Cold Pressed Read Online Free

girlfriend assigned as language support, life would be
about as sweet as it could get. He closed his eyes as Voulakis embarked on
another long recital of the burdens he bore and the impossible demands made of
him. His eyes snapped open again as his senior officer swerved off on a
different tangent.
    "No, no sir. That wouldn't solve the problem at all.
You don't need to bring someone from Britain. This can be managed locally. I
was thinking more like a language consultant. In fact, I know at least one person..."
    He may as well not have spoken. Voulakis rattled on with
great enthusiasm while Nikos stared at the gleaming optics behind the bar.
    "Sir, can I just..." but Voulakis had a call on
the other line and promised to call back. Nikos hung up and swore. He didn’t
want a British detective treading on his toes and taking over. It was his case
and he wanted to manage it alone. Maybe Voulakis would forget. Maybe the Brits
wouldn’t loan them anyone. Or maybe he should just achieve as much as he could
in the next few hours and solve this problem on his own. He sat at a small
table and picked up his briefcase. At least he'd remembered to download the
dictionary app. He was looking up 'dementia' when there was a sharp rap at the
door.
    Before he could respond, the door opened and a tall man
strode towards him with a scowl on his face.
    "This is a waste of time. Yours and mine. I don't know
what Jensson's playing at, calling in the police on the say-so of a pair of
dotty old hens. I've already talked to the coroner and the local pathologist.
It's clear that she fell. Sad, but nothing nefarious. My name's Fraser, by the
way, Doctor Lucas Fraser."
    Nikos shook the doctor's hand, trying to assemble some kind
of meaning from the rapid-fire string of words. Time, Jensson, police,
sad...
    "Inspector Nikos Stephanakis. Pleased to meet you.
Where are you from?"
    "Fort William. Do you know Scotland at all?"
    Nikos shook his head and wondered how soon Voulakis could
arrange a British detective.

     
    Chapter 4
    The walk through the forest provoked a peculiar
nostalgia in Beatrice as she kicked up piles of spice-coloured leaves. She
stopped to admire sunlit dewdrops on a spider's web. Strands of mist still hung
over the meadows and the low sun painted the landscape with an almost painful vivacity.
A wood pigeon repeated its advice to sheep rustlers, ‘ Take TWO ewes, you
fool, ’ and a pair of magpies clattered off towards the village. Berries
against the sky amid bare branches and a chilly breeze blowing parchment leaves
across the path all combined to make her think of a phrase she’d not considered
for decades. Back to school.
    Matthew, his yellow woollen scarf wound twice around his
neck, added to the dampness in the air by continuing to drone on about planning
for the future. Beatrice changed the subject.
    "Yes, well, as I've only just returned to work,
retirement – early or otherwise – seems rather premature. What time did you
book the table for tonight?"
    "Eight o’clock. I know it seems premature now, but I'm
talking longer term. One has to be prepared financially to give oneself the
greatest range of opportunities."
    "Eight? Isn't that a little late for Luke? I thought
his bedtime was no later than seven."
    An odd expression crossed Matthew's brow. "Luke won't
be there. I told the girls that much as I adore them both, and of course, my
grandson, I would prefer to spend the evening alone with you. Though I have
invited them for Sunday lunch."
    Beatrice stopped to look at him. His face was flushed with
cold, and his hair blew around his head, giving him a boyish appearance,
despite his insistence on talking about pensions.
    "How very romantic of you! It's rather nice that after
all these years we can still enjoy dinner à deux ." She linked her
arm in his and they trudged on. "I hope they've got that rabbit and prune
pie on the menu tonight."
    "They'll have some sort of game. Roger is a great
believer in seasonal cooking.