She appeared surprised. “I had the idea for another article I wanted to write after finishing the tourism piece. It’s based upon a strange local character I came across purely by chance, selling honey from the back of a pickup truck.” She took a sip of water. “He was a true fast-talker, and in the traditional style of Greek men, tried to impress me by claiming his honey-selling operation was just a hobby to keep himself in touch with local common folk. His real money-generating operation was in artifacts. I tested him with my slight knowledge of the subject and must admit he impressed me with what he knew. But not enough to buy his honey.
“Later on, in my interviews with locals, I’d ask if they knew Honeyman, and everyone had a story about him. Usually it involved the term ‘con man,’ and some had very sharp words to say. Most suspected he was involved in the illicit antiquities trade. But what really got my attention was when some said he’d approached them as the representative of different companies seeking to assemble vast parcels of beachfront land. I smelled a great story in this but didn’t want to get into any of that in my tourism piece. I wanted to save it for a special article. So I put anything relating to his story into notebook number six, and as far as I know, no one knows about my plans for that story, except my editor and publisher.”
“Did Honeyman know?” asked Yianni.
“No.”
“But you did ask a lot of people about Honeyman?”
She nodded. “True, but if he knew, I doubt he would have showed up at my farewell party the night that man tried to kill me.”
“He was there?” said Andreas.
“Yes, I was surprised too. I’d invited everyone who’d helped me with the piece, including Honeyman. I couldn’t risk slighting him and losing his cooperation on my story about him. Frankly, I didn’t think he’d fit in with the crowd, but he stayed to the bitter end.”
Andreas looked at Yianni. “Well, now we know who the someone was who tipped off the killer that Nikoletta was on her way back to the hotel.”
“And why the killer had a phone,” said Yianni. “Honeyman must’ve called him when Nikoletta left the bar.”
Andreas decided not to tell Nikoletta that Honeyman was dead. No reason to alarm her further.
“You said Soter calls you?” said Yianni.
“Yes.”
“Do you ever call him?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you have his number?”
“It’s on speed dial on the phone he gave me when he brought me here.”
“May I see it, please?”
“Sure, but it’s locked.” She smiled, “and not with one of those top five passwords.” She punched in a code and, as she was about to pass the phone to Yianni, said, “I’ve got a new message from him.”
She read the message and shook her head with a grin. “Wait until you hear this. ‘Hi, Nikoletta. Now that you’re safely in the hands of the police I can rest easy and go back to simply being a fan of your columns who’s heading off into blissful retirement. Stay safe. By the way, these phones will get the police nowhere, and I’m dumping mine now.’”
Andreas nodded. “I guess the locals watching out for you are doing a good job of keeping him informed. Well, let’s pack up and get you back to Chora and on to Athens.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“What do you mean? You could still be in danger.”
“As you said, the locals are keeping a close watch on me, and how will I be any safer walking Athens’s streets or in my apartment than I am here? Until you find whoever’s behind this, I think this is the better place to be. Besides, I’ve been remarkably productive with my writing here.”
Andreas looked her straight in the eye. “Honeyman and two others involved with him have been murdered. This is real, Nikoletta.”
She blanched. “Wow.” She shook her head. “Wow, wow, wow.” She shook her head again. “Where do you plan on keeping me?”
“I don’t know yet. For the time being, at police headquarters in Chora.”
She gestured no. “Despite what happened to those men, with all due respect, I feel safer here than in ‘don’t know yet.’”
“I don’t think your newspaper is going to be happy about this. Your publisher has convinced my minister to fire me if I don’t find you by midnight.”
“You never told me that,” said Lila.
Nikoletta looked at her phone. “We’ve got time left before midnight, so why don’t you come around to this side of the table?”
“What for?” asked Andreas.
“For a selfie we can send to my paper and your minister. Proof of life, as they say. Proof you found me.”
“You do have style,” said Andreas.
“And it beats a sketch,” said Yianni.
“For sure.”
“May I see your sketchbook?”
“It’s next to the computer.”
Yianni went to look for the sketchbook while Nikoletta and Andreas posed for their selfie.
“Why do I have the distinct feeling that I’m going to regret this?” said Andreas.
“Because having salt rubbed into your wounds is painful and inspires a desire for retribution,” said Tassos.
Andreas settled on what he considered a non-gloating photo, and after adding all the necessary recipients’ email addresses, watched Nikoletta hit send.
“Excuse me, Nikoletta,” said Yianni, holding the open sketchbook. “Does Soter know about your sketchbook?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re very good. I recognize many of the faces.” Yianni put the book down in front of her and pointed to a face. “Who’s this?”
She bit at her lip. “I don’t know.”
“I know him. In fact, I believe we both met him at the same place.”
“I don’t recognize him.” Now she was chewing her lip.
“Well, what about this one?” He pointed to another sketch of the same face, “Or this one?” turning to another page. “How many more pages showing this face do you want me to turn to before you tell me what we both know?”
She lowered her head. “He saved my life. And I protect my sources. I promised myself I’d destroy those sketches, but they were my only companions here. They made me feel safe.”
Andreas and Tassos came around the table and looked at the sketches.
“So this is Soter?” asked Andreas.
“Yes,” Nikoletta murmured.
“Where did you meet him?” Andreas asked Yianni.
“At the bar where she first met him. That snug little place down from the Kastro, where this guy kindly made me a pizza my first night in town.”
Andreas pressed his finger on the sketchbook. “You mean Soter’s the owner of the bar?”
“That’s what he told me.”
“Is that true, Nikoletta?”
“He never said anything like that to me, and he didn’t act like the owner when we were there.”
Andreas turned to Lila. “Ladies, it looks as if our night is just beginning. I suggest the three of you head on home and not wait up for us.”
“Why do you have to do that?” said Nikoletta. “It’s very late, the roads are tricky, you’ve had too much to drink, and this place has a zillion bedrooms. Please, ladies, stay here, at least until it’s light out.”
“I don’t like that idea,” said Yianni.
“Don’t bother to tell us why; we already know,” said Toni. “You’re afraid an assassin will show up tonight and do us all in.”
“It’s not a joke.”
“I didn’t mean it as one,” Toni said.
Maggie jumped in. “Why don’t you get Dimitri to send a couple of cops to watch over us until morning? He’s going to owe you big-time for all the great publicity his department will get for finding Nikoletta. Besides, this is a fo
rtress.”
“I’m not going to get involved in a losing battle trying to convince you otherwise, my love,” said Tassos, reaching into his waistband. “But here, keep this.” He handed Maggie his pistol and kissed her on the cheek. “I know you know how to use it.”
“Isn’t that overkill?” said Nikoletta.
“Only until you need it,” said Maggie. “Now get out of here, guys, so we can get some sleep.”
“What do you think we should do?” said Yianni looking at his partners.
Tassos smiled. “My vote is for leaving, because from what I’ve heard so far, I’d say we’ve likely got a better chance of winning the lottery than convincing these ladies that they need us keen-minded men to protect them from the bad guys.”
Yianni glared at Tassos, “Soter, where are you when I need you?”
“With any luck,” said Andreas, “we just might get your question answered tonight.”
Chapter Nineteen
Andreas, Yianni, and Tassos made it to the bar by one a.m. The place was packed, with most of its customers focused on a guitarist playing a mix of American folk songs and old French chansons.
As their eyes scanned the room, Tassos said, “I can see why Nikoletta called this place Bohemian.”
“Do you see him?” said Andreas.
“No.”
“Me neither,” said Yianni. “Let me ask the bartender.”
Yianni made his way through to the bar and waved for the bartender.
“Yes, sir.”
“Is Stelios here tonight?”
“Stelios? Stelios who?”
“The owner.”
“The owner’s name is Aris. And he’s standing over by the door.”
Yianni turned to see a short, pudgy clean-shaven man with long white hair wearing an “I adore Edith” T-shirt, rocking side-to-side in time with the music.
“I was in here a few nights ago, just after the kitchen closed, you were working at the bar, and a guy named Stelios told me he’d make me a pizza. I thought he was the owner. Maybe he was the manager?”
The bartender frowned, then smiled. “Oh, that guy. Yeah, I remember him. He tipped me big-time to let him make the pizza. Also a salad and fruit, right? Nice guy, but he’s not the owner. Or the manager.”
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“If five years behind this bar six nights a week is new, then I’m new.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I must be confused, but tell me, did you ever see the man who called himself Stelios here before the night he made that pizza?”
“Yeah, maybe a week before. He’d tipped a waiter to invite a woman passing by to come inside for a drink. He struck up a conversation with her, and they spent hours together talking at a table by a window. He tipped me big that night too.”
Yianni exhaled, shook his head, and took out his phone. “By chance, is this the man who tipped you?” Yianni showed him a photo of one of Nikoletta’s sketches.
“Yeah, that’s him. Is he someone famous or something?”
“You could say that.” Yianni skimmed through until he came to another photograph. “Have you ever seen this guy in here?”
The bartender stared at the photo. “No, can’t say that I have.”
“That night, Stelios, or whatever his name is, told me when he was at the table with the woman, this man sat at the bar practically the whole time, watching them in the mirror.”
“No way he’d have been here that long and I wouldn’t have noticed. That was a very slow night, not like tonight. I’d have noticed him for sure. Is he famous too?”
“In some circles, yes.”
“Who is he?”
“Peter Zagori.”
“Never heard of him.”
Yianni nodded, took ten euros out of his pocket, and handed it to the bartender.
“What’s this for?”
“I should have tipped you for dinner the night I was in here. I thought Stelios had taken care of me.”
Come to think of it, he did, and quite effectively.
* * *
Yianni sat outside the bar, telling Tassos and Andreas of his conversation with the bartender.
“What a con artist that guy is,” said Tassos.
“Smooth as they come,” said Yianni. “He had me thinking I was suckering him into giving up information, when all the while he was picking my brain and doing what he could to throw me off the scent. Peter Zagori wasn’t even in Greece the night Nikoletta first met Soter, and though he never directly said the guy at the bar was Zagori, he tossed out just enough cop catnip to get me thinking there might be a new angle to what went down. He made it all up about the man in the mirror just to slow us down.”
“Well, I think it’s safe to say we’re no longer slowed down,” said Tassos. “We’re at what I’d call a dead stop.”
“There’s another way to look at why Soter mentioned Zagori,” said Andreas. “He might have made all that up to steer us toward investigating Zagori. Soter knew that Zagori wasn’t in Greece the night he met Nikoletta, but he also knew that sometime after her article about Soter was published Zagori was hired to kill her. Investigating Zagori might have led us to who wanted her dead.”
“That Soter guy grows more impressive every moment,” said Tassos.
“But how did he know I was a cop investigating Nikoletta’s disappearance?”
“You didn’t exactly arrive undercover,” said Andreas. “The morning after her disappearance, you were met at the airport by the chief of police and driven by him straight to where a body had been found on the rocks below Nikoletta’s hotel. You questioned the hotel’s night manager about her disappearance and spent time searching her room. The island gossip mill wouldn’t have had to churn too hard to figure out there’s a new cop in town. He might have started tailing you at the hotel, or just waited around the bar until you showed up. After all, the logical thing for police to do in a kidnapping is retrace the victim’s steps, and for sure you’d be expected to check out the bar where she first met Soter.”
“Damn. Four dead, two kill contracts still out there, and us without a clue as to who’s behind them,” muttered Tassos, slapping the table.
“We do know who killed Zagori,” said Yianni.
“Only because the killer admitted that to a reporter,” said Andreas.
“But we did find the reporter,” insisted Yianni.
“Correction. Maggie, Lila, and Toni found the reporter.” Andreas shook his head. “All we’ve found are a bunch of phony beehives, broken pottery, and an alphabet soup of initials.”
“There has to be an explanation, a key we’re missing that ties everything together,” said Tassos.
“And what is everything?” asked Yianni.
“I don’t know if it’s a network, a pyramid, a sewing circle, or a lone crazy, but something’s triggered a rash of violence unlike anything this island’s seen in modern times. And whatever that trigger is, Nikoletta pulled it.”
“Agreed,” said Andreas. “I also agree with Nikoletta’s point that anyone afraid of what Soter might have told her had to know it would do no good to eliminate her while he remained alive to tell his tales to others. Bottom line, I don’t see her story as the trigger.”
“Then what is?”
“My money’s on something connected to that sixth notebook and those damn initials.”
* * *
Andreas’s phone rang at nine a.m. He struggled to find it on the nightstand next to the bed. “Hello.”
“Good morning, my love.”
“Morning. How’s it going up in the tower?”
“You make it sound like I’m a Greek version of Anne Boleyn. Actually, it’s lovely. We had breakfast on the terrace. Sofia joined us. She brought a nice young policeman from Filoti to watch over us.”
�
��Terrific. When are you coming back to the beach house?”
“I thought you were busy.”
“That’s a relative term.”
“I assume that means no luck at finding Soter.”
“Or figuring out anything, really. Plus, we didn’t get to bed until after three.”
“I’m just calling to make sure you saw my email.”
“The only email I saw before going to sleep was a two-word response from the minister to my selfie with Nikoletta. ‘Got it,’ was all he wrote. I’m not sure if he was disappointed or elated.”
“A true politician.”
“At least he’s not corrupt; otherwise he’d have gotten rid of me long ago. So, what’s your email to me about?”
“The policeman brought a letter with him. The minister faxed it to his office in Filoti for delivery to you. It’s from Nikoletta’s publisher, addressed to the minister.”
“What’s the letter say?”
“I took a photo of it and emailed it to you. It’s demanding that you be fired by midnight yesterday.”
“Oh, I know what’s in that letter. I never bothered to pick it up in Filoti, but it’s what triggered my race to find Nikoletta by midnight. Thanks anyway. Let me know once you and your merry band decide what you’re doing today.”
“Will do. Kisses. Bye.”
Andreas lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He missed his wife. She somehow always knew when something was bothering him. Even when he didn’t know it himself. That’s a rare quality to have in a partner.
He listened for the sounds of children. Not a stir, not a murmur. Or a scream. Yes, he missed even that. But not as much as he did his wife.
I’m one lucky guy.
His mind was waking up. He didn’t want it to, quite yet. He’d have preferred sleeping but knew his preference was losing the battle to duty. He rarely slept this late, and even though he had no idea what to do next, he was awake. He picked up his phone and skimmed through a string of utterly useless email offerings, until he came to the one from Lila. He opened it and clicked on the attachment.
Andreas looked at the letter without bothering to read it. He didn’t want to read it, for it would only remind him of how his father had been blackballed from the police force by another powerful man. One who’d set Andreas’s father up to suffer a public shaming for something he had not done, ending with eight-year-old Andreas losing his father to suicide.
A Deadly Twist Page 22
