Chapter 46
Saffron folded up the letter to place in her handbag.
She’d have no time to change clothes before going to the dig site to intercept Nick and Alexander.
If Mrs. Demirel had been the one to kill Martin, they needed to retool their theories about the murder.
Something else was afoot, and she wouldn’t have Alexander risking his life for a plan that might not work.
She’d taken only a step toward the door when a knock came. She opened it to find Mrs. Demirel standing just inches from herself. Her breath caught on Mrs. Demirel’s old-fashioned scent of powdery rose, and she struggled not to show her alarm as the older woman smiled at her.
“Miss Everleigh,” she said with a little nervous laugh. “Cynthia mentioned you’d just returned. How fortunate the police have realized their mistake in arresting you!”
Saffron forced a smile. “It is. I’m sorry, Mrs. Demirel, I’m just going—”
“But they must have discovered who did kill poor Mr. Neill, then,” she continued. Her fingers were twisting around her handbag at her shoulder.
“No,” Saffron said quickly. “I don’t believe they have. They simply didn’t have the evidence to keep me, so I was let go.”
Mrs. Demirel’s eyes darted between hers as if searching for the lie. Saffron hoped it wasn’t visible.
“What will the police do now?” Mrs. Demirel asked.
“I have to believe they will keep looking for the killer,” Saffron said, but she said it in the most gentle, non-accusatory way she could manage. She inched forward, hoping to chivy Mrs. Demirel away from the door.
“But—” Mrs. Demirel’s wide eyes danced over her face, then out into the hallway, then back to her.
“If you’ll just excuse me,” Saffron said, a little more loudly than necessary.
Wetting her lips, Mrs. Demirel shook her head. “I—If I could just—” She closed her eyes and let out a breath, as if bracing herself. “You can’t leave.”
“What do you mean?” Saffron asked.
“You can’t leave,” she said, blinking several times as she looked to her hands, then back to Saffron. “You’ll have to stay.”
“What are you talking about?” Saffron said again, slowly. “Of course I can leave, the police let me go. They know I’m innocent.”
“It’s not a matter of innocence,” the other woman said, her voice revealing an edge of panic. “It never was. Martin Neill … He was innocent, wasn’t he?”
Saffron froze as tears welled in Mrs. Demirel’s eyes. “You … you did kill Martin, didn’t you?”
Mrs. Demirel reached into her handbag, and before Saffron could rationalize that the woman wasn’t reaching for a handkerchief, she raised a knife, pointing it tremulously at Saffron.
Without conscious thought, Saffron took two swift steps backward, raising her hands as she went. Mrs. Demirel shuffled into the room and closed the door, pressing her back against it as if she needed its support. The blade was the length of Saffron’s palm and gleamed as if freshly sharpened.
“But why?” Saffron breathed. “Why would you kill him?”
“Because he knew!” Mrs. Demirel whispered. Her whole body shook. “He found out. He could have ruined my life in an instant.”
Saffron’s mind worked to make sense of this. “What did he know? About your husband?”
Mrs. Demirel started. “What about my husband?”
Saffron couldn’t tell if this was a real question. “Your husband’s smuggling operation. He’s working with a local, the consul general’s secretary, and one of the members of the crew to steal and sell artifacts from the agora.”
“He’s—he’s doing what?” The last of the color drained from her face. “No … No, he can’t,” she moaned. “How could he—how—”
“Martin didn’t know about that?” Saffron took a step forward, hopeful Mrs. Demirel was too distressed to recall she was threatening her. “What did Martin find out?”
It was a long, fraught moment before Mrs. Demirel spoke again. She’d regained some composure, but it was an odd, trancelike calm that seemed thin as the first touch of frost on a windowpane.
“The truth about me,” Mrs. Demirel said faintly. “That I’m just a nanny who married well. Too well, for most.”
Saffron was taken aback. “But why would Martin have cared who or what you were before you married?”
“The girl would have told him. She saw me, and I saw her … She was my charge, but even grown I could recognize her. I saw her looking at me, and I knew what a terrible mistake I had made.” She shuddered.
Saffron’s mind worked to make sense of this. “Corsianna Moore? The girl from the ship?” Mrs. Demirel nodded. “And you killed Martin because you worried he’d gossip about you being a nanny?” Her question was sharp, reflecting the sudden anger she felt at such an irrational motive.
“Gossip,” echoed Mrs. Demirel, and she shook her head slowly, like the word woke her from her trance.
“That would be just the beginning. It’s the words spoken behind hands that slip into the ears of the wrong people, and suddenly people remember.
The diplomatic world is small, so small …
” Tears shimmered in her pale eyes, and she blinked at them until they fell onto her soft, papery cheeks.
“I ought to have remembered. I thought I would be safe, in this little corner of Turkey. So many people left after the wars … With a new name, I thought I would be safe. My husband insisted I come. He wished to show me his homeland, and he didn’t accept no as an answer …
And I stayed away, whenever Sir Randolph came to dine …
” She was crying in earnest now. “I did what I was supposed to do, and kept away, but it didn’t matter, did it? I still …”
“You lived here before,” Saffron guessed. “You were nanny to a family here. A British family.” Mrs. Demirel nodded, face screwed up against her tears. “And something happened. Something bad.”
She nodded again. “It’s been years and years, but sometimes he’s still right there, in the corner of my eye.
No matter where I go, or how many pills or tonics I take”—she gasped for breath, clutching the knife tightly—“I see him. And Corsianna was his child. I cared for her, loved her like a daughter, while he tormented me, night after night.” She slumped, her shoulders caving and the knife’s blade drooping.
Saffron took another step forward, eyes back on the knife. With a soothing voice, she murmured, “You had to protect yourself.”
Mrs. Demirel didn’t appear to hear her. “She was just a child, but she was old enough. She was always a bright girl. She could have worked out what I’d done, especially if she learned how Martin died. If she learned too many details … she was the one who found her father, after all.”
A chill racked Saffron. She’d killed Martin in the same way she’d killed Miss Moore’s father, by slipping him a toxin, then.
Saffron swallowed hard, still inching forward. In another foot or so, she might be able to bat the knife from her hands.
“I was so stupid. So stupid to come back here. So stupid to think I could be happy after what he did to me.” Mrs. Demirel took in a great, gulping breath and looked at Saffron sadly.
“Gossip is just the beginning, my dear. One word of the truth gets out, and what I did will be discovered. It is only a matter of time. But I will not allow it to happen. I won’t allow my life to be ruined a second time. I won’t let my boys’ lives be ruined.”
Mrs. Demirel lifted the knife, the point glinting.
“You came back to the hotel after you were released, or escaped, or whatever you did to get out, and you were overcome with what you did. You found this knife and took your life. I will discover you. That’ll explain the—the blood.
” Her voice shook, but she remained steady.
“I’ve read your notebooks. I can copy your handwriting to write a note.
You will take the blame so my boys can live a happy life with their mother. ”
Their eyes met, and what Saffron saw in Agatha Demirel’s eyes shook her to her core. She’d seen the same calm certainty in her mother’s gaze moments after she’d shot Bill Wyatt. Mrs. Demirel was going to protect her children, and this was how she meant to do it.
She should have tackled her like a rugby player before Mrs. Demirel had the chance to find her backbone.
Time. She needed time. “Why me? Why frame me? I’ve done nothing to you.”
“It was because of the flowers. The meadow saffron.”
“You made the connection between the Latin name for meadow saffron and the gout medication you administer to your husband.” Things started to make more sense.
“You were in and out of my room several times when I was injured. You took one of my books or notebooks. You found information about the plant’s chemical compounds and their effects.
You could have brought the book back the next time you visited my room and I’d be none the wiser.
” She blew out a slow breath. She would have to use her time very wisely.
“But anyone could have had access to the flowers. All they had to do was pick them. Or steal into your rooms and take Mr. Demirel’s gout tonic. You could have framed anyone.”
“The men don’t like you very much. I saw how they teased and harassed you.
I heard them muttering about you and Mr. Neill.
Even Mr. Banks.” Mrs. Demirel did look apologetic now.
“I knew they would think the worst of you, should accusations be made. And Mr. Clark had done a very good job of stirring up trouble for you. I didn’t even have to start the rumor of your relationship with Mr. Neill.
He did it for me.” She shook her head, looking troubled.
“But that was more than a week after Martin met Miss Moore. Why did you wait to poison him? He had all that time to spread word of what he might know.”
“I didn’t wait,” Mrs. Demirel replied with a faint, confused frown.
“I gave him the eyedrops the evening we arrived in the city, when I overheard the other young men ribbing him for chasing after the young lady he met on the ship rather than go out carousing with them.” She redoubled her grip on the knife, holding it out straight with both hands.
“Colchicine is a mysterious, dangerous substance. The dosage must be precise, else you risk poisoning the patient. I watched him very closely and waited. Martin finally became ill when he went to the castle. When he came here, I checked on him. I offered to help him apply more eye drops. He was so weak, you see. The poor boy. And by then, everyone was talking about how you’d been cavorting with him. ”
Saffron felt sick at her words. “How can you have done it? When you yourself were a victim—how could you do that to someone else? Martin was innocent. Just like your boys. Did Martin not deserve a chance to live a happy life, just as they do? Or me? What of Alexander? He married me.” And she might never see him again if she didn’t get out of this.
“Just an hour before I was arrested. He married me when he knew I might hang as a murderer.” She took a step forward.
“Doesn’t he deserve a happy life, too? With his wife, who he was willing to risk his reputation, his career, and his family for? ”
Mrs. Demirel stared at her. Saffron held her breath.
“I killed an innocent man. I put poison into his eyes with my own hand.” She looked confused, as if realizing the truth of what she said as she voiced it aloud.
“I killed Martin Neill with barely a thought except that he had the chance to reveal my identity and my guilt and ruin the life I created out of the ashes of my past.” She raised the knife, and when their eyes met over the blade, there was no wavering, no uncertainty.
“You know everything. I certainly won’t hesitate to do what I have to do. ”