Colin Forbes: The Greek Key

'No. Weird business. He knew about the tragedy. After they landed on Siros successfully the diamonds were handed to Gavalas to pass on to his Greek contact. The commando team was returning to the beach down a gully and found Gavalas lying dead with a knife stuck in his back.' Davies' expression became grim. 'It was a commando knife.'

'You can't mean that one of…'

'The three commandos? No. Barrymore immediately gathered his team together and asked to see their weapons. All of them, including himself, had their knives.'

'Weird, as you say. Why didn't the killer remove the knife?'

'Well, that's something I can understand. Apparently it had been driven into Gavalas with great force. Ever tried to pull out a knife from a dead body? It can take some doing-if it's rammed in deep. 'Barrymore tried to pull it out and couldn't manage it. So they scarpered pretty damn quick.'

'And Harry explained all this before seeing the file?'

'I think he wanted me to realize he wasn't on a fishing expedition, that he knew a great deal about the murder on Siros.'

'And was it eventually brought home to the killer?'

'Not as far as I know.' Davies made a sweeping gesture with his hand. 'Look at the range of suspects. The EDES section which knew Gavalas was coming. The Germans occupying the island. They patrolled constantly, I gather.'

'And the diamonds had been handed over before the Barrymore team left Gavalas the first time – alive?'

'No, they hadn't.' Davies pursed his lips.

'So the first thing Barrymore would do when he realized Gavalas was dead would be to check for the diamonds.'

'Which he did. They'd vanished.'

'What was a fortune in diamonds worth then? Any data?'

'One hundred thousand pounds. God knows what they'd be worth now. That covers what Harry told me before I searched for the file and he sat in that same chair reading it. His next request was what startled me. Tell you about it when you've scanned the file.' Davies smiled cynically. 'You can't, of course, borrow that file, photograph it, or make a single note. It's the regulations.'

'I know.' Tweed glanced up and caught the cynical smile. He understood. Davies knew Tweed's reputation for a photographic memory. He only had to read a long document once and he had total recall. Every word would be imprinted on his brain.

Five minutes later Tweed pushed the file back across the desk. He sat with hands clasped as he asked the question.

'And what was the request Harry made that startled you?'

'He asked me if I could give him the present whereabouts of Barrymore, Robson and Kearns – if they'd survived. I don't think I can take this any further, Tweed. It involves another department. Better ask Harry when you see him again.'

'Not possible, Willie.' Tweed paused. 'Harry is dead.'

Davies stiffened, his face froze. He opened a drawer, took out an ash tray, a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He dropped the pack back inside the drawer.

'Rarely smoke these days. You tricked me, Tweed. Not like you.. .'

'I thought you might close down on me. It's just possible he was murdered. I've thrown away the rule book. I'm going to find out how he died come hell or high water. You'd do the same thing if our roles were reversed.'

'You're right there,' Davies admitted. 'May I ask where and how?'

'In Greece. He's supposed to have stumbled off a three-hundred-feet cliff a good way south-east of Athens…'

'Bloody rubbish. Never!' Davies stubbed out the cigarette, drummed his thick fingers on the desk-top. 'Not Harry. And you won't stop until you've found out what happened.'

'No, I won't.'

Davies stood up, went back to the cabinet, unlocked it, took out a thin blue file and laid it before Tweed. He sat down, lips tightly compressed before he spoke.

'You can look at that appendix to the other file. Same regulations apply… Hell, I don't have to tell you. When Harry asked for that information I didn't think I could oblige. I checked with this other department which keeps certain records. You see, Barrymore and Kearns stayed in the Army for a few years after the war. The girl who checks records like that is a tigress. Never gives up. I gave her all three names – Robson and Kearns as well as Barrymore. She located Barrymore easily. Then she obtained a copy of the phone directory of the same area. Came up with all three addresses. Better look in that file.'

A single sheet of paper. Tweed stared, unable to believe it. All the addresses were in Somerset. 'The last two are from the directory,' Davies explained.

'After all these years, they all live in the Exmoor area.'

'Odd, isn't it? Odd, too, that Harry died in Greece – not a hundred miles from the island of Siros from what you've told me.'

Tweed closed the second file, stood up slowly, his mind whirling. He thanked Willie, said they must have a drink soon. At the door he turned before he opened it.

'When I came in you said something about a queue from my outfit.'

Davies was standing close to him, hands thrust in his trouser pockets. He stood thinking for a moment.

'I wasn't too accurate there. You used to be with Scotland Yard. I made a subconscious connection.'

'What are you talking about?'

'A few days after Harry visited me someone else arrived – an ex-Chief Inspector from the Yard called Partridge.'

'Sam Partridge of Homicide? Now retired. I know him.'

'Might as well tell you the lot. Partridge carries no status here, of course. But he's a persuasive sort of chap. And coming so soon after Harry. Well… Long and short of it is he also wanted the present whereabouts of Barrymore, Robson and Kearns. I ended up giving him the addresses.'

'May I ask what was his interest?'

'He's still investigating a murder which took place over forty years ago. Never solved. Can't sit at home and cultivate a vegetable patch now he's retired. Very vigorous type.'

The murder of Gavalas on Siros?'

'No. This is going to shake you. It did me. After Harry. Which is why I coughed up those addresses, I suppose. I'm sure there can't be a connection.'

'A connection between who?'

'The killing of Gavalas on Siros and the murder of some other Greek at the HO of certain secret units in Cairo, Ionides I think he called him.'

'Jim Corcoran came through from Heathrow Airport Security,' Paula reported as Tweed walked into his office. 'We've got the data you need. Corcoran checked the computers. Harry flew out to Athens via Zurich on Swissair Flight 805. Ten days ago.'

'Which gave him about another ten days to poke about on Exmoor before he left. And I know now why he went there.'

'The news is even better. Harry booked two seats aboard the flight in advance. Guess the name of the passenger who sat in the seat next to him.'

'Not in the mood for guessing games. And I've got a mass of my own data to dictate to you…'

'A Christina Gavalas sat next to him.'

'My God, it's beginning to link up.'

'How?'

'Exactly how I've no idea. Ready for dictation? File One.'

Tweed stood quite still, eyes half-closed, while he recalled the contents of the Siros file. Paula took it down in her shorthand book, scrawled a fresh heading for File Two, recorded the three addresses Tweed reeled off.

'Two copies only,' he warned. 'One for Newman and Marler. The other for us.'

'Consider it done. Newman and Marler can collect the tickets from Heathrow if they're leaving tomorrow.'

'They are doing just that. I had a word with them on my way in. Let them have the first copy of the Siros file earliest.'

He was sitting behind his desk when the door opened and Monica walked in. She waved reassuring hands as Paula jumped up. 'I'm all right. Better back in the front line than moping at home.' She went to her desk. 'Can I help?'