Murder in Mykonos

by Jeffrey Siger

  ‘Yes,’ Andreas answered crisply.

  ‘I think you’re insane!’ Spiros screamed. He stared at Tassos. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me you agree with him.’

  Tassos looked straight at him. ‘Yes.’

  He turned to the mayor. ‘Is every cop on this island crazy? Greece has never had a serial killer.’ He looked back at Andreas. ‘What you’re saying is impossible!’

  ‘There are eighteen dead bodies saying it’s not,’ Andreas said, an edge in his voice now.

  Catia spoke softly. ‘Spiros, I don’t think this is the way to talk to people who are trying to help us.’

  Spiros struggled for control as he glared at Andreas. ‘I want the names of every suspect. I want them rounded up and interrogated immediately.’

  ‘Can’t find them, except for one who showed up on his own – with a lawyer,’ Andreas said calmly.

  ‘I don’t give a damn about lawyers. I want his name!’ He was screaming again.

  The mayor blurted out Manny’s name.

  Andreas shook his head in disgust and looked at Spiros. ‘What are you going to do, have somebody blowtorch him so you can make yourself think you’re doing something?’

  Spiros was a bureaucrat not used to challenges from subordinates. ‘You’re way out of line, Chief.’ He was shaking with anger. ‘I want your men out of those churches and rounding up suspects for interrogation. That’s how we’ll find my niece. And no more of this rubbish about ritual killings or serial killers. Do you understand?’

  Andreas’ look was deadly serious. ‘Yelling doesn’t make your thinking any clearer, sir. Watching those churches is our only chance of finding her.’ He paused. ‘Alive.’

  ‘That’s it, Kaldis, you’re off this investigation.’ Spiros raged. He turned to Tassos. ‘You’re in charge.’

  ‘I won’t be doing anything differently, sir.’ But Tassos’ tone was deferential.

  Spiros’ face was red. ‘Fine.’ He gestured to a man standing just out of earshot. He was one of the men who’d accompanied him on the helicopter from Athens. ‘Mayor, this is Captain Leros of Special Operations in Athens. He’ll take over the investigation. I expect you to give him your complete cooperation.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said the mayor with a smile.

  Spiros barked at Andreas and Tassos, ‘I want the two of you out of here now. And I mean now!’

  Andreas looked at Catia. ‘Sorry, Mrs Vanden Haag,’ he said, and walked away with Tassos.

  Catia waited until they were out of earshot. ‘Spiros, I know how upset you are.’

  ‘Damn right I am.’ He was biting at his lower lip.

  ‘And those men weren’t respectful or appreciative of your ideas,’ she said softly.

  He drew in and let out a breath. ‘I’m only trying to help you and Annika.’

  She hugged him. ‘I know. I know you’ll do everything possible.’ She paused. ‘My only thought is, it’s almost eleven and probably you won’t be able to find those suspects tonight, unless they’re home in their beds – which means they couldn’t be with Annika.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So.’ She hugged him again. ‘What’s the harm in leaving the policemen at the churches for the rest of the night? There’s nothing more for them to do until tomorrow.’

  He looked at her and smiled. ‘You’ve always known how to work me.’

  ‘And it wrecks any claim by Andreas or Tassos that their plan might have worked if you’d listened to them,’ added the mayor in a solemn voice. The others seemed to have forgotten he was there.

  Catia glared at him coldly. ‘Sir, I really don’t like you,’ she said and walked away.

  Spiros watched her leave. Both men let Catia’s remark pass. ‘Do you realize what would happen to Mykonos – to all the islands – if those two are right about a serial killer?’ Spiros was using his professional voice.

  The mayor was all but kissing Spiros’ feet. ‘Yes, yes – if it ever gets out – absolutely. I kept telling them the same thing, over and over, but they wouldn’t listen.’

  A glare returned to Spiros’ eye as he watched Andreas and Tassos drive away. ‘Those two will wish they had. I’ll personally see to it that their lives are over.’ For the moment, he seemed to forget that his niece’s life could be ending that night as well.

  22

  It was his practice to talk to his tributes when he brought them out into the light from the silence below; to educate them on what they were about to become part of. He considered it an opening rite of the sacrifice, as important to him as prayer. None of his tributes understood, of course, because he spoke to them only in Greek. That did not matter to him because he believed that, in life, most prayers went unheard.

  He spoke softly and paused often, in the style that had once so charmed his tributes.

  ‘The traditional panegyri actually begins the day before the formal celebration. That’s when family and friends begin contributing goats and lambs to the church for slaughter in preparation for the next day’s cooking. Other contributions are wine, bread, salads, fruits, vegetables, and special local dishes and desserts. It’s all part of the sacrifice honoring a saint. Tonight we honor Saint Kiriake.

  ‘The men in charge of the slaughter arrived yesterday with their own food – and wine. Lots of wine. They were followed by friends who showed up to help, bringing more food – and more wine. Somehow they always manage to get everything done on time. It is, as they say, the Greek way.

  ‘Guests at tonight’s panegyri will have taken a piece of bread blessed by the priest and a cup of broth. Then would come the real food: tables full of goat, lamb, appetizers of every kind, salads, black-eyed beans and dandelion greens, and wine – lots and lots of wine.

  ‘The boiled meat comes next; then the yahknee stew, and later, pastries, custards, yoghurts, and fresh fruits. All this accompanied by music, dancing, and more and more wine, until the morning church service. After that, they sober up and finish off what’s left of the food at an after-church lunch.

  ‘That’s when the panegyri traditionally ends. But tonight we have a different sort of panegyri. A special one, just for you.’

  That the man intended to kill her didn’t surprise Annika. Nor was she surprised that he still didn’t realize she was Greek – and had been to more panegyris than she cared to remember. What surprised her was that he knew she was conscious. Or was he guessing? She hadn’t moved, at least didn’t think she had. He always seemed to be one step ahead of her.

  She felt her stomach tighten in fear – fear that she was making a mistake. Maybe she shouldn’t risk trying to escape? Perhaps she should just confront him now – in perfect Greek. That certainly would surprise him, and once he knew who her uncle was, he’d know he wasn’t as smart as he thought.

  She struggled for the right words – ones sure to have the maximum impact. What she came up with was ‘You’ve made a big mistake. My uncle is Spiros Renatis, Greece’s deputy minister of Public Order in charge of all police. Let me go now and I won’t tell anyone. If you don’t believe me, leave me somewhere that will give you time to escape.’ She rehearsed the words silently to herself until she had them just right – down to a properly nonchalant tone – drew in a breath, and . . . FUCK, am I crazy? she thought. I sound like one of those naïve, airhead girls whining at the bad guy in a horrible B movie just before he kills her.

  She decided to follow her father’s advice and keep her fluency in Greek to herself. That seemed her only advantage at the moment. So, she stayed as still as she could and listened to him ramble on in Greek about the Mykonian tradition of panegyri, honoring the ancient gods of the underworld for treasures revealed to him beneath the earth and paying tribute to the saints of neglected churches.

  Andreas and Tassos had driven into town from Ano Mera. They were having coffee on the waterfront, exchanging jibes with a few port police and some locals who had no idea how powerless they were about to become. Andreas kept thinking there was
something he was missing. Something simple. It always was something simple.

  ‘Well, my friend, let’s pray they find her,’ said Tassos. ‘The deputy minister would be so happy taking all the credit he’d almost forget about cutting off our balls. Probably just force me to take my pension and make you miserable for the rest of your life – that is, if you decide to stay on the force.’

  ‘And that’s the good news.’ Andreas forced a smile.

  ‘Yeah.’ Tassos nodded. ‘But, if God forbid they don’t—’

  Andreas cut him off. ‘Don’t bother telling me, I can guess.’ He imagined the sort of headlines: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON. At least I’ll be alive to read them, he thought; Annika Vanden Haag won’t be.

  Andreas changed the subject. ‘You know, all this time I’ve never asked if you’re married, or have a family.’

  Tassos was quiet for a moment. ‘No. I’m a widower.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Tassos at first seemed reluctant to say more. ‘She died during the birth of our first child.’ He paused again. ‘A son. He didn’t make it either.’

  Andreas didn’t know what more to say.

  Now Tassos changed the subject. ‘Maybe we deserve what’s coming to us and maybe we can’t help Vanden Haag, but it pisses me off that bastard mayor giving up Manny like he did. We know he’s not the killer, but those sons of bitches are going to beat the shit out of him anyway.’ He sounded disgusted.

  ‘Sure are. That’s what Leros is known for, his interrogations,’ said Andreas.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Tassos. ‘Shouldn’t his lawyer be informed if he’s taken into custody?’

  ‘We can’t get in much deeper shit. Go ahead, knock yourself out.’

  Tassos flipped open his cell phone, dialed, put the phone to his ear, and waited. ‘Katerina, it’s Tassos. Call me back as soon as you get this message. It’s very important.’

  ‘Let’s hope she calls back.’ Andreas looked at his watch. ‘It’s after two in the morning. Where can she be?’

  ‘She’s at some panegyri, don’t you remember her invitation?’ Tassos grinned.

  Andreas smiled. ‘How can I forget? But that was for last night. I was supposed to meet her at some boat.’ At the word boat Andreas bolted out of his chair. ‘A boat! Why the hell did she need a boat to get to a panegyri?’

  He ran over to one of the port police. ‘Is there a panegyri tonight you can get to by boat?’

  Tassos was right behind him.

  The cop looked at his watch. ‘That’s the only way you can get there, Chief, but it should be over by now.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The panegyri. On Delos. It’s the big one, but it ended at two.’ He gave a knowing wink and said, ‘Personally, I think that’s so the guards can sleep off their drunk before tourists show up in the morning. It’s their annual chance to party at work with their buddies from Mykonos.’

  Andreas’ stomach was churning. ‘This is serious. What are you talking about?’

  The cop’s tone turned professional. ‘Around two years ago permission was given to a Mykonos family to build a tiny church on the remote northeast side of Delos. They’re allowed to hold a panegyri once a year, and a flotilla of boats travels to Delos from Mykonos to celebrate what they call their once-a-year opportunity to party with the gods. But everyone has to be off by 0200 hours.’

  ‘And the reason for the panegyri?’ Andreas held his breath.

  The port cop seemed surprised. ‘It’s the name day for the church they built there – Saint Kiriake.’

  Andreas grabbed Tassos by the arm. ‘That’s where he’s taken her.’ He was waving to the port police lieutenant standing by a boat. ‘Let’s see if his boat’s as fast as he’s been bragging.’

  In less than five minutes, Andreas, Tassos, and three port police were streaking toward Delos. With luck they’d be there in twenty minutes, and with greater luck, Annika Vanden Haag would still be alive.

  ‘We’re lying close to the island of light, the birthplace of the gods Apollo and Artemis and of a civilization going back more than two thousand years before Christ. For six hundred years a center of commerce and cosmopolitan life for the ancient world, a place of great temples, festivals, and sacrifices honoring the gods and drawing emissaries from throughout the known world.’

  She knew he was talking about Delos. Everybody on Mykonos talked about Delos – as if being less than a mile from so sacred and important an archeological site justified Mykonos’ relentless party life.

  ‘The ancient Mykonians honored their pagan gods in a far simpler way. They danced and feasted on sacrifices of goat and lamb. The same as today’s Mykonians do at a panegyri.’ He paused. ‘Today the Greeks worship new gods, different ones. Today they call them saints.’

  He paused again. ‘It is important to honor the saints, to honor them for what they have done for you in the past, for what you may pray to them to do for you in the future. No saint should ever be neglected, not a single one.’

  His voice grew louder. ‘But what of ancient, long neglected gods? The gods who answered my prayers, allowed me to live among them and flourish. Are they any less worthy of honor than the saints?’ Another, longer pause.

  ‘Could the moment be more perfect? We’re about to honor Saint Kiriake as we sit by the heart and soul of ancient pagan Greece.’

  He said nothing for several minutes, the silence more threatening to Annika than his voice.

  ‘Time to join the panegyri.’

  The motor roared to life and the boat moved again.

  Annika thought, wherever we’re heading there’ll be people. Like he said, panegyris go on all night. That’s when I’ll run – when he’s close to shore. I’ll jump and scream in Greek to everyone I see. That’ll be his one mistake, and when he makes it, I’ll be ready.

  The last surprise will be mine.

  23

  Annika felt the boat slowing down. She thought an hour had passed since they started moving again, but it could have been ten minutes. She’d lost track of time. Suddenly, the engine cut off and she felt a change of weight at the stern. He was moving forward! This was it. Either make her move now or give up.

  ‘Never!’ she shouted, and forced herself to her knees – but he already was up to her. He grabbed her neck from behind. ‘No!’ she screamed in Greek and drove the heel of her good hand hard into his crotch. Whether he was startled by the word or the pain, he let go.

  She crawled toward the side of the boat but too slowly to get there before he recovered. He lunged at her, but on this side of Delos even a calm sea had waves generated by distant, passing ships, and at the instant of his lunge, a wave hit the gunnels behind them, knocking her to the floor and him over the side into the sea. She heard the splash and looked up. They were thirty yards from land. She could see a church on a rise about fifty yards up from shore. There’s the panegyri, she thought. She crawled onto the bow locker and shouted in Greek, ‘Help! Help! I’ve been kidnapped. He’s trying to kill me! Help me, please help me!’

  The boat abruptly jerked to one side. His hands were on the gunnel. He was pulling himself into the boat. She shouted louder. No one seemed to hear her. I’m too far away, she thought. He was back in and charging forward. She did the only thing left for her to do – she rolled off into the sea.

  It was deeper than she expected – and colder – but calmer than above. She floated more than swam beneath the surface toward what she thought was the shore, her dress billowing about her as gracefully as a medusa drifting above its tentacles. Suddenly, something moved across her forehead covering her eyes. She panicked and tried to stand. Her body burst through the surface and she ripped the creature off her face.

  Her eyes long ago had adjusted to the night, and she looked at the mass in her hand. It was hair. She touched her head and for the first time realized she was bald. She spun around looking for shore still holding the wig. The water was waist high and the boat twenty yards away. She hea
rd the engine start. He must have seen her and was coming for her. She dropped the wig and tried to run toward shore. Her legs wouldn’t move. She heard the engine slowly, deliberately closing in on her.

  She thrust and kicked and willed her legs to carry her to shore. ‘I will survive,’ she kept repeating to herself. ‘I will survive.’

  * * *

  Andreas told the port police lieutenant to head straight for the church. No time for the protocol of landing only at Delos’ port. He was damn sure the killer wasn’t observing it.

  Tassos called the guard station on Delos but no one answered. ‘The port cop was right,’ he shouted to Andreas over the noise of the engines. ‘They’re all probably passed out dead drunk by now.’

  Andreas kept trying to reach the deputy minister and the mayor. Neither took his calls. ‘Assholes,’ he said aloud. He phoned Kouros.

  ‘Yianni, it’s the chief.’ Andreas wondered if he knew how shaky that title was.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kouros answered, respectful as always.

  ‘Do you know where Minister Renatis is?’

  ‘Yes, sir, he’s here at the station with Captain Leros and the mayor. They’re waiting for Manny to get here.’

  ‘Did they find any of the others?’

  ‘No, sir.’ He added with a hint of satisfaction, ‘And they only found Manny because the mayor told the taxi dispatcher to get him here.’

  Bastard, thought Andreas. ‘I need you to get a message to the deputy minister.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He sounded like a player anxious to hear his coach’s winning play call.

  ‘Tell him the killer has his niece on Delos, probably at the church to Saint Kiriake. And tell him to get as many men as he can there ASAP.’ His voice sounded urgent.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ There was a tentative tone to Kouros’ voice.

  ‘What is it, Kouros?’

  Even more tentatively, he said, ‘I’m not sure the deputy minister will listen, sir.’