Читать книгу The Meaning of Friday - Vanessa Gordon - Страница 18

9

There was a new smell in the room, the smell of heavy rain having fallen in the night. Helen had slept with her window ajar and shutters open, and when she first opened her eyes she saw a cloudy sky. The smell of wet grass was strong when she opened up the window, and her little balcony was damp. It looked like the rolls of thunder that she taken for a dream had been real.

She lay thinking for a while. This time last week she had arrived on a ferry for a quiet working holiday. Since then, someone Martin knew had been murdered and he seemed to be working with the police.

Moreover, she still hadn’t the faintest clue about her new novel. Her most recent one, the fifth in the series, had met with real success and the launch process had been exhausting. She was now financially secure for the moment. She felt, in fact, far more interested in the puzzle of Dr Moralis. What had he been doing on Naxos? And why had he been killed?

She threw on some clothes and sat with a blanket round her on the main balcony. Day appeared a short while later and poured them each a glass of water from the bottle in the fridge. He was not a morning person. He sat down at the balcony table and stared moodily across at the valley.

“Well, I think I’ll spend the morning on my computer looking into Michael’s work. I’ll trace his professional life over the last year or so, see if he published anything at all, what courses he taught, anything he was involved in that might give me an insight into why he came here. It’ll be like doing research for a programme. I used to have a special interest in Mycenae myself when I was at Cambridge, and Greek ceramics are close to my heart, as you know. I want to try to trace his steps from New York to the Hotel Philippos.”

“Martin, I have a question. Do you think there really is a Mycenaean sanctuary on Naxos which no-one knows about? You said the island was already well excavated. Could there be an unknown site here?”

“It’s unlikely, even extremely unlikely, but not impossible. It would be a major discovery to find one. Michael could have stumbled across some information which gave him the idea, I suppose, but he was an academic, and I just can’t imagine him on some pointless search on Naxos or anywhere else.”

“On the other hand, all the great archaeologists of the past who found major sites, like Howard Carter, Arthur Evans, Schliemann and so on, got just such an idea and it became an obsession,” mused Helen. “And sometimes they were right.”

“Indeed. Perhaps that was what happened to Michael. I need to find out more about him.”

“If there was such a place, wouldn’t it be for the Greek Archaeological Service to excavate it?”

“Yes, or one of the foreign schools of archaeology like the American, the British or the French Schools. There would still be immense prestige for whoever first discovered it, though. Well, we’ll see.”

“You don’t think someone killed Michael over the sanctuary, do you? There would have been big stakes involved.”

“What an appalling thought. Murder in the field of ancient history.”

“Mmm,” said Helen. “I suspect there’s ample precedent.”

Day nodded ruefully, but his thoughts had taken a different direction. “By the way, we should invite Aristos and Rania Iraklidis to dinner, the Curator and his wife. Would you be up for that? Tomorrow maybe?”

“Of course, good idea. What suddenly put that in your mind? It was quite a change of subject.”

“I spoke to Aristos yesterday. I thought he might have heard about a famous American scholar on the island looking for antiquities. When it comes to the ancient history of Naxos, not much gets past Aristos. He couldn’t help, though.”

***

Day worked for several hours, then abruptly closed his laptop and declared it was time for lunch. This came as a welcome surprise to Helen. “Have you found anything interesting?” she asked.

“Nothing much. I’ve had one or two replies from contacts in the US. People haven’t seen much of Michael recently because he’s been on sabbatical leave from the university.”

Day’s explanation, like his plans for lunch, were interrupted by the unexpected arrival of a visitor. Day was for once at a loss for words when Inspector Cristopoulos rapped on the front door, nudged it open, and inserted his waving hand closely followed by his voice.

“May I come in? Your door didn’t seem to be quite closed. Good morning, Professor, please forgive me for not having telephoned. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

“Of course, Inspector. Come in. Take a seat. This is my friend, Helen Aitchison. Would you like a coffee?”

The Inspector hesitated. He was fussy about his coffee but put great store on good manners, so he claimed to have recently had one. He accepted a chair at the dining table, placing a folder in front of him. He wriggled discreetly in the old chair to find a comfortable position.

“I’ll get straight to the point, if I may. On discovering the victim’s body we did, of course, make a careful search of the hotel room. We found Dr Moralis’s computer, which had apparently been wiped almost clean at some stage. It contained nothing about Naxos or any sanctuary site. Rather surprising, don’t you think? No social media, no browsing history, no saved documents.

“However, there were three names on his calendar for April. Just names, no explanation. Two of the names appear to be connected to your line of work, Martin.”

The inspector added some reading glasses to his face and opened his folder.

“The first name is Emil Gautier. He lives in Paris, and he’s an antiquities dealer. Have you heard of him, Professor?”

“Please, Inspector, call me Martin. The ‘Professor’ thing is just for the television, I’m afraid. A series I made for the History Channel some time ago…”

Cristopoulos smiled and made no comment. Day suspected that the policeman had known all along and been making some kind of joke at Day’s expense. Day cursed his agent for ever agreeing to the use of the title.

“Martin, then,” said Cristopoulos. “So, what do you know about this Emil Gautier?”

“Not a thing. Sorry.”

“Perhaps the next name may mean something to you. Jim Grogan. He seems to be an American who collects antique art.”

“Interesting. But again, not a name I’ve come across. Did Michael write anything about these men? Meeting places? Times?”

“No, as I said, just the names. What a pity you can’t tell me anything about them. Perhaps you could ask your contacts, Martin? I would appreciate it.”

Day sighed, nodded and sat back in his chair. The Inspector bent over his folder again as if to study the third name.

“The final name is Alexander Harding-Jones.”

Day stiffened. “Yes, I know him. He’s attached to the British Museum.”

“Indeed he is, Martin, and it would seem reasonable for Dr Moralis to have a note of his name, wouldn’t it, as they work in a similar field? Frankly I’m more interested in Gautier and Grogan, and what connects them, apart from both their names being in Moralis’s laptop. We’ve checked with the hotels, the airport and the ferry companies, but there’s no trace of these men arriving on the island. I just have a strong feeling they must be here, or why would Moralis have put their names on his April calendar? We’re actively looking for them.” The little policeman looked directly at Day. “Your job, Martin, is to find out what the connection is between them and our victim. Will you do that?”

“OK, if you think it will help. If the connection’s in my field, there’s a chance I might find something, and I want to find out who killed Michael as much as you.”

The Inspector closed his folder and took off his reading glasses, but remained leaning on the table as if appreciating its support.

“Thank you. Now, you told me, Martin, that Dr Moralis was unmarried. You will be surprised to learn that he has a wife.”

“He must have married within the last couple of years. We didn’t keep in touch after New York.”

“They lived at an address in Rockport, Massachusetts. We’re trying to get hold of her to inform her of his death.”

“Poor woman. She may be able to tell you why he came to Naxos.”

“I hope so. However, there is a difficulty. It’s possible that your colleague Michael was here with another woman.”

“Wow! That’s hard to believe. The impression I had of Michael was that he was married to the job. In fact, I thought he wasn’t interested in women. Now I have to add a wife and possibly a mistress.”

“Mmm. Well, the woman who may have been with Dr Moralis was booked into a different room of the same hotel. The name she gave was Katherine Russell.”

“Sorry, I’ve not heard of her either.”

“Well, there it is, Martin. There’s one more thing. Katherine Russell seems to have disappeared.”