The Right Path Part 21

Nick lifted a brow. "We weren't overly engaged in conversation." "Of course."

Nick wondered how long they could continue to fence. He decided to execute a few flourishes of his own. "I wil say that Iona seemed a trifle nervous. That is, as I said, however, a habitual trait. You'l find that the people who know her wil describe Iona as a ... restive woman. I can say with complete honesty that it never entered my mind that she was contemplating suicide. Even now, to be candid, I find the idea impossible."

Tripolos settled back comfortably. "Why?"

Generalities, Nick concluded, would suffice. "Iona's too fond of herself to seek death. A beautiful woman, Captain, and one greedy for life's pleasures. It's merely an opinion, you understand. You know much more about this sort of thing."

He shrugged. "My opinion is that it was an accident."

"An accident, Mr. Gregoras, is unlikely." He was fishing for a reaction, and Nick gave him another curious lift of brow. "There was too much heroin in her system for any but an amateur to take by mistake. And Miss Theoharis is no stranger to heroin. The marks of the needle tel a sad story."

"Yes, I see." "Were you aware that Miss Theoharis was an addict?"

"I didn't know Iona very wel , Captain. Social y, of course, but basical y, she's a cousin of a friend-a beautiful woman who isn't always comfortable to be around."

"Yet you spent the day with her yesterday."

"A beautiful woman," Nick said again, and smiled. "I'm sorry I can't help you."

"Perhaps you'd be interested in a theory of mine."

Nick didn't trust those bland eyes but continued to smile. "Of course."

"You see, Mr. Gregoras," Tripolos went on. "If it was an accident, and if your instincts are correct, there is only one answer."

"One answer?" Nick repeated then al owed his expression to change slowly. "Do you mean you think someone attempted to ... murder Iona?" "I'm a simple policeman, Mr. Gregoras." Tripolos looked plumply humble. "It is my nature to look at such matters from a suspicious point of view.

May I be frank?"

"By al means," Nick told him, admiring the captain's plodding shrewdness. Frank be d.a.m.ned, Nick mused, he's going to try to give me enough rope to hang myself.

"I am puzzled, and as a man who knows the Theoharis family wel , I would like your opinion." "Whatever I can do."

Tripolos nodded. "I wil tel you first-and of course, you understand this cannot leave this room?" Nick merely inclined his head and sipped his coffee.

"I wil tel you Anthony Stevos was part of a smuggling ring operating on Lesbos."

"I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind." Amused, Nick took out a box of cigarettes, offering one to Tripolos.

"It's no secret that a group has been using this island's nearness to Turkey to smuggle opium across the strait." Tripolos admired the thin wisp of elegant tobacco before he bent closer to Nick for a light.

"You think this Stevos was murdered by one of his cohorts?"

"That is my theory." Tripolos drew in the expensive smoke appreciatively. "It is the leader of this group that is my main concern. A bril iant man, I am forced to admit." Reluctant respect crossed his face. "He is very clever and has so far eluded any nets spread for his capture. It is rumored he rarely joins in the boat trips. When he does, he is masked."

"I've heard the rumors, natural y," Nick mused behind a mist of smoke. "I put a great deal of it down to vil age gossip and romance. A masked man, smuggling-the stuff of fiction."

"He is real, Mr. Gregoras, and there is nothing romantic about back-stabbing."

"No, you're quite right."

"Stevos was not a smart man. He was being watched in hopes he would lead us to the one we want. But ..." As was his habit, Tripolos let the sentence trail off.

"I might ask, Captain, why you're tel ing me what must be police business."

"As an important man in our community," Tripolos said smoothly, "I feel I can take you into my confidence." The old fox, Nick thought, and smiled. "I appreciate that. Do you think this masked smuggler is a local man?"

"I believe he is a man who knows the island." Tripolos gave a grim smile in return. "But I do not believe he is a fisherman." "One of my olive pickers?" Nick suggested blandly, blowing out a stream of smoke. "No, I suppose not."

"I believe," Tripolos continued, "from the reports I have received on Miss Theoharis's activities in Athens, that she is aware of the ident.i.ty of the man we seek."

Nick came to attention. "Iona?"

"I am of the opinion that Miss Theoharis is very involved in the smuggling operation. Too involved for her own safety. If ... when," he amended, "she comes out of her coma, she'l be questioned."

"It's hard for me to believe that Alex's cousin would be a part of something like that." He's getting entirely too close, Nick realized, and swore silently at the lack of time. "Iona's a bit untamed," he went on, "but smuggling and murder. I can't believe it." "I am very much afraid someone tried to murder Miss Theoharis because she knew too much. I wil ask you, Mr. Gregoras, as one who is acquainted with her, how far would Miss Theoharis have gone for love-or for money?"

Nick paused as if considering careful y while his mind raced at readjustments to plans already formed. "For love, Captain, I think Iona would do little. But for money"-he looked up-"for money, Iona could justify anything."

"You are frank," Tripolos nodded. "I am grateful. Perhaps you would permit me to speak with you again on this matter. I must confess"-Tripolos's smile was sheepish, but his eyes remained direct-"it is a great help to discuss my problems with a man like yourself. It al ows me to put things in order."

"Captain, I'm glad to give you any help I can, of course." Nick gave him an easy smile.

For some time after Tripolos left, Nick remained in his chair. He scowled at the Rodin sculpture across the room as he calculated his choices. "We move tonight," he announced as Stephanos entered.

"It's too soon. Things are not yet safe."

"Tonight," Nick repeated and shifted his gaze. "Cal Athens and let them know about the change in plan. See if they can't rig something up to keep this Tripolos off my back for a few hours." He laced his fingers together and frowned. "He's dangled his bait, and he's d.a.m.n wel expecting me to bite."

"It's too dangerous tonight," Stephanos insisted. "There's another shipment in a few days."

"In a few days, Tripolos wil be that much closer. We can't afford to have things complicated with the local police now. And I have to be sure." Jet eyes narrowed, and his mouth became a grim line. "I haven't gone through al this to make a mistake at this point. I have to speed things up before Tripolos starts breathing down the wrong necks."

Chapter Nine

The cove was blanketed in gloom. Rocks glistened, protecting it from winds-and from view. There was a scent-lush wet leaves, wild blossoms that flourished in the sun and hung heavy at night. But somehow it wasn't a pleasant fragrance. It smelt of secrets and half-named fears.

Lovers didn't hold trysts there. Legend said it was haunted. At times, when a man walked near enough on a dark, stil night, the voices of spirits murmured behind the rocks. Most men took another route home and said nothing at al .

The moon shed a thin, hol ow light over the face of the water, adding to rather than detracting from the sense of whispering stil ness, of mystic darkness.

The water itself sighed gently over the rocks and sand. It was a pa.s.sive sound, barely stirring the air.

The men who gathered near the boat were like so many shadows-dark, faceless in the gloom. But they were men, flesh and blood and muscle. They didn't fear the spirits in the cove.

They spoke little, and only in undertones. A laugh might be heard from time to time, quick and harsh in a place of secrets, but for the most part they moved silently, competently. They knew what had to be done. The time was nearly right.

One saw the approach of a new shadow and grunted to his companion. Stealthily, he drew a knife from his belt, gripping its crude handle in a strong, work-worn hand. The blade glittered dangerously through the darkness. Work stopped; men waited.

As the shadow drew closer, he sheathed the knife and swal owed the salty taste of fear. He wouldn't have been afraid to murder, but he was afraid of this man.

The thick, st.u.r.dy fingers trembled as they released the knife. "We weren't expecting you."

"I do not like to always do the expected." The answer was in brisk Greek as a pale finger of moonlight fel over him. He wore black-al black, from lean black slacks to a sweater and leather jacket. Lean and tal , he might have been G.o.d or devil.

A hood concealed both his head and face. Only the gleam of dark eyes remained visible-and deadly. "You join us tonight?"

"I am here," he returned. He wasn't a man who answered questions, and no more were asked. He stepped aboard as one used to the life and sway of boats.

It was a typical fishing vessel. Its lines were simple. The decks were clean but rough, the paint fresh and black. Only the expense and power of its motor separated it from its companions.

Without a word, he crossed the deck, ignoring the men who fel back to let him pa.s.s. They were hefty, muscled men with thick wrists and strong hands.

They moved away from the lean man as if he could crush them to bone with one sweep of his narrow hand. Each prayed the slitted eyes would not seek him out.

He placed himself at the helm, then gazed casual y over his shoulder. At the look, the lines were cast off. They would row until they were out to sea and the roar of the motor would go unnoticed.