He pulled at the slab until it moved enough for light from the doorway to shine into the crypt. He stared in for a moment, then walked outside and lit a cigarette. He took a puff, exhaled, and began to gag. He caught himself, took another deep breath, and wondered if he felt this way because of all the pressure he’d been under and those recurring thoughts of his father. That had to be part of the reason – that and the almost fully decomposed body he’d just found on a pile of not-so-old bones.
9
Andreas knew the mayor would not be pleased being summoned to the office of the chief of police. Dropping in once on his own for a visit was quite different from Andreas requesting his immediate presence. Still, Andreas had no choice but to insist; too many ears listened and tongues wagged in the mayor’s office. Besides, by the time Tassos and Andreas were done with him, bruises to the mayor’s ego would be the least of their worries.
Andreas wanted to inform the ministry in Athens immediately, but Tassos had convinced him that the politic thing to do was tell the mayor first. They still had to work with him, and the message would be bad enough without having it delivered by an elephant – Athenian no less – stepping on his toes. Andreas reluctantly agreed. They’d call Athens tomorrow.
Mayor Mihali Vasilas had been in office for almost two decades. He controlled the entire island. The island’s two towns, Ano Mera and Mykonos, each had representatives on the island council but elected only one mayor. He was powerful and knew it. He also knew how to be gracious. This evening he was a combination of both. When he walked into Andreas’ office he gave a charming hello followed by a searing look from deep-set dark eyes. He was a foot shorter than Andreas, and slim. It was rumored that he kept himself in shape by eating only those who got in his way. In other words, he ate very little. He looked hungry.
The three still were standing about an arm’s length apart. The mayor looked at Tassos. ‘Tassos, why am I here?’
Andreas took the question for what it was: an effort to put Andreas in his place as irrelevant on Mykonos. He decided to let things play out. He knew where they had to end. May as well give him all the rope he needed.
Tassos looked at Andreas to answer. ‘Mr Mayor,’ Andreas said, ‘we have a problem – a very serious problem – and we want you to know about it before we contact Athens.’
The mayor jerked his head toward Andreas, anger glaring in his eyes. ‘You will do nothing without my approval, absolutely nothing!’ he yelled. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Beg your pardon, Mr Mayor, but it’s out of our hands.’ Andreas sounded as gracious as a headwaiter.
‘Nothing is out of your hands where I’m concerned, absolutely nothing.’ The veins were popping in his neck, and he was waving his finger in Andreas’ face.
Andreas wondered if something in their oath of office made Mykonos mayors – past and present – so arrogant.
‘Well, this just might be the exception, Mihali,’ Tassos said, his tone telling him to get off his mayoral high horse and, by his nod toward Andreas, to show some respect.
But the mayor would not dismount. ‘I don’t want to hear another word about that murdered girl and my cousin. Not one. Do I make myself clear?’
‘It’s not just about her. There’s more,’ Andreas said, his voice coldly professional.
‘More? More of what?’
‘Murders.’ Andreas said the word softly. No need for more drama than that.
The mayor stared at him. His face looked puzzled, then he looked at Tassos and his expression strangely relaxed. ‘Let me guess, after all these years you think you’ve finally found a way to resurrect your theory that the Irishman didn’t kill the Scandinavian. You think, because you found the new body bound copycat like one from ten years ago, everything ties together and vindicates your theory.’ His tone was derisive.
He certainly knew his facts, at least some of them, thought Andreas.
‘I think it’s safe to say I’ve more than proven I was right about that, Mihali.’ Tassos’ tone was not appeasing.
The mayor pointed his index finger in Tassos’ face. ‘If any of this bullshit gets out about the two murders being related – one word, a single word – you can kiss your pension good-bye, and’ – turning to Andreas – ‘you, you’ll never ever see anything but parking tickets for the rest of whatever career you have left.’
If that’s the way it’s going to be, Andreas thought, he was prepared to play. ‘Okay, you’ve got a deal, Mr Mayor.’ Andreas nodded in agreement, patted the mayor on the shoulder, walked around his desk, and sat down. Smiling, he leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. ‘Neither of us will say a fucking single word to anyone tying those two murders together. We’ll leave that to the press to figure out on its own when we tell them about the other sixteen bodies we found – some still bound like the two you don’t want us to talk about.’ He leaned forward, dropped his hands to the desk, and looked at Tassos. ‘Am I right that it’s eighteen in total? The seventeen we found in four churches plus the Scandinavian.’
Tassos gave Andreas a quick look of admiration and turned to the mayor with a deadpan expression. ‘So far. After all, we’ve only had time to look in eight churches.’
They both stared at the mayor. His mouth was wide open but not a word came out.
After allowing the stew to simmer for a moment, Tassos added some spice. ‘The murders appear spaced at the rate of one per year.’ He paused. ‘And roughly span your term in office, Mr Mayor.’ Tassos smiled broadly and dropped into his favorite chair.
The mayor was seething. He pulled up a straight-back wooden chair and sat so he could see both men. Then he demanded details. Andreas delivered them matter-of-factly. ‘We found the remains of seventeen bodies, all tall females, in the floor crypts of four churches. Preliminarily, forensics show no evidence of clothing or hair more than stubble on any victim, but hemp twine was found at all locations, and remains of at least one body in each crypt were found bound in the same manner as the Vandrew woman.’
‘And the Scandinavian,’ Tassos added with a glare at the mayor.
Andreas continued, ‘Remains of four bodies each were found in Saint Kiriake, Saint Marina, and Saint Calliope – including Helen Vandrew’s. Five bodies were found at Saint Fanourios. No bodies were found at Saint Barbara, Saint Nicholas, Saint Phillipos, or Saint Spyridon.’
Visibly shaken, the mayor tried sounding imperious. ‘You’re the professionals. You should know what to do. Do you have a suspect?’ It wasn’t working. It was obvious to everyone in the room that his fate was in the hands of the men he’d just threatened with destruction.
Andreas smiled. ‘Yes.’
The mayor looked like he was about to say ‘Who?’ but he stopped. ‘Do you have any proof tying your suspect to any of the other killings?’
‘Not as yet.’
The mayor put his head down and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Do what you have to do, but I don’t think he’s your man.’ He’d abandoned all pretext of not knowing his cousin was who they had in mind. ‘I’ve known him all my life. I know how badly beaten he was by his father – the drunken bastard – and when he drowned no one blamed Ilias, but I can’t imagine him being involved in . . . in this.’
Did I just hear him say his cousin might have killed his father for abusing him? Andreas thought. Damn, we’re checking one box after another on this guy’s list of major, serial killer-traits – male, intelligent, a voyeur, abused, drunken father – and we’re just getting started!
‘Anything else unusual about your cousin’s behavior or background?’
The mayor took in and let out a deep breath. He now was being interrogated by the chief of police. He raised no objection. ‘You mean other than the tapes?’
Andreas nodded.
‘I don’t know . . .’ The mayor’s voice drifted off. He sounded lost, not in control. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Not much we can do, Mihali, we have to tell Athens,’ said Tassos.
&nbs
p; The mayor nodded and clasped his hands together. ‘I have a suggestion.’ He seemed to be pleading more than suggesting. ‘This is a disaster for Mykonos. We all know that.’
The two policemen nodded.
‘It would be better if when we announced the terrible news we also announced the capture of the killer.’ He was looking at the floor as he abandoned his cousin.
‘I don’t know how we can do that. We don’t have proof yet,’ said Andreas.
‘I’ll give you whatever help you need. If we have no killer, we have no tourists and we have no island. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Mr Mayor—’
‘Call me Mihali, Andreas.’ He really was politicking now.
Andreas nodded. ‘Mihali, I don’t see how we can keep this quiet until we find the killer. It puts too many people in danger.’
‘But I thought you said it’s one victim a year and he’s already murdered once this year.’
Tassos answered. ‘It just looks that way, but we can’t be sure and we’ve only been to eight churches.’
The mayor put his head down again. ‘I understand, but is anyone missing who meets the description of his victims?’
Andreas said, ‘Not that we know of, but that doesn’t mean much. You know how that sort of thing goes unreported.’ Andreas diplomatically did not add ‘because of your insistence on keeping such things unreported.’
Again the mayor nodded. ‘What if we wait a few days and you spend the time looking into every shadow of Ilias’ past, and if he turns out to be the one, well, so be it.’
Andreas looked at Tassos. It would be impossible to do that sort of investigation with media running all over the island, and if they kept a tight rein on Ilias, there’d be no risk to anyone else. Perhaps the mayor’s suggestion wasn’t so bad. Unless, of course, the killer wasn’t his cousin – but, then again, the mayor was correct in saying the killer seemed to get his urges only once a year. The risk of a few days might well be worth it.
As if reading Andreas’ mind, Tassos said, ‘Okay, Mihali, three days, but you must give us your complete co operation—’
The mayor cut him off. ‘Done.’
Tassos smiled, ‘And—’
‘I was afraid of that.’ The mayor grinned.
‘Sign a letter on your official stationery acknowledging what we’ve told you and assuming full responsibility for directing us to keep that information from Athens until we’ve completed our investigation.’
It was two political masters at work. All three of them knew the letter would mean nothing to Athens. Tassos and Andreas were toast if this deal ever got out. All it did was keep the mayor from throwing them to the wolves. He didn’t even attempt to argue. ‘Done.’
They told the mayor to tell no one – something he’d no doubt figured out for himself – and although they wouldn’t be arresting his cousin just yet, they’d be closely watching his every move. Mihali assured them he’d handle any complaints of police harassment from Ilias.
When Mihali stood up to leave, he told them not to get up. He walked over and shook Andreas’ hand. ‘Sorry about all that before, Chief. Sometimes my head gets a little too big for my own good.’
Andreas nodded. ‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’
He also apologized to Tassos. No wonder this guy’s stayed in office so long, thought Andreas. He knows when to cut and run – and change horses in midstream.
After the mayor left, Tassos smiled and said, ‘I see you’re pretty good at taking care of yourself with political types.’
Andreas nodded.
Tassos lightly smacked the arms of his chair. ‘So, where do we go from here?’
‘Why are you asking me?’ said Andreas, looking puzzled.
‘Because, I’m hoping you’ll say “Out to eat.” I’m starved.’
Andreas smiled and with a come-along wave of his hand got up and said, ‘Good idea. Let’s go to town for some dinner among those we’ve sworn to serve and protect.’
Annika wondered why her evening seemed headed toward ending at a gay bar in Little Venice. Sunset at the harbor had started out nicely, but when the wind picked up, and she went looking for a more sheltered spot, Little Venice was the natural choice, as it offered perfect sunset views. She didn’t want to go to one of its popular straight bars and run into someone she knew – and the absolute certainty of being hassled. Then again, the wrong sort of gay place was likely to get her hassled by suitors of another persuasion.
She peeked inside a bar called Montmartre. It had an English pub-style front room and a larger, table-filled, back room lined with rear windows opening onto the sea. The place seemed cozy and not that busy. The two guys behind the bar – one blond, one dark – were talking with a group of male customers and one very large woman. The dark one was telling a story in Greek and looking very serious. As Annika waited for him to finish, she looked around at the artwork on the walls. From the scenes she could tell it was local but way better than the stuff at her hotel. She liked the feel of the place and asked for a table overlooking the sea. The blond smiled and told her in English to pick any one she wanted. It seemed the perfect, unthreatening place to spend an hour finishing the contemplation she’d begun at the harbor.
Before her hour had passed the place started filling up, with gay men and older, straight couples. She’d been staring out the window nursing her wine and hadn’t noticed the piano tucked away in a corner by the front room until someone started to play. He was good, very good. The place kept filling up. The table she’d had so long to herself she now shared with six others. She didn’t mind. They all seemed to be there for the music. Just when Annika thought the place couldn’t get busier, the very large woman she’d seen earlier walked into the room and began to sing.
She was terrific. Before long it was standing room only in the front room. At a break, Annika ran to the toilet just past the bar – after making sure her table mates saved her seat. She was having the best night she could imagine and was working her way back to her table through the bar crowd when she felt a tap on her shoulder.
‘So, we meet again, Annika,’ a voice said in English.
One of the advantages of being police chief was that you didn’t have to park in the public lot over by the ferry landing, a pleasant but ten-minute walk from the main part of town. Andreas nodded as he passed the officer assigned to keep all but taxis and official vehicles from mixing with the crowds milling along the old flagstone road down to the harbor. For part of the way, the road ran at tabletop height above and beside a tiny beach used more by pets than people, that ended abruptly at the north wall of the town’s oldest hotel. As the road passed the rear of the hotel it began funneling down between buildings until it was only inches wider than Andreas’ car. He had no choice but to crawl along at the pace of the crowd in front of him.
Andreas poked Tassos and pointed at two young women just beyond the front bumper. They were walking – more like staggering drunk or drugged – as if the police car didn’t exist. Their tight skirts ended where their thighs began, and except for thin halter strings around their necks, their backs were bare, adorned with matching tattoos at the base of their spines. Two local boys walking with them noticed the police car and hurried them into the main square where the road opened up again into the taxi stand. Andreas nodded to the boys as he passed – it made them look important. It was a man thing.
‘And they’ll wonder why they wake up feeling sore in places they never knew they had,’ said Tassos, sounding disgusted.
Both men were quiet for a moment. ‘Do you think ours were like them?’ asked Andreas. The victims were personal to him. That happened to cops.
‘Don’t know,’ said Tassos, shaking his head. ‘Don’t think so, but I’m not sure why.’ He paused. ‘Maybe because there were no signs of rape with any of ours, and’ – he gestured over his shoulder back at the women – ‘with that sort I’d expect to find some evidence of sexual activity.’
Andreas parked beside a por
t police SUV, and they joined the crowd packing into the narrow main shopping street of Mykonos. It was still early, not yet eleven, and Matogianni Street was filled with young people trying very hard to look different from one another – so hard, in fact, that they all ended up looking alike. Andreas pointed to a side street, and they moved out of the crowd, heading to a restaurant that was surrounded by bougainvillea and geraniums, filled with white linen-covered tables, and watched over by an owner whose personality gave Greeks a good name.
Andreas didn’t go here simply because Niko wouldn’t let him pay – no restaurant would take the chief’s money – but because he liked the place. Good food, no attitude, and a garden out of sight from the street. There was a lot to talk about and he wanted no interruptions.
They chatted at the bar for a few minutes with Niko and his wife, then Niko led them to a table in the rear of the garden. He left them for a moment and came back holding, in one hand, a plate of mostra – fresh made toasted bread, spread thick with homemade Mykonian kopanisti cheese and covered with olives, fresh tomatoes, and olive oil – and a bottle of wine in the other. He poured each a glass and said he’d already ordered for them. They smiled, thanked him, and watched him leave to greet other guests.
Andreas was in a serious mood. ‘Our careers are over if we don’t catch this bastard in three days.’
Tassos shrugged. ‘Even if we catch him, Athens will be pissed.’ He reached for his wineglass but didn’t pick it up. ‘They’ll say we were grabbing the glory for ourselves by not telling them sooner, and if he gets away . . .’ He let his words drift off and a devilish smile formed as he lifted his glass. ‘Yamas, Chief Dead Meat.’
Andreas smiled and picked up his glass. ‘Yamas.’
They clinked and tasted the wine.
Andreas put down his glass. ‘So, why are you risking your pension for just three more days?’
Murder in Mykonos Page 11
