Murder in Mykonos

by Jeffrey Siger

  Fear instinctively shot through her body. ‘He’s gassing me!’ She struggled to stay focused. ‘This is just another test, another problem to solve,’ she kept repeating aloud while hammering away at her thigh with the heel of her good hand. She forced herself to concentrate on what she remembered from chemistry about carbon monoxide poisoning: a sufficient exposure can reduce the amount of oxygen taken up by the brain to the point that the victim becomes unconscious, and can suffer brain damage or even death without ever noticing anything up to the point of collapse.

  In other words, if she continued with what she was doing, she was dead. She needed to find fresh air, but how, in this sealed, pitch-black tomb? In the darkness she’d lost track of where she was standing and stretched out her arms to feel for a wall. When she found one she quickly dropped to her knees and began crawling counterclockwise along its base, probing and scratching frantically with her right hand at each bottom stone. She wasn’t moving as quickly as she wanted and felt a slight headache. She knew her body was giving in to the fumes and her mind started drifting. She had no idea how long she’d been breathing them in, but she was sure her little exercise at staying awake had intensified its effects. Her only chance was to find what had to be at the base of one of those walls – and quickly.

  She found nothing on the first wall and began to struggle as she moved along the second one. Again, nothing but rock. At the third wall she dropped to her elbows and scratched away at its base. She hadn’t slept for what seemed days. She was exhausted and wanted to rest, wanted to sleep. The thought of giving in passed through her mind, but she pushed it away, by pressing her toes against the floor to drive her body forward. By the fourth wall the rest of her body was drifting to the floor. Now she scratched out with both hands, grateful for the pain in her injured hand helping to keep her conscious. She had little energy left when she felt what she’d been looking for. She pressed and clawed at the rock until it flipped up into the room. It was the slot in the base of the wall she’d remembered hearing when he’d shoved in the beribboned gift box of chocolates. It was her last and only hope for fresh air.

  Annika forced her face into the opening. She sensed a breeze and gulped at what she prayed was fresh air. But was it imagined, was it enough . . . was it in time? Those were her last thoughts as she fell off into a deep, long-resisted sleep.

  He pressed a switch hidden under a camouflaged plate to the right of the cell door, and a single fluorescent ceiling light slowly flickered on inside the cell. The door was two and a half feet wide and five feet high, made of steel. Three massive industrial hinges anchored it to the stone wall on its left side, and three equally massive sliding bolts along its right side held it firmly to the floor, the adjacent mine wall and the ceiling. It was the sort of door one would expect to see securing the shop of a jeweler, but this one he’d hidden beneath the textures and colors of the tunnel walls.

  He slid out the bolt from the wall and pulled at the top one. He had trouble with that one, always had. He hadn’t aligned it quite right when he installed it. He thought he might need a hammer to move it but decided to slide the bottom one out first and try the top one again. That did the trick. When he pulled on the door it slid open effortlessly. Not only did it carry the weight of the stone fitted to its inside face, it blended seamlessly into the inside cell walls when closed.

  He looked at the girl stretched out along the far end of the wall separating the cell from the tunnel. Her face was pressed into the corner. He remembered his sister as rosy red when he crept into her bedroom that late-winter night to remove the hose from the broken pane by her bed, having just disconnected the other end from their miserable father’s truck. Her death was blamed on a faulty space heater. She had been the first of his tributes, though he hadn’t thought of it that way at the time.

  He still smelled the fumes in the cell, even though he’d disconnected the garden hose and restarted the ventilation system ten minutes earlier. He stood in the doorway and studied her body. Not a flinch. Still, he waited a few more minutes before moving toward her cautiously.

  When he felt her pulse he realized there was no need for concern. It was weak. No telling how much longer she might last. That meant he had to work fast. Death must come in a place of his saints of the living, not among his gods of the dead. He rolled her over onto her back and dragged her by the ankles to directly under the light. He straddled her above her waist and stared at her face for a moment before dropping to his knees and easing his naked buttocks onto her breasts. She wasn’t rosy like his sister.

  Slowly, he leaned forward and stroked her cheek with his left hand, while with his right he pulled a straight razor from behind his ear, snapped it open, and tenderly began slicing away. He was quite skilled with the razor and worked more swiftly as he moved along her body. When he was through there wasn’t a hair to be found anywhere.

  He made her as bare and smooth as the forty-five-hundred-year-old Cycladic marble figurines of elongated, naked females – arms folded beneath their chests – the ancients of these islands sacrificed in place of humans. They’d taken great care to make the sculptures beautiful, a timeless beauty that inspired Pablo Picasso and Henry Moore, then ritually destroyed them in ceremonies honoring their gods. He had little patience for tourists who brought copies into their homes without having any idea of their purpose. Some Mykonians who kept them probably knew, because sacrifice was still among their traditions – the blood of a live rooster must run fresh at the site of a new home to protect all who enter from harm.

  He, too, sought to gain the protection of his gods through sacrifice, but he knew that from him they required far more than mere stone or fowl.

  His practice was to bind each tribute in symbolic honor to the ancient way before going on to the next step, but this one was so close to death she couldn’t possibly put up resistance. Besides, with what he had in mind there was a chance they might be seen before reaching the church. If she seemed drunk or drugged, they weren’t likely to attract any more attention than the hundreds of other revelers partying on a panegyri night, but if she were bound head to foot, they’d definitely be noticed. It was far too great a risk to take. He’d undertake that part of the rite later.

  He left her lying on the floor while he went to do what else was required to complete the preparation. He didn’t bother to lock the door. He didn’t need to.

  17

  Ninety minutes after his meeting with Andreas and Tassos, the mayor met Andreas at a locals’ taverna just off the main square in Ano Mera. Two dozen volunteers were inside. Andreas was impressed by how quickly he’d been able to get so many men to search the mines – and after midnight, no less. Then again, he’d been mayor for almost twenty years, and no one wanted to be on his bad side. Most appeared to be in their early forties, some younger, a few older. Pappas looked like the oldest. Andreas smiled to himself – apparently even the self-described, most important man on the island danced when the mayor played the tune.

  The mayor spoke first, and formally. ‘My thanks to all of you for coming on such short notice in this, the middle of our busiest season, but as I told each of you, it is a matter of life and death. We must find a young woman lost in one of the mines.’ A few of the men exchanged glances. Pappas didn’t blink.

  The mayor came up with that cover story at Andreas’ office, and even though none of them gave it much chance of flying, they hoped whatever rumors it spawned wouldn’t be as catastrophic as the truth. There was a complication though – a very serious one. Volunteers were being asked to help find a ruthless, brutal killer. They had to be warned of the danger in a way that wouldn’t blow the whole story wide open. The mayor assured them he’d handle it.

  ‘My friends, we don’t know if the missing woman is alone or with someone, went willingly or against her will. But we think she’s somewhere in the mines, places you know better than anyone on our island. Just be careful. Prepare for the worst and pray for the best.’

  Andreas couldn�
�t believe what he was hearing. The mayor planned on sending these men off to look for a serial killer in the dark – literally and figuratively. Where was the warning he promised?

  ‘What do you mean “prepare for the worst”?’ It was Pappas.

  Andreas assumed the mayor was agitated by the question, but he didn’t show it.

  ‘I think whenever you go in search of someone who might have been taken against her will – and I emphasize might – you should be alert to the possibility that someone may be prepared to do the rescuer harm.’

  ‘You mean “harm” like what happened to that girl up at the church?’ Pappas turned to face Andreas, as if directing the question at him.

  That had to piss off the mayor, thought Andreas, but still Mihali didn’t show it – just hurried to answer before Andreas could speak. ‘Let’s hope not. I repeat, I don’t know what happened to her, but I want all of you to be careful.’

  Andreas noticed he didn’t offer his volunteers the opportunity of backing out. Perhaps that’s why he wasn’t agitated – he knew his audience had no choice.

  No one else had a question, and the mayor turned the meeting over to Andreas to organize the search. Andreas described the missing woman and the area to be searched, which included mine entrances by the artist’s home and Panos’ farm. He said he’d leave it to the men in the room who knew the mines how best to conduct the search, but he insisted they work in groups of no fewer than three and that at least one in each group carry a firearm.

  No one said a word. Although military service was mandatory for all Greek men and each probably had several guns at home, for the police chief to insist on guns meant this had to be far more serious than the mayor was letting on.

  It was Pappas who said what everyone had to be thinking. ‘Is that to prepare for the worst?’ His tone was sarcastic but he didn’t wait for an answer or dwell on his point. Instead, he threw up his hands in a sign of disgust and turned to face the men. ‘Okay, let’s set this up so we’re not running into each other inside – because some of you are such lousy hunters you’ll be shooting at shadows.’ That got them snickering. He’d lightened the mood and no one seemed to object to his taking charge – it was almost as if it had been planned that way.

  Pappas suggested they divide the area into five sections with groups of four assigned to each section. He and the remaining men – the ‘old-timers’ he called them – would man a command center out of his Jeep on the hillside adjacent to Panos’ property. No one offered a better idea, but Andreas insisted that each search group report back at least once every hour, and any that didn’t would have police dispatched to their last reported location ASAP.

  Andreas noticed the mayor move his head to catch Pappas’ eye, and immediately Pappas said, ‘Okay guys, let’s get to work.’ The men filed out with nervous, resigned looks on their faces, expressions you’d expect to see on men asked to be pallbearers at the funeral of a stranger.

  Pappas stopped as he passed Andreas. ‘How dangerous do you really think it’s going to be?’

  Andreas put his head down so as not to look him in the eyes. ‘Don’t really know.’ Then he lifted his head and looked straight at him. ‘But I’d tell them to be careful, real careful.’

  Pappas nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and left.

  ‘What do you think?’ the mayor said to Andreas.

  ‘They know she’s not in there on holiday.’ Andreas sounded annoyed.

  ‘They probably think she was kidnapped by the same one who killed the Vandrew woman.’ Mihali’s voice was calm.

  Andreas was surprised. ‘That doesn’t bother you?’

  He nodded no. ‘Not really. Everyone knows a woman was murdered and the killer’s still out there. Once they get started, they’ll be like farmers chasing a fox with a chicken in its mouth. They won’t be thinking about all the other chickens killed by the fox, just the one in its mouth.’

  ‘Yeah, and what happens if they catch the fox?’

  He patted Andreas’ arm and smiled. ‘We should only be so lucky. If it’s okay with you, I have to get back to town.’

  Andreas didn’t want to let the subject drop but could tell the mayor was in ‘please the electorate’ mode. He’d seen it in a lot of politicians. It meant no straight answers.

  ‘Sure, I’ve got to leave for the mines anyway. I’ll let you know if something turns up,’ Andreas said, although he was certain the mayor would get his news straight from his volunteers, probably before he did.

  As Andreas walked toward the door the mayor yelled out in a grandly cheery voice, ‘Happy hunting, Chief.’

  Andreas wondered what the hell was going through that man’s mind that made him so happy in the middle of this nightmare.

  She hadn’t moved from where he’d left her, under the light, flat on her back. He dropped a small beach bag on the floor beside her and stared at her face. He’d seen enough young women die slowly to tell she was still alive. He knelt down and gently lifted her injured hand. Cradling it in his left hand, he gently stroked it with his right. His eyes studied her body for movement, and when he looked at her face his own took on the gaze of a kindly friar. He stared with what seemed only benevolent interest for several seconds before giving her wrist a sudden, violent twist. She winced only slightly.

  He placed the injured hand over her right breast, then reached down for her right hand and drew it across her body to rest on her left breast. Then, he sat back on his haunches and reached into the bag for what he needed next, confident the pain he was about to inflict would not wake her.

  * * *

  Annika was finding peace. The light was bright silver flecked with gold, the air bursting with fresh scents of springtime and mellow sounds of distant songbirds as smiling children in soft white muslin danced around her. They called her ‘sister’ and asked her to join them. From the circle of dancers, a little boy reached out for her hand. She followed him with her eyes but did not reach back. Two young girls with yellow flowers in their hair stepped forward and offered her a soft, white muslin gown. Looking down, she realized she was as naked as the day she came into the world. She looked up and stared into the light. Was this what she wanted to do? Was it time to join her brothers and sisters? Annika was so very tired, and they offered her peace.

  She was about to accept the gown when her head jerked violently forward. The children must be pulling at her hair. It hurt. She felt the tugging and touching move along her body to places only her lover had been. These were not children, certainly not any she wanted to play with for eternity. She pushed the gown away and waited for the touching to end.

  When it stopped there were no more children or songbirds. Only silence and a blinding light. She was no longer in a place of peace. Had she made a mistake not going with the children? Perhaps they would come back for her. She prayed they would. She’d long ago lost track of time, and now all hope of rescue was gone. She felt abandoned. All she wanted was to find that place of peace.

  She felt someone lift her hand. The touch was gentle and comforting. It must be one of the children, returned to show her the way. Now she would take the hand; it was time to go.

  Her mind began drifting away from her body. The separation was almost complete when a bolt of pain seared through her left wrist. Although she knew the pain was real, her mind was too detached to trigger a reaction in her body. She knew, too, that whoever did this was not some gentle soul leading her to peace. She grew angry at the pain; it ignited her competitive fire and she longed to fight for control of her body. Her challenge was taken up almost at once.

  The new pain didn’t seem much at first. It built up slowly. Something was being forced deep within her. Her legs had been pulled apart but it was not a man inside her. It was something else trying to fill her womb. When the real pain came, it was in long bursts of fire. Just when she’d get used to one, another would thrust into her. They seemed to have no end. She wondered if this was the pain of childbirth. In a flash of thought she knew this was th
e pain of her own rebirth, pain she must endure to survive. She would not let it beat her. She would not let him beat her.

  Now ‘him’ filled her mind. Him! Him! Annika’s conscious mind was returning. She remembered where she was – and her tormentor.

  Then a different pain began, in a different place. She felt a burning tear as something pushed into her from behind. Again it wasn’t a man – but she knew it was him doing this to her and that was all she needed to bear the pain. If she could regain control of her body, she’d fight him to the death; but she couldn’t even open her eyes. Only her mind was working.

  Now she felt pain below her eyes. It was being forced into her nose. She couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating and face-to-face with the instinctive panic that comes with it. Somehow she must get her mouth to open. It was her only chance for breath. She steeled her will for the seconds left and focused her mind on a single word: breathe.

  He was so busy forcing the last of the tampons up through her nostrils that he didn’t notice the slight parting of Annika’s lips and the first frail draw of breath.

  It was almost sunrise and the only good news from the mines was that the searchers weren’t shooting at one another. At least not yet. No one had found a thing, all were exhausted, and most still had day jobs to get to. The mayor promised fresh volunteers ‘first thing in the morning,’ which probably meant hours from now in Mykonos time.

  What the hell, thought Andreas, it probably doesn’t matter much now anyway. All the likely places turned out to be busts – nothing even close to Panos’ or the artist’s. It was like looking for a needle in miles of buried haystacks. Andreas didn’t hold out much hope of finding Annika Vanden Haag this way.

  He told Pappas to have the men call it a night. Andreas respected Pappas’ knowledge of the mines, but as Pappas told him, ‘unless you know what the killer has in mind, there’s no telling where he might be.’ Between themselves they’d dropped the mayor’s pretext for the search. Andreas let him assume they were looking for the same man who killed Vandrew. He suspected the others had reached the same conclusion.