The Whispers of Nemesis Read Online Free PDF Page B

relative. Is there someone in the village who would come?’
    â€˜Please,’ said Frona. ‘I want to know.’
    â€˜We had a call from our fellow officers in Nafplio. They say your brother died by choking. On an olive, they believe. He was alone in his room, and there was no one there to help him. Your brother’s body has been passed into an undertaker’s care, to be sent here, to you. He’s on his way already. You should expect him tomorrow, or, at the latest, the day after.’
    Frona fell back into silence.
    â€˜So is there anyone?’ asked the policeman. ‘I can fetch them in the car, if you’d like.’
    â€˜Maria, our housekeeper,’ she said. ‘She must be told. She must come and be with us.’
    She gave the officer directions to Maria’s house. Nothing remained, then, but for the men to leave. The policeman’s companion offered Frona his hand; she did not take it, and the companion let it drop back to his side.
    â€˜May your brother’s memory be eternal,’ he said. ‘I don’t doubt it will be so. He’s a great loss to us all. Not just to you, as his family, or to the people of your village, but to all of Greece. The nation mourns him. Perhaps when you’ve had a little time, we might talk. Maybe as his next of kin, you’d make a statement?’
    He took out a business card featuring a newspaper’s logo, and, ignoring the policeman’s glare, laid it on the dowry chest.
    â€˜A statement?’ She seemed bewildered. ‘It’s Attis you should go to, for a statement.’
    â€˜Attis?’
    â€˜Attis Danas, Santos’s agent. He handles Santos’s publicity. He handles everything.’
    â€˜Do you have a number for him?’
    â€˜I’ll call him. I’ll call him myself, and give him your number.’
    The policeman ushered the journalist out of the door, and the women were left alone.
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    As Attis Danas unlocked the apartment door, the phone on the hallstand was ringing. The fabric of his jacket stank of cigar smoke, his breath of stale brandy; his silk tie was rolled up in his pocket. As he picked up the phone, he glanced in the mirror, and rubbed a smear of lipstick from his cheek.
    â€˜ Embros? ’
    â€˜Attis, for God’s sake, is that you? Where have you been?’
    â€˜Frona! This is a surprise! So early!’
    â€˜Attis, I’ve been calling you for hours! Where have you been?’
    â€˜Celebrating. A client of mine – that woman who writes the cookery books – made this week’s Top Ten. Frona, are you all right?’
    â€˜Attis, you must come. You have to come, come now. Something terrible has happened. I still can’t believe it! I still can’t believe he’s gone!’
    â€˜Who’s gone? Frona, what are you talking about?’
    â€˜You must come, Attis, and help us. The police have been here. They came to tell us poor Santos is dead!’
    For a moment, Attis didn’t speak, but looked out through the window at the hall’s end, where grey clouds drizzled over city rooftops.
    â€˜That’s not possible,’ he said. ‘How can he be dead? I spoke to him myself, only . . . When? When are they saying he died?’
    â€˜I don’t know, Attis, I don’t know! You must come now, and help us. There’s only me and Leda, and Maria, and I don’t know what to do! The press were here, too. You need to speak to them.’
    â€˜Of course I’ll come,’ said Attis. ‘Don’t worry. Trust me. You know you can leave everything to me. Just let me make some calls, and I’ll be leaving. So just stay calm, Frona, and I’ll be there with you in a few hours.’

Five
    Anxious to get out of the rain, Father Tomas hurried through the final words and cast a fistful of wet earth into the grave, where soil and stones thudded dismally on the coffin lid. The mourners in their turn picked up