Silence.
Heads began to nod.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ someone said.
More silence.
‘None of this ever happened,’ said another.
It was dawn. Mortals were back on Delos.
27
A week had passed since Annika’s rescue, and Andreas was getting only good news. Not a word had come out about Annika’s ordeal other than that her unidentified abductor was dead. The police had no questions for her, and she refused to talk about it with anyone but her doctors. That was fine with her parents. They were just thrilled at how well she’d recovered from the carbon monoxide poisoning. It was a miracle of healing, one doctor said, and Annika apparently agreed. She planned on returning to Delos next year for Saint Kiriake’s name day. It was a pilgrimage she vowed to make every year for the rest of her life in thanks for the miracles performed by her healers – and protectors – from the world beyond, Saint Kiriake and the goddess Isis.
If everything’s so great, thought Andreas, why am I on a ferry on my way to Syros? Certainly not for pleasure, because on Syros tourism is envied, not cultivated. He stood at the bow. It was one of those beautiful Aegean days when the sea seems painted along the bottom of the sky in parallel bands of blue – from indigo and lapis at the horizon – to aquamarine and opal at your feet, with sapphire, turquoise and so many other shades filling in between. He tried to think of things other than the purpose for his trip – like resuming his hunt for Athenian dope-ring assassins, or finding the right girl and settling down to start a family.
When the ferry docked, Tassos was waiting for him. Andreas had called yesterday to set up the meeting. He hadn’t told him the purpose, just that he had to see him.
‘I thought it best we have a coffee away from the office,’ said Tassos.
Andreas nodded. If his instinct was right, Tassos must have guessed what the meeting was about, so he’d let him pick the venue. It was a cozy little taverna just off the port and set away from a relatively quiet, marble-paved side street by a line of oleander and tamarind. Tassos chose a table away from other customers and told the owner to keep it that way. They chatted about Annika’s health until the coffee came.
‘So, what’s up?’ asked Tassos.
Andreas stared at his coffee. ‘I think you know.’
Tassos smiled. ‘Maybe.’
Andreas looked up. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?’ His voice was angry but low. ‘You risked that woman’s life.’
Tassos held up one hand. ‘Honest, I never suspected him until we found that bridge in the tunnel, and by then there was nothing left to do but catch the bastard who had her – whoever he was. And I still wasn’t sure it was him.’ He didn’t sound the least bit defensive.
‘But why?’
Tassos shrugged. ‘It’s a long story I don’t want to get into.’
Andreas stared at him.
Tassos stared back. ‘Hey, what are you so upset about? He’s dead, she’s safe. No harm, no foul.’ Now he actually sounded offended.
‘That’s not the way I see it,’ said Andreas, his voice rising.
‘Well, maybe you’ll see it differently when you’re back in Athens at your new job as chief of your old unit.’
Andreas kept his cool. ‘I really missed all the signs, didn’t I?’
Tassos looked away.
‘It never hit me you might be covering for a suspect.’
Tassos didn’t look at him this time, and when he spoke his voice reflected a different sort of anger. ‘I never thought he was the killer. I’ve known him for years, never suspected a thing.’
‘Yeah, you seemed to know everything about everybody in the Cyclades except for the one guy who turns out to be our killer. That’s what started me thinking. And then I remembered when I told you I’d chased him into that temple you didn’t even ask who he was. You already knew.’
Tassos shrugged, his eyes still avoiding Andreas’.
Andreas leaned forward, still staring. ‘So, I did a little checking. Interesting what I found out. Did you know he once was under investigation by Interpol?’ Andreas’ eyes didn’t move from him.
Tassos’ face tightened, but he still made no eye contact.
‘Seems they thought he was involved with stolen antiquities, but the investigation ended when the real dealers were found by a certain Inspector Stamatos. Two Albanians, both died trying to escape – from some caves on Delos.’
Tassos kept looking away.
Andreas struggled to keep his voice down but did nothing to hide the simmering rage of a blood betrayal burning in his eyes. ‘You miserable bastard. You knew he was taking her to Delos all along.’
Tassos met Andreas’ glare with a look of remorse such as Andreas had never seen before and never wanted to see again. ‘I swear on the graves of my wife and son I had no idea. Our deal was he’d stay off Delos – and I never knew there was a church to Saint Kiriake there. That night on Delos, I tracked him over by the caves to where the secret tunnels run into Mount Kynthos, but there was no sign of him or the girl. I didn’t know where they were until you told me about the Temple of Isis. Then I knew.’ He dropped his eyes to his hands. He seemed on the verge of tears.
‘That’s why you killed him. To keep your little arrangement quiet.’ Andreas was struggling to regain his composure.
Tassos said nothing. His eyes didn’t move.
‘Isn’t it?’ Andreas pushed the words out between clenched teeth.
Without lifting his head Tassos answered. ‘Six years ago I caught him and the two others red-handed at the caves on Delos. They’d been digging artifacts out of the tunnels. He offered me a deal. He’d make me his partner and promised no more digging on Delos or dealing with Europeans. Nothing to let Interpol think the old ring still operated.’
‘Did your deal include killing the two Albanians?’ Andreas’ voice seethed with anger.
‘I didn’t kill them. I just said I did. No idea what happened to them. Their bodies were never found.’ His voice was emotionless.
Sounds familiar, thought Andreas.
Tassos looked up. ‘What’s so bad?’ he asked. ‘Mykonians plundered Delos for centuries. Stolen artifacts are all over – and under – Mykonos. Our deal was simple: he’d find them in the mines or wherever and sell them to his Asian, Middle Eastern, and American contacts. Just keep away from Delos, and no customers from Interpol countries.’
He wasn’t even trying to hide the truth.
‘His work required a lot of traveling – or so he said. I never thought anything of it for him to be away for days at a time. When I saw the bridge, I remembered he’d told me he’d built something like that to keep the curious away from where he was digging.’ He paused. ‘I never went into the mines. That was all his thing.’ He looked down again. ‘I just covered for him.’
Silence.
Tassos looked up and stared directly at Andreas. ‘Do you think if I thought he was killing those women I’d have covered up for him?’
Andreas said nothing. He wasn’t looking at Tassos. He was thinking of his father – and how one betrayal begets another.
‘Do you?’ There was genuine pain in Tassos’ voice.
Andreas looked at him. ‘No.’
A shroud seemed to lift from Tassos. He reached across the table and squeezed Andreas’ forearm. ‘Thank you.’
‘But I’m not sure where that gets us with everything else.’ Andreas found it easier now to sound professional.
Tassos shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t care about that. Do whatever you feel you should. I just wanted to be sure you didn’t think I’d let that bastard kill them.’ His anger flared only on the last words.
Andreas looked surprised. ‘You really don’t care?’
‘No, why should I?’ he said, sounding utterly nonchalant. ‘You sound like your dad. And I really did like him. When I joined the force, I worked at the prison on Yaros.’ He gestured toward an island between Syros and Tinos. ‘It was where
the Junta kept its more prominent political prisoners, ones who later rose to power.’ He smiled. ‘I always was nice to them, and they’ve always been nice to me.’
Tassos called for the check. ‘The worst I’ve done is make black money from someone dealing in stolen antiquities and killed a very bad man. Making that sort of money isn’t something anyone’s likely to come after me for, and as for killing him . . .’ he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Besides, first they have to prove it – then convince someone to prosecute. I know the prosecutors – that’s not going to happen. No one wants the story to come out. No one. Worst case, some internal disciplinary proceeding costs me my pension. But, thanks to you know who, I really don’t need it anymore.’
Andreas’ head was pounding. Not from anger, from this rush of reality.
Tassos paid the bill and they both stood up. ‘Andreas, I really like you, so do what you think best for your conscience. I’ll be fine. I’m like a Mykonian: I’m used to living in a bordello – filled with police.’ He smiled, gave Andreas a hug, and left.
Andreas sat back down at the table and watched Tassos cross the street and disappear around a corner. He looked down at what remained of his coffee, then up at the sky. To that bright blue, cloudless Aegean sky he said aloud, ‘I don’t know, Dad, I just don’t know.’
All he knew for sure was that a South African jeweler from Mykonos – reported in Athens as missing by his wife and girlfriend – was dead. Or so he hoped.
Watch out for the next novel by Jeffrey Siger Coming soon from Piatkus:
ASSASSINS OF
ATHENS
When the body of a boy from one of Greece’s most prominent families turns up in a dumpster in one of Athens’ worst neighbourhoods, Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis – now head of the Special Crimes Division – is certain there’s a message in the murders. But who sent it – and why?
Andreas’ search for answers takes him deep into the sordid, criminal side of Athens nightlife and on to the glittering society world, where age-old frictions between old and new money breed jealousy, murder, revenge, revolutionaries and dangerous, if not deadly, truths . . .
978-0-7499-5226-6
Murder in Mykonos Page 28
