‘Get down,’ I yelled, pushing Tracy to the ground behind a parked yellow Chevrolet and fell upon my baby girl, rolling with her behind a rusty dumpster. The sound of multiple and constant firing penetrated the air and it only took one bullet, out of the one hundred and sixteen bullets fired, to penetrate Gabriella’s left lung. Blood started oozing out pretty quick and soon her white dress had turned dark red.
‘Long live Sanchez, asshole,’ a shrill voice was heard and the car sped away to oblivion.
I knelt and held her close in my arms and that’s where little Gabriella ‘Gaby’ Papacosta left her last breath.
Tracy screamed erratically for help and an ambulance, but I knew it was too late. I closed my baby’s eyes and kissed her gently on the forehead. As her heart stopped beating, I felt mine break and all I could do was cry. I held on to Gaby until the paramedics pulled me off, having already given a strong sedative to Tracy, who -curled up behind the Chevrolet’s wheel- kept repeating ‘no, no... Costa, say it isn’t so.
We did not speak to each other again, not even at the funeral and one fine, sizzling N.Y. August evening, Tracy came out of the master bedroom, suitcases in hand.
‘I always hated your job. I told you to accept a desk job, once we had a child. This is all your fault,’ she cried with no more tears left in her eyes.
‘I know.’
‘Bye, Costa.’
And just like that, she left my life. The next week, I boarded a plane set for Greece. A man with nothing to lose. A man ready to take on the most dangerous homicide cases.
New York – Papacosta family home
Mother sat numb on her living room sofa. Her apartment filled up with people, but she had never felt more alone in her life. The house she shared with the love of her life, suddenly felt colder. It was no longer a home. The walls were just walls and all the belongings in it, seemed meaningless. She smiled politely and accepted condolences, each time wanting to scream out that she could not bear to live another second without him.
Tracy came round as well. My mother kissed her and stroked her cheek. Not long ago, the two cried frantically in each others arms, when fate brought them the loss of their precious Gaby.
‘He is in the kitchen,’ Maria calmly said to her. I stood on the kitchen balcony with my childhood best friend Jimmy, having a much-needed smoke and whiskey coke.
‘Hey Jimmy.’
‘Tracy! So good to see you.’ He kissed her on her cheek and made up a ridiculous excuse to go inside.
‘I have played this scene so many times in my head and now I am standing opposite you and I have nothing to say.’ It felt so good to hear her voice again. That sweet tone whispering I love you in the morning, making everything seem worthwhile. We had our ups and downs, like everybody else, but we weren’t strong enough to deal with Gaby’s death. We had struggled to get pregnant. Nothing worse for a newlywed couple to find out, than a hostile uterus and a low sperm count. Add in, our hectic lifestyle as a corporate lawyer and a homicide detective and it was a miracle Gaby was ever conceived.
‘You’ve changed your hair.’
She blushed and the corners of her lips moved upwards. Tracy had always been proud of the fact, that I always noticed the little changes she would make. A different shade of dye, a different nail color, a new shirt, a new day cream, a new perfume. Her girlfriends would complain about their partners paying no attention to their efforts and Tracy would joke how they all should marry a detective who notices everything.
My once brunette wife admitted that after I left, she had dyed it black. Now, she glowed under her golden wheat hair.
‘I guess, based on the circumstances, I should have left it black. My poor Sebastiano. What a great man.’
I looked down in sorrow. ‘I was not even here when he died. I left Maria alone to deal with it and now I will never see him again.’
‘Oh, Costa...’ She opened her arms and I fell into her. Her hand gently caressed my thinning hair.
‘Come on,’ she finally said. ‘Let’s go get some food into you. Everyone brought something. I am sure Mrs. Andreou brought stuffed vine leaves.’
‘Mmm, koupepia.’ I let Tracy pamper me for the evening. I tried hard not to read too much into her smiles and support. My father had just died. Then again, my mind was never one to listen to logic. It wrote the scenario that suited it the best. She was here and she was ready to sort things out. Legally, we were still married. With problems and issues, but married.
The day after, I call her up for coffee.
‘Sounds great. There is this new place I love, opened a few months ago.’
And just like that, a tragic accident brought together two estranged people. Two people that let life get the better of them. We talked, we joked, we held hands. Our second ‘first date’. She invited me over to see the new place she was renting.
‘What a wonderful view,’ I said as I gazed upon New York’s skyline. Rain hit hard against the window. Tracy lit the fireplace and stood behind me. Her hands circled around me and she kissed the back of my neck. She breathed heavily. ‘I have missed you so much, there are no words.’
I turned around and kissed her cherry lips while my hands entered her hair, pulling her close. We stumbled together backwards, items of clothing falling to the floor. We lay naked in front of the fireplace, hands, lips and tongues journeying upon familiar ground. She felt so warm. I slowly entered her and got lost in her green eyes that shined bright, reflecting the flames of the fire. We switched positions with teen excitement. We wanted everything from each other. To live everything good once again. Desperately filling in the three year gap. With me on my back and Tracy on top of me, I enjoyed her beauty.
‘You are as beautiful as the first day I laid eyes on you...’
‘Trying cliché compliments with me, mister Papacosta?’
‘I...’
‘It’s working...’ she laughed and seconds later, exploded with joy. She fell to my side and I rolled above her. She groaned, feeling me again deep inside her, thrusting away. I could not believe it was happening. A story of fiction, brought to life. Love with Tracy. All my body shivered as I came. Every cell screaming for her. We stayed in each other’s arms, afraid to let go. Night came and found us asleep, hand in hand. We awoke near midnight, ordered Chinese and watched the late night shows. The three year gap vanished into the cold air outside and the cleansing rain washed away sins of the past.
Chapter 35
Ariadne Metaxa’s office – June
‘For someone who despises the summer, you sure are in a good mood,’ Ariadne joked. She looked younger with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, slight color decorating her pale skin and a breezy summer dress on.
‘You have air-con,’ I replied. ‘New chair?’
‘You like it?’
I sat down into the blue leather armchair. ‘Honestly? Not as comfortable. Anyway, I am not one who enjoys change. I’ll get used to it.’
‘You have had some major changes happen over the last few months. Changes for the better.’
‘It still seems unreal that Tracy is here.’
‘How is she coping with our crazy society?’
I chuckled. ‘She would agree on the crazy part. I believe she’s doing fine. Everyone at the company is either a foreigner or uses English at the office, so she has had no linguistic barriers. She likes new challenges and unlike me, she has fallen in love with the weather.’
‘They do say we are the world’s most beautiful country. Why wouldn’t she fall in love? And you? How’s your mind dealing with all the joy?’
‘Tough to say. You know, better than anyone, the dark place I lived and thrived in. After Gaby, I did not care if I lived or died. I drifted through life waiting to be released.’
‘And where is that darkness now?’
‘Still lingering around, though over the last year it has shrivelled up quite a bit.’
‘Because of Ioli?’
‘Well, yeah. She helped me f
ind purpose again at work and now Tracy is back, I feel I have a purpose in life too.’
‘And the conflict between the two?’
‘Elaborate, please,’ I said, leaning forward.
‘You have admitted being good at what you do, because you took risks. You hunted the worst kind of killers and sadistic murderers. You loved putting yourself in danger’s way. Can you still do that? Knowing that Tracy is at home waiting for you?’
I took a moment. ‘I...’ I raised my hands. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Changes require us to re-arrange our goals and our priorities, Costa. Solving murder cases is who you are.’
‘Ioli says that facing death in our line of work makes her feel alive.’
‘Maybe, Miss Ioli should also pay me a visit.’
I threw my head back and laughed.
‘In a sense that she appreciates life more. Maybe, facing death will make me appreciate having Tracy back in my life and force me to be more careful.’
Who could have known how much death, I was going to witness the following day.
Chapter 36
CASE No.3: The Black Horse – Justice, Law Giver, Famine, Destructive power of a class gap on a society.
Spring came and went rather uneventfully. No major crimes, no mystery deaths. Just some good old, clean-cut cases. The husband did it out of jealousy, the boss did it for the money, the friend did it out of revenge. I’ve played Cluedo games more difficult to solve.
Ioli took over most cases, giving me time to reconnect with Tracy, who took the leap and moved to Greece. She took one look at my filthy man-hole of an apartment and the very next day we were searching for real estate. A brand new, two bedroom, ground floor apartment with a small garden sealed the deal.
Ioli spent most of her newly found free time with her hobbies. She cooked and ate, worked out hours at the gym, practiced her shooting at the police range site and painted our office wall cherry red. It promoted creativity she said. The chief ordered it repainted white, but no one bothered changing it. It took a while, but it slowly won the grumpy old man over. She, also, spent hours reading. Every now and then, she would call over a quote.
‘She was like the moon, you never saw all of her. Lovely, isn’t it?’
I would nod in agreement. The worse came when she read a comedy. She would laugh out loud and shout out just the punch line, leaving out the rest of the funny parts.
‘And then she lit the fireplace!’ And she would laugh. ‘All the money was in there!’
The only thing being killed was time. Until the second day of June.
Summer in Greece. A sentence of joy, of careless holidays, of turquoise waters and of long, sandy beaches. For me, a sentence of sweat. Of constant heat waves, strong enough to melt your insides like a spider’s poison.
I kept myself busy, by organizing my court dates. I had to testify on the cannibalistic cleaning lady. An elderly woman who kept her dead husband in the freezer and decided to cook and eat him. Ioli typed in the testimonies for me to go over.
The door flew open without a knock. It could only be the chief.
‘Costa, Ioli,’ he grunted our names. His tender way of a good morning.
‘I’ve got a case for you two.’
‘Since when do you come down here personally to deliver cases?’
He smiled at me and threw a photo of a young woman, hanging from the ceiling. ‘She hanged herself last night or so the local police reported, on Corfu island.’
‘So it was murder?’ Ioli asked.
‘Maybe. Most likely a suicide.’
‘Then, how is this...’
He did not let me finish.
He threw another photograph on the table. Another hanging body. A man in his early thirties. ‘Zakynthos. Last night.’ He threw another photo. ‘Kefalonia. Last night.’ Another. ‘Paxoi. Last night.’ He laid seven photographs before our eyes.
Seven islands.
Seven bodies.
Chapter 37
The Ionian Islands or Eptanisa (Seven Islands) as they are known in Greece are a group of islands scattered along Greece’s western coastline. Never subjected to Ottoman rule, the islands were a haven for ‘men of the spirit’. The arts flourished under Venetian rule and Italian influences can be found in local cuisine, rhythm of language and architect.
Nowadays, they enjoy being featured in travel magazines, Hollywood movies and top ten lists with the world’s best beaches.
‘Seven people, each on a different island, islands called The Seven Islands, all commit suicide the same day?’
‘You think they were murdered?’ Ioli asked.
‘Maybe. Or at least they are connected. This is one hell of a coincidence, if not.’
‘If they were all found this morning, it is likely that they wanted to be found. I mean, if it was planned, a body not being found would ruin the whole design.’
‘How do you feel about splitting up?’
‘I was thinking the same thing. I thought... as you are shit scared of flying...’
‘I am not scared...’
She raised her voice and continued ‘You take the speed boat down to Kythira and work yourself upwards while I’ll fly to Corfu and work myself down. We will probably meet somewhere in the middle.’
‘Sounds like a plan, Cara.’
‘By the way, how come it’s just the two of us? I thought a team would be sent to each island.’
‘The chief said it would look bad to local authorities. Athenian investigators stomping in, taking over their cases. Cases that, at the moment, are classified as suicides. Each island’s authority is in charge, until a greater connection is made. We are just assisting. Basically, we will check if they are actually suicides and look for connections between them.’
‘Sounds like a plan, as you say.’ She got up and touched my shoulder gently. ‘Take care.’
‘Be careful.’
‘Aren’t I always?’ she laughed, gave me a nudge and walked out the door.
Seven islands. Seven bodies. What a way to kick off your summer.
Chapter 38
Island of Kythira
By midday, I had docked on the little island of Kythira. The island lies opposite the Peloponnese peninsula, far away from the other six islands, with which it forms the group of the seven islands.
I stood on the wooden dock, my eyes taking in the picturesque town of Chora. The white painted houses ran down the side of the slope, towered by the tall walls of the castle that occupied the top of the hill. I took a deep breath. A delight to my lungs. The air purer than the polluted Athenian air. The sandy beach filled with tourists, local and foreign alike.
‘Fancy a ride, sir?’ a heavyset man with a thick, black mustache offered, horse and carriage behind him.
‘No, thank you. I believe I am being picked up.’ I gazed around the dock. I saw a uniformed constable standing up amongst his friends at a coffee shop, opposite the quiet street. He took one last sip and ran over to greet me.
‘Constable Stavros Souris,’ the dark haired young man introduced himself with a sincere islander smile. ‘This way, Captain,’ he said, picking up my small suitcase.
I walked behind him, shades and hat on, avoiding the burning sun. The short man walked tirelessly ahead.
‘Erm, Stavro?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Where is your car?’
He smiled. ‘No car. Everything is a ten minute walk away. It is just around the corner.’ We turned right, walking upon a bricked path that led us through people’s back door gardens. The flowers that had blossomed during spring were already showing signs of fading away, melting under the summer sun.
A blue-painted wooden door with an X formed by yellow police tape awaited us ahead. A female constable stood by the door. She flashed a smile as Stavro introduced us. Then, she opened the door and under the tape we went. Stavro stopped by the arch that separated the living room from the hall.
‘In there,’ he said and froze.
I entered the near empty room. A woman’s body hung from the ceiling by a thick sailor’s rope. The rope was tied from a strong wooden beam that crossed the room. A kitchen chair was knocked to the ground. I wore my gloves and pushed back her black hair from her face.
‘Identity?’
‘Rita Simonide. Age 37. Rented out the house from the old lady next door around Easter. Kept to herself. She was some sort of writer, we were told.’
‘Who found her?’
‘Mrs. Comninou, the old lady renting the place. She brought her breakfast every morning at seven.’
‘Where’s the doctor?’
‘He is on his way. I texted him as soon as you arrived. He had patients to see. He will be here soon. He only lives round the corner.’
‘What’s this?’ I picked up the nylon bag from the worn sofa.
‘The suicide note.’
‘Difficult it may be, to argue suicide is not a sin
God’s soul inside me, in my inner temple in
Only Samsons viewed as good and just
My death, my exit, a necessity, a must,’ I read.
‘I think you should call your priest too.’
‘On it,’ the eager-to-help officer replied.
Island of Kerkyra
Ioli had arrived earlier than me in Kerkyra, known around the world as Corfu. Greece’s northwestern frontier and home to the Ionian University, where Eftychia Stauropoulou taught religious studies. Until, the previous night when she leapt to her death, neck tied to her heavy wooden bed. Her lifeless body swung outside her bedroom window, revealed by the birth of dawn.
Ioli stood over the body that had been pulled into the bedroom for obvious reasons. The thirty year old woman had died instantly; the fall breaking her neck, snapping it into pieces. Corfu’s coroner explained to Ioli that ‘no violent marks were found or any defense wounds’ and the local police added ‘the house was fully locked from the inside. She was alone.’
The Church Murders: A stand-alone thriller (Greek Island Mysteries Book 2) Page 14
