The authoritieshad accomplished a good deal during the morning. Felix’s death had been caused by drowning; there were contusions on the body consistent with a fall from the cliffs, including a bruise on the back of the head. He had had a good deal to drink before death: ouzo, it seemed. The assumption was that, under the influence of excess alcohol he had lost his footing and fallen into the sea. He had been dead about four days.
‘In this heat, Mr Grant, you understand me, the body would rise to the surface quickly,’ said Manolakis. He sat at the manager’s desk, his clever eyes watching Patrick’s response.
Patrick nodded. He was satisfied that Felix had drowned; he had noticed a little froth issuing from the dead man’s nostrils before he was bundled into his blanket, after that dreadful moment of recognition.
‘He is to be sent home for burial,’ added the policeman with evident relief. ‘It is the wish of the widow.’
She would stage a tragic funeral. Well, at least Patrick need not attend.
‘Was he staying on the island?’ he asked.
‘Ah, that is the puzzle. We find no record, and he was not reported missing. It is very strange.’
‘He didn’t come over for the day and go out in a small boat—? No.’ Patrick saw Manolakis’s expression.
‘No small boat is lost,’ said Manolakis.
It was quite impossible for Felix to have vanished from the Persephone without a hue and cry being raised; therefore his absence from the ship had been explained. Ursula had said that people acted out of character at times; so they did, but not balanced men like Felix. Yet there were his moods, the times when he was silent, brooding. And he was only a moderate drinker; why was he full of ouzo? To beat the vertigo? Why not avoid the cliff?
Would this satisfy Gwenda, or would she demand further enquiries? Would she even care enough to wonder?
‘You are not happy, Mr Grant,’ said Manolakis. ‘There are lonely men who give no reason for their actions and are not missed swiftly.’
So Manolakis thought that Felix had jumped.
‘An accident. It is better so,’ added the policeman. ‘There is no evidence to prove otherwise.’
That was true, anyway. Felix’s thoughts in his last hours would never be known, it seemed. It was tragic, but there was nothing more to be said. Patrick himself was to be let off lightly; arrangements were already in hand for flying the body home as soon as the official enquiry was over, and he could put the whole thing out of his mind and concentrate on Yannis.
He took Phineas Finn in to lunch with him and scarcely lifted his eyes from its pages while he plodded through a hefty moussaka. Afterwards he went up to his room. The shutters were drawn but the room was still warm. He played about with the air-conditioning; opening the window presumably defeated the whole object of it, but one could not shut out this glorious day. He flung the windows wide.
It was too hot to sit out for long, even in the shade.
Ursula Norris was doubtless having her siesta. It wasn’t a bad idea.
Patrick lay down on his bed and immediately the image of a slight, dark girl floated into his mind.
It was ridiculous. He’d got over it months ago. It was just the effect of this place – the sun and the surroundings, and the sight of at least four honeymoon couples in the hotel restaurant.
It was better to think about Felix.