Forth into Light (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (32 page)

In a few minutes, she joined him and the look they exchanged did much to still his conscience. They sat together on the covered deck and ordered beer as preparations for departure continued.

“How marvelous we’re chasing Mike together,” she said. “That
is
what we’re doing, isn’t it—going to look for Mike?”

“That, and trying to straighten out the island idiocy.”

“I’m a bit confused about that. The lovely thing is that it all seems to fit together.”

“Like us.”

“Yes. I adored ordering lunch for us just now. It gave me a lovely little feeling of keeping house for you. If I spend another day with you, I’ll turn into a nice normal little housewife.”

“We’re certainly going to have another day together. Am I going to be stuck with a normal little housewife?”

There was an earthy note in her laughter that hadn’t been there yesterday. “I don’t think even you could turn me into much of a housewife. There’s something missing in me. I found out a great deal about myself last night.”

Their eyes flew to each other at the reference, brimming with scores of intimacies and ecstasies, and then a light of humor came up in Judy’s and they simultaneously burst into laughter. To Peter, it was exonerating laughter. It cleared the air. Whatever was happening to them, they hadn’t got in too deep.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” he asked.

“Tell you what?” Her eyes were sparkling.

“What you found out.”

“Of course. But not yet. Not now. I have to make sure I know how to say it.”

The look she gave him was intriguing but reassuring. He watched the gangplank being brought aboard with a deep sense of relief. Once they were on their way, so that he would have no choice between being here or with Charlie he was sure it would seem more right to enjoy himself. After all, he wasn’t just dashing off for pleasure. It was important for him to see Jeff, he was determined to extricate Costa, and he might even do Tim a good turn. Judy made it fun, but he had a serious purpose.

The stern lines were clear now and they were moving out on the anchor chain. He took a last quick, less guilty look up at the house. This was a business trip, really. It wasn’t the first time he had left them here to go off on a business trip. He would be back tomorrow or the day after.

The rattle of chain ceased. The bow swung around to the harbor’s entrance. The motors became a muted roar under them and they were off. Their eyes sought each other again and they laughed with the simple pleasure of being together.

George Leighton woke up in a strange room. In a strange bed. With strange bedfellows. He awoke with a sudden rush into consciousness and struggled upright as he became aware of the unfamiliarity of all his surroundings. The first thing his mind registered was that he was still wearing a shirt and trousers and that two naked girls were asleep in the bed with him. One of them was Lena, Joe Peterson’s girl. This was as much as his senses could encompass for a moment.

His head pounded, his stomach heaved, he almost dropped back onto the bed again, but his eye was caught by the bed on the other side of the room. It contained a trio of reverse sexual composition—Joe and the pretty German boy and one girl, all naked. Fragments of the evening before began to fall into place. His mind collided into the scene with Sarah and his heart leaped up in panic and he struggled to his feet. Bodies on both sides of the room shifted and snorted and whimpered and were still again. He swayed on his feet and careened a few paces across the floor.

Sarah and the earthquake and Joe’s group taking him in tow. The money. That was the night before. Joe and his group and drinking himself into oblivion. Whether quickly or slowly he couldn’t remember. He still had his clothes on. He fumbled for his fly and found it closed. Still celibate?

His head swung heavily about as he tried to find a way out of the unknown room. He saw a staircase opening in the floor and made uneven progress toward it, trying to make as little noise as possible. He felt on the edge of physical collapse, as if his body could never be put right again, but there was a deadness or tranquility in him that made this awakening less daunting than any he could remember for a long time.

When he reached it, the staircase looked perilously steep but he picked his way down it without mishap. The house was a primitive island dwelling with a kitchen but no sign of a bathroom. He went out into a courtyard and relieved himself of last night’s drink. He saw that the sun was oddly high in the sky.

He returned to the kitchen which was crowded with dirty dishes and doused his head under the spigot affixed to a small tank hanging on the wall over a table bearing a basin. He began to feel as if he might recover, but only after several days’ total rest.

His ears picked up the sound of loud ticking and he realized that there must be a clock somewhere. He followed the sound and found a dented old alarm clock on a cupboard shelf. Its hands pointed at one-twenty. It had to be wrong.

Yesterday’s unpleasantness with the police had reassembled itself in his mind. He remembered asserting airily that he wouldn’t allow Costa to be victimized. He and Joe had been due to go to the police first thing this morning. The hell with Sarah. The hell with Mike (had he kept a check Mike had given him?) but he hadn’t conceded defeat on all fronts. Costa was still his responsibility.

He found a fragment of mirror hanging on the wall and ducked down to look at himself. He was shocked, almost indignant to see how much his recuperative powers had already acomplished. He looked quite presentable except for his sprouting whiskers. His clothes were dirty and rumpled, but there was nothing to be done about that.

He had to see the police chief immediately. It was doubtless later than it should be, but it couldn’t be afternoon. He ran his fingers through his hair and hitched up his trousers and found he could manage his body as he went out again through the courtyard.

He got his bearings and realized where he was. The house was quite low in the amphitheater of the town. A maze of narrow streets separated him from the police station. It was so much cooler than yesterday that he found he could walk quite briskly without working up more than a light sweat.

Nearing his destination, he came out onto a small square shaded by great spreading umbrella pines on which was a tavern much favored by the local population. He started across it and caught sight of the police chief among the scattering of somnolent drinkers. He was sitting at a table alone and very upright, his military cap in place, in front of a glass of ouzo. George altered course and approached him. When he saw him, the captain rose slightly with a crisp bow and indicated the chair beside him.

“Ah, Mr. Yorgo. I had expected to see you earlier. Will you join me?”

George seated himself. “I was just on my way to see you now.”

“At this hour? Surely even a poor policeman may have time for his lunch.”

“The clock at home must be slow again,” George said hastily. So it was after one.

“What may I offer you?”

“A beer might be a good idea.”

The captain snapped his fingers and issued orders. “You joined in the celebration last night?” The captain’s sharp little eyes flickered over George’s untidy clothes.

“I had something to celebrate. I was sitting right under the bell tower when it went.” Was that worth celebrating? If it had fallen on him, he wouldn’t have had to face today, homeless because he couldn’t go where Sarah was poorer by the loss of a friend, washed up.

“The whole island had reason to celebrate. No one was seriously injured. Only minor damage. I believe the clock tower was the most serious. We were lucky.”

George took a thirsty swallow of the beer that had been put in front of him. His head reeled slightly and then he felt everything inside him settling into place. “And what about my money? Any luck there?”

“Ah, no. I am sorry. So far, we have failed. Costa is very stubborn. My men tried many forms of persuasion, but he would tell nothing.”

“In that case, he’s innocent. You’ll have to let him go.”

“Let him go?” The captain’s stare dismissed the suggestion. “We sent him to Piraeus on the morning boat.”

George leaned forward. “What does that mean?”

“It is normal routine. He will wait for four or five months in a very uncomfortable prison until his case is heard. He has a record. With Mr. Peterson’s accusation, he will certainly get a year. How much more because of your—suspicions, it is hard to say.”

“Without any evidence?” George objected.

“With stolen money, what evidence can we expect to find? Do you think Costa will go around with sixty thousand drachmas in his pocket?”

George was momentarily silenced, his disgust with himself reviving as he was presented with the result of his failure of nerve. His protests yesterday seemed feeble in retrospect; his behavior seemed completely foreign to the way he was used to conducting himself. Wreck a man’s life for the sake of two thousand dollars? He must have been out of his mind. He drained off his beer and sat back with decision. “Very well. I’ll have to go to Piraeus, too. I’ll find the best lawyer in Athens. I’m going to get Costa out.”

“As you wish. You are a philosopher, Mr. Yorgo. Such matters are not for a policeman. I do my job as best I can. To me, Costa is a troublemaker. If he has a few small bruises, can I allow him to display them and claim the police gave them to him? No, no, no. You want quite rightly your money back. I do what is required to get it. With what result? I arrest Dimitri because Costa accuses him of peddling the dope. I search the bar. Nothing. Costa makes a fool of me. He gives me a list of Dimitri’s customers because people who want dope will steal for it. Am I to lock up all your foreign colony? No, no, no. I will catch the source. If it’s Dimitri, I will catch him soon. No fear. But dope is a serious matter. Costa takes his story with him. We will have special—do you say narcotics?—yes, special narcotics police here spying on everybody. You hear him put blame on your son with his story of passing money to Dimitri. You want to free such a man? Forget your philosophy, Mr. Yorgo. Leave Costa to me.”

“I can’t. I’m responsible for him.” He had seen how Joe lived. His certainty about Costa’s guilt was an absurdity. Anybody could have picked up his thousand-drachma note without even wondering whose it was. “I can’t sit back and see him taken off for months for something he probably didn’t do.”

The uniform crackled ominously as the captain took a sip of his drink. “You were sure yesterday that he did do it. Why did you sign that paper? You weren’t forced.”

“I lost my head. You made it almost impossible for me not to. You’re good at your job, Captain.” He was almost glad that Costa’s difficulties hadn’t been resolved. It gave him a cause. His stiffening determination to free the Greek made him feel that, at least until he had succeeded, life might still be worth living. His memory of the talk with Jeff and Dimitri was a bit fuzzy, but he had the impression that it had ended on a note of friendly understanding. If he could free Costa, if he could establish a link with Jeff as he moved into adulthood, there was still hope for decency and integrity. He was glad for anything to divert his thoughts from Sarah.

The captain was smiling with self-satisfaction. “You have noticed how you signed even when you were maybe a little unwilling? I have pride in my work. I tell you, it would be not convenient in the performance of my duty to have Costa back at this time. He would make it look as if I had made an error. Get him a lawyer if you wish. He has the right to one. Then drop it.”

“You mean, you don’t think a lawyer could do anything for him? All right. I have important friends in Athens. We’ll see what they can do.”

The captain put his glass down with a little bang. His uniform seemed to fill out dangerously. “Again your influential friends? If you mean to interfere, I must warn you. Your permit will expire in five—six weeks? I have the authority to refuse to renew it. The foreigners are welcome so long as they remain with their own affairs. You may do as you like, but don’t fool yourself about the consequences.”

“You mean, you’d have me expelled?” It was George’s turn to stare incredulously. “On what grounds?”

“Grounds can always be found, Mr. Yorgo.”

“You’ll get yourself some headlines if you try it.” The more obstacles that were put in his way, the more value attached to his cause. If his very existence here were jeopardized, the fight became a major challenge.

“Headlines are quickly forgotten,” the police chief said. “But come. I am neglecting my duties as a host.” He snapped his fingers again. More beer and ouzo were put before them. “I was surprised you didn’t appear this morning to say good-bye to your son.”

“Good-bye to my son?”

“That’s not correct? You don’t say good-bye to one who is leaving?”

“Yes, indeed. But who’s leaving?”

“Your son and Mr. Cochran, of course. We arranged for Mr. Cochran——” The captain stopped, doubtlessly startled by the look of consternation in George’s face. “But surely you knew. You will not tell me that Mr. Cochran took your son——”

“No, no. Of course not.” With an effort, George got himself under control. He took a swallow of beer while he tried to organize his thoughts. “I was thinking about something else. Yes. My wife——”

“I thought it a wise decision. He will be well with your friend, Mr. Cochran. He and Dimitri were——” The captain hunched his shoulders and tilted his hand back and forth, suggesting ambiguity, a lack of balance.

“I had a talk with them last night,” George heard himself saying while incoherent questions tumbled wildly through his head.

“Ah, yes. Confidentially, when my men went to arrest Dimitri, they found him in bed with your son committing an unnatural act. We all do many things when we are young that mean little in later life, but it is well perhaps for him to be with your distinguished friend now.”

George remembered his parting threat to Mike, something about not trying any funny business with the boy. Had Mike taken Jeff off simply as a final taunt? Sarah, with her suspicions, would never have permitted it. If she were right, if Mike had set out to seduce a romantic and susceptible boy, nothing he could do would be sufficient punishment for the crime. “It all came up rather suddenly,” he said carefully, hoping not to further betray his ignorance. “I had expected Mr. Cochran to take the afternoon boat.”