Page 78 of Deep Blue Lies
More elements of my predicament bombard into me. I was the first person to find Imogen, she’s clearly been attacked, so might the police thinkIattacked her? Should I have just run off when I saw Imogen lying in the sand? But of course not. Trying to help someone can’t make you look guilty. But should I tell them I was meeting her? Does that make me a suspect? It’s like being in a dream, where you suddenly find yourself in a trap that you didn’t notice at first, where you don’t quite know where the walls are, but there doesn’t seem to be any way to escape.
Maybe I should just tell them everything? But it’s so confusing. I don’tknowanything. The whole point of coming to Alythos, the whole point of Imogen coming out here, was so that I could find out the truth…
Suddenly I freeze, the obvious reality of this hits me. How did I not see this before? Imogen was going to tell me everything, and suddenly she’s been attacked. That’s not a coincidence. That cannot be a coincidence. Someone hit her,someone tried to kill her, to stop her from talking to me.
I cannot get this thought out of my head, even as the policemen finish up what they’re doing and start preparing to leave. There are more police now, I think they must have come from the land, and then I’m being told that we’re going back on the boat, that I should hold on tightly when we start moving. I nod dumbly, still reeling.
Somebody tried to kill Imogen, to stop her talking to me.
Who? Who could it possibly have been? My mind goes first to Gregory Duncan, he lied to me about knowing her. I suspected it at the time, but now I’m sure of it. But why would he try to kill her? How about Kostas? He knew her, and he’d have the strength to do this. Easily. But how did he know she’s here? Maybe Sophia inadvertently said something? What about Simon Walker-Denzil, orthe men who work for him on that crazy superyacht? I’ve no doubt some of them are the violent type. Or could it be someone else? I have literally no idea who might have done this, or why.
We’re pushed out backwards into the bay, the anchor passed across the bow where one of the police officers stores it away. Then the powerful engine whines as it tugs us backwards slowly out into deeper water. Then it growls as the prop bites and spins us around, pointing towards the open sea. Moments later we’re flying along, turning – to my surprise – left. Away from Skalio and along the rocky, cliffy coast.
The journey only takes fifteen minutes, flat out the whole way, until we slow down as we enter the rock arms of the harbour in Kastria. It’s much bigger than Skalio, and we tie up alongside a pontoon. I’m helped ashore, and then led up a ramp onto the harbourside, where a police car is waiting for me. It takes me on a short drive to a whitewashed building with the wordsHellenic Policeon the outside in English – along with plenty in Greek I can’t read. I’m led inside and finally into an interview room, where I’m left alone with a bottle of water. It’s fifteen minutes later when the door opens again, and the policeman who spoke to me on the beach sits down in the chair opposite.
I’ve decided now, I’m going to tell the truth – as much as I can – without confusing the investigation they’re going to lead. I sit forward in my chair, preparing to tell the policeman everything.
SIXTY-EIGHT
“Thank you for waiting Miss…” – he flips open his notebook – “Whit-a-ker, this shouldn’t take long.” He gives me a solemn smile.
I nod, readying myself.
“When you found the body, did you see or hear anybody else in the bay?”
“No.”
“Did you see anybody when you approached the area? Anybody acting suspiciously?”
I think about this, retracing my path in my mind.
“No. I don’t think so.”
He reads through something in his notebook. I can’t see what, but he flips the pages several times. Suddenly he looks up.
“What time was it that you found… Ms Grant?”
“Um, I think it was… We were meeting at eleven. I think it was about five to. Ten fifty-five.”
The officer nods.
“OK.” He looks up, meets my eye for a moment, then repeats himself. “OK.” He flips the notebook shut.
I’m confused. “Is that it? Is that all you need to know?”
“For the moment yes, if I need to ask anything more I know whereto find you.”
“But I was meeting her,” I protest. “Doesn’t that make me… a suspect?”
He smiles, but doesn’t quite laugh at this, except he nearly does. Then he seems to gain control of himself. “Do you think youshouldbe suspect?”
“No.Of course not. I didn’tdoanything, but?—”
“Calm yourself, Miss Whitaker. It is very clear what has happened here, I am sorry to say.”
“What?”
He looks thoughtful a moment, as if this isn’t something he should say, but then tells me anyway.
