The Divided Child (60 page)

           
"Sure
thing.
 
I'll tell him as soon as he
calls.
 
Does he know where to reach
you?"

           
"He
can call me at my hotel," I said.

           
"You
want me to give him a message?"

           
I
stared down at the phone grimly.
 
"Sure.
 
Tell him I know
who's after Michael and why."
 
I bit my lip and added,
 
"Oh, and congratulate him on his engagement."

           
George
whistled.
 
"So that’s the way
the wind blows, eh?
 
Well, I can't
say I'm all that surprised."
 
He chuckled.
 
"I mean,
it's pretty obvious he has it bad.
 
Fact is, I haven't seen him mooning around like this since --"

           
I
interrupted.
 
"Sorry, George,
but I've really got to go."

           
"Sure,
don't worry.
 
I'll give him your
message."

           
"Thank
you."

           
"Anytime."

           
I
slammed down the receiver and stared at the grey phone, which had grown oddly
blurry.
 
I swiped at my eyes, angry
that once again I’d played the fool.
 
So much for Geoffrey’s assurances.
 
Even George had realized Geoffrey was still in love with Elizabeth.
 
It's pretty obvious he has it bad.

           
I
swiped at my eyes again, then put another coin in the telephone.
 
Feeling sorry for myself would have to
wait.
 
It was time to lay my cards
on the table for Lieutenant Mavros.

           
"Miss
Stewart."

           
The
voice startled me.
 
I dropped the
receiver back into the cradle and spun round to find Demetra Redfield staring
at me with angry, belligerent eyes.
 
"What are you doing here?" I asked, more from curiosity than
fear.
 
After all, she wasn't the
killer; Robert was.

           
"I
followed you from your hotel."

           
Despite
the ominous answer, I was too thickheaded to realize the danger.
 
"But why?" I asked naively.

           
"My
brother has been arrested for a murder he didn’t commit."

           
"I
know."

           
"And
you will not tell the police where Geoffrey hides the boy."

           
"I
can't,” I told her.
 
“I don’t
know."

           
Her
small mouth tightened.
 
"I
think you do, but if you will not reveal the boy's whereabouts voluntarily,
then I must force you."
 
She
pushed back a sweater draped over her right hand to reveal a small shiny
revolver pointed directly at me.
 
"Now, if you please, you will come with me."
 
She shifted the sweater further back
and pressed the gun against my side.
 
"Do not cry out.
 
I am
experienced with guns and know very well how to use one.
 
I will not hesitate to shoot
you."
 
She jabbed me once in
the ribs for emphasis.
 
"Now,
we go -- this way!

           
I
could see the back of Yiannis’s head as he sat waiting for me at the far end of
the lobby, but he might have been on the other side of Kanoni for all the good
it did me.
 
Demetra herded me in
the opposite direction, and we turned down an almost deserted corridor and then
ducked out a door marked "Fire Exit Only.”
 
Despite the sign, no alarm bell sounded, and as we emerged
outside in back of the hotel, I had little hope anyone had noticed us.

           
"This
isn't the way to help your brother," I said, as she pushed me toward a
small service parking lot where several cars were parked, including the
Fiat.
 
"How is kidnapping me
going to help Spiro?"

           
Once
again I received a jab in the ribs.
 
"Keep going!"

           
"No."

           
"Do
you wish me to shoot you?"

           
"I'm
no use to you dead!
 
Look, you say
you want to help your brother; well, I want to help him, too, and unlike
Michael I actually can.
 
I know who
the real murderer is, and --"

           
“Quiet!”
she commanded tensely.
 
“You know
nothing!
 
You are a lovesick fool!”

           
Suddenly
her gaze shifted from me to something behind me, but before I could turn to
look, I was seized from behind and a cloth that smelled sickly-sweet was
pressed against my nose and mouth.
 

           
A
few moments later everything went black.

Chapter Thirty-One

           
I
woke in a darkened room feeling disoriented and sick.

           
The
room seemed vaguely familiar.
 
After a few minutes I realized why.
 
It was Spiro's bedroom at
Ithaki
, and I was lying on
his bed with my arms twisted up behind my back and my hands tied tightly
together at the wrists.
 
I kicked
my legs weakly and discovered they, too, were tied together and useless for
escape.
 
Only my mouth was free,
and for a moment I considered calling out for help, but before I could gather
the strength, a wave of nausea overtook me and left me retching miserably into
the covers.

           
The
door opened and I heard the click-clack of high heels crossing the floor
towards me.
 
Eyes closed in misery,
I finished what I was about and collapsed feebly back onto the unsoiled portion
of the bed, barely noticing that the footsteps had stopped and that someone was
swearing softly under her breath.

           
She
retreated to the bathroom, and I heard her turn the tap on full force, then
turn it abruptly off.
 
Her heels
click-clacked back across the room, and then I felt a cold, wet towel being
wiped across my face, my mouth, my lips.
 
It felt wonderful.
 
I opened
my eyes.
 
Demetra was bent over me,
looking down at me with a mixture of distaste and concern.
 
"Is that better?" she asked.

           
I
nodded.

           
Her
mouth tightened.
 
"Do you feel
you will be sick again?"

           
"No,"
I said weakly, "I don't think so."

           
"Then
I will help you to that chair so I may clean the bed."

           
It
was easier said than done.
 
Trundled like a chicken and weak from my bout of nausea, it required
considerable hopping and wriggling on my part, and heaving and lifting on
Demetra's, to get me settled into the blue armchair at the far end of the
room.
 
While Demetra went grimly
about the task of stripping the bed, I struggled to get enough breath back to
speak.

           
"I'll
make you a deal," I finally said in a voice too drained to carry
authority, "if you let me go now, I won't press charges."

           
Demetra
looked up from tying the soiled sheets into a bundle.
 
"You are in no position to bargain.
 
Where is the boy?"

           
"I
don't know."

           
"You're
lying.
 
I overheard you leave a
message for Geoffrey with a man named George."

           
I
swallowed hard.
 
Why hadn't I been
more careful?
 
"You're right,”
I admitted, “but that just proves what I've been saying.
 
I had to leave a message, because I
have no idea where they are."
 
Demetra didn't seem to be listening.
 
"Look, Michael's not the answer to your problem, I am,”
I insisted.
 
“I know who really
killed your husband and why.
 
I
know the reason for Helen's murder, and for the attack on Mrs. Baxter, and why
someone's been trying so hard to kill Michael.
 
It's all about money, you see.
 
Your husband's money and who inherits it if Michael
dies."

           
She
finally turned to look at me.
 
"So, you admit it then?
 
You admit it was Geoffrey who killed my husband?"

           
"No,
not Geoffrey!
 
He doesn't inherit
if Michael dies, Elizabeth does.
 
As Michael's mother, she's his closest blood relative and therefore his
heir."

           
"You
expect me to believe that that
tsoula
murdered William?"

           
"Not
her, her husband."

           
"Husband?
 
She has no husband.
 
She is a widow like me."
 
There was a note of satisfaction in her
voice as she said it.

           
"She
recently remarried."

           
Demetra's
eyes narrowed.
 
"Who?"

           
I
was about to answer, when the door opened and someone walked into the
room.
 
I turned my head to see who
it was.
 

           
"Well,
Christine, I see you've finally returned to the land of the living,"
remarked Robert Humphreys in a voice that set the hairs on the back of my neck
on end.

*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
"Demetra,
why didn't you inform me our guest was awake?"

           
She
regarded him with a frown and snapped, "She was sick all over the
bed.
 
I had to clean up the mess
myself, since you made me send Maria and Aphrodite away.
 
Anyway, I begin to think we have made a
mistake.
  
She claims the boy
knows nothing.
 
She says Geoffrey
did not kill my husband, but that she knows who did and can prove my brother's
innocence herself."

           
His
gaze flicked sharply in my direction.
 
"Does she?
 
I can't say
that I'm surprised.
 
Poor girl.
 
She's so besotted with Geoffrey she'll
do anything to prevent his being brought to justice.
 
But it's not just a matter of your brother's innocence, I'm
afraid, but the boy's safety.
 
Michael is the only one who can put the noose around Geoffrey's neck,
and sooner or later he's going to succumb to the temptation to silence him
forever."

           
"That’s
a lie!” I cried.
 
“Geoffrey would
never hurt Michael!"

           
He
ignored me.
 
"Demetra, we've
gone over all this before.
 
We have
to get the boy back from Geoffrey, and trading the girl for him is the only
chance we have."

           
"But
what if she goes to the police?
 
How will that help Spiro?"

           
"Go
to the police?
 
She's an accomplice
to kidnapping.
 
How can she go the
police?
 
No, this is the only way
to insure Michael's safety and see that justice is done.
 
We must go forward with our plan.
 
Unless, of course, you no longer care
if your brother pays for Geoffrey's crime?"

           
She
flushed angrily.
 
"Of course I
care!
 
I will do anything to see my
brother goes free!"

           
"Good,
then that's settled.
 
Look, why
don't you let me see to the girl and make her a bit more comfortable while you
dispose of that lot.
 
She and I can
chat a bit, and perhaps I can persuade her to be a bit more cooperative."

           
She
flashed him a anxious look.
 
"You will not hurt her?"

           
The
hazel eyes blinked in well-acted surprise.
 
“Goodness, no.
 
I’m merely going to use some lawyerly persuasion.
 
After all, she may be infatuated with
Geoffrey, but she does care for the boy as well.
 
I think I can make her see reason."

           
Demetra
nodded reluctantly and, gathering up the bundle of sheets, left the room.
 
When Robert turned from watching her
go, his mask of affability was gone.
 
His expression as he crossed to stand over me was coldly furious.