by Ellis, Tim
‘Yes, I have the key.’
Parish showed his warrant card – not that it meant anything in Cyprus – he was merely a tourist with an official-looking card. ‘Detective Inspector Parish from England, and this is Sergeant Madison who is with the Army police. We are here investigating the murder of Miss Makhairas.’
‘Inspector Kefalis has caught the English kotsiros . . . how you English say – piece of shit?’ He spat on the dusty floor and ground it in with his boot.
‘We’re simply checking that Inspector Kefalis has got the right man.’
‘No worry. He right man all right. No Cypriot man would have killed the lovely Caterina.’
‘We simply want to make sure.’ He held out his hand. ‘Can we have the key to the flat upstairs, please?’
‘You bring back?’
‘Of course.’
The old man went into the back of the shop through a coloured string door curtain and returned with the key. ‘They bring back firing squad for such a man,’ he said as he slapped the key into the palm of Parish’s hand.
‘Thank you.’
Outside, as they walked to the rear of the building again, Parish said to Maddie, ‘It looks like the locals have already decided who the murderer is.’
‘The story has been in all the papers. As the Air Commodore said, this is also about the British Army occupying the Sovereign Base Areas. Major Durrell is not only guilty of murdering a Cypriot woman, he’s also responsible for two hundred years of history and everything else that’s wrong with Cyprus at the moment.’
The external door opened onto a set of stairs that led up to the one-bedroom flat. Although the furniture and fittings had been left in the rooms, any personal items belonging to Caterina Makhairas had been removed.
‘This isn’t going to help us, is it?’ Maddie said.
‘Are you any good at drawing?’
‘You want the layout?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think I can manage to do that.’
‘Good. Let’s walk round first.’
They looked in the bedroom and the bathroom. Parish shut the door to the bathroom and turned on the shower, while Maddie went into the bedroom and shut the door. They both agreed in the hallway afterwards that a murder could have taken place in the bedroom without a person in the shower knowing anything about it.
‘Okay,’ Parish said, ‘now that we’ve established that it could have happened the way Major Durrell has described, I have one problem.’
‘Oh?’
‘Make your drawing first. It doesn’t have to be to scale.’
‘Are you sure? I could get my T-square, callipers and drawing table out, if you want?’
‘Go on then, you’ve persuaded me.’
While Maddie was making a sketch of the layout of the flat, he walked in and out of the room again. There was no other entrance or exit, no balcony and there was nothing beneath the windows which could have been used to gain access.
‘Done,’ Maddie said. ‘If the Tate Modern saw this they’d want to frame it and hang it in the main gallery entrance.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘So, what’s your problem?’
‘If someone else came in while the Major was in the shower, and Caterina was asleep in the bedroom, how did they get in? If you recall, he let himself in with his own key. I’m assuming he locked the external door once he was inside.’
They walked down the stairs and inspected the door. On the inside was a security chain, and there was no evidence that the door had been recently forced open.
‘If the Major’s version of events is true, then he must have left the door open. Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Surely he would have put the chain on at the very least. It makes no sense. We’ll have to go back tomorrow and question him again.’
‘This is a Cypriot village. It’s different here than in England. People do leave their doors unlocked.’
‘Yes, but he’s English. Locking doors is a national pastime for us.’
After locking the door, they identified only two houses that overlooked the entrance to the flat and from which people could have seen Major Durrell arriving and leaving.
They could hear the planes taking off and landing at Paphos airport and taste the salt from Mediterranean sea brought inland on the warm breeze from the west.
Maddie checked the addresses against the list Inspector Kefalis had given them, and they matched.
They walked across the dirt road to the first house, but didn’t need to knock on any doors. Apart from the fact that all the doors and windows were wide open, two wrinkled old women wearing black dresses and headscarves with knitted shawls over their shoulders were sitting in the shade of a flame tree drinking hot lemon tea, which rifled up his nose as he drew close.
Parish stood at the gate and smiled like a man selling snake oil. ‘Good morning, ladies.’
They stared at him as if they’d had first-hand experience of his useless snake oil, but said nothing.
‘We’d like to talk to you about Caterina Makhairas,’ he said.
One of the women took a sip of her lemon tea, but neither deigned to respond.
‘Would you mind if we came in and spoke to you?’ He shuffled forward, pulled a rickety wooden chair out from under the table and sat down.
Maddie followed him in.
‘You want lemon tea?’ the crone on the left asked.
He nodded. ‘Yes please, tea would be very welcome.’
She called something out in Greek, and then continued to stare at him with her hands resting in her lap.
A very pretty dark-haired young woman in a flowing blue and white dress brought their tea, fluttered her eyelids at him and then returned to the house.
‘You like Salena?’ the same old woman asked him.
The corner of his mouth creased upwards. ‘She’s very beautiful, but I’m married.’
‘Pah!’
The two hags spoke together in Greek, then the one on the left said, ‘What you want to know about Caterina?’
‘I am a police inspector from England.’ He indicated Maddie. ‘This is Sergeant Madison who is here with the Army in Cyprus.’
The old crone on the left seemed to be the spokesperson and introduced herself as Titania and the other woman as Ifi. Ifi lived in the second house on their list and the two women were sitting in exactly the same place ten days previously.
Parish got to the point of their visit. ‘We’d like to know what you saw on the day that Caterina was murdered.’
‘Why?’
‘We want to make sure Inspector Kefalis has arrested the right man.’
The two old crones hawked and spat onto the dirt, and then ground it in beneath their feet. ‘Kefalis is evil man.’
Parish glanced at Maddie. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Ifi and I tell him that we saw somebody else, but he not interested.’
‘Did you see the English Major arrive in the morning and leave near lunchtime?’
‘We always see him come and go. Caterina was happy.’
‘But you saw someone else that morning as well?’
‘Yes. We saw them go in, but not come out. Salena have disaster inside the house. We go inside for some time.’
‘Was the person you saw a man or a woman?’
They chattered in Greek.
‘Maybe man, but maybe woman.’
‘English or Cypriot?’
More chattering.
‘We think English, but could be Cypriot. Not see face . . .’ She indicated a hood being pulled up low over the face.
‘What about the hands?’
‘Gloves, dark clothes, black shoes.’
‘From the shape of them, do you think you’ve seen this person before?’
They looked at each other and shook their heads.
‘Did Caterina have other visitors besides the English Major?’
‘No. Caterina a good girl
.’
‘What about before the Major?’
‘Another man.’
‘English or . . . ?’
‘Egor Laskaris – he cause nothing but trouble for Caterina.’
‘Do you think that the person you saw was Egor?’
They conversed again and then shook their heads.
‘Did you notice how the person you saw got into Caterina’s flat?’
‘With key.’
Maddie said, ‘A third key.’
‘So it would seem.’
Parish swilled back the last of his lemon tea and stood up. ‘Thank you very much for your kindness, ladies,’ he said. ‘The lemon tea was lovely, and the information you provided will be invaluable.’
‘You sure you no marry Salena? She give you lots of sons.’
He smiled. ‘I’m tempted. You have such a beautiful daughter, but I have a wife and son.’
As they walked back along the dirt road Maddie said, ‘Were you tempted?’
‘Men are always tempted. Some give in to that temptation, others don’t – I fall into the latter category.’
‘You’ve never strayed?’
‘Never.’
They returned the key to the shopkeeper.
‘Thank you for your help,’ Parish said. ‘One final question. Do you know how many keys Caterina had to her flat?’
He held up the key Parish had just given him. ‘This key belonged to Caterina, and another one that the kotsiros had.’ He spat on the floor again and stamped on it.
‘Could Caterina have had a third key cut?’
He shrugged. ‘What for?’
‘Where would she have taken the key to have a third one cut?’
‘Odie Solomos – he rides his bicycle here on Tuesdays and Thursdays. If she had third key cut he would know.’
‘Thank you.’
Outside, Parish said, ‘Okay, we’ll go and see Dixie Lang in Paphos, and then go back to the hotel to see where we are with all of this.’
Chapter Fourteen
They reached the station at ten to six. The Chief wasn’t in his office and Carrie – his secretary – had gone home for the day. Stick knew he had to speak to the Chief, so he called his mobile number.
‘This better be good, Gilbert,’ the Chief said. ‘I have my own problems.’
‘Do you want to talk about your problems first, Sir?’
‘What is it, Gilbert?’
‘The people at Shrub End know that DC Koll is lying low at Hoddesdon.’ He told the Chief what had happened earlier at Wivenhoe.
‘Mmmm. What are you going to do about it, Gilbert?’
‘Me, Sir? I rang you to ask you what you were going to do about it.’
‘You’re on the ground, man. Do you think anything is going to happen tonight?’
‘I don’t know. I have a feeling.’
‘A feeling! Women have feelings. Men have gut instincts and hard evidence. What’s your gut telling you?’
‘That I’m hungry.’
‘About Koll?’
‘I think they’re going to come for her tonight.’
‘If that’s the case, what are you going to do about it?’
‘I could take her to my house?’
‘If she’s not safe at the hotel, she’s hardly going to be safe at your house, is she? Where are you now?’
‘At the station, Sir.’
‘Do you think she’ll be safe at the station?’
‘Possibly, but we’re dealing with cops. They can walk right in here. I met a DCI and a Sergeant this afternoon, and I can’t say I liked either of them very much.’
‘You could contact someone from professional standards and pass the problem to them.’
‘I think someone there is dirty, Sir.’
‘That’s a serious allegation, Gilbert.’
‘I know.‘
‘So?’
‘I’ll work something out. Have I your permission to sign out a handgun from the armoury?’
‘Do you think you need one?’
‘I’d rather have one than wish I had one.’
‘I don’t need to tell you the consequences . . . ?’
‘No, you don’t, Sir.’
‘All right, Gilbert. I have every confidence in you. Keep me informed.’
‘Will do, Sir.’
The call ended.
The Chief was right. Where could he put Koll that she’d be safe and that coppers couldn’t gain access to? They’d found her here at Hoddesdon – how? One thing was for sure, he couldn’t let her go back to the hotel on her own. He didn’t really want to take her back to his house and put Jennifer in danger. Sleeping on the floor at the station wasn’t the ideal solution either – there were no proper washing facilities, he didn’t have any change of clothes, and the cleaners came in and worked through the night.
‘Did you speak to the Chief?’ Koll asked him when he reached the incident room.
‘On the phone.’
‘And?’
‘He can’t do anything tonight. He’s left it up to me?’
‘I’ll be all right. It’ll probably take them a couple of days to organise something, by which time . . .’
‘It might already have been a couple of days for all we know. I’ll stay with you tonight.’ He didn’t know where that had come from. It had just popped fully formed into his head, but when he thought about the idea, he realised it was the only thing he could do. Koll was his partner and he had to keep her safe – watch her back just like he would with any partner. If it was Xena . . . Well, he’d do whatever it took to protect her, and Koll was no different.
‘I’m flattered, but you’re not really my type.’
‘I’ll sleep on a chair or on the floor.’
‘You think I have a chair . . . or a floor in the hotel they’ve put me in?’
‘I’ll bring my own weapon.’
‘This conversation is getting weird.’
He grinned. ‘No, I mean I’m signing out a handgun.’
‘Oh, all right. That’ll make me feel safer . . . thanks, Sarge.’
‘You’re my partner. That’s what partners do for each other. I’ll go and sign out the gun now before it gets too late, then we’ll bring the incident boards up to date. I could do with a coffee.’
She screwed up her face. ‘I knew there was going to be a catch for your protection.’
His mouth twitched. ‘You always have to pay the ferryman, Koll.’
He walked down to the armoury in the lower basement. After Sergeant Jeff Hughes had checked he was on the list of officers authorised to carry weapons, he signed out a shoulder holster and a Walther P99 semi-automatic pistol with a full magazine of fifteen 9mm rounds. He hoped he wouldn’t have to fire the weapon, but if he did – he would. He’d killed men before.
He stopped off at his desk and phoned Jennifer.
‘Hello, Monsieur.’
‘Hi, Jen. I have to work tonight.’ He told her what he was doing – they didn’t keep secrets from each other.
‘One of these days you’re going to get into serious trouble being so nice.’
‘I got myself into serious trouble when I met you, Jennifer D’Arcy.’
‘You say the most wonderful things, Monsieur. Please be careful.’
‘I will.’
A coffee was waiting for him.
While Koll started filling up the incident boards with what they already knew about each case, he caught up with the stack of files, reports and messages that had been on his desk. The report on the contents of Samantha Morrow’s laptop had been superseded by events – he put the report to one side. As had the list of what she had been working on – none of it was relevant anymore.
Next, he began examining Richard Buswell’s research on the Remington 700 rifle – it wasn’t actually called a “sniper rifle”, it had been developed as a “target rifle”. To Stick it didn’t matter what it was called – a human being was just as much a target as a piece of plywood if the rifle w
as in the wrong hands.
There were 148,000 Firearms Certificates (FACs) covering 379,000 guns in England and Wales – Scotland had its own database. As expected, there were hundreds of people in the UK who owned a Remington “target rifle”. Anyone could own a rifle for competitions as long as they were over eighteen years of age, were a member of a target shooting club or had permission to shoot over land, passed a background check and had a secure means of storing the weapon.
Thankfully, Buswell had done a thorough job on the research and saved Stick a lot of time and effort in the process. There were thirty-four shooting clubs in Hertfordshire and Essex. Each club had approximately fifty members, which meant 1,700 potential shooters, and that wasn’t counting the people authorised to shoot over land – another 2,600 farmers, gamekeepers and so on. However, when these were cross-referenced with people who owned a Remington 700 rifle, the figure came down to 1,355. After further cross-referencing with people who entered competitions the figure came down to 856 – still too many.
‘Let’s focus on the board relating to the shootings first,’ he said.
Koll had drawn a line down the centre of the whiteboard. On the left side at the top she’d written: “SNIPER”. On the other side: “VICTIMS” and underneath (Random). She had already added the two victims – Samantha Morrow and John Henn – together with their personal details, jobs, addresses, the date, time and location on the A406 that they were murdered. On the left-hand side she wrote: Remington 700 rifle, A406, man, Vauxhall Astra – blue, ?two years old, black hat and clothes, sniper, competitions and why?
‘Let’s forget about the victims for the moment and focus on the sniper,’ Stick said. ‘I’ve been through the research that Richard Buswell carried out on the Remington 700 rifle, shooting clubs, competition entries and so on, and although it’s very useful, it still leaves us with a figure of 856 potential shooters, so not much help in the short-term.’
‘We could cross-reference the names with people who own a blue Vauxhall Astra.’
‘What if the car was borrowed or stolen?’
‘Mmmm.’
