The Hidden Island: an edge of your seat crime thriller Page 13

“That’s why I’m here, sir.”

  “Polite as ever, these British bobbies. Makes me miss home.”

  Bee looked at Beckett. His face was unreadable. When he walked away, she noticed his limp was nearly gone.

  “If you need anything, or you feel at all threatened, please call us.”

  Bee realised the Detective Inspector was talking to her. She nodded. By the time she thought of saying thank you, he was getting into Inspector Kyriakoulis’ car.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “What do you want to do with Warren?” Harper asked, as he climbed into the car.

  Beckett pulled away from the scene slowly. “Give him time to calm down. We’ll interview him this afternoon.”

  Harper nodded. Beckett was watching his rear-view mirror. Harper glanced back. Mitchell Troy was still talking to Beatrice. He had an arm around her shoulder.

  “What’s the deal with you and Troy, then?” Harper asked.

  “Deal?” Beckett angled the car around a corner, and was back to concentrating on the road ahead.

  “I thought you were going to let him get smacked.”

  They’d been at the apartment where Patrick Gruenanger was staying. He was in a bad way, the friend putting him up had said, so much so the doctor had prescribed sedatives for shock. No way had he left the apartment that morning, the friend confirmed. He could barely raise his head, and conversation was a jumble of words and silence. He’d identified the bracelet with a nod of his head, before curling up, arms wrapped around his knees.

  Harper had seen guilty men play the grieving boyfriend before. Some even managed to convince themselves they truly were the devastated innocent party. Tears and tablets didn’t impress him. He had been running through the evidence in his head, as they had driven away from the apartment, and around the corner to where Beckett had to brake to avoid Warren throwing Troy to the ground. Beckett had jumped out, as Troy clambered to his feet, and Warren had turned, with his fist raised.

  Warren was a hulk of man. Rugby player, Harper had guessed. Twice Harper’s size both in height and width. Not a man Harper would think about tackling alone. He’d looked across at Beckett, expecting him to wade in, being of similar size and, obviously, army trained, but he had hesitated. Beckett seemed to have sensed Harper’s stare. Their eyes had met. The gaze had unnerved Harper, but in the next moment, Beckett had sprung forward. He’d grabbed Warren’s fist, twisting his arm around and back, hyper rotating the shoulder. Warren had screamed like a wounded animal, as Beckett had forced him to his knees, smart enough to realise the more he struggled, the worse the pain would get.

  “That’s what you thought?” Beckett murmured, eyes scanning the road.

  Harper pressed on. “Who is he?”

  “He’s a businessman.”

  “What sort of business?”

  “You should ask your friends at the Met.”

  “What’s he been done for?”

  “A few misdemeanours, when he was younger. Nothing that’s ever stuck since. He’d tell you he’s in the legitimate import-export business. He’s won awards. Met the Queen. Advised your Government.”

  “You think he’s importing what? Drugs? People?”

  Beckett shrugged.

  “Based on what evidence?”

  Beckett didn’t reply. The single-track road had narrowed even further, as it wound steeply down wrapping around the bottom of a silver boulder the size of two double decker busses. The forest was thick, trees leaning over the road, turning the day into night.

  “What’s he doing mixed up with the missing girl?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is he a suspect?”

  “When I found Chrystos, he was camped out in the forest. On land owned by Troy.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Chrystos Spiros worked for him for a while. Cleaned his pool, tended his garden, general handyman stuff. The Troys used to host parties at their villa. If Chrystos met Rosie, then that’s where. We know Rosie was on the guest list. Troy knew her. Not well, he said. She was a friend of his wife.”

  “You think Troy was involved? That Chrystos wasn’t working alone? Did any of the rape victims mention a second man?”

  “No.”

  “And Chrystos admitted to all the offences? He didn’t mention Troy.”

  “He didn’t admit to killing Rosie Payne.”

  “But, he was found with her bracelet.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  “You think Troy killed Rosie?” Harper couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. “Why?”

  “For the same reason he killed his wife. He’s a sociopath.”

  Harper snorted. He looked across at Beckett, whose eyes were fixed on the road. “What makes you think he killed his wife? You got a body?”

  “She took their boat out one night, and jumped overboard. There was a half empty bottle of whisky and an empty bottle of paracetamol.”

  “Note?”

  “A brief one. Typed on a laptop. Sorry to her kids. Sorry she couldn’t cope.”

  “You investigated?”

  “I was back in London. The locals looked into it. The verdict was suicide. She’d been treated for depression. It was no great surprise to anyone.”

  “Apart from you.”

  “Troy’s a sadist.”

  Harper felt himself smiling. “You are crazy.”

  Beckett snapped on the brakes. The car lurched to a halt on a blind bend. The ground to Harper’s left fell away vertically between the trees. “That’s what they told you was it?”

  “Who?” Harper kept his eyes to the front, not wanting to face the death plunge. All it would take was one car, travelling a bit too fast, to come around the bend, slam into them, and take them spinning down into the pit.

  “Your bosses at the Met.”

  “Drive, will you?”

  Beckett shrugged and drove on.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The road down to the Bay was not for the faint-hearted. Coaches and buses didn’t ever attempt it, and most people opted to arrive by the boat taxi. Beckett always thought the drive was worth it. To emerge from the depths of forest, and find yourself in a different world. The horseshoe-shaped bay with the radiant sand, and the diamond sparkle of the sea beyond. It was no surprise a visit to the Bay, and one of its three tavernas, was on most of the wealthier tourists’ to-do lists.

  Beckett tried to push thoughts of Mitchell Troy out of his mind. He knew it made him sound paranoid. He didn’t blame Harper for scoffing, but it still hurt to know people he’d worked with in London, some of whom he’d thought respected him, even liked him, not only thought he’d lost the plot, but were warning people about him. Perhaps they were right. He was a joke.

  “Very nice.” Harper said, as they drove out of the trees, and down the dirt and gravel track to what passed as a car park, shared by all three tavernas. The tavernas also shared one jetty, jutting out into the water like a beckoning finger.

  “Kensington on Sea central.” Beckett got out of the car, and stretched his back. He had to admit, pacifying Warren had been enjoyable. The familiar buzz of adrenaline. He might not be as fast across the ground as he’d once been, but the technique was still there.

  Harper raised an eyebrow.

  “Mitchell Troy, and my dad for that matter, aren’t the only wealthy ex-pats who have the Island as a second home. There are hundreds of luxury villas dotted around this part of the Island. CEOs, actors, politicians. People say, during the busy months, you see the same people you’d bump into in Kensington.”

  “Not sure that’s a selling point.”

  “For you and me, no. But, they bring lots of income to the Island. Attract many others, who want to brush shoulders. And this is where they like to eat.”

  Taverna Nemesis was the largest of the three clinging onto the right-hand edge of the Bay. It had a two-layer terrace wrapped around the front and side, the front terrace almost kissing the sea and the side terrace step
ping up and into the rock face. There were already a dozen customers drinking coffee and chatting. Beckett caught Harper glancing at the menu displayed next to the front step. The prices wouldn’t look out of place in Kensington High Street. The tourists who came here didn’t fly in on middle of the night charter flights in flip flops and cheap sunglasses.

  Michale Bakas, the owner and chief chef, took them up into the cliff terrace, and hooked the rope barrier across the steps. Beckett hadn’t come across him before. He was from the mainland, and had bought the restaurant a couple of years prior. He came with a wealth of kitchen experience, learned in some of the top Michelin starred restaurants in the UK, and even some minor appearances on television. Impressive, for a man in his early thirties. He exuded confidence.

  “We use this as a private function room/VIP area when needed. I thought we might not want to be disturbed.” Michale had triangle of raven black hair under his bottom lip, and a head as bald and shiny as a chicken’s egg. He sat at one of the tables. Beckett took the chair opposite.

  “We’ll want to speak to your staff as well.” Harper stood off to one side, where he could see the beach terrace below. Michale kept flicking his gaze over to him.

  “Of course. No problem. I can’t believe what’s happened. Danni was a lovely girl.”

  “Everyone is in shock.” A woman stepped onto the terrace. British, her accent was bland, hard to locate, flattened out by a public-school education. She was petite and very blonde. Disarmingly beautiful. She glanced at Harper, then fixed her gaze on Beckett, “We were all very fond of her.”

  “This is Sophia, my wife.” Michale half stood. “Inspector Kyriakoulis from the Island police, and DI Harper from the Met in London.”

  Sophia smiled at them both. “Do you want me to stay?” Beckett noted she did not look at her husband once.

  “Please, sit down,” Beckett instructed. She took the seat next to Michale. He reached out, and squeezed her hand.

  “What do you want to know, Inspector?” she asked.

  “When was the last time you saw Danni?”

  “She worked her shift Wednesday night. Finished about 1am.” Michale nodded in agreement with his wife.

  “You didn’t see her after that? Or speak to her?”

  “It was her day off Thursday,” Sophia said. “And she didn’t turn up for her shift on Friday lunchtime.”

  “We were worried. I phoned her at home and on her mobile, but no response,” Michale leaned towards Beckett, eyes imploring. “I even went around to her apartment. Knocked on the door, but no answer. Her car wasn’t there, either.”

  Beckett caught the glance Sophia flashed at him. That was news to her.

  “Has she done that before? Not turn up for a shift?” Harper cut in.

  “Once or twice,” Sophia said. “Staff forget shifts, go out partying, and sleep through. Decide they’d rather spend the day on the beach. One of the curses of being an employer.”

  “But, you were still worried enough to go around? Why?” Beckett asked Michale.

  “I was in town anyway. She’s a good employee. She’d been working really hard. We catered a big party Tuesday night, and we didn’t get finished until about 5am. She worked a double shift Wednesday. I thought I’d check, whilst I was there, just in case.”

  “Just in case, what?”

  “She’d overslept, or wasn’t feeling well.”

  “And when you confirmed to yourself she wasn’t at home, what did you think?”

  “I assumed she’d gone away with Patrick.” Michale shrugged. “She’d said he was heading for the mainland for a few days.”

  “Did you know Patrick?”

  “Only through Danni. He dropped her off sometimes. Occasionally came in for a drink. Not often though. I’d say hello, if I saw him in the street.”

  Beckett looked at Sophia.

  “Same. We were fond of Danni, but she was staff. We didn’t socialise.”

  “You must have an opinion of him. Was he friendly, happy, quiet, reserved, rude, helpful?”

  “As I said, I really didn’t know him.”

  “I always thought he seemed…” Michale hesitated. “Rude… well, maybe not rude… unfriendly… He never said much when he came here.”

  “Did Danni and Patrick seem happy?”

  “You think he did it?” Sophia sat up in the chair.

  “Why would you say that?” Harper stepped closer.

  “Because the police always suspect the boyfriend, or the husband, first,” Michale said to Sophia. He turned back to Beckett. “I think their relationship was like most people’s relationships. Sometimes, good, sometimes, not so good.”

  He glanced at Harper, who paced around the back of Beckett to stand by the roped-off entrance.

  “I think he was quite a jealous person. I’m not sure he liked her being a waitress,” Michale added.

  “Did she tell you that?” Beckett asked. Sophia was watching her husband. Michale rubbed a hand over his skull.

  “She said something one night. End of last season, October time, just before we shut for the winter. Said she might not be able to come back this year. It was causing fights with Patrick. He didn’t like her working late so many nights. He didn’t like the way the men here looked at her.”

  “I thought you said he rarely came in. How did he know how people were looking at her?” Harper asked.

  “I’m not sure. I think it was more in his imagination than anything.”

  “But, she did come back this year?”

  “I asked her if it was okay. She said it was fine.”

  “Where did she work over the winter?” Harper queried.

  “People here tend not to. You make your money in the summer season. Some people pick up odd jobs, but most go on holiday, or go home. I have no idea what Danni did.” Sophia’s voice sharpened. Beckett wondered why she was getting impatient.

  “No. Sorry.” Michale shook his head.

  “Their neighbour, in the opposite flat, said he heard them arguing, loudly, quite often,” Beckett said. “She never mentioned arguments? Came into work upset?”

  “Linus Sang?” Michale asked.

  “You know him?”

  “He comes here quite a bit. I always thought he had a bit of a thing for Danni. She felt sorry for him, I think.”

  “He makes my skin crawl. He’s a weirdo,” Sophia added. “Maybe you should be looking at him as a suspect.”

  “He’s a bit odd, but I think he’s okay. Danni said he was a good neighbour. Used to look out for her.” Michale gave her a dark look.

  “Was Danni interested in Linus? Sexually, I mean.”

  “God, no,” Michale snorted. “He was her pet project. She wanted him to find a girlfriend. Get out a bit more. She was like that. I think she enjoyed playing Cupid.”

  “You never heard Danni talking about other men? Perhaps someone she met here?”

  Sophia’s gaze flicked to Michale, then to Beckett. “It’s possible. We have a lot of rich and powerful men who come in here. Danni was a pretty girl.”

  “So, Patrick did have reason to be jealous?” Harper asked.

  “Danni was always the complete professional when she worked here,” Michale snapped. The tension between him and Sophia now palpable.

  “Were you having an affair with Danni?” Beckett put his elbows on the table leaning forward.

  “What? No.” Michale pushed his chair back, horrified. “I’m a happily married man. My wife is sitting right here, you bastard.”

  “When I think people are keeping things from me, I ask difficult questions.”

  “We’re not keeping anything from you,” Sophia said. “I trust my husband. He was not sleeping with Danni.”

  “You said Tuesday night Danni was working for you, catering a large private party?” Harper asked, calming the situation. “Do you have many private functions here?”

  “It wasn’t here. We get a lot of bookings from people who want to hold parties at their homes. If they
’re prepared to pay, then I’ll do them. Danni usually volunteers.” His voice tightened. “Not because she wants to spend time with me, before you insinuate anything, but because the tips tend to be very generous.”

  “The one Tuesday night?”

  “It was an eighteenth birthday party.”

  “Where?”

  “At Mitchell Troy’s place. For his kids. They’re twins.”

  “And Danni was there, with you?” Beckett could feel his heart rate accelerating. He could also sense Harper staring at him.

  “We’ve done a few parties up there. He likes my food.”

  A connection. Danni at Troy’s two days before she disappeared. It was as tenuous as it got, but it was still a link.

  “Thank you for your help. If you think of anything else, please let us know. Can we talk to the rest of the staff now? The ones that are here. We’ll need a list of the rest.” Harper’s clipped English tone permeated his thoughts.

  They learned nothing new from the working staff. Most had only started that season, and didn’t know Danni well. One of the sous chefs, Carlos, who worked at Nemesis for years, was the most helpful. He had no doubt in his mind.

  “Her boyfriend was a thug. They argued a lot. I heard he got into lots of fights in the resorts. He’s no good. You need to look there first. Danni liked to have a good time, but she was a nice girl. She didn’t deserve what happened.”

  “Was she seeing anyone else? Did you ever hear any rumours? Someone she met at work, perhaps?” Beckett had asked.

  Carlos had known exactly who Beckett was referring to. He tilted his chin and his eyes grew cold. “I have no idea. People gossip. But, I don’t.”

  That was all he would say.

  Back in the car, Beckett hesitated before starting the engine. “You think there was anything between Danni and Michale?”

  Harper suppressed a smile. “Do you?”

  Beckett ran his thoughts through his head. There was something not being said. Michale was closer to Danni than he was letting on, and Sophia was not the happy, doting wife.

  “Everything would suggest yes.” And yet, he couldn’t see it.