'What makes you think that?'
'Sixth sense.' Marler spoke to Spyros again. 'This Sarantis. Does he live alone? Any wife, servants?'
'No. By himself. A woman comes in each day…'
'Will she be here now?'
Marler was firing the questions. Frequently he glanced at the closed shutters. He frowned as he glanced up at the flat roof. 'Any way to get up there?' he demanded before Spyros answered his first question. Nick, who had switched off the engine, had caught the atmosphere, stood near the front of the car, his right hand under his loose jacket, close to the revolver.
'The woman comes only in the mornings,' Spyros replied. 'And round that corner there is a flight of steps leading to the roof…'
'I'll take the roof,' Marler snapped. 'Bob, you take the rear door. Nick, wait by the front door here…'
'You wait in the car with Spyros,' Newman warned Christina and ran after Marler.
'The front door is ajar,' Newman warned Nick. 'Synchronize our watches. OK? Eighty seconds from now we both go in. Caution is the word…'
Newman ran round the side of the house. Marler was taking the steps to the roof two at a time. The terrace widened overlooking the deserted street. Siesta time. Probably all day. The heat burned his back. The grey shutters were closed over the windows at the back. Newman arrived at a door painted a bright blue.
This door was half-open. Somewhere out of sight further down the street a car started up, sped away. Could mean nothing. He checked his watch. Thirty seconds to go. He stood to one side of the doorway, listening. The sound of the car departing had vanished. A heavy heat-laden silence descended on the terrace. No sound of movement inside the single-storey house. He had the feeling the place was empty. So why were both doors open?
Ten seconds. He took a firm grasp on his rifle, held it at waist level. Raising his right foot he kicked the door wide open, darted inside, pressed his body against a wall.
A drop of at least twenty degrees. Positively cool compared with outside. He was inside a large L-shaped living room. A lot of soft furnishing: armchairs, couches. An arched fireplace took up most of the opposite wall. His eyes swivelled, getting accustomed to the dim light. A desk pushed up against the right-hand wall. Its surface littered with papers. He could hear Nick prowling round out of sight. His eyes were fixed on the desk area.
A chair was overturned. The body of an old man lay sprawled on the tiled floor. He lay very still on his back, his eyes staring at the roughcast ceiling. His right hand stretched out, clawed except for the index finger pointing towards Newman as though in a gesture of protest. Nick appeared, gun in hand, followed by Marler who moved with the silence of a cat.
'Anyone in the place?' Newman asked. Both shook their heads. 'Get Spyros. Warn him. I think we're too late…'
'Dead as a dodo,' Marler pronounced in a neutral tone.
He was crouched over the body, had checked the neck pulse. He remained crouched on his haunches, his forehead wrinkled as he looked round. Newman was standing gazing down at the old man. He pointed to a scrape mark on the tiles close to the desk.
'Difficult to say what happened,' he commented. 'That looks like the scrape of his shoe. He could have stood up, slipped, cracked the back of his skull. No, I don't think so. Look at his wrist. It's been broken…'
'Which could have happened when he slipped. This floor is very highly polished. Makes for accidents.'
'And he broke his arm as well?' queried Newman.
He could now see the arm was turned at an unnatural angle – it was fractured close to the elbow. He looked up as Spyros entered, followed by Nick and Christina. Spyros walked slowly to the body and his voice quavered.
'Is he…'
'I'm afraid so,' Newman told him. 'He is dead. Who is it?'
'My old friend, Sarantis… my oldest friend…'
Tears ran down his weathered cheeks. Christina wrapped an arm round his shoulders, hugged him. Taking out a handkerchief she wiped his face, whispering to him in Greek. She led him to one of the couches where he sagged, then looked up at her.
'You are very kind – all of you,' he said in English. 'I will be all right now.'
'I'll take up guard on the roof,' Marler said crisply. 'Keep a lookout. I don't think we should linger here very long.'
Then he was gone. Christina disappeared briefly, returned with a glass of water. Spyros accepted it gratefully, gulped down the contents. Christina, her expression grim, walked over and stared at the body. Her voice was harsh.
'Another killing?' she demanded. 'They tried to make him talk?'
'Who?' Newman enquired, propping his rifle more securely inside an armchair.
'Dimitrios and Constantine, of course.'
'Why 'of course'?'
'Because of this.' Stooping, she pulled out a handkerchief from under the body. It was brightly coloured with a diamond-shaped design. On a cream area it was discoloured with something dark reddish which looked like dried blood to Newman. 'Dimitrios has a handkerchief like this,' she said coldly. 'The rotten swine.'
'Is that the only handkerchief of that kind in Greece?' Newman asked.
'Well, no. You can buy them in the shops in Athens…'
Then you can't be sure. Give it to me. Nothing must be disturbed.'
Newman tucked the handkerchief back under the body in the same position she had dragged it from. He checked his watch. Spyros sat very still, staring at Sarantis as though wishing to imprint on his mind this last memory of his friend. A great mistake, Newman thought: and made by so many people.
They were here,' Christina insisted. 'How did he die?'
'Painfully,' Nick whispered so Spyros shouldn't hear. 'His wrist was broken, then his arm. The shock could have killed him…'
'You see!' Christina protested to Newman. 'Sarantis worked up on that platform where we were. They wanted to extract information from him, the brutes…'
'We don't know who 'they' were,' Newman insisted. 'We don't even know there were two of them…'
'Yes we do,' she hissed. Nick nodded as she went on. 'Go in the kitchen. There are the remains of a quick meal – two plates on the table, two dirty knives, two pieces of half-eaten cheese and two hunks of bread. Two wine glasses…'
Marler appeared, rifle held in both hands. 'I really think we should get away from this place.'
'My own thought,' Newman agreed. He looked at Spyros. 'When I first arrived at the back door I heard a car disappearing towards the port. What time is the next ferry?'
Spyros checked his watch. 'An extra one left about one half hour ago. Today there are a lot of trucks bringing supplies to Siros. You can catch the last ferry for Athens if you leave now. About one half hour for you to drive to the ferry. Then about one quarter of an hour before it leaves.'
Time for a quick snack at a taverna on the waterfront,' Marler said firmly. 'I'm famished.'
'We inform the police?' asked Christina.
'Not from Siros,' Newman replied. 'We get caught up in this and it could take days, even weeks. We might even be suspected. I don't want to move Sarantis – but we haven't seen the condition of the back of his skull. He could have been hit over the head.' He looked at Spyros. 'Do you think you could keep quiet until the police arrive on their own? Even then, you'd be better to stay out of the whole tragedy. For your own sake.'
'I prefer to mourn in silence…'
'Then we'll drop you off at your house. I don't think you'll be bothered. Only that priest knows we were on Siros. I doubt if the police will go all the way up to Mount Ida. Let's move…'
'And the police?' Christina persisted.
'I'll make an anonymous call to headquarters from Athens,' Newman replied vaguely. 'We have things to talk about – you and I – when we get back to the city.'
