like you',' Marler completed for her. 'Tell me - before you go - why did you take up with him?
She was asking dangerous questions. 'Such as?'
'About the Greek Key.' 'What's that?'
'Just pray to God you never find out. See you around, Marler.'
'It sounds as though you gave her a rough time. Just like you're giving me one,' Newman grumbled. 'I was fast asleep when you hammered on my door.'
Thought you'd want to know the latest developments,' Marler replied, unrepentant. 'That you'd rely on your assistant to keep you informed.'
Heavy-eyed, his hair tousled, Newman tied the cord of his dressing gown more tightly, drank some of the coffee Marler had ordered from room service. He pursed his lips as he replayed in his mind Marler's account of his adventure with Christina.
'You have been enjoying yourself,' he said eventually.
'All in the line of duty . . .'
'Don't say that to Tweed. Significant that remark she let slip - 'if I am going to be cross-questioned I can get that at police headquarters like you . . .' Like you. She knew we had been taken there by Sarris. No motorcyclist with an orange crash helmet followed us that I saw.'
'I thought I caught sight of that black Mercedes when I was taken in the police car,' Marler remarked.
'Did you now?' Newman drank more coffee. Then that would prove she is working under Petros' orders, that he told her about our visit. Which means she was lying - about acting under Petros' instructions.'
'Oh, she's a lovely little liar. Makes it a way of life.'
'Except on two points, you said. She didn't hear a rifle shot at Zea - which is possible with those ships' sirens blaring. And she wasn't the one who led Masterson down to Cape Sounion. This business is full of twists. And what the blazes is the Greek Key?'
'Maybe it turns the lock to the whole mystery.'
'If we could ever find that key. I'm going back to bed.'
'And our next move is?'
'Keep Nick and his helpers looking for where Masterson stayed. We might start making enquiries about the Greek Key. Someone must know what it is. In short, keep stirring the pot until something rises to the surface. And maybe take a look at Cape Sounion. While we're there we could try to locate old Petros' headquarters in the mountains.'
Think I've already stirred one pot. It's called Christina Gavalas. I left her not liking us a lot. Which was the object of the exercise.'
'Exercise is the word for what you did.'
'Did you tell Newman everything about Giorgos, Chief?' asked his assistant, Kalos.
'What do you mean, everything?' Sarris demanded.
He stifled a yawn as he gazed down at the traffic jamming up Alexandras. Nine in the morning. It would get worse. He flexed aching hands. He wasn't up to these all-night sessions.
'The knife rammed into his back under the shoulder blade.'
'No, I didn't. We keep that quiet. I kept Newman away from the pathologist. That knife bothers me. Doesn't make sense.'
'The fact that he was drowned in the wine barrel first, then the knife was stuck in later? The lack of blood proves that.'
'Precisely. And it is an old British commando knife. The war museum has a specimen. I compared them. The knife in Giorgos is an exact replica. Macabre. Some kind of symbolic gesture?'
'Or something to put us off the real identity of the killer?'
'Could be. I just hope Newman doesn't go poking round in Devil's Valley. Petros Gavalas controls that area like some medieval baron.'
'And what about the number of accidents that have taken place in that area? Hikers and mountaineers who never come back?'
'I've never been able to pin anything on the old villain - but I'm certain his men tossed them over precipices. No one penetrates his territory and survives. He's the old school. Comes from Macedonia. They play rough up there. Yes, I do hope Newman gives that one a miss . . .'
2 p.m. 90°F. 32°C . Newman was freshly shaved, showered, his brain was alert, he had eaten a large lunch in the hotel dining room with Marler and they had
She was asking dangerous questions. 'Such as?'
'About the Greek Key.' 'What's that?'
'Just pray to God you never find out. See you around, Marler.'
'It sounds as though you gave her a rough time. Just like you're giving me one,' Newman grumbled. 'I was fast asleep when you hammered on my door.'
Thought you'd want to know the latest developments,' Marler replied, unrepentant. 'That you'd rely on your assistant to keep you informed.'
Heavy-eyed, his hair tousled, Newman tied the cord of his dressing gown more tightly, drank some of the coffee Marler had ordered from room service. He pursed his lips as he replayed in his mind Marler's account of his adventure with Christina.
'You have been enjoying yourself,' he said eventually.
'All in the line of duty . . .'
'Don't say that to Tweed. Significant that remark she let slip - 'if I am going to be cross-questioned I can get that at police headquarters like you . . .' Like you. She knew we had been taken there by Sarris. No motorcyclist with an orange crash helmet followed us that I saw.'
'I thought I caught sight of that black Mercedes when I was taken in the police car,' Marler remarked.
'Did you now?' Newman drank more coffee. Then that would prove she is working under Petros' orders, that he told her about our visit. Which means she was lying - about acting under Petros' instructions.'
'Oh, she's a lovely little liar. Makes it a way of life.'
'Except on two points, you said. She didn't hear a rifle shot at Zea - which is possible with those ships' sirens blaring. And she wasn't the one who led Masterson down to Cape Sounion. This business is full of twists. And what the blazes is the Greek Key?'
'Maybe it turns the lock to the whole mystery.'
'If we could ever find that key. I'm going back to bed.'
'And our next move is?'
'Keep Nick and his helpers looking for where Masterson stayed. We might start making enquiries about the Greek Key. Someone must know what it is. In short, keep stirring the pot until something rises to the surface. And maybe take a look at Cape Sounion. While we're there we could try to locate old Petros' headquarters in the mountains.'
Think I've already stirred one pot. It's called Christina Gavalas. I left her not liking us a lot. Which was the object of the exercise.'
'Exercise is the word for what you did.'
'Did you tell Newman everything about Giorgos, Chief?' asked his assistant, Kalos.
'What do you mean, everything?' Sarris demanded.
He stifled a yawn as he gazed down at the traffic jamming up Alexandras. Nine in the morning. It would get worse. He flexed aching hands. He wasn't up to these all-night sessions.
'The knife rammed into his back under the shoulder blade.'
'No, I didn't. We keep that quiet. I kept Newman away from the pathologist. That knife bothers me. Doesn't make sense.'
'The fact that he was drowned in the wine barrel first, then the knife was stuck in later? The lack of blood proves that.'
'Precisely. And it is an old British commando knife. The war museum has a specimen. I compared them. The knife in Giorgos is an exact replica. Macabre. Some kind of symbolic gesture?'
'Or something to put us off the real identity of the killer?'
'Could be. I just hope Newman doesn't go poking round in Devil's Valley. Petros Gavalas controls that area like some medieval baron.'
'And what about the number of accidents that have taken place in that area? Hikers and mountaineers who never come back?'
'I've never been able to pin anything on the old villain - but I'm certain his men tossed them over precipices. No one penetrates his territory and survives. He's the old school. Comes from Macedonia. They play rough up there. Yes, I do hope Newman gives that one a miss . . .'
2 p.m. 90°F. 32°C . Newman was freshly shaved, showered, his brain was alert, he had eaten a large lunch in the hotel dining room with Marler and they had
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