Chapter 50
VICTORIA
I cross my legs and regard Detective Lieutenant Andreas Demetriou, my hands clasped neatly in my lap.
He’s commandeered Felix’s office for his interviews.
Not that he’s calling them interviews, of course – he said he’ll be ‘talking’ to us, as if it’s just a casual chat – but I’m not stupid.
On an island with fewer than thirty inhabitants, the six people staying at Villa Paradiso are clearly high on his list of ‘people of interest’.
Better to head off his questions with one of my own. It’s as well to let him know I’m not a pushover. If heading up a charity has taught me anything, it’s that you must always stay calm, sound reasonable and steer the conversation in the direction you want it to go.
Control the interview, control the narrative.
‘Are you any clearer on how Felix died?’ I ask.
If he’s surprised when I take the initiative, he doesn’t show it. ‘I think I said earlier that his injuries were consistent with being hit over the head with a heavy object. We now believe the object to be a rock or similar.’
‘That’s not very precise. Haven’t you found the murder weapon?’
‘As yet, we have not, but I have ordered a search of the island. I’m sure it is only a matter of time before we locate it.’
And then they’ll have fingerprints. DNA too, if the killer was careless. I picture the murderer hurling a bloodied rock into the sea. There would be no fingerprints or DNA then. No weapon either, if the tide had its way.
Demetriou smiles benignly. ‘I would like you to take me through the events of Friday the twenty-sixth of June, the day of Mrs Pearson’s birthday, if you will.’
I uncross and recross my legs. ‘We spent the day by the pool, and at around five o’clock everyone went inside to shower and dress for dinner.
We walked to the taverna, arriving at about half past seven.
We ate. Barney and I left just after ten.
I’d had too much sun and Barney… well, he’d had a little too much to drink. I thought it prudent to get him home.’
The detective’s head jerks up. ‘Prudent?’
‘I didn’t want to have to carry him back to the villa, did I?’
‘So there were no arguments, no quarrels, while you were having dinner?’
I hesitate. Am I about to walk into a trap?
His officers must have spoken to the staff at the taverna by now, in which case he’ll have heard all about Barney and Felix’s spat.
To deny it would be madness. I have no choice but to tell the truth.
A watered-down version of it, anyway. Demetriou doesn’t need to know Barney gambled my entire inheritance on one of Felix’s dodgy property schemes.
‘Felix and Barney did have words at one point.’
‘Words?’ The detective sits up straighter. ‘About what?’
‘Barney invested some money in a development of Felix’s in London. He was frustrated because he was yet to see a return.’ I deliberately say ‘he’ and not ‘we’. Pronouns are everything. And why not? I’m not the one who threw all our money down the drain.
‘Witnesses at the taverna said your husband was shouting at Mr Pearson, calling him a’ – he consults his notebook – ‘a “conniving bastard”. Is that true?’
I must have already left the taverna by then.
But if I admit that, it’ll mean Barney has no alibi, and though he’s as far from my good books as it’s possible to be, there’s no way I’m letting him take the rap for killing Felix.
My reputation is under enough threat as it is.
Throw a husband convicted of murder into the mix and my career in the charity sector is over.
He was only out of my sight for thirty minutes max, after all.
Besides, he doesn’t have it in him to kill Felix. He’s spineless. Always has been.
I smile winningly at the detective. ‘I did pop to the ladies before we left. I must have missed it. But they’re like brothers, those two. Always bickering, then making up again. Bantz, I think Gen-Z call it. Banter, you know?’
‘You mean they were like brothers until Mr Pearson’s untimely death.’
I nod, then unfold a handkerchief from my pocket and dab my eyes.
‘And you were with your husband for the rest of the evening? There were no points when you were apart?’
‘That’s right. We walked home together, then went to bed.’ The lie comes as easily as breathing. ‘But you’ll know this. I dare say you’ve already checked the cameras.’
‘Unfortunately, there seems to have been some sort of malfunction with the villa’s security system.’ I feel a dart of relief as Demetriou rubs his five o’clock shadow. ‘Would you be happy for us to take a look at your mobile phone?’
The question catches me unawares. Would I be happy?
Hardly. The last thing I need is Greece’s version of Inspector Clouseau trawling through my text messages.
If he finds the ones from my online tormentor, he’ll add two and two and make heaven knows what.
But refusing to hand over my phone will look deeply suspicious.
‘I don’t have it with me,’ I stall.
‘No problem.’ His eyes crinkle, but this time his smile is more shark-like than bumbling detective. ‘I can wait.’ As if to demonstrate, he leans back in his seat and laces his hands behind his head.
‘You want it now?’
‘Please.’
I sigh loudly and haul myself up from my chair.
Demetriou’s eyes follow me as I march from the room.
In our bedroom, I go straight to my phone, which is charging on the dressing table, then cross to the window to check Barney is still on the terrace with the others.
I open the phone and trawl through the messages from my unknown caller, my finger poised, ready to delete, delete, delete.
The police could recover them if they really wanted, but with luck Felix’s killer will be found first. Right now, I just need to stall for time.
I skim the messages one last time and frown.
I know what you did.
Don’t think you’re going to get away with it.
hypocrisy / noun – The practice of claiming to have higher standards or more noble beliefs than you actually live by.
There’s something about the wording that pricks my memory. But no matter how much I try to unearth it, my mind refuses to give it up.
A shadow falls across the dressing table and I look up with a jerk. Demetriou is standing in the doorway, watching me.
Despite the heat, a cool chill settles over my skin. I have no idea how long he’s been there.