"Good God, man! Now he’s a murderer? This is maddness. I know Darius, he is not a violent man."
"Think of the way Caspar was killed," I am trying for a calm tone, "poison is not a violent weapon. It creates distance between the murderer and the victim. It is clean and difficult to trace. An intelligent man like Darius might have considered this."
Daniel raises his hands in a placatory gesture. "We do not
want
Darius to be guilty, but if Caspar was blackmailing him, there is a motive. Further, if Darius didn’t go to the police about the blackmail, he was likely guilty of the theft he is accused of."
Dymas shakes his head and leans back in his chair, eyeing us with wary eyes. "I hope you are wrong. He is a good man, and he would have ruined his life, if this is true."
"Someone ruined Caspar’s life," Daniel coldly retorts. "True, it seems he was not a very good man. Nevertheless, he was alive, and now he is dead. He deserves justice, if nothing else."
"Of course. I apologize." Dymas nods. "I will think about how to act on this new information."
"Surely you will question him?"
"Yes, that is certain. Still, how to do it without causing alarm? I need to have a strategy. Darius is an intelligent man. He will wonder why I am asking, and he may panic. I interviewed him shortly after the murder to establish his alibi, since he was on the list of your dinner guests and therefore one of the last people who saw the victim alive. His alibi sounded solid enough. He was at the museum. A number of people confirmed this."
"He would only have needed an hour to go to the villa and come back. He has a car. Daniel, do you remember, we saw him driving to the villa days after the murder when we were walking to Miklos?"
Daniel nods. "His car would not have been as fast as the Delage. It may have taken him longer to get there and back to Heraklion without anyone noticing his absence. Perhaps you are right, inspector. I hope so."
"I will call the museum to see whether he is in today. We may have resolution by this evening. I will inform you of any news or," he adds frowning, "if an arrest is made." Understanding this to be our dismissal, we rise. Dymas, too, gets to his feet.
"Goodbye." Dymas looks weary as we take our leave. I share his hope that our suspicion is proven wrong. Darius appears like such a mild-mannered and kind man. While this does not prove his innocence, it makes me wish for it.
"What are you thinking?" Daniel’s voice pulls me back to the present. We are walking down the narrow, sunlit alley running along the side of the police station. Few people are about. Those who are send us friendly smiles and go about their business.
"I don’t know. I just don’t know what to think."
"Isn’t it somehow surprising that such crimes still shock us?" Daniel asks, without turning to me. "We have experienced so much violence, so much human evil in our lifetime, and still we are disturbed by a single man’s murder." His tone is matter-of-fact.
"Wouldn’t it be terrible if we didn’t care, if we weren’t disturbed by such tragedy? Isn’t it a sign of our humanity that we react to new horrors with sadness, anger and fear?" I watch his profile as he gives a gentle nod.
"Let us have something to drink." Daniel gestures at Hector’s Café, which has appeared right when we need it. Upon settling into the same chairs we occupied days ago, Daion, the owner, approaches with a cheerful smile.
"A coffee and—" Daniel casts me a questioning glance.
"A lemonade, please." Daion disappears inside, returning within moments with our drinks and a small plate of rectangular biscuits.
"On the house," he says, and turns to a group seated at another table opposite us.
Daniel hestitates a moment, eyeing me curiously. "I am sorry if I spoke too harshly. I am not truly so cynical." He takes a small sip of coffee and winces as it scalds his tongue.
"It’s all right. I understand, and in many ways it is true."
"Hm …" is all he adds.
I let my gaze wander to the people strolling by, allowing Daniel a moment to collect himself and steer the topic of conversation onto a different path.
"Oh, damn," he exclaims, surprising me. I nearly knock my glass off the table.
"What is the matter?"
"Sorry, sorry." His right hand has flown to his forehead. "I forgot to ask Dymas about funeral arrangements. I wanted ask how soon we can bury him."
"I suppose he will tell you once they release the body."
"You are probably right. Still, I would like to get it over with. There need to be some measures taken toward resolution, not only for me …" He breaks off, gazing at his hands.
"For Caspar as well?" I finish the sentence. He looks up and nods.
"I am not a religious man, but somehow I feel his spirit, does that sound mad?"
"Not at all," I reply.
"I want him and this horrible business laid to rest."
"We could go back to the station, if you like?"
"No, no. You are right. Dymas will tell us."
I nibble at one of the biscuits for something to do, to give myself a moment to think, rather than much of an appetite. Daniel mentioning Caspar’s spirit touched a raw nerve near the surface of my too-thin skin. The idea of spirits, ghosts of those loved and lost hovering around, has always been a comforting idea for me. While some memories can be sheer misery, the thought of some part of my parents accompanying me, warming me, is one I secretly cling to with all my heart. When the distractions of everyday are not enough and lonliness looms, I draw strength from these spirits, be they real or in my mind.
"Evelyn, are you all right?"
"What? Oh, sorry. Yes, I’m quite all right." I smile and take a sip of the lemonade.
"Did I upset you?" His forehead creases, and he presses his lips together.
"No, don’t worry. I was only thinking."
"What about? Your family?" Catching himself in this intimate enquiry, he blushes and quickly adds, "Sorry—"
"You must stop apologizing!" I cannot help but smile at his tense face. "It’s all right. I won’t collapse at your feet at a sign of distress."
"I know you won’t." His expression softens. "You have proven yourself quite courageous."
"Have I? I haven’t done anything."
"Oh, you may not notice it, not every woman would be able to cope with what has happened—"
"Not every
woman
!" I shake a finger in playful reproach. He grimaces.
"Again, I apologize. Every
person
. Better?"
"Go on."
"I am only saying, you have coped very well, considering that you came here for a relaxing holiday in the sun. I am grateful to be able to discuss everything with you. Jeffrey is a good friend, but he is busy with his own life and didn’t much care for Caspar. Briony and I don’t truly have very much in common. Besides, she is clearly troubled by something herself." He lowers his eyes for a moment and swirls the remaining coffee in his cup.
"I am happy you trust me." My tone is light, though I feel the weight of what he has said, acknowledging the strange bond, which has formed between us as a result of this tragic event.
"Cheers to that." Daniel lifts his cup and I clink mine against it.
"To good friends!"
"Indeed, good friends." Some emotion I cannot identify crosses his suntanned face, and then it is gone.
CHAPTER 23
After our refreshments have been removed and our bicycles retrieved from the police station, we are on our way again. The ride is more difficult this time, mostly uphill and soon the muscles in my calves burn from the effort. The air is pleasant, neither too hot nor too cool, and I enjoy the awareness of my body’s strength as we labor up the winding road.
My mind drifts to the conversation we had at the café. Daniel is afraid of being happy, of laughing, of enjoying life again. He feels the heavy weight of guilt, much more than I do. It is a guilt that comes from surviving, from being the one that remains to live a life of which only a shell remains all else having been shattered and broken. I am certain he is lonely, too. Drifting from one place to another, not finding an anchor, not want to. Is he escaping to outrun memories or ghosts? Mentioning Caspar’s spirit revealed a glimpse of his turmoil.
We reach a bend in the road, and Daniel glances back at me, making sure I am following. Nothing is said. We let the wind tug at our hair, and I fear for my hat. As we ride along the side of the mountain, gulls circle above us, white and gray shrieking figures in the peerless blue sky. Despite anxiety weighing heavy on my mind, my muscles relax. This island has crept under my skin. The ever-present sun, the vibrancy of colors, smells of salt, and herbs and dry earth fill my senses with something akin to ambrosia. It is a balm for my scarred psyche, and I apply it with devotion. My skin has taken on a healthy, golden tone, and my cheeks feel hot and flushed as I pedal harder. The sun is in our backs now, and its warm rays caress the exposed skin at the nape of my neck.
When we turn again, a group of
Kri-Kri
—Cretan mountain goats—come into view, cocking their heads at us as we roll past. To our left a small orange grove appears, a lush speck in this barren scene. I wish I could paint, or had a camera that could capture these striking contrasts. In truth though, a picture could never evoke the majesty of this place. What makes it come alive—what makes me almost sense the very heart of the earth I tread on—is being here in this very moment and creating a living memory inside of me. What is an image of the sea, if I cannot smell the salt? What a photograph of the donkey, if I cannot hear its friendly bray? Whatever happened, I am here and I am alive.
Supplied with renwed energy by this elation, I push past Daniel, lifting my hat in salute, and roll down the last stretch of dirt road to the villa, glowing pale and beautiful ahead.
When we enter the house breathless from our effort, which turned into a race I am proud to say I won, we are greeted by Niobe, bearing a tray.
"Mr. and Mrs. Farnham are in the conservatory. If you care for lunch, it has only just been served." She lowers her gaze, and we follow her through the main part of the house to the back where the conservatory is located.
"Evie, Daniel you’re back! And in good time too." Briony gestures to the empty chairs. "You’ve not eaten, have you? Cook made roast lamb with mint sauce and potatoes. Almost like a proper English Sunday lunch."
"Smells wonderful." Daniel pulls out my chair before taking his usual seat beside me.
"Yes, lovely." I add, hungry now, after the strenuous ride.
"So," Jeffrey begins as he fills his plate with slices of fragrant lamb and rosemary potatoes, "did you speak to Dymas?"
"We did, thanks," Daniel takes the plate Briony has filled for him. "It was rather strained, to be honest. He hates the idea of Darius being a suspect."
"As do we all," Jeffrey comments, dowsing his lamb in green speckled sauce. "Darius is a respected member of the staff and a good friend."
Briony nods her agreement. "I can’t believe he could hurt anybody. He’s such a lamb. Oh—" she looks down at her plate, "well, a dear, I meant."
"Indeed. However, if Caspar was really blackmailing him, and if the theft Darius is accused of in the diary was real, he has motive." Daniel dips a bite of the pink meat into his sauce.
"Since, he never went to the police about being blackmailed, it would seem at least that part was true."
"Why did all this have to happen?" Briony lowers her fork to her plate, the potato speared on its prongs left uneaten.
"It is partly my fault." Daniel says, and we all turn our eyes on him. He sets down his cutlery. "Had I not brought him here, none of this would ever have happened."
"Daniel," I reply solemnly, "you cannot blame yourself. You did nothing wrong. You took your friend along to visit a beautiful place, to meet kind people. You must forget this absurd idea that you carry any blame for what has happened."
"Exactly," Briony nods.
Jeffrey swallows his last bite and pronounces, "With Caspar’s
penchant
for blackmail as is evident from that little book of his, he made enemies wherever he went. If he had a habit of such behavior, he would have created a hostile environment anywhere." I open my mouth to admonish him, when he holds up a hand. "No, let me finish. I am not saying he deserved any of this, heavens, who does? All the same, he made his life unsafe, doing what he did. You are not responsible for his actions, Daniel, nor for the tragedy which befell him."
Daniel takes a thoughtful sip of his wine before saying, "I want to believe you are right."
"‘Of course I am," Jeffrey insists, helping himself to another spoonful of potatoes.
"Right, now that’s settled,"Briony sits up in her seat. "I have received a leaflet about a nameday festival for Saint George on Tuesday evening. Should be good fun and some distraction for us. What do you think?"