After that, things moved quite quickly. A carload of mixed uniforms and plainclothes arrived, led bya CID inspector with the hot eyes and grubby shirt-collar of a man who's already been on duty for more than his shift. After that, some sort of doctor or forensic man who swapped half-hearted banter with the police sergeant, sighed heavily and went upstairs. And soon after, Kapotas got in.
He was fully dressed except for a tie, but unshaven and more worried even than usual. But by then we'd opened up the bar and were sitting in groups at the tables, chain-drinking coffee and local brandy. Kapotas looked around, asked a quick question of the nearest cop, got a shrug for an answer, then came over to me. 'My God, this is all we needed.'
'Keep your voice down.'
He noticed Mitzi, so sat down beside me.
'Is he really dead?'
'He's really short of half a head.'
'Oh God.' He rubbed his palms into his eyes. 'When did it happen?'
'Don't know. Some time after nine, probably before eleven.' Some of the blood had almost dried.
'Who found him?'
'I gather the chambermaid; she'd been ringing the room to see if she could collect the champagne tray, finally she went up and stuck her head in. She called the Sergeant. I got in just after that.'
'He hadn't locked the door, then?'
'Apparently not.' Was that another example of the Professor's thoughtfulness?
He shook his head sadly. 'What will this do to the hotel?'
'We hadn't quite got the Hilton worried before.1 Then his eyes widened in horror. 'The register! The police are sure to want to see the register! '
'Oh Christ.' I thought about it. There was just one uniformed cop lounging around the lobby. With luck… I got up and went over to Mitzi.
'Miss… Braunhof – I'm sorry about this, but if we can do it without the police noticing, can you sign the register for us? It's a small point, but…'
She looked back, red-eyed but calm. 'Yes, of course.' So I led a little deputation out to the desk.
Sergeant Papa started chatting up the cop while Kapotas and I pretended to be looking for something under the desk; Mitzi leant across and watched and – well, it worked. We could only hope that her signature would do for both, but at least it looked as if we'd been more careless than crooked.
I shuffled the register back into place and took a look around before heading back. That green envelope in the Prof's pigeonhole – maybe Mitzi should open it. No, wait a moment- 'Who in hell put that envelope up there?'
Everybody looked round, startled. Sergeant Papa cleared his throat and said: 'I think I did – yes…'
'You mean somebody came and gave you that-'
'No, no. It was just lying on the desk, so I put it in the box.'
I took it down. It just had Professor Spohr, Nicosia Castle typed on it, no stamp. It felt thin and looked cheap, like some advertising handout.
'Neat.' I nodded grimly. 'And not a little bit gaudy. Somebody walks in, waits till nobody's looking, leaves that there. Then maybe he has a drink at the bar or walks round the block, comes back and takes just a glance and he can see the Prof's staying here – even which room he's in. And nobody knows he's even been asking. Neat.'
The cop was looking at me, puzzled. I hoped it was because he didn't understand English too well.
Kapotas said: 'But he would have had to do it for all other hotels, too.'
'Not too many. He'd start at the Ledra and Hilton and work down until he struck oil. The others would just chuck it in the dead-letter box. It wouldn't take him long.' I held the letter out to Mitzi. 'Here, you'd better open it.'
Slowly, timidly, she took it, and her hands shook a little as she ripped open the flap. Then relaxed as she handed me a folded one-page timetable for coach tours of local archaeological sites.
I nodded. 'It's even appropriate enough not to seem too suspicious, unless you knew how secret you and your father were trying to be.'
Sergeant Papa said mournfully: T am sorry. It was stupid.'
'It does not matter,' Mitzi said, and turned back to the bar.
'She's right,' I reassured him. 'And anybody would have done the same.' We followed her back to the bar-room.
Five minutes later, the cop came and said the Inspector wanted to talk to the hotel management. After a bit of hithering and dithering Kapotas decided that that included me, so I went up with him and Papa.
8
They'd taken over room 105 on the first floor, dragging in half a dozen chairs from other empty rooms and a pretty squalid collection they made, seen together and none of them matching. A young plainclothes man sat at the dressing-table ready to take notes, a uniformed sergeant guarded the door from the inside -and the inspector himself. • All experienced detectives can't look the same and I know they don't, but when I'm in front of one… well, there's always that something. A sense of completeness without depth, a man without personal problems or involvement, a pathologist of events dissecting from behind a professional mask. This one had it.
That apart, he looked about fifty, which any forty-year-old has a right to do at that time of night. A pale grainy skin starting to sag off the long face into pouches under the eyes, slight jowls, the beginning of a turkey neck. Thin-rimmed glasses and bloodshot blue eyes. But sharply dressed, except for that wilted shirt, in a browny-gold suit with a slight sheen, flowered tie, fake crocodile shoes.
He sat on the bed with an open notebook, scattering cigarette ash near a crammed ashtray and waved us to sit down. Then said something in Greek, noticed my expression, and added: 'I am Inspector Lazaros. Shall we then speak English?'
Kapotas and Papa agreed and we introduced ourselves. Lazaros asked: 'Who found Professor Spohr?'
Sergeant Papa told the story.
'The door was not locked?'
'No.'
He frowned at that. 'Suicide is a private matter.' Then: 'Did you touch anything?'
Papa and I looked at each other. 'The door handle,' I suggested.
He nodded. 'How many guests now here?'
Kapotas said promptly: 'Fourteen.' There'd been a heavy attrition rate in favour of places that had more than one dish on the menu and got around to making your bed before you got back in it.
Lazarosasked: 'And how many short-stay couples tonight?'
Sergeant Papa put on a puzzled look. 'I do not understand, sir-:'
Lazaros's head jerked impatiently. 'Do not bugger about, Papadimitriou! I know this hotel, I know you. How many?'
Two,' he mumbled. 'Rooms 115 and 117.'
'Thank you.' The inspector made a note. 'Now, did any of you know the Professor before tonight? '
We shook our heads in chorus, then I said: There's one other man who did: Ken Caviti in room 206.' It was rough luck on Ken, but it was going to happen anyway.
'Do you think he came here to meet Mr Caviti?"
'Yes.' I told about the daughter ringing up.
He made a couple of brief notes. They met this afternoon, in his room?'
'Yes.'
There were four used champagne glasses.'
'I was Ihe fourth. I broughl him up the champagne, he invited melo have a glass. We dialled.'
'Did he say anything that tells you why he committed suicide?'
'Not a thing. He seemed reasonably chirpy. You don't have any reason to suppose hedidn't commit suicide?'
He frowned down at his notes and let out a broadside of smoke. Then: 'I would have preferred a suicide note.' Then looked up. 'All right. Please wake Mr Caviti. Now I will talk to the daughter.' And I think he gave a little shiver.
I rang Ken from the desk. And rang and rang. Then a blurry explosion of: 'Yes, what the bloody hell is it?'
'It's Roy – don't ring off-'
Tor Jesus' sake-'
'Sorry, Ken: red alert, scramble, all fire warning lights on. The Professor's suicided and the boys in blue are here.'
For a long time Ihere was jusl Ihe sound of his breaming. Then: 'He's done what?'