Murder in Mykonos

by Jeffrey Siger

  It felt like hours that she’d been stumbling over walls and excavations – looking over her shoulder on every step, until she found herself standing amidst the fabled marble lions of Delos, on the western side of the ancient city. She stared southeast over the ruins of its Sacred Lake and largest building, the Agora of the Italians. Somehow, she’d have to cross southeast through the heart of the ruins and climb east along Mount Kynthos, Delos’ most prominent height, without being caught. She was as far away from where she wanted to be as she could imagine.

  She was tired, she was cold, she was hungry, and she was naked. Worse yet, she had no idea where her pursuer was. She hadn’t seen him since he stopped at the place where she’d heard the gunshots. He must be ahead of me, she thought, waiting for me to cross the ruins. I know he’s out there, waiting to kill me. That thought led to another, a bizarre one that made her smile: I can’t believe this; here I am, in a cradle of ancient Greece, being forced to compete for my life and I’m perfectly dressed for the occasion! Naked as all those Olympian boys. She put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. She was afraid if she started, she’d become hysterical – and lose it all.

  She stared off toward Mount Kynthos. Fitting, too, she thought, was the place she’d chosen to make her stand: it was what remained of a temple built to honor the pagan deity on Delos probably closest in kinship to Saint Kiriake. Annika was on her way to the hillside Temple of Isis, the magical Egyptian goddess of protection and healing and a modern symbol of female power. Some claim worship of Isis ended only when her many temples were renamed in honor of another hallowed female icon, the Virgin Mary.

  Andreas and Tassos let the port police officer lead the way. They stayed ten yards behind, scanning from side to side for signs of doubling back – or anything else that might be helpful. They found it in discarded tampons. Now they were certain they were following Annika.

  The cop did a good job of tracking her bare feet through the dirt – even after they left the road and headed west. Andreas thought she was headed to some houses, but her tracks abruptly veered south just past where she seemed to have fallen. Hopefully the cop was as good at following tracks over ground pounded almost to stone by thousands of tourist feet a day, because that’s where they were headed – to the heart of tourist Delos.

  ‘Chief, we have a problem.’ The cop stopped about ten feet past the place of her fall.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Andreas.

  ‘The sandal prints turn back toward the road.’

  The prints had been in step with Annika’s since the church. Andreas looked toward the road. ‘I wish your buddy would get here with those damn lights.’ Frustrated, he looked at Tassos. ‘Why’d the killer suddenly stop following her?’ He looked at Tassos.

  ‘Doesn’t make any sense, does it,’ Tassos said, as a statement, not a question.

  The cop said, ‘Maybe he heard your gunshots and decided to take off?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Tassos said somberly. ‘Or maybe he knows where she’s headed.’

  ‘How could he know?’

  Tassos shrugged. ‘My guess is he’s spent a lot of time here and probably knows most of Delos’ secrets. She’s trying to hide in his backyard. Who knows what she said or did that helped him figure out what she’s likely to do now. One thing’s for sure: he has something in mind.’ He paused. ‘And he’s not afraid of us or’ – he gestured toward the houses – ‘the drunks in there sleeping off the panegyri.’ He pointed to the sandal prints. ‘I think I’ll follow these.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a good idea tracking him alone in the dark – especially if he knows this place as well as you think he does?’ Andreas obviously didn’t like the idea.

  Tassos’ voice was firm. ‘One of us has to follow him, and I know this place pretty well myself. The ancients didn’t just build temples here. They were practical businessmen and had ways to escape from invaders and pirates. The official version is that all their secret tunnels and hideaways were destroyed or simply collapsed over time.’ He paused. ‘I don’t believe it. Too many smugglers still use this island. Smugglers don’t go where there’s no place to hide – and with our guy liking tunnels as much as he does’ – Tassos shook his head and repeated himself – ‘I think he’s up to something.’

  ‘Okay, but what makes you think you can find him?’

  In the dark, Tassos sounded like someone speaking in a trance. ‘A few years back, antiquities illegally removed from Greece and some other places started turning up in the newer acquisitions of prominent European museums. It wasn’t just embarrassing for the museums, it was expensive; they had to return what they’d acquired to the plundered countries without getting their money back. The museums and their insurance companies wanted the source cut off and raised holy hell with Interpol to do it.’ He paused. ‘Interpol traced the operation to the Cyclades but couldn’t find the bad guys. I did – right here on Delos.’

  ‘That’s the favor you called in?’

  Tassos nodded.

  Andreas let out a breath. ‘At least wait for the kid with the lights.’

  Andreas made out another nod in the dark.

  ‘We’ll follow her.’ Andreas gestured for the port cop to start moving. ‘Hopefully, one of us will find who we’re looking for before they find each other.’

  Tassos started walking. ‘I’ll follow these tracks back to the road and wait there for the lights.’

  By the time Andreas and the port policeman reached the edge of the ruins by the Lake Area, they were sure Annika knew she was being followed. Her sudden shifts in direction and dramatically shortened stride were what you’d expect from someone ducking and crawling to evade a pursuer.

  What Andreas couldn’t figure out was why the killer had called off the chase. He probably knew she’d spotted him, but why would he stop when he was so close? Unless he didn’t want the chase to end – at least not yet . . . or not here.

  He scanned the ruins. Nothing. He turned to the cop. ‘Okay, let’s get back to the tracks – and switch to the red lens on your light, it’ll make them easier to see on this hard stuff.’ Andreas knew that no matter what the bastard had in mind, he wasn’t likely to give up on his plan, whatever it was – and Annika didn’t seem likely to give up on hers either, whatever it might be.

  Perhaps Tassos was right and she did have a plan . . . one the killer had figured out. That meant any minute she could be dead. Andreas preferred to think the killer had turned away because he was afraid to fight her face-to-face after the rock-throwing back at the church – and her tracks would lead Andreas to a place where he’d find her safe and sound. But Andreas hadn’t believed in fairy tales in a very long time. He knew they had to find her fast.

  Annika had left the lions and moved toward the southeast beyond the dry lake bed that once was the reservoir of Delos. She moved tentatively, conscious of every shadow and alert to every sound. She passed through the crumbled former marketplaces for slaves, goods, and grain and by the monuments, temples, and other ruins of Delos’ central area. It was here that the people of Delos erected the Sanctuary of Apollo to honor the son of Zeus who, myth held, they helped by allowing him to be born on Delos in exchange for his father’s promise that the island would prosper. Now it was Annika asking for their help.

  She was jittery as she came to the Theater Quarter – the ancient city’s most opulent shopping and living area. Everything had been too quiet, and there was no sign of him. Something was wrong. She turned east, toward an area of more ruined sanctuaries – these, though, to foreign gods. She was headed for a western foothill of Mount Kynthos when she saw the tightly clustered mass of fig trees and bushes. It was the perfect place for him to hide. But she had no choice; she had to pass through there to reach the ridge she must climb to the Temple of Isis.

  She held her breath – and two large rocks – as she crept toward the greenery. Although she heard nothing, she was certain he was in there, listening to the pounding of her heart. As she stepped onto the na
rrow dirt track that wound around the mass, she realized this was just what he expected her to do, so he could surprise her as she went by. She paused for an instant, then charged from the path into the heart of the bushes and trees screaming in her mind, I’ll kill you!

  Immediately, she found herself amid a swarming rush of sounds and movements, fur and feathers, jumping and flying. Wild rabbits and birds were as unaccustomed to creatures of her sort on their island at this hour as she was to being here. She dropped to her knees, her body shaking. She let the stones fall from her hands, bowed her head, and thanked God her tormentor wasn’t there. The adrenaline rush had passed, followed by exhaustion. But still there was a climb to make. She struggled to her feet and trudged toward the hillside.

  The climb made her dizzy, and halfway she gagged as if to vomit – but there was nothing to come up. She crawled the rest of the way in a daze. At the top she collapsed. If he found her now, she was as good as dead.

  When she looked up, it was all as she remembered. It was far different from any place she’d passed through below. A headless statue of the goddess Isis stood framed within the four entrance columns and crowning horizontal entablature to a small, 2,200-year-old Doric temple. Though no more than seventeen feet wide, nineteen feet from floor to cornice tip, and thirty-six feet deep, it had once boasted a magnificent entrance, which had been painstakingly resurrected from scattered remnants. Now – as before – the Temple of Isis stood facing west toward the sea astride a foundation of stone five feet higher than the path leading to it.

  A beautiful place . . . the perfect place for her . . . to wait to ambush him. ‘My God,’ she said aloud. Her heart skipped a beat. He could have taken the road past the museum and be inside waiting for her. Her eyes darted about in the dark – or he could be hiding behind the temple’s walls. Her heart was racing.

  Very carefully, Annika climbed to where she could peer between the columns. She wanted no more surprises. There was nothing inside but the statue of Isis and several large pieces of carved marble a few feet from the far left corner. They stood tall and wide enough for him to hide behind. She picked up a rock and held her breath as she carefully edged along inside the right side wall to where she could see behind the marble pieces. Nothing there. She let out a breath and made her way out of the temple to search behind its walls.

  Unlike most of Delos’ ruins, the Temple of Isis had had its stone rear and side walls rebuilt in their original place. Although not as tall as the originals, they were more than high enough to hide behind. From its highest point at the edge of the temple’s front cornice, each side wall descended abruptly to where it leveled out a little more than halfway to its intersection point with the eight-foot-high rear wall. Annika slowly circled the temple walls twice – first counter-clockwise, then clockwise. She found no sign of him. She climbed back into the sanctuary.

  For a moment she stood quietly staring at the statue of Isis, the rock still in her hand. She walked back to the front of the temple and set the rock next to a pillar. From here, she could see across Delos to the sea and anything moving below.

  Annika had wondered when she worked here how any being – even a betrayed king – possibly could possess rage deep and bitter enough to reduce such an extraordinarily vibrant civilization to this tragic island of rocks. She no longer wondered; she knew.

  Her mind raced over her plan. If he came for her, she’d see him and bombard him with rocks as he climbed. She could kill him from here – even if he came with a gun. If he tried to flank her from the other side of the hill or from Mount Kynthos, she’d have plenty of time to escape along the ridgeline to any number of paths to other places filled with stones to throw. If he kept after her, she’d find her way back to Isis along another path and start the cycle all over again. Yes, that was her plan. If only her body would cooperate.

  Annika knew she’d picked the obvious place for what she had in mind. Anyone familiar with the island could figure that out, but so what? There was no sign of him anywhere. She was here first, and that was all that mattered. This was where she’d fight until help arrived – or one of them was dead.

  For the first time, Annika felt prepared for whatever he might try. She stretched out her arms and yawned. The dress she wore as a cape whipped about her face in the wind. She’d become so accustomed to the cold, and her feet so numbed to the pain of the stones, that she’d forgotten she was naked. She touched the dress. It was almost dry. Only parts around her neck were still damp. She pulled it over her head and wrapped it around her neck so the wet ends trailed behind her like a scarf. The wind would dry them quickly.

  She wondered how much longer until dawn. Not much, she hoped. Her mind wandered to how it would feel standing as a mortal – a mortal woman no less – with the goddess Isis as first light fired across the legendary birthplace of the god of light, Apollo. It was an enchanting thought – but one that ended abruptly with a flash of light from the base of the hill. Someone was there.

  Instinctively, she stepped back. It was a natural reaction to fear, and she knew how to handle it. From the movement of the light, she could tell he was climbing quickly toward her. Annika took two deep breaths and focused solely on how best to kill him before he made it up the hill. It was a mistake she’d realize too late.

  25

  Andreas and the port cop had an easy time tracking Annika to the hillside. From the way she was moving, she seemed determined to get there as fast as she could and didn’t care who knew. At the bottom of the hill by the House of Hermes they stopped to look up. ‘She has to be up there somewhere,’ Andreas said. He took out his flashlight and ran it along the hillside toward the ruins above.

  ‘There!’ the cop yelled.

  Andreas had seen it too, a figure jumping back into the shadows of ruins, some 250 yards away. ‘Tell Tassos and your buddy we found her and we need those lights here, now. Stay here and show them where to shine them.’

  Andreas started running up the hill toward the ruins along an old dirt path and rough-cut stone steps. The wind was howling down the hill; after a few moments he couldn’t even hear the cop shouting on his walkie-talkie for the lights. Andreas thought of yelling up the hill, but it was useless to try in this wind. He knew that had to be Annika, but would she be alone? Not having heard from Tassos, he knew the killer could be anywhere – including up there, in that place with the four pillars. All he could do was move as fast as he could to get there – and pray for no surprises.

  He limped toward his destination. It was a long climb, one he’d not made in years, but he remembered the way. Very few even knew the tunnel existed, and probably none alive had explored it as he had.

  He hadn’t heard a sound but his own footsteps for almost an hour, but now there was whistling. It was the wind rushing between the loose-fitting stones of the foundation walls of the place just above. He made his way around the last of the maze of boulders and dead-end passages and pulled himself out into a stone-walled space not quite high enough for him to stand fully upright. He still carried the rope.

  It was a place built by ancients to hide from pursuers and, if necessary, escape through the mountain tunnel to the sea. He wondered how so many, over so many centuries, had so wrongly guessed the real purpose for its construction. They thought of it as merely the foundation for a sanctuary built to honor three foreign gods: Anubis and Serapis from the Land of the Dead, and Serapis’ wife from the Land of the Living.

  He moved to the left rear corner of the space and ever so carefully removed two square feet of stone from above his head – and from the floor of the Temple of Isis, wife of Serapis, ruler of the underworld.

  * * *

  Annika knew her time had come. She saw how close he was getting, even sensed it. She had to move. She drew a deep breath and started forward. Her foot brushed against the rock she’d left by the pillar, and without slowing down, she knelt to pick it up. As her hand touched the rock she heard the violent crash of stone against stone only inches above her hea
d and felt a body falling over her from behind.

  She’d knelt at the exact instant of the killer’s murderous downward swing. He’d picked up the rock after climbing in behind her through the far left corner of the temple’s floor. It was meant to shatter her skull but struck the pillar instead and his momentum sent him tumbling forward over Annika and out of the temple.

  Annika froze. Where had he come from? She saw him getting on his feet to her right and in panic threw the rock. It missed but made him duck, giving her just enough time to leap out of the temple to her left.

  She landed stumbling to her knees, the effort to regain her footing almost too much for her. As she stood, something jerked at her throat, yanking her off her feet again and onto her back. My dress, she thought, struggling to regain command of her limbs. He’d grabbed the tail of her dress.

  He slammed his fist into the side of her head, wrenched her over onto her belly, and with his knees pressed firmly into her back, twisted the fabric closed around her neck.

  He said not a word to her as he rode out her struggle to throw him off her back; and in the silence she felt his stranglehold intensifying as she lost her strength. Tighter and tighter he twisted the dress about her windpipe. She felt she’d be gone to the darkness in seconds. That was when she heard the words. They came in a harsh, breathless whisper from lips pressed tightly against her ear. ‘Your destiny is here. On this altar to Isis. Among my gods. Overlooking our neglected saint.’

  Then he kissed her.

  With the knowledge that she was about to draw her last breath came a flash of blinding white light.

  Was this death? No, she still felt his weight on her upper back. And then, for an instant, he relaxed the noose.

  It was only a glimmer of a chance, but she snatched it. Sheer will bowed her back, as she summoned strength to thrust off from the ground, gain her knees, and buck him flying over her head. He landed still holding one end of the dress and yanked at it, but she’d expected it this time and spun out of the dress as he pulled. Her hands found a rock. Adrenaline was back; she was ready to finish this.