1 The Assassins' Village

by Faith Mortimer

  Of course one bath didn’t remove years of grime, but it was a start, and Di felt the stirrings of a mystery. Why had she smartened herself up? If anything, Di would have expected her to be shocked and distressed at losing her nearest relative.

  Most Cypriot women would wail, spending hours on their knees praying, and coarse black clothing would be donned. Not the pretty dark blue skirt and white top that Antigone was wearing. She completed her new look with a thin gold coloured chain that lay almost concealed beneath her blouse.

  Perhaps Steve was right. She was completely batty and never registered what had happened to her brother. It was conceivable; she had no idea that Kristiakis was even dead.

  Diana smiled at her and enquired how she was. She was very surprised when Antigone smiled in return. She took her arm, indicating that Di was to follow her into her courtyard. The Cypriot woman bustled around. Shooing a couple of chickens from under their feet she, moved a basket of almonds from a rush chair.

  ‘Please. Sit here. Would you like coffee? No?’ she asked. She gave Di a knowing look. ‘Maybe you don’t like coffee at the moment? Perhaps some milk or water?’

  Recently Diana had been quite off coffee. She always let it get too cold to drink and couldn’t think why. However, the thought of warm goat’s milk made her stomach do an involuntarily flip.

  ‘Water will be just fine please,’ she said in response, surprised at Antigone’s intuitive comment.

  She sat in the shade of the pomegranate tree, its leaves rustling in the breeze. The tree dominated the courtyard. Pomegranate fruit hung like golden orbs from its branches. There was a large collection of plants grouped around the walls. Old cans and plastic containers contained geraniums, sweet-scented basil, curly leaved parsley, tiny rose bushes and a hibiscus or two. A deep blood-red bougainvillaea ran up the sheltered wall of the cottage and over the edge of the tin roof. It was simple, unarranged, and quite lovely.

  Diana yawned. The broken night was at last catching up on her. She felt relaxed and sleepy in the warm sunshine filtering through the canopy of green. She was happy with her books progress. She had decided in the early hours who her murderer was. At first Diana had been troubled. She had played around with two of the characters. One had been quite ruthless and cruel. And then it was obvious to her.

  Just as she was in danger of dozing off, Antigone reappeared carrying an aluminium tray, two beakers of water and a little plate containing some very sweet and sticky looking cakes. Diana knew that she shouldn’t, but she took one anyway and found it delicious. A second would be very hard to resist. They munched their cakes and sipped their water, neither speaking. Diana felt that she didn’t need to. She was completely at peace.

  Finishing their coffee and cakes, Antigone asked her to come inside.

  ‘I have something for you,’ she said. Without the slightest hesitation Di followed her.

  Despite the sunny day, inside the house it felt damp and gloomy. It comprised of a single room, with two tiny windows for light. Set under one window was a small table and two chairs, while off to one side stood a rickety-looking wooden cupboard. Hanging from the ceiling was a flat woven basket containing a hunk of bread and some apples. Underneath this stood a metal cabinet covered in a mesh to keep the flies off food. A small clay pitcher was lying against the wall. In the opposite corner was a low truckle bed, tidily made with old and well-used linen. An ancient, battered pine chest was placed at the foot of the bed. Diana assumed this held Antigone clothes.

  She surveyed the meanness of the place. It was Spartan and primitive. On the table there was a bowl containing a white curd mixture and on a slab a square of hardened cheese, already dry and mature. The whole place was redolent of goat and Diana couldn’t help feeling overpowered by the rank smell.

  Antigone saw Diana’s interest and asked her if she would like to try some cheese. She took a large heavy looking knife from a drawer underneath the tabletop and began cutting into the cheese.

  ‘It looks difficult,’ Di said, watching Antigone. She was making hard work with the knife.

  ‘Yes. The knife is too blunt; I need to have it sharper. I have something better, cheese wire.’

  Placing the knife on the table, Antigone crossed over to the wall cupboard. She returned with a thin wire with wooden handles attached at either end. She laid the wire over the cheese and deftly sliced through it. Cutting off a small piece she gestured that Di was to help herself. Di took a tiny sliver and found that it was quite delicious. Hard, nutty flavoured, not unlike Italian Parmesan.

  ‘This is gorgeous.’

  Obviously pleased, Antigone cut a larger wedge. ‘I give you some for your house.’ Diana tried to wave away her generous offer, but Antigone persisted. ‘Yes, yes. You need it. It’s good for you.’

  Diana felt embarrassed to take away some of Antigone’s earnings. She knew that if she offered to pay, Antigone would be offended. In the end, she settled for a small portion that Antigone wrapped in a small square of muslin-like material. Diana was delighted. Sometimes the villagers were so big-hearted with their offerings.

  ‘Thank you very much Antigone. Now I really must go. I have to go home and make lunch. Steve will be hungry.’ They laughed together. Antigone didn’t understand all of the English words Diana used, and Di’s own Greek was pathetic. However, with gestures and patience they finally recognised what the other was trying to say.

  Antigone appeared reluctant to let Diana leave. ‘I still have something for you.’

  Reaching under her bed, she removed a small basket from a pine box. The top was fastened with two frog-like toggles. Unfastening the toggles, Antigone lifted the lid to reveal the contents. Diana was fascinated.

  Underneath a layer of yellowed-aged tissue paper, nestling in the basket, was an array of tiny baby clothes.

  ‘Antigone, whose are these?’ Di asked puzzled. As far as she knew Antigone had never been married, nor having any children. Besides, these looked new and unworn.

  ‘For you. They are baby clothes.’

  ‘Baby clothes, for me? Why would I want baby clothes?’ Di spluttered, laughing in embarrassment. Antigone mystified her at times.

  Putting the tiny garment down, Antigone turned to face her. Smaller than Diana in height, she looked up at her, a smile playing around her lips. ‘For you and baby.’

  ‘But I haven’t got a baby.’

  Antigone laughed out loud, a deep earthy laugh. She appeared to be delighted with surprising Diana.

  ‘Soon, early next year! Then we share.’

  ‘What?’ Diana looked perplexed. Was the woman completely mad? Share what? Diana didn’t know what to say. Antigone, despite her new smartened appearance, was clearly suffering some sort of trauma over Kristiakis’ death.

  ‘Look Antigone, I’m sure you’re upset because of Kristiakis …’ She never finished, as Antigone flashed a warning look at her. Her eyes glittered and she grasped Diana by her wrist. Her hold was surprisingly strong for a woman, and Diana was somewhat disconcerted to find herself held in a vice-like grip.

  ‘No. No. It is nothing to do with him. I give my baby clothes to you.’

  Still puzzled over the layette and gently prising her fingers from her wrist, Diana again asked her about the clothes.

  ‘Antigone, why do you have these baby things? Whose were they?’

  There was a pause before Antigone answered. She shuddered and a sad look passed over her face.

  ‘My baby, she does not grow.’

  ‘What? What you do mean? Your baby? Did you have a baby?’

  ‘My baby, she does not grow anymore. She is now a…,’ she groped for the words in frustration. ‘She is now a Saint.’

  Bewilderment was replaced by a chilling thought that stole over Diana as she repeated the words to herself. She truly hoped and prayed that she misunderstood what Antigone was saying.

  ‘My baby, she does not grow anymore. She is a saint.’

  Did she mean that metaphorically?

&nbs
p; Feeling the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, Di stiffened with a dawning comprehension.

  Chapter 41. Past shames.

  Finger of birth-strangled babe ditch-deliver’d by a drab.

  Macbeth. Act 4 Scene 1

  Steve was shaken. Reading what he had deciphered that morning, his feelings turned to anger and disgust. No one had really known Leslie. All the innuendo and half whispered stories were true and more. Could someone really be such a louse and live in a close-knit community? And get away with all this?

  White-lipped with anger Steve scanned through his notes. Leslie had been exceedingly clever at having Bernard fleeced, and blackmailing Tony. If what Steve had found was correct, then Leslie had made a tidy sum out of them. Looking at the entry that was titled: Tilly the perfect Lay, Leslie had quite graphically recorded their times together. Alicia was treated to the most offensive language imaginable as he accused her with infanticide! Shocking! And even his wife Sonja hadn’t escaped his horrible slander. He slagged off quite a few of the village Cypriots, among them Kristiakis and Yanoulla. Karl he accused of being an effeminate coward during his time in the army.

  Steve dropped the book onto the tabletop. On face value Leslie seemed the perfect, well spoken English Gentleman. He and Diana hadn’t known him well; they weren’t keen on gossip, preferring to draw their own conclusions. How wrong they had been. The man was an absolute creep! No. He was far more than that.

  Scanning through Leslie’s tightly-knit handwriting, Steve discovered that not only had he made almost everyone’s life in the village a misery, but his evil dated back years and years. There were well over thirty unfortunate names recorded. The first went back to the late sixties. Leslie had been an absolute bastard for most of his life! Steve could only sit there and wonder why he hadn’t been murdered long before now. It was almost like reading an Agatha Christie novel. Which was the one where more than a handful of people all took a turn to stab the victim? Was it ‘Murder on the Orient Express or Death on The Nile’? Diana would know.

  Steve needed to share this vile information with someone. His wife was the only one he could really trust. She’d been involved in this from the beginning and deserved to know everything. She had been right with so many of the clues. What was more, because of what he had just discovered she had to know everything. He wondered if she would believe him when he told her of his suspicions. He needed to get Di home as soon as possible. He also needed to call the police.

  Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was approaching half past twelve. Diana had gone out for some exercise to clear her head. She had been up since four am writing her final chapters. As yet he hadn’t read any of it.

  Deciding to give her a ring, he pressed the speed-dial for her mobile number, waited and gave an irritated shake of his head when the recorded voice told him the number was unavailable. Where was she? There was a good connection almost everywhere in the village. The only places mobiles didn’t work were under RSJ’s and outside the village, such as down in the river valley. Surely she wouldn’t have gone that far this morning?

  Steve waited a while and then re-dialled. The recorded voice again. It was now nearly one o’clock. What was she doing? Concerned, he glanced out of the window. The air looked oppressive. Over the Troodos Mountains, large black clouds were gathering, lit by the first flicker of lightning. It looked like they were in for a monster of a storm. One eye on his watch, and grabbing two waterproof jackets from their wall hooks, Steve decided to go and look for her.

  Steve did a quick tour of the village, reversing the favourite route Diana usually took. He passed The Magic Teapot only pausing to ask if they had seen Diana that morning. Geraldine replied that she seen her in the distance, up near Antigone’s old place. Busily emptying the dishwasher and restacking the shelves with clean glasses, Geraldine stopped as she had a sudden thought.

  ‘You’re not the only one looking for her. Alicia came past here asking the same thing. She seemed in a bit of a hurry as she wouldn’t stay for a chat. She doesn’t change does she? Looking tight-lipped, and forever wearing the same outlandish clothes and carrying that old leather bag. Makes you wonder what she has in it.’ She paused to give a wipe to a smeared glass.

  ‘Now to change the subject, don’t forget we’ve got a special evening here tonight. George, our favourite guitarist is over from the UK and is giving a free concert starting at eight thirty. You’ll need to get here early if you want a good table. We’re doing chicken kebabs and salad for six euros too if you’re feeling peckish! It should be a good night,’ she said giving him a huge beam. ‘Do come. Roy and I are dying to hear about what’s been happening while we’ve been in England! And I thought this was such a quiet village.’

  Steve nodded and agreed they’d be there. He hardly took in what she’d just said. He began to feel very uneasy as thoughts whirled around in his head. Di would have noticed the change in the weather. She should be back by now. Why was Alicia looking for her? What could she possibly have to say to Diana? He thought she’d said enough when Di had recently visited her. She had come home upset. Unless, it was to do with Di’s visit. Steve blanched.

  He sped up the lane leading to Antigone’s place. The gate was ajar, but the door to the house was shut. The lightning flashed over the hills. He hesitated only a moment before entering the courtyard and knocking on the door. There was no answer, but his knock had dislodged the door latch and the door creaked open. He ducked his head inside and called hello. There was no answer. He gave the room a glance and shuddered at the sparseness. It smelt musty, with a dejected air about it. Lying on the table was a tiny woollen jacket and shawl knitted in white. He quickly dismissed the empty house and stepped back into the lane. He’d give Di’s mobile one more try he thought. The phone rang and rang. As he was about to give up there was a faint answering voice.

  ‘Steve!’

  ‘Di! Where are you?’

  ‘Down near the old house, you know the one by the river. We’re nearly there.’

  ‘We? Who’s with you? Alicia? Di, can you come back, right now?’ A note of panic crept into his voice.

  ‘No, I’m not with Alicia.’

  With a flare of relief at her reply Steve interrupted her before she could say more. ‘Good. She’s looking for you. Listen. I’ve deciphered the remainder of the book.’

  ‘Great. Can we talk about it later when I get back? I probably won’t be long as we’re nearly there.’

  ‘LISTEN!’ he bellowed. ‘If Alicia turns up I don’t want you anywhere near her.’

  ‘Why?’ She sounded wary.

  ‘Because of what I’ve just read! I am convinced that she throttled Leslie with her Punjab Lasso. Leslie wasn’t killed with a knife. He was garrotted, and I’m sure she did it. What’s more, I think she did the same to Kristiakis. Then she covered it up to look like he hanged himself. What did we read the other day in that book you’ve been using for research? That a murderer can cover up a ligature strangling with a post mortem hanging. She’s really dangerous and she knows you know about the lasso. You said she didn’t want to discuss it. Leslie has some awful things to say about her past life in his book. Please come home now before she finds you. You are in great danger,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Darling, I’m okay really. Alicia is nowhere in sight. Beside I’m not alone. I have Antigone here with me.’

  This was becoming quite insane. What was his wife doing, wandering around the countryside with a half-witted goatherd and cheese maker?

  ‘I don’t care who you have with you. I want you back here. I’m coming down after you,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Please, it’s not necessary. I’m quite all right. Look, don’t worry. I’ll not let Alicia get anywhere near me. I’m sure Antigone will come back with me if I ask her.’

  ‘I just want you here with me. Besides you don’t know the rest yet. Did you know about Antigone and …’ The phone chirped as it lost the signal. Giving a loud exclamation and swearing in disgust, Steve tried
to dial again but Di must have carried on walking into the dead area near the valley bottom. With renewed alarm Steve began to run down the loose-stoned track.

  ~~~

  Rounding the bend in the lane, the old house loomed in front of Diana and Antigone. They approached the tumbledown outer walls, as a huge flash of forked lightning followed by an almighty crack of thunder rent the air. Diana jumped in fright at the deafening noise, but Antigone appeared not to be worried by the pending storm. She carried on walking until she reached the doorway.

  There was another flash and an enormous clap of thunder. The air felt heavy and swollen with the promise of a downpour.

  Stepping inside, Diana followed Antigone. Di experienced a sudden strange feeling, almost as if she was entering another world. The air grew softer, cooler and almost tangible. The storm, raging outside faded to a low growl that was hardly noticeable.

  Diana looked around the shadowed space; it couldn’t be described as a room as most of the roof and walls had fallen in. Muck and debris was everywhere. Antigone crunched across the rubble to one corner. Crouching down, she began to scrape aside some of the loose stones and earth from the floor. She stopped and beckoned Diana to join her. As Diana approached the spot she saw what appeared to be a small trapdoor. Despite Steve’s warning about Alicia and getting back to him, Diana felt drawn to the space. She was intrigued and desperately wanted to know what secret Antigone was about to show her. She watched, as Antigone knelt down, took hold of a small rusty ring embedded in the trapdoor and pulled.

  Diana took a tentative step forward as there was another flash from the heavens.