‘Do you know why people kill each other? They do it because they’re out of their heads. There are only three motives. Sex, anger and money. You kill someone in the street. You stick a knife in them and you take their money. You have an argument with them and you smash a bottle and rip open their throat. Or you kill them because you get off on it. All the murderers I’ve met have been thick as shit. Not clever people. Not posh or upper class. Thick as shit. And you know how we catch them? We don’t ask them clever questions and work out that they don’t have an alibi, that they weren’t actually where they were meant to be. We catch them on CCTV. Half the time, they leave their DNA all over the crime scene. Or they confess. Maybe one day you should publish the truth although I’m telling you, nobody would want to read it.
‘I’ll tell you what really annoyed me about Alan Conway. I helped him – not that he ever gave me anything by way of a thank you. But that’s another story. No. First of all, he wasn’t interested in the truth. Why are all the detectives in his books so fucking stupid? You know he even based one on me? Raymond Chubb. That’s me. Oh, he’s not black. He wouldn’t have dared go that far. But Chubb – you know who they are? They manufacture locks. Get it? And all that stuff he wrote about the wife in No Rest for the Wicked. That was my wife he was writing about. I’d been stupid enough to tell him and he went ahead and put it in his book without ever asking me.’
So this was the source of his anger. From the way Locke was talking, I knew he wasn’t interested in me and he wasn’t going to help. I might almost have added him to my list of suspects.
‘The public have no idea what the police are really doing in this country and it’s thanks to people like Alan Conway and people like you,’ he concluded. ‘And I hope you don’t mind my saying this, Ms Ryeland, but I find it a little bit pathetic that you’re trying to make a real-life mystery out of what is actually a textbook-case suicide. He had the motive. He was ill. He wrote a letter. He’d just split up with his boyfriend. He was alone. So he makes a decision and he jumps. If you want my advice, you’ll go back to London and forget it. Thanks for the tea.’
He had finished drinking and he walked out. He had left the flapjack, in pieces, on his plate.
Crouch End
Andreas was waiting for me when I got in. I could tell the moment I opened the door because of the smell coming from the kitchen. Andreas is a fantastic cook. He cooks in a very masculine way, rattling pans, throwing in the ingredients without measuring them, everything high speed on roaring flames with a glass of red wine in hand. I’ve never seen him consult a cookery book. The table was laid for two with candles and flowers that looked like they’d come from a garden, not a shop. He grinned when he saw me and gave me a hug.
‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ he said.
‘What’s for dinner?’
‘Roast lamb.’
‘Can you give me five minutes?’
‘I can give you fifteen.’
I showered and changed into a loose-fitting jumper and leggings, the sort of clothes that assured me I wouldn’t be going out again tonight. I came to the table with damp hair and picked up the giant glass of wine that Andreas had poured for me.
‘Cheers.’
‘Yamas.’
English and the Greek. That was another of our traditions.
We sat down and ate and I told Andreas everything that had happened in Framlingham: the funeral, all the rest of it. I knew at once that he wasn’t very interested. He listened politely but that wasn’t what I’d hoped for. I wanted him to question me, to challenge my assumptions. I thought we might work it out like some sort of north London Tommy and Tuppence (Agatha Christie’s slightly less successful detective duo). But he didn’t really care who had killed Alan. I remembered that he hadn’t wanted me to investigate in the first place and I wondered if I had annoyed him – the Greek side of him – going ahead anyway.
In fact, his mind was on other things. ‘I’ve given in my notice,’ he suddenly announced as he served up.
‘At the school? Already?’ I was surprised.
‘Yes. I’m leaving at the end of term.’ He glanced at me. ‘I told you what I was going to do.’
‘You said you were thinking about it.’
‘Yannis has been pushing me to make a decision. The hotel owners won’t wait much longer and the money is in place. We managed to get a loan from the bank and there may be various grants available from the EU. It’s all happening, Susan. Polydorus will be open next summer.’
‘Polydorus? Is that what it’s called?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a pretty name.’
I have to admit, I was a little thrown. Andreas had more or less asked me to marry him but I’d assumed he would give me a little time to make up my mind. Now it seemed he was offering me a done deal. Just bring out the air ticket and the apron and we could be on our way. He had his iPad with him and slid it round on the table while we ate, showing me pictures. Polydorus did look a lovely place. There was a long verandah with crazy paving and a straw pergola, brightly coloured wooden tables and a dazzling sea beyond. The building itself was whitewashed with blue shutters and I could just make out a bar with an old-fashioned coffee machine, tucked away inside, in the shade. The bedrooms were basic but they looked clean and welcoming. I could easily imagine the sort of people who would want to stay there: visitors rather than tourists.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘It looks lovely.’
‘I’m doing this for both of us, Susan.’
‘But what happens to “both of us” if I don’t want to come?’ I closed the cover of the iPad. I didn’t want to look at it any more. ‘Couldn’t you have waited a little longer before you went ahead?’
‘I had to make up my mind – about the hotel – and that’s what I’ve done. I don’t want to be a teacher all my life and anyway, you and me … is this the best we can do?’ He laid down his knife and fork. I noticed how neatly he arranged them on each side of his plate. ‘We don’t see each other all the time,’ he went on. ‘There are weeks when we don’t see each other at all. You made it clear you didn’t want me to move in with you—’
I bridled at that. ‘That isn’t true. You’re welcome here but most of the time you’re at school. I thought you preferred it this way.’
‘All I’m saying is that we could be together more. We could make this work. I know I’m asking a lot but you won’t know until you try. You’ve never even been to Crete! Come for a few weeks in the spring. See if you like it.’ I said nothing so he added: ‘I’m fifty years old. If I don’t make a move on this, it’s never going to happen.’
‘Can’t Yannis manage without you?’
‘I love you, Susan, and I want you to be with me. I promise you, if you’re not happy, we can come back together. I’ve already made that mistake. I’m not going to do it twice. If it doesn’t work, I can get another teaching job.’
I didn’t feel like eating any more. I reached out and lit a cigarette. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you,’ I said. ‘Charles has asked me to take over the company.’
His eyes widened when he heard that. ‘Do you want to?’
‘I have to consider it, Andreas. It’s a fantastic opportunity. I can take Cloverleaf in any direction I want.’
‘I thought you said Cloverleaf was finished.’
‘I never said that.’ He looked disappointed so I added: ‘Is that what you were hoping?’
‘Can I be honest, Susan? I thought, when Alan died, that it would be the end for you, yes. I thought the company would close and you would move on and that the hotel would be the answer for both of us.’