Mortal Remains by Margaret Yorke Page B

noticed.
    ‘Won’t you join us, Inspector?’ he suggested. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
    ‘Thank you. I will have coffee, please,’ said Manolakis.
    The waiter, seeing him, had at once appeared, and now, took the order with a sincere ‘amesos’, returning in a magically short time with the strong Greek coffee for the policeman.
    ‘Your friend, Mr Lomax – the matter is at rest,’ he said. ‘The body goes back to England tomorrow.’
    ‘Oh, good.’ Someone had been efficient. The unfortunate vice-consul, no doubt, summoned from Heraklion. ‘It’s reported briefly in the paper,’ Patrick said, indicating his copy of The Times.
    ‘So sad. You must forget it now and enjoy your holiday,’ said Manolakis. He was looking at Patrick, consideringly. ‘You are in Kriti for fourteen days?’
    ‘No. I’m going to Athens soon. Friday, probably.’
    ‘Ah – you have been to Athens before?’
    ‘Yes.’
    They talked about Athens for a while, with Ursula and Patrick waxing lyrical and Manolakis proudly listening to their praises of the city, drinking his coffee.
    ‘I am glad you like,’ he said.
    He left them then, and when he had gone, the waiter rushed over to see if they had more commands.
    ‘You’re a marked man now,’ said Ursula. ‘The policeman’s friend.’
    ‘It was nice of him to talk to us,’ said Patrick. ‘I wonder why he did?’
    ‘Just natural Greek courtesy.’
    ‘I thought he was pleased that I was leaving,’ Patrick said, slowly. ‘Now why? The business about Felix seems to be closed. They’ve decided it was an accident.’
    ‘But you’re not sure?’
    ‘I think Manolakis is convinced it was suicide.’
    ‘If it was—’ Ursula hesitated, choosing her words. ‘If it was, it’s a terrible thing to have happened, and surely better by far for everyone’s sake, to have it officially described as accidental. You said your friend had a tiresome wife.’
    Patrick laughed shortly.
    ‘If every man with a tiresome wife killed himself the suicide rate would soar,’ he said. ‘I just don’t see Felix doing such a thing. Besides, a man suffering from vertigo would choose another way of doing it, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t throw himself over a cliff. And why here, anyway?’

 
V
     
    ‘He’d had a lot to drink,’ said Patrick.
    They were sitting on the hotel terrace after dinner. Taped bouzouki music came from the softly-lit taverna bar outside which the tables were arranged. The scent from the flowers in the well-watered beds filled the air, and when briefly the bouzoukis stopped, the cicadas could be heard instead.
    ‘He might not have realised he was close to the cliff edge, in the darkness,’ said Ursula. ‘He might just have blundered over it.’
    ‘I’ve never seen a night in a place like this that was so dark,’ said Patrick. Both remembered that when they had arrived the harbour lights were brilliantly reflected in the sea; and now the sky above them was full of stars. ‘There’s a moon at the moment – it’s coming up to the full. And anyway, what was he doing here when he should have been sailing up to the Black Sea? That’s what I’d like to know.’ For by now he had told Ursula about Felix’s cruise commitment.
    ‘Had he no papers on him? Nothing that explained it?’
    ‘No. Only a wallet with some money, and his driving licence. And his passport.’
    ‘Have you got your passport on you now?’ asked Ursula.
    ‘No. It’s locked in my case in my room. I don’t carry it around all the time.’
    ‘Neither do I. That’s what I meant.’
    ‘That he was in transit, so to speak? The police found no record of his having booked in anywhere, nor any luggage. I suppose he could have dumped it somewhere.’
    ‘Are you going to tell Inspector Manolakis about his fear of heights?’
    ‘I don’t think so. Or not at the moment.’
    ‘His wife must be satisfied with whatever explanation she’s been given, or she’d make a fuss and demand further