Had there been a gun?

I could go back in and look, of course… I shut my eyes and tried to visualise the scene in there, and then tried to forget the parts I recalled best. But after a minute or so, I was sure I hadn't seen a gun. And after another minute, I accepted there was only one way to be sure.

Downstairs, the Sergeant, Nina and the chambermaid were huddled up by the desk. They looked at me with various expressions of pale apprehension.

'Did you get the police? And Kapotas?'

Sergeant Papanodded. 'He says he will come.'

Nina said: 'I think perhaps it would be best if I went-'

'You'd better hang on, love. The cops might get snarky if they find you'd been here and gone before they arrived.'

'Oddly enough, I was thinking of your reputation.'

I grinned. "Thanks, but let my reputation look after itself. It's big and ugly enough by now.'

She smiled lopsidedly.

I turned back to the Sergeant. 'Where's Ken?'

He nodded at the ceiling. 'He came in an hour ago. Not alone.'

Any point in waking – I mean disturbing – him yet? I couldn't think of one. Then I suddenly remembered. 'Where in hell's the daughter? – Mitzi.'

'Out.' Papa looked at the wall clock, which showed five past midnight so it was only ten minutes fast. 'Before Mr Cavitt got back. Perhaps about nine o'clock.'

I looked round to check that her key was hanging on the proper peg by the pigeonhole: it was. And in the pigeonhole for 323 there was a bright green envelope. 'What did they do about dinner?'

The Sergeant shrugged and looked at the chambermaid and they swapped a few words in Greek. Then: 'They did not eat downstairs. I think the Professor did not eat at all, except the caviar. So perhaps she went out for food.'

'I don't blame her, but she's taking her time with it.' Still, she could be just waiting for the storm to ease. I turned to the chambermaid. 'Can you start making coffee? Buckets of it. It's going to be a long night.'

Nina sighed.

First to get there were a uniformed sergeant and constable -just a reconnaissance party. They shook themselves dry in the lobby and asked if I'd sent for a doctor.

'No.'

'Not?' The sergeant seemed shocked. 'But why not?'

'Because I didn't know one that does head transplants.' But he didn't get it. I said impatiently: 'Just go up to 323 and have a look, then tell me I was wrong. Go on.'

He frowned and led the constable upstairs. They were still there when Mitzi came in. She wore a long lightweight black coat that was hardly damp, and I saw the lights of a taxi pull away behind her. And so now somebody had to tell her… Somebody like Sergeant Papa or the chambermaid? I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

She looked puzzled at our little group. 'Is something wrong?'

'I'm afraid your father – he's dead.'

Her face just froze, expressionless. Her mouth moved in an odd independent way, like a puppet's. 'No. But how?'

'I think he shot himself.'

She looked at the stairs. 'Is he up there?' She moved and I stepped in the way.

The police are there. Better wait until… until they've cleared up a bit.'

Then her face slowly crumpled and she leant over the desk, head in hands, sobbing:'Ach, mein Vater…'

I just stood, feeling like a bundle of hands and feet without a purpose. Then Nina came forward and put her arm round Mitzi's shoulders, and Mitzi clung to her.

The police sergeant came downstairs looking a lot paler. I pushed the phone across to him. "Thank you. Yes, I see what…' he started a fast patter in Greek.

After that, things moved quite quickly. A carload of mixed uniforms and plainclothes arrived, led bya CID inspector with the hot eyes and grubby shirt-collar of a man who's already been on duty for more than his shift. After that, some sort of doctor or forensic man who swapped half-hearted banter with the police sergeant, sighed heavily and went upstairs. And soon after, Kapotas got in.

He was fully dressed except for a tie, but unshaven and more worried even than usual. But by then we'd opened up the bar and were sitting in groups at the tables, chain-drinking coffee and local brandy. Kapotas looked around, asked a quick question of the nearest cop, got a shrug for an answer, then came over to me. 'My God, this is all we needed.'

'Keep your voice down.'

He noticed Mitzi, so sat down beside me.

'Is he really dead?'

'He's really short of half a head.'

'Oh God.' He rubbed his palms into his eyes. 'When did it happen?'

'Don't know. Some time after nine, probably before eleven.' Some of the blood had almost dried.

'Who found him?'

'I gather the chambermaid; she'd been ringing the room to see if she could collect the champagne tray, finally she went up and stuck her head in. She called the Sergeant. I got in just after that.'

'He hadn't locked the door, then?'

'Apparently not.' Was that another example of the Professor's thoughtfulness?

He shook his head sadly. 'What will this do to the hotel?'

'We hadn't quite got the Hilton worried before.1 Then his eyes widened in horror. 'The register! The police are sure to want to see the register! '

'Oh Christ.' I thought about it. There was just one uniformed cop lounging around the lobby. With luck… I got up and went over to Mitzi.

'Miss… Braunhof – I'm sorry about this, but if we can do it without the police noticing, can you sign the register for us? It's a small point, but…'

She looked back, red-eyed but calm. 'Yes, of course.' So I led a little deputation out to the desk.

Sergeant Papa started chatting up the cop while Kapotas and I pretended to be looking for something under the desk; Mitzi leant across and watched and – well, it worked. We could only hope that her signature would do for both, but at least it looked as if we'd been more careless than crooked.

I shuffled the register back into place and took a look around before heading back. That green envelope in the Prof's pigeonhole – maybe Mitzi should open it. No, wait a moment- 'Who in hell put that envelope up there?'

Everybody looked round, startled. Sergeant Papa cleared his throat and said: 'I think I did – yes…'

'You mean somebody came and gave you that-'

'No, no. It was just lying on the desk, so I put it in the box.'

I took it down. It just had Professor Spohr, Nicosia Castle typed on it, no stamp. It felt thin and looked cheap, like some advertising handout.

'Neat.' I nodded grimly. 'And not a little bit gaudy. Somebody walks in, waits till nobody's looking, leaves that there. Then maybe he has a drink at the bar or walks round the block, comes back and takes just a glance and he can see the Prof's staying here – even which room he's in. And nobody knows he's even been asking. Neat.'

The cop was looking at me, puzzled. I hoped it was because he didn't understand English too well.

Kapotas said: 'But he would have had to do it for all other hotels, too.'

'Not too many. He'd start at the Ledra and Hilton and work down until he struck oil. The others would just chuck it in the dead-letter box. It wouldn't take him long.' I held the letter out to Mitzi. 'Here, you'd better open it.'

Slowly, timidly, she took it, and her hands shook a little as she ripped open the flap. Then relaxed as she handed me a folded one-page timetable for coach tours of local archaeological sites.

I nodded. 'It's even appropriate enough not to seem too suspicious, unless you knew how secret you and your father were trying to be.'

Sergeant Papa said mournfully: T am sorry. It was stupid.'

'It does not matter,' Mitzi said, and turned back to the bar.