.
 
You’ll stay put
until I come back?"

           
I
had trouble meeting his gaze.
 
"You're still holding my luggage hostage, remember?"

           
He
nodded and flashed me a smile that almost destroyed my resolve.
 
After all, he was only trying to do
what he thought best.
 
But he was
wrong about Michael -- I could feel it.
 
Whatever sixth sense I had about the boy was on alert and fairly
screaming that he was in danger.

           
I
waited until Geoffrey disappeared into the shop across the street, and then
went up to the dark-haired woman and said, "I have a favor to ask.
 
That man who just left for the phone --
I need to give him the slip, but if I leave now he may see me when I pass by
the grocer’s.
 
I know it's a lot to
ask, but could I hide in the small courtyard out back and have you tell him
I’ve gone?"

           
She
stared at me.
 
"Why on earth
should I?"

           
"It's
very important, I promise," I pleaded.
 
"I wouldn't ask otherwise.
 
I don't have time to explain, but I have to get away."

           
I
could see her reluctance to get involved.
 
She was about to say no when suddenly her eyes narrowed and she focused
on the healing cut on my cheek.
 
Her gaze drifted downward to take in the scrapes on my elbow and knee
and the bandage on my arm.
 
"Is
he
responsible for those?" she demanded.

           
I
didn't deny it.
 
Her lips clamped
tightly together and slowly she nodded.
 
"All right, I'll help you.
 
But the courtyard's no good; if he decides to look for you there,
there's nowhere to hide.
 
The
storeroom would be better.
 
The
door's hidden behind that tapestry there and there are plenty of boxes to hide
behind.
 
We've just gotten in our
summer shipment."

           
There
were indeed plenty of boxes in the dimly-lit room.
 
Cynthia, as I learned she was called, pointed to a cluster
that resembled the ruin of some

box-based temple, and I retreated
behind the unevenly stacked wall. She flashed me an encouraging thumbs-up and
closed the door behind her.
 
I
heard the heavy slap of wool against wood as the tapestry dropped back into
place.

           
Barely
a minute later I heard the tinkle of bells at the door heralding Geoffrey's
return.
 
The voices in the outer
room were muffled; all I could make out was that the man’s voice sounded angry
and disbelieving while the woman’s remained cool and adamant.
 
I held my breath as footsteps
approached, then passed by.
 
I
caught a brief snatch of the conversation.