Nikitas.
It made more sense that her employment as a tourist rep started while she was out on Corfu. Though just possible that she had taken the job in order to go and join Georgio, it was more likely that she had been recruited out there once she had mastered the language. There was little evidence that Georgio did much in the way of work, so no doubt whatever she earned was welcome.
Mrs Pargeter wished she knew more about Georgio. Though he seemed to spend much of his time drinking ouzo there, he was a rather shadowy figure round the taverna. She had not paid as much attention to him as to Spiro, Sergeant Karaskakis and Yianni. But now he had definitely moved a few notches up her list of suspects.
And if Ginnie – whether willingly or unwillingly – was his accomplice, some other details fell into place. Mrs Pargeter recalled how the tour rep had insisted that first evening on taking them from Spiro’s to the Villa Eleni by the curving route up the hillside, claiming it was less steep. And yet the next morning Mrs Pargeter had found the direct route no steeper than the other.
Wasn’t it possible that Ginnie had taken them the long way to give someone time to set up the drugged drinks in the villa…?
Theodosia. They had met Theodosia coming from the Villa Eleni. Was it she who had doctored the ouzo and the mineral water? If so, had she done it off her own bat or on someone else’s orders?
Thinking of the mineral water raised another suspicion of Ginnie. Now Mrs Pargeter recalled the events of the evening, she remembered the English girl casting doubt on the purity of the villa’s tap-water. And yet the
Mrs Pargeter tried to envisage Ginnie in the role of murderer, but somehow the costume didn’t fit. Maybe, given more information, it would.
And yet the girl was clearly involved. Through Georgio? That would make sense. If he dominated her to the extent that she allowed him to beat her up, she would presumably do whatever he told her. And if he told her to help him commit murder, presumably she’d go along with that too.
And yet what was Georgio’s motive? What motive could any of them have against Joyce Dover, widow of a Uruguayan former gun-runner?
Mrs Pargeter knew she had not yet got enough information to answer those questions. But at the same time she felt totally confident that she would get it. Self-doubt had never been one of her failings.
The one dominant impression that returned to her whenever she thought about the case was that she was up against a conspiracy. She had a sense that her quarry was not so much an individual as the entire community of Agios Nikitas. They were all related. They all, beneath their surface welcome and bonhomie towards the income- bearing tourists, retained a fierce, private individuality.
So if, say, Georgio was proved to be the murderer, there was no doubt that others had helped him set up his murder. Ginnie had delayed his victim’s arrival at the Villa Eleni, Theodosia had planted the soporifics, and Sergeant Karaskakis had guaranteed the partiality of any investigation that might take place. There had probably been other accomplices too, like whoever had watered the villa’s flowers and so efficiently swept away the murderer’s traces.
Little bubbles of new thought kept rising in Mrs Pargeter’s mind. Some of them interconnected to form bigger bubbles before bursting from insufficient information. But fresh thoughts rose to replace them.
Yes, thought Mrs Pargeter, I’m getting there.
? Mrs Pargeter’s Package ?
Thirty-One
Mrs Joan Frimley Wainwright, dressed in her beige dress, large cotton hat and sunglasses, had no trouble with Passport Control or Customs at Corfu Airport, and was met at the barrier by Larry Lambeth.
In spite of the darkness, the air was still fragrantly warm when they came out of the terminal. Because of the time difference, it was mid-evening in Corfu.
“Do you want to go straight back to Agios Nikitas?” asked Larry once they were safely in his car. “Or stop over in Corfu Town like you said you would?”
Mrs Pargeter had forgotten that her London mission had been achieved in less time than had been allotted for the fictitious Paleokastritsa trip.
“I think I’d better go back there tonight. I want to try and get this thing sorted out before the suicide verdict’s made official.”
“OK. What, straight to Agios Nikitas then – or have a bite to eat first? I know a great restaurant here in the town.”
“Well…” Mrs Pargeter replied cautiously. “I did have a snack on the plane, but… Oh yes, let’s go and eat. Then I can bring you up to date on what I found out in London.”
“And I can bring you up to date on what I’ve found out out here,” said Larry Lambeth.
¦
The restaurant was not on the tourist beat, set unobtrusively in a backstreet of the Old Town, away from the waterfront and the Liston. The functional lighting, plain white tablecloths and lack of menus in any language but Greek bore witness to its gastronomic seriousness.
Mrs Pargeter and Larry had been to the kitchen and selected their main courses. Both were having
Now, as they nibbled on
“Fact is,” he sighed when she’d finished, “as one bit gets clearer, another bit gets muddier.”
“Yes. What do you know about Georgio, though?”
“Well – surprise, surprise – he’s a cousin of Spiro, and of Stephano.”
“Who’s Stephano? I haven’t heard of him.”
“Oh, sorry. Stephano – Stephano Karaskakis. The Tourist Police Sergeant.”
“Right. I was never told his Christian name.”
“Anyway, Georgio is a bit of a no-hoper. Sits around drinking ouzo all day devising money-making schemes which either never get started or never make any money if they do get started. I think he’s probably a bit jealous of Spiro having the taverna.”
“Spiro does well out of that?”
Larry Lambeth made a ‘so-so’ gesture. “By Corfiot standards, anyway. Not that he makes any money out of Georgio. Or Stephano, come to that. They both eat and drink there all the time, but neither one has ever been seen to pay a single drachma for anything.”
“That’s interesting. And Ginnie does live with Georgio, doesn’t she?”
“Oh yes. Doesn’t advertise the fact, mind you. Better the English punters think of her as single, unconnected with the locals.”
“They’re not married?”
“No, no. Might be a bit of local opposition if he actually made it legal with a foreigner. No problems having one as a chattel, though.”
“And does he beat her up?”
“I’m sure he does. That type has to take his failure out on someone.”
“Hm. Did you know that Georgio had been to England?”
“Yes, I did, actually. Couple of years back. That was yet another of his money-making ideas.”
“Oh?”
“Fact is, Georgio was going to go over to England to buy one of those JCBs – you know, big earth-moving truck things. He was going to buy it, ship it back here and clean up by renting it out. Not such a daft idea, actually. There’s always any amount of construction work going on, and lots of other stuff like shifting sand where they’re
