The Silver Stain by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online Page B

tall but stooping elderly man with a walking stick was in the corridor. He definitely wasn’t from housekeeping.
    Mavros opened the door.
    ‘So sorry to bother you,’ the man said in Greek, his voice surprisingly strong and his accent only slightly foreign. His nose was misshapen. ‘I take it you are Mr Mavros?’
    ‘Em, yes . . . and you are?’
    The old man handed him a card. ‘Rudolf Kersten,’ he said. ‘I created the Heavenly Blue.’ The way he put it almost made Mavros laugh: as if he was an Eastern potentate – or the proprietor of a Chinese restaurant. ‘Ms Cara Parks just called me. I wondered if I might be of assistance.’
    ‘Ah, right.’ Mavros looked over his shoulder, reluctant to invite the man into what might be of interest to the authorities if the woman never returned. ‘Actually, there are some things you could help me with. Could we go down to my room?’
    ‘No, no, come to my residence,’ Kersten said, turning away. ‘I insist. It isn’t far.’
    They went down to the ground floor in the lift, the old man asking a couple of exhausted guys in high-visibility jackets and shorts if everything was satisfactory. They looked at Kersten sullenly and nodded.
    ‘I see it as my duty to talk to all my guests,’ Kersten said, leading Mavros to a door beside reception. The staff nodded to the owner punctiliously. ‘Even the less than polite technicians on the film crew.’
    The mixture of conscientiousness and condescension silenced Mavros for a few seconds. The old man’s residence was literally behind the shop. A short corridor led to a large living area with a view across the grounds to the sea.
    ‘Please be seated. I will arrange coffee.’
    ‘No, I . . .’ Mavros tried to stop him, not being a fan of that beverage in the afternoon, but Kersten headed away without paying attention.
    ‘There,’ he said, returning almost immediately. ‘Hildegard will be with us shortly.’ He sat down in what was obviously a favourite armchair, his walking stick fitting into a groove on the side. ‘Ms Parks is most distressed about her friend Maria, Mr Mavro. I understand you have undertaken to find her.’
    ‘I have.’ Mavros looked at his notebook. ‘Actually, there are some specifics you could pass on to your people.’ He paused, wondering if the old man would call a secretary or take notes of his own.
    ‘Fear not, my memory is still excellent,’ Kersten said, with a smile. His face was leathery and his hair sparse, but the sparkle in his pale blue eyes gave him the look of a younger man.
    ‘All right. Could you find out from housekeeping when the “Do Not Disturb” sign was first noticed on room 243?’
    ‘That is easy. I have already ascertained that the sign has been on the door since Ms Kondos arrived nearly two weeks ago. It seems the lady likes to look after herself.’
    Or not, Mavros thought. ‘Right. Did any of your people see Ms Kondos on Sunday evening?’
    ‘As far as I have been able to ascertain – and I have been working on this since Ms Parks first called me yesterday morning – none of them did.’ He looked down briefly. ‘That isn’t to say that one or more of them might not have been paid for their silence. It is my experience that people in the film business, especially Americans, can demonstrate remarkable largesse when the mood takes them.’
    Mavros sensed the wisdom in the old man’s words – he had clearly seen much in his years as host to the rich and powerful. ‘Do you have CCTV?’
    ‘Outside the perimeter, yes, but not inside. I am not enamoured of today’s surveillance society.’ He looked across at Mavros. ‘I came of age in Hitler’s Germany.’
    ‘Rudi?’
    Mavros looked round to see a short woman in an unseasonably thick skirt coming towards them with a tray between her hands. Although she must have been in her seventies, her hair was pale gold and plaited elaborately at the back of her head. He stood up to help, but she tutted him away,