1 The Assassins' Village

by Faith Mortimer

  ‘You saw them? Whatever do you mean? You saw the whole thing?’ she gasped at his words.

  ‘That day - Sunday. They were um – you know, at it!’

  Diana made an exasperated sound, but her eyes were big and round as she urged him, ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, after they’d finished their dirty business, they had an almighty row. That’s when Alicia completely lost it. She gave Leslie a huge shove and he fell over the edge of the road down the cliff. She climbed down and I heard her speak to him.’

  ‘He was still alive then?’ Di said slowly, as if measuring each of his words.

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t stay around for much longer. I didn’t want her to catch me! Not after what she’d just done! Besides, I had to get back for lunch and time was getting on.’

  Diana’s lip gave an involuntary curve downwards as she stared at the fat, slobby man standing in front of her.

  ‘Tony, you really are a revolting little louse sometimes. Not only did you watch them having sex, but apparently you did nothing to either help Alicia or, more importantly go and see if you could help Leslie. You were more interested in your own skin and in not being seen and then going for lunch. You are a pig! And why were you there in the first place?’

  Embarrassed, Tony hesitated before replying. Diana watched the tips of his ears turn pink. Even more pig-like!

  ‘I was out for a walk.’

  Diana raised her eyebrows as if the idea of Tony walking anywhere was highly incredible. Tony almost quailed under her scrutiny.

  ‘Oh look, what does it matter?’ he paused and glanced around before muttering. ‘If you must know I was curious. I saw them both go off and I wondered if they were planning to meet. I’d seen them from my balcony. I’d got a bit stuck on one scene of the play I’m working on and I was taking a fag break. First Leslie and then Alicia, trotting off down the hill. You know, they’ve been on and off each other for years.’

  Despite herself, Diana looked intrigued. ‘Really, I had heard rumours of course, but I didn’t know for sure.’

  ‘Well you wouldn’t, being a newcomer here. Anyway, she shoved him over and then left him to die. She must have, as she didn’t go to try and rouse any help did she? I suppose leaving an injured elderly man to die must be treated as murder, wouldn’t you say?’

  Diana frowned as she digested what he had just said. ‘And where then, does Kristiakis fit in with all this?’ she sounded and looked bewildered.

  ‘What? Kristiakis? What’s he got to do with Alicia? Now, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Apparently, Kristiakis was out doing a spot of illegal hunting in the valley below where Leslie was found. He’s also been questioned. He might be their prime suspect for all we know. But no one knows where he is. He hasn’t been seen since the police spoke to him.’

  It was Tony’s turn to look confused.

  ‘But he can’t be a suspect! Alicia had the fight with Leslie. The police are going to talk to her next,’ he argued.

  ‘Yes, but you don’t know what happened later on do you? She might well have left him for dead and then Kristiakis -.’ She stopped. Tony had no idea that she nearly gave herself away. She’d sworn not to mention the knife attack to anyone. Puzzled, Diana thought it couldn’t have been Alicia, as her clothes would have been covered in blood. Wouldn’t someone have spotted her coming back if she had done it?

  Diana felt sick with apprehension. ‘God, this is all so ghastly.’

  ~~~

  Steve wandered back into the living room after speaking on the telephone in the hallway. He had dark shadows under his eyes and like everyone else living in the village, he wasn’t sleeping well. They were all feeling the effect.

  His gaze fell on his wife sitting with her feet up on the sofa. He gave her a wan smile.

  ‘That was Bernard. Apparently both Alicia and Kristiakis have been released from custody. The police couldn’t hold them any longer. They haven’t enough evidence, or conflicting evidence or something or other – I don’t know, it’s all getting a bit too much.’ He paused, running a hand through his hair leaving it ruffled and standing on end. ‘They have to stay local for the time being anyway. I don’t know about you but I need another drink before we turn in for the night.’

  ‘I shouldn’t really, but a G and T would be good. Shall I get them darling?’

  ‘No you stay where you are, you look a bit peaky. I won’t be a jiffy.’

  Di leaned back on the cushions. She was feeling tired and jaded. Perhaps once this was all over they could take a short holiday. Some place where they didn’t know anyone and they could completely relax. She’d enjoy an African Safari or a stay in a tree house in Borneo. Either sounded just perfect as she thought more about it.

  Returning with two filled tumblers, Steve handed one over to Di.

  ‘Thanks, cheers.’

  They both took a sip; the coldness of the icy glass against their skin refreshing.

  ‘I wonder? Which one of them it was? Surely, it has to be one of them doesn’t it?’ Neither could leave the subject alone for too long.

  ‘Mmm. I think I’d put my money on Kristiakis,’ Steve replied taking a bigger swig of his gin and tonic. The ice cracked and tinkled in the glass.

  ‘Why?’

  Steve considered before he spoke. Di eyed him with a fresh perspective. He possessed more than stubborn strength. There was brilliance behind those blue eyes and a wealth of common sense. As if sensing her scrutiny he glanced at her.

  ‘Well for one thing we’ve been led to believe by others who’ve lived here a great deal longer than us, that Kristiakis hated Leslie for years. We know it goes back years; we learnt that the other day. He’s a typical proud local. Their bloody grudges linger on, especially in these mountain villages. We’ve said that they’re still living in the nineteen sixties. I actually think we might be nearer to the fifties!’

  Diana gave a small smile as she listened. ‘Okay I accept all that, but why now? I mean, if it’s an old grudge, why kill him now?’

  ‘Dunno. Why does any apparently normal person kill another human being? As for Kristiakis, maybe it was an opportunity that presented itself. An injured man would be an easy target for anyone. Perhaps something finally snapped in Kristiakis. He thought he’d tie him up and gag him to stop him yelling out. That way he could easily perform his grisly deed,’ he shivered. ‘Bernard said Kristiakis could be a nasty fellow.’

  ‘Well he certainly took a chance – if it was him. Anyone could have come along!’ Di protested.

  ‘Oh come on! It was a boiling hot day. The locals don’t walk anywhere by choice. It’s only idiots like you and I who go out in it, and that was much later.’

  ‘Tony and Alicia and now Kristiakis, quite an entourage if you ask me.’

  Steve finished his drink. ‘I need another. I know you’re going to wear me down with your arguments. He picked up their empty glasses and Di nodded ‘yes please’ as he indicated he was going for a refill. He was back within a couple of minutes picking up the conversation.

  ‘Okay. So for once there were a fair few people out in the heat of the day. Well we apparently know why two of them were there; sex and voyeurism!’

  Diana repressed a shudder at the thought of sleazy Tony and what he had told her earlier. Diana told Steve about meeting Tony outside their gates. She said that he never mentioned anything about the knife attack on Leslie. They concluded Tony couldn’t have known about this.

  ‘Some people are very strange. Human nature never ceases to amaze me.’

  ‘Ha, you’re telling me. Anyway, I wonder what the police will conclude.’ Feeling restless, Steve stood up and walked over to an open window. There was a slight breeze that ruffled his already untidy hair. It felt like standing in front of an oven. He turned around to look at Diana while leaning against the window sill.

  ‘The inspector knows Kristiakis of old. I still bet you, they pin all this on him. For another thing, Alicia is a bit strange at times, but I can’t re
ally see her as being a murderer. Not with a knife and certainly not being able to cut his throat so viciously. Can you? Besides, the murderer would have been covered in Leslie’s blood.’

  Diana started to nod her head as she agreed with Steve. She jumped as the doorbell rang; its peal seeming to go right through her. She certainly was nervy these days.

  ‘Bugger! What now at this hour? I’m just about ready for my bed. No. Stay there I’ll get it.’

  Steve swiftly left the room. Diana heard his heavy tread over the flagstones. Feeling muzzy she swung her feet down to the floor. Turning her head, the room gave a tilt and everything went out of focus. Strange, the gin wasn’t that strong. Maybe they were having a minor earthquake; this part of the world was renowned for them.

  Raised, excitable voices reached her ears as she came out of the murk and discovered herself gazing rather stupidly at a white-faced Peter and Ann from next door. Struggling to pull herself together, she stood up and faced her neighbours. Steve followed closely on their heels; he looked astonished.

  ‘Hi Pete, Ann. What’s up? Have you come round for a nightcap?’

  She stopped; registering the look on their faces. Peter soon told her.

  ‘Oh my dear, there’s been another death. Only this time it looks like a suicide. Kristiakis has finally been found. Apparently he’s hanged himself.’

  ‘Hanged? Oh! My God, where?’

  Clapping a hand to her open mouth she felt herself breaking out in raised goose bumps up and down her arms.

  ‘He’s in that big old empty house, the old bakery. He was found swinging from one of the beams. He’s still there. Antigone, his sister found him and she cut him down. He has this dreadful laceration around his neck where the rope has chafed him, I never realised there could be so much blood in a hanging. You can go and see if you’ve a mind to. The police haven’t arrived yet. Christ! Another death! What is it about this village? Has it got a curse on it or something?’

  He somehow managed to look both forlorn and hopeful at the same time as he gazed at their gin and tonic glasses resting on the glass topped table.

  Steve and Diana took a look at one another. Then, without a word Steve grabbed Diana’s hand and made for the door.

  Interval

  Act 2

  Chapter 25. Winter in the 1970s

  Better be with the dead, whom we, to gain our peace, have sent

  to peace, than on the torture of the mind to lie in restless ecstasy.

  Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 2

  A thin, cold winter wind whipped through the cobbled lanes of Agios Mamas, enveloping and almost paralysing the young woman with a numbing of both body and mind. Slipping and stumbling the last few steps, she made her solitary way down into the drear and darkened recess of the disused house.

  The pain came again and gasping at the ferocity of it, she bit her lip and took a short intake of breath. Waves of nausea washed over her as she staggered to the broken metal bedstead in the corner. She paused, her hand against the rough unplastered wall for support, before lying herself down to rest upon the twisted broken slats.

  Despite the bitter cold, her face was running with sweat. She fought to prevent herself from crying out; the pain was agonising. A minute passed and the torture subsided, leaving her weak and breathless, strangely disorientated.

  Despite her tender age and having no living mama, she guessed what was happening to her body. Some deep entrenched instinct forced her mind to register what she must do, if she didn’t want to die. Did she in fact want to live? It was hard knowing what she really wanted, so deep was her grief. The earlier numbing of the mind, although blocking her senses had done nothing to alleviate that misery.

  While she had the presence of mind, she sat up and dragged herself off the bed. There was an old pail upturned in the corner. It would serve her purpose well. The filth and grime of years past would wash off in the swift, flowing river water outside. Wiping the sweat from her eyes with the back of her little hand, she trudged out of the door-less opening, and across the grassy bank. The seasonal rains had been good this year. The clear river water raced and tumbled its way down to the sea.

  Squatting by the river’s edge, she plunged the old bucket into the flow, gasping at the iciness as the water played over her arms. Her long, dark plait of hair fell over one shoulder trailing like a wet rope in the current.

  Her bucket full, and wanting to get out of the cold wind, she forced herself to stand and turn back towards the house. Again, she was shaken by another spasm of agonising pain. This time she doubled-up in distress and felt panic as she realised this was far stronger than the last. She cried out in terror before it subsided, her legs buckling with the strain. A minute later and the anguish passed; enabling her to drag herself over the threshold, back to the mean bed.

  She had brought a leather bag with her and this she now upended onto the wooden bed slats. She gathered the old towel rags that fell out pushing them in a pile at her side.

  Her despair mounting, she felt another stab in its beginning; the cramping as it spread across her stomach, taking hold and squeezing the whole of her abdomen before running down her legs and into her back.

  Gasping in shock, the girl staggered to lean against the bed head as she felt a hot wetness between her thighs. She looked down and saw the rush of crimson as her blood ran down below her knees and ankles onto the dirt floor. Mama! Oh Mama! She screamed a pitiful wail.

  Terrified, it was happening so quickly. She was unprepared for anything like this. Sobbing, she forced herself to strip off her skirt and ruined knickers, instinct made her lie down on the cruel bed before the pain took charge again. She grabbed the leather strap of her bag and bit down hard to still the shriek of pain that tore itself from her, the contraction spreading, only stopping when she slipped into a moment’s unconsciousness.

  Twenty minutes, forty, an hour passed with the contractions becoming more and more frequent; a permanent dull ache between her soiled legs. Each time she felt weaker and had to drag herself up from the depths as the next violent cramping began.

  Forcing her eyes to open, she concentrated on the rotting timbers of the roof above. A wood pigeon fluttered in to shelter from the cold, alighting on one of the rafters. Its round eye blinked balefully down studying her figure below. She allowed her mind to wander and she imagined the pigeon taking her pain upon its wing and flying away. Her thoughts spiralled around in her head, dissembling into incoherent pieces. Somewhere a loose wooden shutter banged against the stone wall; a crescendo that splintered inside her mind with flashes of bright silver.

  Another contraction; there was now no time, no respite between the last and the next. Biting her bottom lip she tasted the saltiness of her own blood. She felt an overwhelming urge to push down into her bottom, she couldn’t fight it anymore; it felt like the right thing to do. Gritting her teeth, she pushed and groaned with the effort; her face suffused with blood and streaks of sweat and tears. She paused and panted, pushed again. And then there was blessed relief as she felt something wet and pulpy slide between her open thighs.

  Closing her eyes with the release of the pain, she began to drift away into dark oblivion. A minute later, and with something like primeval instinct she fought and clawed her way back to the surface to gather what little strength she had, as finally, she expelled the last of her shame.

  Chapter 26. A Summer during the 1970s.

  A deed of dreadful note.

  Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 2

  Pushing aside the sticky, rainbow-striped plastic strips hanging in the doorway of the family house, the sun’s glare assaulted Antigone after the semi-gloom inside. A pointer-like dog lay in the shade of a prickly pomegranate tree. Its flanks heaving as it lay panting in the morning heat. It scratched one ear, lazily sniffed its foot and rear end in turn, before grunting and resuming its mid-morning doze.

  Ignoring the dog, Antigone collected a stout stick from beside the doorway, ducked under the sun-dappled tree and into the lane bey
ond. This day she had dressed with care. Not her best clothes; they were reserved for church and festivals. Spending longer with her morning wash, Antigone had taken trouble to brush the burrs and tangles from her waist-length dark hair. Her shirt and favourite blue skirt were clean and although patched, the darning was skilfully done. Proud of her needlework, she knew she would make the right man a good wife. Almost hugging herself with excitement Antigone contemplated the man she would choose, most of her nights and days were spent dreaming of him. She carried her customary leather bag on her shoulder and stepping out into the lane, stole a glance both ways beneath her sooty-dark lashes, before being satisfied it was deserted. Antigone crossed over to take the narrow alleyway opposite.

  The village was busy; it was the 70s and the locals were rich from the bumper crops of grapes of the last decade or so. Some of the younger generation had already left Agios Mamas, settling in apartments in Limassol or Nicosia and taking smart jobs in offices and hotels. Their parents were baffled as to why they would want to leave the village where countless generations before them had grown up. But their pockets were crammed with pounds they were impatient to spend. Life was more exciting. They yearned to own new things; music centres, jeans, motorcycles or their first car. Even the girls were awakening. They no longer wanted to spend all their days washing, cooking, cleaning and having a score of babies. The boys thought it macho to laugh at the old ones gathered in the kafeneos putting the world to rights with their insular politics. There was football, fast cars, western music and girls. This was the first generation to become spoilt from their parents’ money and they wanted to spend it.

  Antigone’s father owned no great tracts of land, just a few donum that provided a minute income. Being fond of Zivania, the raw neat fire-water made from grape skins, most afternoons and nights he spent under its alcoholic grip. Whenever he was under its influence Antigone made sure she was well out of reach of his heavy fists.