who should have died, not him.”
“If that’s what you feel,” Mrs Pargeter interposed gently, “you could say that God’s adjusted the balance now. Your mother’s dead, too.”
This statement of fact seemed to shock Conchita out of her cynicism. “Yes,” she said, “yes,” and lapsed into silence.
“I was never lucky enough to meet your father…”
“No.”
“I don’t even know what he looked like…” This didn’t produce any reaction, so Mrs Pargeter added another prompt. “Do you have a photograph of him by any chance?”
“No. No, Daddy would never have his photograph taken.” So Truffler’s surmise had been correct. “Because of the scarring on his face.”
“Oh? I didn’t know about that.”
“His face was quite badly scarred. He’d lost a good few layers of skin. It made his features look all sort of smoothed out…”
“Do you know how it happened?”
“He never said, but I think it was when he was in Uruguay. Apparently he had political disagreements with the government out there, which was why he left. I think the scarring was probably the result of torture.”
“But he never actually said that?”
“No. He never talked about Uruguay at all. Whenever anyone asked him about his early life, he’d just change the subject, or say some things were better forgotten.”
“I see.” Mrs Pargeter took a sip of retsina. “Have you had any contact with the authorities out here… you know, about when they’re likely to release your mother’s body?”
“The initial contact came through the British Consulate… that’s how I first heard about… her death. They said certain formalities would have to be gone through… I suppose the local equivalent of an inquest… but they didn’t seem to think it would take more than a few days.”
“Presumably they were only passing on what the Greek authorities had told them?”
“Presumably. They seemed a bit… sort of embarrassed about it. But then my mother liked embarrassing people,” Conchita added vindictively.
“Death’s always embarrassing.”
“Yes. “SUICIDE IN HOLIDAY PARADISE” – not the kind of headline that the tour operators are really going to welcome, is it?”
“No.” Still Mrs Pargeter held back her knowledge of the true circumstances of Joyce Dover’s death.
“Anyway, it was suggested that I should get out here as soon as possible. There’ll be papers to sign and that kind of thing before the body can be flown back.”
“Of course. So, what… you wait till someone contacts you…?”
“Mm. Some local police representative, I think. There was a message to say he would meet me here this evening.” Conchita scrabbled in her handbag. “I’ve got the name somewhere here. It was…”
“Sergeant Karaskakis?” Mrs Pargeter supplied.
“Yes,” said Conchita. “That’s right.”
? Mrs Pargeter’s Package ?
Twenty-One
“Talk of the devil,” murmured Mrs Pargeter.
Sergeant Karaskakis looked more geometric than ever as he approached them. The horizontal line of his cap paralleled the right angles of his uniformed shoulders, and the triangle of its peak was an inverse reflection of his perfectly symmetrical moustache.
His mouth was set in a professional smile to greet Conchita. This paled a little when he saw Mrs Pargeter. The music blaring from the taverna’s speakers changed. Bouzouki gave way to Beatles.
He gave Mrs Pargeter a curt nod and turned to Conchita. “Miss Dover?”
“Yes.”
“I am Sergeant Karaskakis.”
“How do you do?”
“I am very sorry about the unfortunate circumstances which have brought you here, and I trust that your journey was not difficult.” This had the air of a sentence that he had practised.
“No. It was a scheduled flight. There were no delays.”
“Good.” The Sergeant seemed to have taken a decision to conduct the conversation as if Mrs Pargeter was not there. “Everything is proceeding as quickly as possible with the formalities, Miss Dover. I am optimistic that it will all be concluded in two or three days.”
“Fine.”
“And then you will be free to make your melancholy way back to England with the body.” He seemed rather pleased with this sentence, as if it was another one he had worked at and polished with the help of a dictionary.
“Thank you. So… what happens? Do I just wait to hear from you?”
“I will keep you informed, of course. You are staying, I believe, in Costa’s Apartments?”
“Yes, the tour company organised that for me.” Conchita suppressed a yawn and looked at her watch. The tensions of the last couple of days were catching up with her. “I think, actually, if there isn’t anything else, I’ll get on up there. I’m pretty knackered.”
“Knackered?” Clearly Sergeant Karaskakis’ precise textbook English didn’t encompass the niceties of slang.
“Tired.”
“Ah, yes.”
“So if you’ll excuse me… And Mrs Pargeter…”
“You have a good night’s sleep, Conchita love.”
“Thank you.” The girl waved across to Yianni and mimed writing a bill.
“I hope,” said Sergeant Karaskakis formally, bringing out what appeared to be yet another prepared line, “that you will be able to enjoy your stay in Agios Nikitas as much as the unhappy circumstances permit.”
“Thank you.” Conchita turned the full beam of her smile on Yianni. “Just for two ouzos, please.”
“Yes, of course, please,” he said, blushing a little and fumbling with his notepad.
“Got a taste for ouzo, have you?” asked Mrs Pargeter. “You been out in Greece before?”
“No, never,” Conchita replied. “But I’ve had it in Greek restaurants in London, and my father always liked it.”
“Oh,” said Mrs Pargeter.
Conchita paid Yianni and gave him a substantial tip. In full consciousness of her sexuality, she flashed him a farewell smile, then picked up her handbag and rose. “See you around then,” she said to Mrs Pargeter. “And you know where to find me when you need to, Sergeant.”
“Of course.”
He rose politely to see her off, but then sank down again and looked at Mrs Pargeter. An arrogant smile twitched beneath his moustache, as he spoke.
“You will gather there have been no problems about Mrs Dover’s death.”
“Yet,” said Mrs Pargeter defiantly.
“There will not be any,” he countered confidently. “When all the evidence points in one direction, only a perverse person would try to disprove what is obvious.”
“I can be very perverse.”
“You would be very foolish to be perverse in this case – though very soon it won’t matter, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“In two – perhaps three – days, the authorities out here will be satisfied to release the body. After that, it will not matter what ridiculous allegations about murder are made. The case will be over.”
