Lady of the Shades (25 page)

‘Happy now?’ Gardiner asks.

‘I’d be a lot happier if you’d tell me the name of her lover.’

‘We all want things we can’t have.’ He puts the matches away. ‘I’ll say this much — he was someone we couldn’t afford to kill. If the truth had trickled
out, it would have been catastrophic. Make of that what you want, but keep your theories to yourself. And know this — your enquiry ends here. If you’ve gathered enough material to write
a book, go ahead. If not, tough. You don’t have the freedom of the city any more. I want you off my manor.’

‘OK. I’ve got what I was after anyway.’

Almost true. I need the name of the lover too, to make sure he’s dead, to check if he left behind a son or other relative who might have engineered the plot to kill Menderes. But I
won’t find it proceeding the way I have been. Gardiner is the end of the line as far as open enquiries go. With one exception.

‘There’s one more person I’d like to interview before I quit — Gregory.’

‘What do you want to speak to him for?’ Gardiner asks.

‘Human interest. People will want to know how his father’s death affected him, what their relationship was like, if he knew about Menderes’s secret life and loved him
regardless.’

The truth is, I want to know if he can recall any of his dead mother’s friends who maybe dropped by when his father was away on business.

‘Greygo has shunned the press,’ Gardiner says. ‘I doubt he’ll agree to meet you.’

‘But if he does, can I speak with him?’

Gardiner considers it, then shrugs. ‘Sure. But he’s the last. And if you mention anything about what I told you . . . ’

‘I won’t.’

Gardiner grunts. ‘In that case, there’s just one more thing.’

‘What?’

He grips my right leg above the knee and stares into my eyes, his expression bleak. I wonder if I’ve misjudged the situation, if he’s going to take me out back and shoot me to ensure
my silence. Then he smirks and says, ‘Can I have a signed copy of the book when it comes out?’

SEVENTEEN

Back at the Royal Munster, I tell Joe about my extraordinary meeting. He can’t believe Gardiner was so forthcoming. ‘How come he opened up to you? He thinks
you’re a journalist. I’d have thought someone in his position wouldn’t trust a journalist with the time, never mind admit to being an accomplice to murder.’

‘It was . . . strange,’ I agree, for want of a better word. ‘He said he wanted to confess, and maybe that was partly true, but I think he was also worried about me stirring up
interest among his associates. He had to stop me asking questions and taking this further. That meant coming clean or killing me. I guess telling me the truth was less of a hassle.’

‘Maybe he knows something about the Andeanna impostor,’ Joe suggests. ‘He’s profited most through Menderes’s death. Maybe
he
arranged the
set-up.’

‘I considered that. But Gardiner was set to take over anyway when the Turk retired. Everyone says they were like brothers. I don’t think he was involved.’

Joe shrugs. ‘So, where next?’

‘It’s time I paid Greygo a visit. He might be able to give us the name of Andeanna’s lover.’

‘Andeanna’s
dead
lover,’ Joe corrects me.

‘Alive, dead . . . ’ I grimace. ‘It doesn’t seem like there’s much of a difference any more.’

Gregory Menderes doesn’t want to talk. I have his number – picked it up during the course of my investigations – but he’s heard about me, the book
I’m meant to be writing, and once I identify myself, he hangs up every time I ring, sets the phone to voicemail if I persist.

Joe suggests waiting outside the mansion, but I don’t want to chase after him like an ignorant paparazzo. Instead, I leave him be for a while and kick my heels around the Royal Munster,
thinking about Andeanna and all that I’ve learnt about her, trying to piece the various links of the mystery together.

I phone Greygo the following Wednesday and he cuts me off. When I call again and get directed to voicemail, I leave a message. ‘I’ve uncovered some alarming secrets about your
mother. If you don’t meet with me, I’ll have to publish them unapproved and uncorroborated. I don’t want to do a smear piece, but if you leave me no choice, I will.’

A couple of minutes later the phone rings. ‘If you’re bullshitting me, you’ll regret it.’ Greygo has a strong Cockney accent, nothing like his father or mother. At least
not the mother
I
knew.

‘I’m not bullshitting you,’ I assure him. ‘I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important. I’ve spoken with your grandfather, so I know how much
–’

‘Andrew?’ he interrupts, surprised.

‘I interviewed him in Birmingham. He told me about –’

‘Andrew let you in?’ Greygo interrupts again. ‘He answered your questions?’

‘Yes. I’ve also been in contact with Bond Gardiner and others who knew your parents. I want to paint as complete a picture of your father’s life as I can.’

‘That’s why you’re ringing? To get my opinion of him?’

‘No. At first, yes, that was all. Now there’s more. I learnt something yesterday that changes everything. This is personal, maybe nothing to do with the book. It’s about your
mother.’

Greygo is silent. Finally, when I think he’s going to cut me off, he snaps, ‘Do you know where I live?’

All too fucking well!

‘Yes.’

‘Can you meet me this afternoon, two o’clock?’

‘I can.’

‘There’ll be guards. Come alone. You have two minutes to impress me, so start with the big revelation.’

‘Thank . . . ’ He hangs up. ‘ . . . you,’ I finish, and grin victoriously.

I call Joe to let him know of the development. He’s worried – he talks about stepping into the lion’s den – and asks if he should call the police if I haven’t
contacted him by evening. I tell him not to bother, just dial a good undertaker. He doesn’t laugh. He wasn’t meant to. I was being serious.

It’s weird returning to the Menderes mansion, feigning unfamiliarity. I’m met at the gate by an armed guard who makes me leave my car outside and walk up the drive
ahead of him to the front steps, where I’m subjected to a body search by two of his colleagues. If Bond Gardiner was thorough, these guys are absolute, and stop just short of a rectal
probe.

Gregory Menderes, known to one and all as Greygo, awaits inside, seated in one of the mansion’s smaller rooms, a leather-lined study. He’s behind a desk. A thin layer of stubble
crowns his shaven head. He’s dressed in a white suit. His face is darkly tanned. He doesn’t offer to shake hands.

‘Sit down,’ he growls.

Even though the room is dimly lit, I can see his mother in his features. He looks a lot like her, same nose, mouth and eyes, although his are a soulful blue where hers were a vibrant green. The
memory of Andeanna –
my
Andeanna – brings a lump to my throat.

‘Get on with it,’ he orders briskly, and I cough the lump away.

‘Your mother was murdered.’

Greygo stares at me coldly. ‘Is that it?’ he asks. I’ve no answer to that. I can only nod dumbly, stunned by his nonchalant reaction. ‘I don’t know who filled your
head with such nonsense, but they were wrong. If that’s all you came to tell me, this meeting is at an end.’ I stare at him wordlessly. ‘That’s your cue to leave, Mr
Sanders.’

Finding my tongue, I splutter, ‘You don’t understand. It was your father. He killed her.’

‘Ridiculous,’ Greygo snorts. ‘My father loved my mother.’

‘Sure,’ I sneer. ‘He loved her so much, he knocked the shit out of her every time she looked sideways at another man.’

Greygo’s eyes narrow to slits. ‘Did my grandfather tell you that?’

‘Yes. But he wasn’t the only one.’

The Menderes heir nods slowly. ‘They tried to hide it from me. They thought I didn’t know. But children always . . . ’ He snaps back to attention. ‘That’s neither
here nor there. My father didn’t kill my mother, no matter how many times he hit her. Now, if that’s all, I’m a busy –’

‘She had a lover,’ I bark, determined to make an impact. He says nothing, but I can tell by the way he fidgets that I’ve got to him. ‘Your father killed them. He arranged
the crash to look like an accident and had Bond Gardiner dispose of her lover’s body.’

Greygo lifts one of his hands and chews a fingernail. ‘Since Bond is the only person in the world who could have told you that story, I assume you picked it up from him?’

‘I can’t reveal my sources,’ I reply weakly.

Greygo smiles thinly. ‘It couldn’t have been anybody else. I’m shocked that he confided in you. He never told anyone about this, not even me. He thinks I don’t know, and
I’m happy to let him go on thinking that.’

‘You mean you
knew
about the murders?’

‘I know about
a
murder,’ he corrects me. ‘Axel Nelke’s.’

My face grows ashen.

‘That was the name of her lover,’ Gregyo continues. ‘The man my father murdered when he caught them betraying him.’

I’m glad I’m sitting down. All the strength has drained from me. I feel like a sack of moon rock.

‘Are you all right?’ Greygo asks, something close to concern in his tone.

‘Nelke,’ I gasp.

‘Do you want a glass of water? Some fresh air?’

I wave away his offers. ‘Did . . . one of your father’s bodyguards . . . go missing shortly before his death?’ I wheeze.

‘What?’

‘I heard that one of your father’s men disappeared. That he might be a suspect.’

Greygo frowns. ‘I haven’t heard anything like that. I don’t keep a close tab on everything that happens, but I’d have been informed of something that
important.’

‘No guards have gone missing?’

‘No.’

I reflect on what that means, but my mind is a blank, and if there are conclusions to be drawn, I can’t draw them.

‘This Axel Nelke that your father killed,’ I croak, staring at the smirking ghost in the room who went by that name before I strangled him with a telephone cable not too far from
where I’m sitting now. ‘Describe him.’

Greygo laughs. ‘I was ten years old. All adults looked the same.’

The ghost of Axel Nelke cackles silently and flips me the finger.

‘Did he have any children?’ I ask.

‘I don’t think so. He was single when he and my mother . . . ’ He grimaces.

‘I don’t understand this,’ I moan as Nelke’s ghost presses closer, puckering up his lips as if he’s going to kiss me, then snapping at me with his fog-like fangs.
‘It’s like a nightmare, and the more I try to wake up, the further into it I slip.’

Greygo stares at me uncomprehendingly. After a while he stands and starts for the door. Afraid that he plans to summon the guards, I lurch to my feet and block his way. As he takes a sharp step
back, I raise my hands to show I mean no harm. ‘I know how strangely I’m behaving. I’m sorry. This is the first book I’ve written. It’s stressing me out like you
wouldn’t believe.’

‘Then drop it,’ Greygo says drily.

‘Maybe I will,’ I sigh, pretending that’s an option. ‘It just seems to get crazier the further I run with it.’

Keeping a wary eye on me, Greygo sits and points towards my chair. Once I’m seated, he asks why I reacted that way to the name of Axel Nelke. Thinking quickly, ignoring the ghost of the
man in question as it tries to distract me, I start talking.

‘I began this book shortly after your father’s death. At first I meant to tell his story in a traditional fashion. Then a man calling himself Axel Nelke told me that Mikis Menderes
had been seen with a woman the spitting image of your mother in the weeks prior to his death, and that she’d vanished afterwards. That fascinated me and led me to . . . ’

I stop. Greygo’s face has misted over and he’s smiling benignly. He gets up, heads for the door and beckons me to follow. Outside, he dismisses the guards and leads me on a tour of
the mansion, although he doesn’t talk about the rooms, just glides through them, touching the walls and furniture as he goes.

‘Bond Gardiner lied to you about my mother,’ he says as we mount the stairs. ‘He wanted to misdirect you. This is what really happened.

‘My mother enjoyed a short affair towards the end of her life, with Axel Nelke, one of her guards. My father suspected from the start. They had a couple of close calls, which should have
been warning enough, but they persisted. Things came to a tragic but predictable head. He killed Nelke, I’m not sure how, though I think he strangled him.’

I flinch at that. Nelke’s ghost raises his chin and smugly points to the mark around his neck. ‘And your mother?’ I ask.

‘He gave her one hell of a beating, I’m sure, but he loved her and would never –
could
never – have killed her.’

‘But Gardiner said –’

‘Mr Sanders,’ he tuts, ‘do you think I’d have shared this house with my father all these years if he’d murdered my mother?’

‘If you didn’t know about it . . . ’ I mutter.

‘But I have known, for five years or more. Nobody murdered my mother.’ He pauses. We’re outside one of the guest bedrooms. The corridor is long and empty. Nevertheless, he
lowers his voice and says, ‘She killed herself.’

He starts walking again. After a moment of horrid pause, I hurry after him, catch him by his right arm and spin him round so he’s facing me. I’m not surprised to see tears in his
eyes. ‘It was
suicide
?’ I hiss.

‘Yes. My father killed Axel Nelke. Bond got rid of the body. My mother lost her will to live. A few weeks later she went out driving, took a sharp turn off the road and deliberately rammed
her car into a tree. Obviously that makes me feel sick every time I think about it, and yes, I blamed my father to an extent. I wish he’d been gentler with her, more understanding, as he was
with me. But
she
made the decision to give up. My father suffered when he lost her, more than he ever admitted. Hating him would have served no viable purpose.’

I take in this latest twist, mind reeling. ‘A witness said there were flames in the car before it crashed.’

‘There couldn’t have been. It was suicide.’