Songbirds(79)

‘Can I get you anything else?’ I asked. ‘A coffee or tea? It’s quite a long journey from Limassol.’

‘No, thank you, Petra,’ he said. ‘And thank you for your kind hospitality.’

I smiled faintly and sat down. We both stared at him and he hesitated before speaking.

‘I wanted to come and tell you before it comes out in the news.’

‘They’ve identified the body?’ said Yiannis. He was perched at the edge of the sofa and I noticed a tremor in his hands as they rested on his knees.

‘Yes, they have.’

‘It’s Nisha?’

‘No,’ Tony said, and I heard Yiannis exhale. ‘Allow me to finish,’ said Tony. ‘The woman has been identified as Rosamie Cotabu. Petra, you might recognise the name. She was one of the women I told you about during your first visit.’

I nodded and glanced quickly at Yiannis, who was looking more agitated than ever, rhythmically rubbing his right temple.

‘Rosamie Cotabu,’ Tony repeated slowly. ‘Would you mind if I light a cigarette?’

‘Not at all,’ I said, and got up to bring him a saucer that he could use as an ashtray. By the time I returned from the kitchen he had lit the cigarette and the smoke was swirling amongst the light of the fire. I could see that Tony’s hand was shaking too as he held the cigarette up to his lips, taking three long, hard drags so that the ash drooped from it. He moved his hand carefully to the saucer and allowed the ash to drop in there.

‘I have a friend in the police force,’ he said, glancing at me. ‘He’s junior in rank so he had no power to launch an investigation, but he’s been useful in getting information.’

I nodded and sat down.

‘Rosamie Cotabu,’ he said, ‘I told you about her didn’t I? The one who worked for a man who was physically abusing her.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I remember.’

‘She went to the police for help, but they told her to leave Cyprus if she wasn’t happy. Nobody helped her.’ He paused and with heavy eyes took another drag of smoke before stubbing out the cigarette. ‘I knew Rosamie wouldn’t run away. I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t I do more?’ He lifted his arm and dropped it down onto the arm of the chair like a dead weight. He took another cigarette out of the box and held it between his fingers but did not light it. ‘Oh,’ he said smiling now, ‘What a joyful girl she was! She had so many friends. She said I saved her life.’ At this point Tony began to cry, like a sudden storm; tears broke out of him and he apologised again and again through stifled sobs.

‘I’m sorry, Petra. I did not come here to be a burden on you,’ he said, composing himself, lighting the cigarette, taking in the smoke as if it would save his life.

‘Don’t worry, Tony,’ I said. Yiannis was so quiet, I almost forgot that he was there but when I turned to him, he was alert and present and trembling inside. I could see it. He reminded me of the way wheat stalks shake in the breeze in the open fields.

‘The police went through her phone, which they recovered in the nearby field.’ Tony continued. ‘They discovered that she had communicated via text with a man whom she had met on a dating site. She had gone out that particular night, the night she went missing, to meet him for the first time. He was the last person she texted. The police discovered that his dating profile had a fake name but they managed to trace the details back to a thirty-five-year-old Greek Cypriot soldier serving at the national guard. They have taken him in for questioning. The autopsy showed that she had injuries on her body and marks around her neck.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll tell you, this doesn’t look good.’

‘No,’ Yiannis said, and his voice came out hoarse and unfamiliar, as if he hadn’t spoken to a soul in many years. ‘But I know for a fact that Nisha wouldn’t have gone on a date with anyone. I know that for sure. She loved me.’

Tony nodded sympathetically. ‘It will become clearer in time,’ he said, ‘but for now we must wait.’

*

After the men left, I felt frightened and cold. A strong wind rattled the windows and bent the olive tree out front. I went into Aliki’s room. She was fast asleep. I crawled into bed with her and curled up around her, smelling her hair, giving her soft kisses while she slept.





26

Yiannis

T

HE MURDER OF ROSAMIE COTABU had been announced on the news. People were restless. The Vietnamese maids with their rice hats kept their eyes fixed on passers-by. Downstairs, at Mrs Hadjikyriacou’s, Ruba stood out front holding a broom, looking frightened.

This time I called Kumari. Once again, she was alone.

‘Good morning, Mr Yiannis, do you have any more information? My grandmother is making me breakfast and she is crying all the time. She is wiping all her tears on her sleeve and cardigan.’

‘Have you been crying, Kumari?’

‘No. I don’t cry until I know all the facts. Are there new facts now?’

‘They know who the woman in the lake is and it is not your mother.’

Kumari let out a huge sigh as if she had been holding her breath and her words came out shaken and broken: ‘Thank you. Oh, my! Mr Yiannis. It is not my amma.’

She left her tablet on the table with me staring up at the ceiling, and I could hear her saying things to her grandmother, who once again seemed to be asking many questions through her tears.