Murder in Mykonos

by Jeffrey Siger

‘That’s it?’ Tassos seemed surprised.

  ‘No, not at all,’ said Andreas.

  A glint of anger came to Tassos’ voice. ‘What’s this, a little test for the boys from the islands?’

  So he knew Andreas’ history. He tried putting the conversation on a more personal footing. ‘Not at all, Tassos, I just thought it might be better for you to look at this with fresh eyes and reach your own conclusions.’

  Tassos stared at Andreas for a moment. He seemed to be deciding whether this was just another – albeit former – Athens hot-shot putting on the local cops. ‘All right, have it your way. Show me what we’ve got.’

  Andreas pointed him toward the open door and watched as Tassos studied the room from the doorway, just as Andreas had, then carefully approached and methodically examined the body with his flashlight, just as Andreas had. Tassos walked past Andreas without saying a word. Once outside, he told the three men with him, ‘I want everything in there recorded and rerecorded. Get an ambulance here. We’re taking the body and everything else in there back to Syros.’ Then he walked away from the church.

  From their equipment, Andreas could tell one of the three was with the coroner’s office and another was a crime scene technician. The third probably was one of Tassos’ investigators. All three went inside. Andreas told them to let him know when they were ready to inspect the body – and told Kouros to keep an eye on them to make sure they did.

  Tassos was sitting on a low stone wall in the shade of a wild fig tree looking at the view. Andreas sat next to him. A soft breeze was blowing in off the sea, mixing the scents of wildflowers and herbs.

  ‘There are no views in the world like the ones from our Greek islands, Andreas.’ A bridge had been built.

  ‘It’s eternal,’ said Andreas.

  Neither spoke for a moment.

  ‘What are we going to do about this?’ Tassos’ voice was flat and serious.

  ‘Do we have a choice?’ Andreas used the same tone.

  ‘A murder in paradise is bad. A tourist murdered in paradise is worse. But something like this . . . is unthinkable.’ Tassos was shaking his head.

  ‘Why do you say she’s a tourist?’

  Tassos looked down and kicked at the dirt. ‘In thirty years on Syros I’ve only seen a few Mykonian or other local woman that tall, and she’s not one of them.’

  Andreas smiled at the obvious – and Tassos’ insight. ‘What’s on your mind?’

  Tassos looked down. ‘Something neither of us wants to say, and no one anywhere in Greece will want to hear.’

  ‘That’s about what I thought.’

  ‘So, I guess we won’t call it what it is, just use the clues to catch the bastard who did it.’ Tassos kicked at the dirt again.

  ‘As long as we catch the bad guy,’ Andreas said.

  ‘Yeah, as long as we catch the bad guy.’

  Andreas picked up a bit of something else in Tassos’ tone. ‘What’s bothering you?’

  Tassos looked up and stared out toward the sea. ‘One summer, about ten years ago, an American girl working at a bar here in town didn’t show up for her shift. A girlfriend went looking for her and found her room covered in blood but no body. Brutal thing. Another young woman, a Scandinavian, disappeared around the same time. The whole island went crazy.’

  A small lizard, as brown as the dirt, scurried out from the base of the wall, past their feet, and into the shade of a wild thistle. Tassos didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘We tied the American to an Irishman here on holiday. He’d met her at the bar. He was a convicted child killer released from an English prison after twenty-five years.’ Tassos paused long enough to shake his head, a disgusted look on his face. ‘On humanitarian grounds, because of a bad heart. We caught up with him by the Bulgarian border and brought him back to Mykonos for questioning. Had to get him drunk to talk – his heart wouldn’t stand up to how I wanted to interrogate the bastard.’ He didn’t have to explain to Andreas what he meant by that.

  ‘He finally showed us where he’d buried the American’s body – over there by Paradise Beach.’ He gestured south. ‘But he wouldn’t say what happened to the other one. He refused to talk about it. Never denied it, never admitted it.’ Tassos took out his cigarettes and offered one to Andreas. They shared a match.

  ‘We had the military, police cadets, Boy Scouts, farmers – anyone willing to help – out looking for the other woman’s body. Never thought we’d find her, but we did.’

  Tassos took a drag on his cigarette. ‘She was in a shallow grave, right by a road not far from here – almost like she was meant to be found there, to end the search. The Irishman still wouldn’t admit to killing her but everyone from the mayor on down wanted to pin it on him, mark both murders solved and move on to other things. One killer here was enough bad publicity – no reason to suggest another one might still be lurking around.’

  He paused to puff again. ‘Besides, if someone else did it, it had to be a tourist long gone by now who wouldn’t dare come back – at least that’s what the mayor said.’

  Tassos flicked the ash from his cigarette. ‘Before the Irishman could come to trial and maybe say which murders were his – and which weren’t – he committed suicide in custody.’ He looked directly at Andreas. ‘I took that for a “case closed.”’

  Andreas shrugged. ‘We have to put up with that sort of cover-up shit all the time. Politicians don’t like loose ends.’

  Tassos smiled. ‘Funny you should say “loose ends.” The American was cut up, raped, and beaten to death in one place then buried in another, cleverly hidden location. The Scandinavian was full of crystal meth – the “let’s have sex drug” – but otherwise unmarked and died of suffocation – buried alive – under a virtual “find me here” sign.’

  Bitching at bureaucrats was a hallowed police pastime, but that didn’t seem to be what this was about. ‘How’s all that tie in to this?’ asked Andreas.

  Tassos stared off at the horizon again. ‘Never thought the Irishman did the Scandinavian.’ Without looking back, he pointed toward the church with his cigarette. ‘She was shaved and tied up just like the one back there.’

  3

  Ambassador Vanden Haag’s initial response to his wife’s telephone description of their daughter’s travel situation was predictable: ask the Queen to call out the marines. Then he took a more measured approach. His office contacted American Express for a list of Annika’s recent charges. That should tell him where she was. But American Express wouldn’t release the information to his office, to him, or to the American ambassador he asked to call on his behalf. It took some ingenuity from an old CIA friend to get the information, but he got it.

  It showed no recent activity. The last charges were in Italy, indicating she had traveled from Sicily along the eastern mainland north past the heel of the boot. They stopped in Bari, with a payment to Superfast Ferries. He went online and found that it served the North Sea, Baltic, and Adriatic, but from that part of Italy the line had only two destinations: Igoumenitsa and Patras – both in western Greece. From there Annika could have caught any number of ferries to any number of places – or traveled some other way.

  No doubt she was in Greece. That explained why the Amex charges stopped. Many businesses in Greece wouldn’t accept the card – too slow paying, they claimed. Annika probably was using another credit card. He’d try to get that information tomorrow, but now at least they knew where she was – sort of – and the news was reassuring. She’d been to Greece more times than he could count, was fluent in Greek, and in a pinch, her uncle and aunt were there to help. Catia’s brother was Greece’s deputy minister for Public Order – the country’s equivalent of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. Catia would make a few calls tomorrow, and they’d know where Annika was in no time.

  It was comforting to know their daughter was in a safe place.

  Andreas stood quietly listening to Tassos tell his three men where to place the lights in the church. The five
of them were crowded together around the crypt when the lights went on, the videotaping began, and the coroner started his examination. It was not pretty, but the smell was worse – and more than a match for the drops of menthol gel on Andreas’ upper lip.

  The autopsy and serious forensic testing would take place at the coroner’s lab on Syros, but there were crucial observations to be made here. The coroner spoke loudly and distinctly to assure that what he said was accurately recorded.

  ‘Bruises on body are consistent with the shape and location of nearby bones,’ as if she had thrashed against them before she died. He couldn’t be sure, but ‘eyes and mouth appear closed after death.’ ‘Rigor mortis appears cause of shift of body’ onto her right side – from flat on her back, hands clasped by her chest.

  ‘Cotton, probably tampons, in each nostril, will verify whether same in anus and vagina and—’

  ‘Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt,’ Andreas said, startled, ‘but aren’t you surprised at finding tampons in her nose? And what’s this about looking for “same in anus and vagina”?’

  The coroner did not look away from the body. ‘I both am and am not surprised. I’m surprised at finding it here, but not in a dead body.’ He was talking in riddles – like an academic lecturer.

  Andreas hated the type but knew they were necessary. ‘Do me a favor, just tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.’

  The coroner looked at Tassos.

  ‘Costas, please tell the man what he wants to know.’ Tassos spoke like a man used to being in charge.

  Without changing his tone, the coroner said, ‘Greeks bury their dead immediately and without embalming, but there is a viewing. In order to keep bodily fluids from leaking into the casket, cotton is shoved . . .’

  Andreas knew about that part.

  ‘These days, instead of cotton, tampons often are used. How many depends upon the size of the orifice.’

  ‘What about the throat and ears?’ Andreas asked.

  ‘Not in the ears, and the throat would depend upon the Cause of death, but generally not. In this body, I saw nothing in the throat.’

  ‘Are you saying she was prepared for burial?’ asked Andreas.

  ‘From the position of her feet together, hands clasped at the chest – though hers actually are bound to the body just below the chest – eyes and mouth shut, I’d say yes, with one distinct difference.’

  ‘What’s that?’ He’d play along with the professor.

  ‘I’m virtually certain this was done while she was alive.’

  ‘Sort of like a ritual.’ It was Tassos’ investigator. He seemed to be showing off for the crowd. Andreas had better tell Tassos to shut him up. But he didn’t have to.

  ‘That will be enough of that sort of talk – from you and anyone else.’ Tassos stared at the faces around the crypt, the tone of his warning unequivocally menacing. ‘Costas, how long before you’ll have forensics back on this?’

  ‘How quickly do you want them?’

  Tassos didn’t respond, just stared at him.

  Costas spoke quickly, nervously. ‘I’ll call Syros and have them ready to start as soon as we get back with the body.’

  ‘And the bones?’ added Tassos.

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll have something for you by tomorrow.’

  ‘What do you think the chances are of a quick ID on the body?’ Andreas’ question was directed to the coroner, but Tassos answered in a tone Andreas knew was meant to make clear he was in charge of the forensic side of this investigation.

  ‘I doubt she’s local, but even if she is, depends on whether she’s reported as missing. If not, as soon as we get Costas’ results we’ll check with Athens, and’ – he was shaking his head – ‘probably the rest of the world, to get an ID on this one.’

  Andreas knew the most they could hope for was that someone somewhere had reported her missing because if no one cared enough to file a missing-person report, there was virtually no chance – outside of luck – of identifying her. Andreas couldn’t imagine any police force in the world starting an investigation into a ‘do you know this body’ request without – at the very least – knowing it somehow tied in to their jurisdiction. Each had too many of its own problems to deal with.

  ‘Sounds to me like we should start looking at this end.’ Andreas was claiming his territory.

  Tassos smiled. ‘I can just imagine all the screaming phone calls you’ll be getting once you start flashing photographs of a dead body around Mykonos at the height of the tourist season.’

  Andreas smiled back. ‘I thought I’d put up posters along Matogianni Street with her picture and your telephone number.’

  Tassos laughed and shook his head. ‘Mykonos and its politics shall be all yours on this one, my friend.’

  Territories were settled. They smiled at each other.

  ‘May I get back to work?’ asked the coroner.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tassos, ‘and be sure you’re your usual, thorough self. We need to know everything about how this woman died ASAP – and who she is.’

  Andreas wondered who else might want to know.

  Schuyler was right. Catia was relieved to know Annika was in Greece. But that made her a bit angry. Not at her daughter, at her relatives. How could they not have called and told her they’d seen Annika? Then again, how were they to know she hadn’t spoken with her daughter in weeks? She took a deep breath and told herself to relax. She’d call Greece, and her relatives would find Annika.

  Quite a crowd had gathered at the bottom of the hill. An ambulance winding its way through Mykonos back roads was irresistible to the locals. It meant someone was ill, injured, or dead, and they wanted to know who. Andreas’ officers were asking questions of everyone who stopped, but that didn’t discourage a soul. The crowd knew by now there was a dead body in the church at the top of the hill and everyone was staying to watch it all. Cell phones were blaring out the news. Andreas always was amazed how fast word gets out. He wondered how it happened this time.

  He just hoped Tassos could keep his men from any more mention of rituals. He had to be careful about that sort of talk from his own cops too. All it took was one trying to impress someone and all of Greece would be shouting ‘ritual murder on Mykonos.’

  Come to think of it, he was surprised an Athens TV crew wasn’t here by now. There always seemed to be at least one somewhere on Mykonos during the tourist season. TV viewers loved stuff knocking sexy, upscale places filled with rich people, especially on Mykonos. A murdered body being hauled down a hill out of an old Mykonos church was just the sort of story they’d run over and over again – not the kind of TV coverage Andreas was hoping after less than a month on the job.

  Perhaps he’d get lucky and they’d be off catching live celebrity bodies on a beach somewhere and this dead one would be down the hill and off the island before they could film it. That’s when he realized that most of the people on that road probably had cell phones with cameras – some even take video. Damn technology. He decided to leave the rest of the forensic examination to Tassos. He’d let the crowd know anyone using a cell phone camera would be arrested for interfering with a police investigation. Who knew – maybe the threat would actually work. It was worth a try.

  The walk down was a lot easier than the climb up, but he took it slow. He wanted another glimpse of nature’s take on blissful eternity after the time he’d just spent inside with the grim here and now. He looked straight up at the sky: bright blue, running off to almost white where it met the sea. It reminded him of the day of his father’s funeral, on that hillside north of Athens. He hadn’t thought of that day in years. He had only been eight. It must have been Tassos’ mention of his father that brought it back. He shook his head and tried to think other thoughts.

  When he reached the road he called his men together and told them what he wanted done about the cell phones; then he asked if their questioning had turned up anything interesting. Not really. He decided to talk to some of the curious
personally – starting with the two men in the black Fiat.

  The two had learned their lesson, or at least had enough sense to act as if they had. Both were very respectful to the chief of police. One was Alex’s cousin and the other his friend. They said all three worked for the same contractor and, after Alex found the body, he first called the police on his mobile and then his cousin. They couldn’t find the place until they heard the sirens and followed the police cars.

  Andreas wondered how many others Alex had called. At least now he knew how word got out about a body in the church.

  The guy in the gray Grand Cherokee was the contractor they worked for. He’d been sitting in it since he got there, running the air conditioner and watching. Andreas crossed in front of the Jeep and walked to the driver’s door. The contractor never turned to look at him, just kept staring up the mountain as if Andreas wasn’t there. Andreas knocked on the window with the back of his hand. The contractor still didn’t turn to look, just pressed the button to roll down the window.

  Andreas knew of him. He came from a very old Mykonian family, had once been mayor and now was the most successful contractor on the island. He’d grown very rich on the island’s building boom and was said to believe his statue should be erected in the town square next to – and a bit larger than – Mykonos’ legendary heroine of Greece’s 1821 struggle for independence, Mantó Mavroyénous.

  ‘Andreas Kaldis, chief of police.’

  No answer.

  Andreas wanted to drag him out of the car and bang his head on the hood. ‘Mr Pappas, I presume.’

  Slowly the man turned his head to face Andreas. ‘You are correct.’

  Now Andreas would settle for just ripping off the guy’s sunglasses. ‘Would you mind telling me what you’re doing here,’ then choked out words he sensed he had to say: ‘I mean no disrespect, but I can’t help wondering why a man of your stature in the community is sitting in his vehicle at a murder site.’

  The man paused. ‘One of my men found the body and called his cousin – he works for me, too. His cousin called me, and I followed the police here.’