“So, anyway,” Larry concluded, “got two unexplained deaths to think about now, haven’t we, Mrs P.? I always remember something that your old man once said. “The explanation for a murder often lies in a previous murder.” You ever heard him say that?”
“No,” she replied rather primly. Murder was not a subject that had ever come up in her conversations with the late Mr Pargeter.
“Well, I reckon odds are,” said Larry, “that there’s got to be some connection between Joyce Dover’s death and Christo Karaskakis’ death back in 1959.”
“Assuming, of course,” said Mrs Pargeter quietly, “that that was when he died.”
∨ Mrs Pargeter’s Package ∧
Thirty-Three
It was Greek party night at Spiro’s when they got back to Agios Nikitas. The tourists who had paid for the evening’s entertainment had eaten up their cheese pies and barbecued lamb and were now vigorously applauding the dancing.
As Mrs Pargeter and Larry Lambeth arrived, Spiro and Yianni, side by side, arms locked on each other’s shoulders, were solemnly following the ritual of long-remembered steps, while the live group of bouzouki, guitar and drums built up the pace of their music. There was a pagan magnificence about the two men, Yianni justifying the cliché description of a young Greek god, and Spiro more solid but still impressive and surprisingly light-footed for his bulk. Both their faces were rigid with the concentration of the dance.
Their audience clapped along with the pounding beat. Mr Safari Suit was arranging Mrs Safari Suit in a suitable foreground pose for his next snap. Linda from South Woodham Ferrers was arguing with Keith from South Woodham Ferrers over whether it had been a good idea to bring Craig with them. The little boy evidently didn’t think a lot of Greek dancing and was bawling his head off. Linda wanted to take him back to the villa, but Keith insisted that they’d paid for the evening and they were jolly well going to get their money’s worth. An atmosphere had developed between the couple. Keith said in some ways it’d be quite a relief to get back to the office.
The Secretary with Short Bleached Hair and the Secretary with Long Bleached Hair lingered on the edge of the dancing area, eager for all this male display dancing to end and for the disco music to start. Their suntans had settled down a little; five days into their package, they looked proudly browner than that day’s air freight delivery of white-skinned English.
Mrs Pargeter and Larry found a vacant table, but it was some time before they could order a drink, as the masculine pas de deux gave way to a dance with brightly-coloured scarves which involved all of the taverna’s waiters.
Mrs Pargeter watched Spiro leading the dance with a preoccupied, automatic jollity, and thought perhaps now she knew some of the reasons for the underlying melancholy of his dark face.
The scarf dance ended. The audience, convinced they were getting an exclusive taste of the authentic Greece (just as the party night audience at the taverna did every Monday), clapped enthusiastically. After perfunctory bows, the dancers moved back into waiter mode and hurried towards the many hands that waved for drinks.
Yianni appeared at their table. “Please, I get you drinks, yes, please?”
Larry ordered retsina and brandy, but, rather than rushing off to get them, the waiter lingered. “Please, you see Conchita, please?”
“Sorry, I’ve only just come back here. Been away for a couple of days.”
“She say she come to party night. I not see her, please.”
His black eyes looked so moist and desolate that Mrs Pargeter had to say something to reassure him. “She’ll turn up. Don’t worry, it’s early yet.”
As the waiter slouched disconsolately back into the taverna, she felt very sorry for him. Dear, oh dear, had Conchita fulfilled her ambitions for a purely physical relationship, and had Yianni now served his purpose and been cast aside? Conchita gave the impression of being a tough, modern cookie. Nothing in Yianni’s culture or background could have prepared him – or any Greek man – for the novel experience of being used as a sex-object.
Recorded disco music started up, current British chart successes alternating with banal Euro-hits. The Secretary with Short Bleached Hair and the Secretary with Long Bleached Hair moved keenly into the dancing area where, to their great delight, they were quickly joined by two young men in fluorescent T-shirts and cycling shorts.
Mrs Pargeter sipped her retsina and took in the scene. Larry Lambeth, seeing that she was deep in thought, respected her silence.
She was convinced now that Christo Karaskakis had escaped from the burning boat which was believed to have killed him, and that its flames almost definitely explained the scarring on his face…
Yes! Another detail slotted into place. She remembered how Mr Fisher-Metcalf had started to respond to the overexposed photograph of Spiro. That must have been because Spiro’s face, with the distinctive features smoothed out, looked very much like the scarred face of his identical twin, the solicitor’s client.
She was now in no doubt that Chris Dover and Christo Karaskakis had been one and the same person.
∨ Mrs Pargeter’s Package ∧
Thirty-Four
She forced her mind back to Christo’s escape from the boat. Somehow he must have found his way to England, probably arriving at Dover, then changed his name and set out to make a career in his new country.
He had taken the decision to obscure his real origins and make himself as British as he could be. But, until he perfected the language, he needed some explanation of his accent. How he had come to select Uruguay as a fictitious background there was no way of knowing, but it had been an inspired choice. The British as a nation tend to lump all foreigners together, anyway, but the number who could conduct an intelligent conversation about any aspect of Uruguay is so tiny as to be unworthy of consideration. The number who know anything about the country’s politics is even tinier, and so Chris Dover’s references to political disagreements and even implications of torture would never have been questioned.
Now this major breach had been made in the wall of logic, other details came tumbling through at a rush. Mrs Pargeter knew why she hadn’t at first recognised Conchita sitting at Spiro’s. The girl looked so natural there because it was the natural place for her to be. Though neither side knew it, she had been sitting amongst her family.
Another realisation came through. The reason why Chris Dover had deliberately avoided meeting Hamish Ramon Henriques was simply because he didn’t dare come face to face with a native Spanish-speaker. Such an encounter would almost inevitably lead to exposure of the lies he had invented about his Uruguayan upbringing.
But the question Mrs Pargeter could not yet answer was why Christo Karaskakis had created this huge subterfuge, what had driven him so thoroughly to disguise the truth about himself – even to the extent of landing his daughter with the unlikely name of Conchita, for God’s sake!
There were two possible explanations for such extreme behaviour – it could be a reaction either of guilt or of fear.
If Christo Karaskakis had committed some dreadful crime in Agios Nikitas, then guilt might have forced him to flee from the dangers of discovery and retribution. Sabotaging the outboard motor – if it were definitely known that that was what he was doing when it blew up in his face – might well qualify as such a crime.
Alternatively, though, perhaps he was the intended victim of the sabotage.
This theory appealed to Mrs Pargeter a lot more than the other one.
Under those circumstances, Christo Karaskakis might have been so frightened by the incident in the burning boat that he fled from Corfu and made himself unrecognisable to escape further attempts on his life. Perhaps he had spent his whole life in fear that the person who had so nearly killed him in 1959 would not rest until the job had been completed.