A Deadly Twist

by Jeffrey Siger

  Andreas had a pretty good idea of the answer to his next question. “And the rogue’s name is?”

  “Unknown. She just called him Honeyman.”

  “How could you possibly have thought none of this might be relevant to her disappearance?”

  “If I had, I’d have told you.”

  “Did she send you her notebook, then?”

  “I received a package from her late that afternoon, just as I was heading off to a dinner party with my wife.”

  “Did you read her notes?”

  “No, I forwarded them on to my publisher. I wasn’t about to get in the middle of a brouhaha between him and Nikoletta. I’d let him make the call.”

  “What did he say after he read them?”

  “I don’t know if he ever did read them. She disappeared and all we’ve focused upon since then is finding her, not her stories.”

  “Do you have a copy of the notebook?”

  “No, like I said, it was late and I was running out of the office so I just routed it on to my publisher.”

  “Do you have his number?”

  “Of course, but why do you want to contact him?”

  “To find out what he did with the notebook—and to read it.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s big on protecting journalists’ sources, and if Nikoletta’s notebook could possibly expose her sources, he’s not going to agree to turn it over without her consent.”

  “A rather interesting dilemma, isn’t it? She may die because he wants her consent to turn over what could possibly save her. And you guys complain about how fucked-up the government is.” Andreas struggled to control the outrage in his voice.

  Andreas heard Pappas breathe in and exhale. “You can try, and I hope you convince him.” He gave Andreas the number. “Good luck.”

  Andreas hung up without saying goodbye. He looked at Tassos sitting next to him in the police car. “Did you hear that bullshit?”

  “Somebody is either very stupid or thinks we’re very stupid.” Tassos shook his head. “Pappas harangues you to find his allegedly kidnapped reporter, yet never bothers to tell you that two days before she disappeared he received a notebook from her containing her notes on a story involving a rogue from the same island on which she’s gone missing.”

  “Hard to believe what he said is true. So hard, in fact, that it could get one to thinking it must be true.”

  “I consider the part about his publisher busting his balls to be a particularly novel way of attempting to justify withholding evidence.”

  “Let’s see what his publisher has to say.” Andreas dialed the number Pappas had given him. The call went into voicemail. Andreas identified himself and asked that he please call him back immediately, as it concerned his missing reporter.

  “When do you think you’ll hear back from him?”

  “That depends on whether Pappas gets to him first. Curiosity should have him calling me right back, but in this instance, maybe not.”

  “What do you think the chances are that this whole thing’s been staged to sell newspapers?”

  “But for the attempted hit on Yianni and Popi, I’d have seriously considered that possibility. I don’t see that now.”

  “So, what’s next?”

  “We wait”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  * * *

  Andreas drove down to Chora’s harbor and, after searching unsuccessfully for a legal parking space, parked in a spot marked NO PARKING ANYTIME.

  “Ah, the advantage of driving a blue-and-white,” said Tassos.

  “Why not? We’re on official business waiting for the telephone call that could break our case wide open.”

  “This place looks good,” said Tassos, steering him into a taverna close by the harborside piazza.

  They sat where they could watch the children at play in the square, darting every which way on their bikes, scooters, and skateboards.

  “Watching kids play always makes me miss my own.”

  “You’ll be back with them soon enough,” said Tassos.

  “Doesn’t it amaze you how when children get to play on their own, away from grownups, it looks like sheer chaos, yet they somehow manage to adhere to an overriding pattern of order that keeps their play from ending in disaster? What do you think it is? Some instinctive thing, like birds knowing how to fly in formation?”

  “Whatever it is, it’s not a lasting influence, because by the time they’re fully grown they’ve learned it’s every man for himself.”

  “You’re one hell of a cynic.”

  “As if you’re not.”

  Andreas shook his head from side to side. “Just enjoy the moment.”

  Ring, ring.

  “So much for the moment.”

  “This could be the call we’re waiting for.” Andreas pulled his phone out of his pocket. “It’s Dimitri.” He held the phone so Tassos could hear.

  “Hi, what’s up?”

  “We found Honeyman.”

  “Terrific, where is he?”

  “Not sure right now, but when my cops found him he was facedown at the bottom of an abandoned quarry, with one end of a rope tied around his neck and the other end tied to a slab of marble.”

  “Oh, shit.” So he never made it off Naxos.

  “It’s not clear yet when he died, but hikers saw him late this afternoon. As far as we can tell, he and his slab were tossed off the top of the quarry a hundred meters or so above where they found him.”

  “What are the chances it’s a suicide?” said Andreas.

  “I can think of a lot less terrifying ways than a header off the top of a cliff with your neck lashed to a slab of marble. Besides, his hands were tied behind his back.”

  “Well, at least this one wasn’t staged to look like an accident.”

  “Is that good or bad?” said Tassos. “It could mean that whoever’s behind this is now desperate enough to use amateurs to eliminate loose ends.”

  “The question is, was our mastermind desperate enough to step out of the shadows in order to take out Honeyman?” Andreas paused. “Hmm…if someone from Naxos killed Honeyman, what do you think the chances are that Honeyman knew who killed him?”

  “Pretty good,” said Dimitri. “It could have been the same guys he’d sent after Yianni and Popi. Wouldn’t that be poetic justice?”

  “If they’re locals known to Honeyman, would they be known to you too?” asked Andreas.

  “If they’re the blunt, slash-and-burn sort of bad guys who bounce in and out of prison and not some sophisticated pro like Nikoletta’s, I’d say the chances are pretty good.”

  “Well, then, to quote one of my favorite movies, I think it’s time we rounded up the usual suspects.”

  * * *

  With an assist from GPS and a call to Dimitri, Andreas and Tassos found their way back to Honeyman’s house. It was close to midnight, but lights were on inside the house, and as the car rocked its way along the old donkey path, a uniformed cop stepped out of the house, trained a light on their car, and waved for them to park next to another marked cruiser.

  Once inside, the cop told them it was his partner’s turn to keep an eye on the beehives while he watched the empty house. He complained about how this extended guard duty detail was already straining the Filoti Police station’s ability to provide normal coverage to large areas of the island. Andreas assured him that the Ministry of Culture had promised to take possession of the items in the beehives on Monday.

  The cop looked at his watch and pointed out that, as of two minutes ago, it was Monday.

  Andreas smiled and told him to go hang out with his partner if he wanted to, because he and Tassos had some reading to do.

  Andreas to
ok Honeyman’s ledger from its shelf in the kitchen and set it on the table. He carefully read through the ledger sheets, jotting down each set of initials, hoping to find a clue to someone’s identity. He found six sets of initials—JSS, GTS, AKS, KSM, RIM, and BZ—but no clues or key to the abbreviations. A handful of beehives had apparently been hiding treasures for almost two and a half decades. Over ensuing years, other beehives came online, until every beehive had replaced its bees with antiquities. It looked like Honeyman had started off small and expanded his business significantly. A regular entrepreneur.

  Andreas shook his head. “The same initials listed twenty-five years ago are listed in the new entries.”

  “I’ve heard that honey prolongs life.”

  Andreas waved off Tassos’s attempt at humor. “Honeyman’s clients didn’t just show up one day and say, ‘Hi, I have pilfered antiquities I’d like for you to hide in your beehives.’ I’d bet my pension they’ve been involved in antiquities trafficking for a lot longer than Honeyman’s run his business.”

  “Your pension? That’s not much of a bet, but I still wouldn’t take it.”

  “If I’m right, then there must be others who worked with Honeyman’s clients before they came to him, which means there could be people out there who know the names tied to those initials. We just have to figure out how to find them.”

  “Assuming they’re still alive.” Tassos yawned.

  “Getting a bit tired, are we?”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “I’m feeling it myself. I must be getting older.”

  “With every passing day. My gardening keeps me young. That and chasing bad guys.”

  “Perhaps I should become a farmer,” said Andreas.

  “You could do worse, and no better place to learn than Naxos.”

  Andreas sat up in the chair. “That old farmer in Siphones. The one you know. He was with his son and grandson the afternoon Yianni and Popi were attacked.”

  “He’s still perky enough to teach you a few things, I guess.” Tassos yawned again.

  Andreas smacked his hand on the table. “Stop that before you get me to yawning. If anyone knows who belongs to these initials, it’s the grandfather. You told me he’s been involved in antiquities smuggling on Naxos since before the Junta.”

  “But didn’t his son say he’s senile?”

  “That’s a convenient way to keep people from bothering him, but it doesn’t mean he is. I think Yianni, you, and I better pay him a visit first thing in the morning.”

  “For a farmer, that’s dawn.”

  “Okay, let’s say nine.”

  “But that doesn’t give us much time if the newspaper’s going public with the story at noon. If that happens, we’ll go from the few on Naxos who are aware and the many here who suspect she’s disappeared, to all of Greece knowing she’s vanished and spook the kidnapper for sure.”

  “Maybe not. I plan on having a talk with Pappas first thing in the morning.” Andreas smiled. “Which to this cop means dawn.”

  * * *

  “Hello.” The sleepy voice came through the phone with a mix of confusion, anxiety, and budding rage.

  “Good morning, Giorgos. Wakey, wakey, today’s a big day.”

  “Kaldis? Have you gone mad? Do you know what time it is?”

  “Of course I do. It’s time for you to get your ass out of bed and convince your publisher to extend his noon deadline until midnight.”

  “You are mad. How the hell do you expect me to do that?”

  “I know what I’d have told him if he’d bothered to return any of the many messages I left for him.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Simple. If he sticks to his noon deadline and tells the world Nikoletta has disappeared, I’ll call a press conference to announce that your distinguished publisher is in possession of documents that could help the police locate his missing reporter but refuses to turn them over.”

  “With his power and connections, you wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me.”

  “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

  “The question is, does he?”

  “You’ll be making an enemy for life.”

  “Tell him to get in line.” Andreas paused. “Are you done yet with this who-has-a-bigger-one ping-pong match?”

  Pappas cleared his throat. “What is it you really want?”

  “Like I said, I want him to hold off until midnight. Of course, if he’s dead set on going ahead at noon, he could outmaneuver me by simply turning over the sixth notebook, but I don’t think either of us believes he’ll do that. Do we?”

  “I’ve no idea what he’ll do.” Pappas paused. “Just so you know, I told him about our last conversation and urged him to cooperate, but he said his commitment to preserving his reporter’s sources is sacrosanct.”

  “As is my commitment to preserving his reporter’s life. Have a nice day.”

  Andreas hung up and looked at Tassos. “How did I do?”

  “Like someone who went out of his way to turn his and his family’s past, present, and future into the most-favored targets of the most powerful publishing family in Greece.”

  Andreas smiled. “Good, then he got the message.”

  “When are we leaving for Siphones?”

  “Let’s give Yianni another hour of sleep. He needs the rest, and we need him with us to make the introductions.”

  “Great, then there’s time for breakfast.”

  “Is that all you care about?”

  “No. Since Maggie put me on this strict diet, I think of other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Lunch.”

  Andreas smacked his forehead and sighed. “Why do I keep feeding you these straight lines?”

  “Hey, it’s a skill.”

  Ring, ring.

  “Who the hell would be calling me at this hour?”

  “Now you sound like Pappas. Maybe it is Pappas?”

  Andreas looked at the screen, gestured no, and put the call on speakerphone. “Hi, Dimitri, what’s up?”

  “Obviously, you are. I was prepared to leave you a message.”

  “The early bird gets the worm and all that.”

  “Well, it seems likely there’s something much larger than a worm we’re looking for.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Because it is. The preliminary autopsy’s in on Honeyman. He died before hitting the bottom.”

  “Mercifully, I hope.”

  “A bullet to the head.”

  “It beats flying wide-awake off the top of a cliff wearing a rope necktie anchored to a slab of marble,” said Tassos.

  “Why do I sense you’re just getting to the ominous part?” said Andreas.

  “Last night we began rounding up the usual suspects, as you called them. A couple of hours ago, we found two ripe ones in a stolen car down behind the airport. Each with a bullet through his head.”

  “Don’t tell me. The bullets match the one pulled out of Honeyman,” said Andreas.

  “Too soon to tell, but since it looks as if they’ve been dead for about as long as Honeyman, I wouldn’t be surprised if they match.”

  “I’d be surprised if they don’t,” said Tassos. “Sounds like whoever got rid of Honeyman also took out the other two.”

  “One of the victims was at the top of our list of likely drivers in the attack on Popi and Yianni.”

  Andreas bit at his lower lip. “So, what do we have here? A sophisticated killer who kills Honeyman and then hunts down the other two? Or an amateur who somehow knew the two well enough to lure them to a convenient place for eliminating them as potential witnesses?”

  “Or some combination thereof,” said Tassos. “My guess is it’s closer to your amateur scenario
, because with the police hunting for them, it’s hard to imagine how their killer would have been able to find them if they didn’t want him to.”

  “But couldn’t Nikoletta’s computer guy have found them?” said Dimitri.

  “Unless he’s wired into the local bad-guy network, somehow used his skills to get a GPS reading on them, or has superhuman powers, I don’t see how he could,” said Andreas. “Besides, none of this bears the mark of a master at work.”

  “Perhaps he’s just trying to confuse us by appearing sloppy,” said Dimitri.

  “I don’t see it that way,” said Andreas. “I’m into believing there’s a new player involved. But I’m not sure what team he’s playing for.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Tassos.

  “Are these killings because of what else Nikoletta might write about her hacker? Or did her activist research trip a different alarm among some very bad people?”

  “Or are they dead because of something completely unrelated to anything we know or imagine?” said Tassos.

  “That too,” said Andreas, drawing in and letting out a deep breath. “But since we’ll never know if it’s something unknown until we’ve eliminated the known, I say we go with what’s tied to the highest body count. Namely, Honeyman. More specifically, his involvement in antiquities smuggling and development-project buyouts.”

  “In other words, it’s off to Siphones,” said Tassos.

  “Yes.”

  “Right after breakfast?”

  Andreas nodded. “But be sure to make it a big one. It’s shaping up to be a long day.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time Toni, Lila, and Maggie sat down to breakfast, the men had left.

  Lila picked up her coffee cup. “Well, we’ve got a car and the day all to ourselves. What would you like to do?”

  “I’d like to see more of the island,” said Toni.

  “Me too,” said Maggie.

  “Sounds good to me.” Lila took a sip. “We could stop by and say hello to the women we met yesterday.”

  “They’re an interesting pair,” said Toni. “The farmer not only grows olives but runs a museum dedicated to the history of olive-growing in Eggares. And then there’s the artist’s gallery in Halki.”