An Aegean Prophecy: A Chief Inspector Andreas Kaldis Mystery: Book 3

by Jeffrey Siger

  ‘What time did you learn about the murder?’

  ‘A little before three-thirty this morning.’

  ‘Did the police find anything in his room?’

  ‘They haven’t asked to see it.’

  Figured. ‘Has anyone been inside?’

  The abbot looked at the door and pointed to a bit of wax running from above the lock onto the frame. ‘No, my seal is still on the door.’

  ‘Open it, please.’

  Inside was not what Andreas expected, and from the abbot’s gasp, nor had he. The place was a mess. Books tossed everywhere in a way suggesting they’d been skimmed before discarded, a mattress sliced to pieces, every drawer emptied, contents scattered across the floor.

  ‘Jesus – sorry,’ said Andreas.

  ‘I was thinking the same thing.’ The abbot shook his head. ‘How could someone get in without disturbing my seal?’

  Andreas didn’t answer right away. He stood studying the mess. ‘What’s missing?’

  ‘I have no way of knowing.’

  ‘Think hard. Think about the man, think about his life, think about what he valued, what he used. It might help you to remember something.’

  The abbot stared at the floor, then at the bed, and finally at the desk. ‘No, I’m sorry, he treasured his cross, it belonged to his grandfather, but other than that I can’t – wait a minute. Why, of course! His computer! It’s gone.’ The abbot looked around again at the mess. ‘All his disks are gone, too. He loved his laptop. It was his pride and joy. We presented it to him last year as a gift in honor of his fortieth year with us.’

  ‘Are you sure no one else but you had access to your seal?’

  ‘Positive. It is from this ring.’ He thrust out his right hand. ‘And it never leaves my finger.’

  Andreas nodded. ‘I was afraid you’d say that. Otherwise it would be all too simple.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Since no one could have entered after you sealed the room, someone had to get in before you arrived. No way they got in through that window.’ Andreas pointed. ‘It’s still locked shut and must be forty feet from the ground. Unless this is one of the great coincidences of all time, where a man’s room is ransacked and his life taken in the same night in unrelated incidents, I’d say if we find who did this we find who murdered him.’ Andreas paused. ‘Unless, of course, you or one of his fellow monks did this after learning he was dead and before you sealed it.’

  ‘I was the first to learn of his death. And the room was sealed within minutes after that. As for my being the likely computer thief, Vassilis used a PC. I’m a Mac man.’ The abbot smiled.

  Andreas nodded with a grin. ‘Fair enough. That leaves us with whoever killed him doing this either before the murder or in the thirty to sixty minutes between the time of death and when you sealed the room.’

  ‘What sort of person would murder and rob a man of God, then come into his room and steal yet more from him? Heaven help us.’

  Andreas didn’t give the answer he was thinking: someone willing to take one hell of a risk – like a professional killer not finding what was wanted on the victim, or making damn sure no one else found anything. ‘Any chance of computer backup for what was taken?’

  ‘We have a very elaborate backup system here, what with all the information we must protect in our library, but the work Vassilis did on his laptop he considered personal and much of it never made it onto our system.’

  ‘What do you mean by “personal?”’

  The abbot smiled, as if reminiscing. ‘Vassilis didn’t like the idea of his every thought becoming part of what he called the “information universe” before giving serious reflection to whether what he offered would help or hurt the purpose for which he lived. He worked offline from our network on those sorts of things until he had something he thought worthy to share.’

  Nothing’s easy, thought Andreas. ‘Can you get me what you have of his on your backup?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Andreas bent down and picked up a plastic wrapper with three ten-by-twelve manila envelopes inside. They were unused. He looked around and picked up six more, all unused. ‘Where’s the tenth?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The packaging says “ten envelopes,” but I only see nine, and they’re unused.’

  The two men scoured the room but found nothing.

  ‘Come to think of it, I remember passing Vassilis on his way back to the monastery yesterday afternoon. He was carrying a plastic shopping bag. The envelopes may have been in it.’

  ‘Do you remember a name on the bag?’

  ‘No, but he would have purchased them at Biblio, a shop just off the town square …’ The abbot’s words faded off at the mention of the square.

  ‘Thanks. I think I’ll give my partner a hand with the interviews.’ Andreas paused. ‘I’m sincere about the thanks. I know this must be very tough for you.’

  The abbot nodded. ‘You have no idea how much Vassilis meant to this monastery. Not only was he a true man of God, he was a mentor to us all. He wanted nothing of higher rank, yet there was no one above him in the Church of Greece who did not treasure his judgment as if he were a peer. He was their genuine friend and a trusted, respected confidant.’

  Andreas caught a glint of something in the abbot’s eyes, as if his words had triggered a thought. But the abbot said nothing. He didn’t have to. Andreas said it for him, ‘Perhaps he was too much of a “confidant.”’

  The abbot stared off into the middle distance. ‘God help us if that’s the answer.’

  Andreas nodded. ‘Amen.’

  4

  It was nearly sundown by the time they finished interviewing those they could find on the abbot’s list. A few visiting monks were out wandering about the island. The abbot said he would arrange for them to be available in the morning. Dozens of interviews had yielded two things: a mound of praise for a revered man, and zero leads. No one saw the monk leave, knew why he left, or had any idea of who might be involved in his death.

  They were standing in the piazza by the monastery’s gift shop. It was closed and the piazza virtually deserted. ‘No way some local did this,’ said Andreas.

  ‘Way too professional,’ said Kouros. ‘But why?’

  Andreas shrugged. ‘My guess is vengeance or fear. But it had to be a hell of a motive to lead to this.’

  ‘You think it might be tied to Vassilis’ past, from before he became a monk?’

  Andreas shook his head. ‘I doubt it. Can’t imagine whatever drove this taking forty years to come to a head.’

  ‘Maybe one of the visiting monks noticed something?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Andreas, looking at his watch. ‘Jesus, I never called Lila to tell her I wouldn’t be home tonight.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I spoke to Maggie and told her to call.’

  Thank God for his secretary. Maggie ran Andreas’ office. Most thought she ran all of Athens General Police Headquarters, better known as GADA. She’d been there longer than the building. Maggie’s long-time boss had retired a few weeks before Andreas was promoted back to GADA from Mykonos, and when the human resources director suggested she retire with him, the political buttons she pushed had the director staring at his own retirement. That’s how the legendary Maggie Sikestis came to report to Andreas – or, as it so often seemed to Andreas, vice versa.

  Andreas let out a breath. ‘Thanks, Yianni.’ They started toward the stone path leading back to the town square.

  ‘No problem.’ Kouros smiled. ‘But to be honest, Maggie said she’d already called her.’

  Both laughed.

  ‘My friends, please, come join me.’ It was Dimitri shouting to them from his open front door.

  That guy doesn’t miss a thing, thought Andreas. ‘Thanks Dimitri, but—’

  ‘You haven’t eaten yet, have you? And if they fed you inside,’ he pointed toward the monastery as he spoke, ‘you must be even hungrier.’

  Andreas looked at K
ouros, shook his head, and smiled. ‘Okay, we give up.’

  They followed Dimitri into the restaurant and out onto the balcony. It was packed with tourists staring off into a pink, blue, and silver sunset.

  ‘Here, please sit, I’ve been saving your table.’ He waited until they sat, then hurried back inside.

  Kouros whispered, ‘Can’t be too careful around that guy. I wonder if he’s a spook.’

  ‘Wouldn’t bet against it. Greece is full of spies. It’s part of our history. The question is, a spy for whom?’

  ‘The church?’

  ‘If he is a spy, that would be my guess. That’s who’s most likely to want to know what’s going on inside.’ Andreas gestured toward the monastery with his head. ‘And this guy has the best location on the island. He sees everyone going in and out, and between the restaurant and his personality, has the perfect cover for starting conversations with all of them.’

  ‘Who in the church do you think he’s working for?’

  ‘I don’t even have an idea of which church. Is it the church in Greece, the church in Constantinople, the church somewhere else?’

  ‘Like Rome?’

  ‘Anything’s possible, especially with all the power, money, and influence involved with this place. Then again, it could be just some political rival from another island or monastery. Who knows?’

  ‘Here you are, something to start.’ Dimitri plunked down a bottle of ouzo, a small pitcher of water, a bowl of ice, and a plate overflowing with olives, sardines, cheese, sausage, cucumber, and tomato. ‘A bit of meze.’ Then he put down three glasses.

  Andreas looked at Kouros, smiled, and thought, looks like this time we won’t have to invite him to join us.

  Dimitri pulled up a chair and sat down facing Andreas. ‘So, how did your visit go with His Holiness?’

  ‘Your permit is on its way.’

  ‘Really?’ He sounded legitimately excited.

  Andreas shook his head. ‘No, sorry, the subject never came up. But if it does, I promise to push it.’

  Dimitri let out a breath. ‘The bastards.’ He poured himself some ouzo, added ice and water, and took a gulp. ‘I’ll never get it.’

  Andreas thought, if Dimitri really is a spy he’s terrific at maintaining his cover. ‘So, Dimitri, tell me what you know about any strangers hanging around the monastery recently.’

  Dimitri put down his glass. ‘You want to know about strangers on Patmos around Easter Week? You must be kidding me. It’s one of our busiest times of the year. We are surrounded by strangers.’

  ‘Come on, you know what I mean. You watch everybody.’

  ‘If you’re asking me if I’ve seen a great pair of tits I can answer the question, but other than a celebrity or two, there’s no one I would call out of the ordinary. Besides, if you’re looking for someone who came here for the purpose of eliminating Vassilis, don’t you think he – or they – would be careful to blend in? They’d be pros, wouldn’t they?’

  Andreas stared at him. ‘Whom do you work for?’

  Dimitri laughed. ‘Touché. As I think you asked me when we first met, “Am I that obvious?”’

  Andreas did not smile. ‘Yes.’

  Dimitri laughed again. ‘Well, I don’t anymore, but I did a long time ago.’

  ‘For whom?’

  ‘If it really matters I’m sure you can find out. I wasn’t any sort of James Bond type, with deeply classified records. I just did the low level sort of analyst work, even got a pension. And a lot of people here know my background. I don’t try to hide it. But I don’t talk about it either.’ Dimitri’s last words were said in a serious tone and without a smile.

  Andreas nodded. ‘Okay. But just so we both understand each other, if I find out you had anything to do with what happened to the monk, or are holding anything back,’ he leaned forward, ‘the abbot will seem like your best friend compared to the grief I’ll rain down on you.’

  Dimitri stared back. ‘Fair enough. But I’m not, so I’m not worried. Here, have an ouzo.’ He poured them each a drink. ‘Yamas.’

  ‘Yamas.’ The three touched glasses.

  ‘So, who did you work for?’ asked Andreas. No reason not to try again, especially with Dimitri drinking.

  ‘Like I said, not telling.’

  ‘If everyone knows and I can find out, why keep it a secret?’

  ‘It’s one thing for you to know, another for me to tell you.’

  ‘You’re one confusing son of a bitch.’

  ‘Thank you. My wife says the same thing.’ Dimitri laughed.

  Andreas shook his head. ‘Okay, then give me your best guess on what happened?’

  ‘My best is a wild-ass one.’

  ‘Go for it, you’re local, it’s probably better than ours.’

  ‘The Russians.’

  Andreas didn’t respond. He sensed Dimitri was waiting for a reaction to see where to go next. He’d wait him out.

  Dimitri picked up his glass and took another drink. ‘Some say the whole Mount Athos scandal was cooked up by the Russians to embarrass the Greek Church. Yeah, I know all about the Ecumenical Patriarch needing a new home thing. How could I not, living in the midst of all this?’ He took another drink. ‘I also know how upset Vassilis was over that mess. We’d talk sometimes.’

  Andreas bet they did.

  ‘He never said precisely what was bothering him but I could tell he thought things weren’t as they seemed. And, from what I know of the Russians, when “things aren’t as they seem,” they’re my best guess for why.’ Dimitri accentuated the point with his fingers.

  ‘I think your logic has some Siberia-size gaps,’ said Andreas.

  ‘Well, let me fill them in. In the 1990s, Cyprus emerged as the number-one destination for Russians and other Eastern Europeans looking for a place to launder suitcases full of cash. Banks thrived on that business, and unimaginable fortunes were made. A lot of ruthless Russian and Eastern European mobsters also set up shop there, driving local hoods back into legitimate businesses or into early graves.’ Dimitri reached for a piece of cucumber.

  ‘During that same period the monastery involved in the big scandal rose to prominence, playing host to England’s Prince Charles, the first U.S. President Bush, Russia’s Putin, and many other big time movers and shakers in a style equal to any worldclass, five-star luxury hotel. Mount Athos has always been a place where the world’s powerful met in private without having to worry about “special permission to visit” red tape. And like any other visitor to Mount Athos, they were free to visit any monastery they chose, but that’s the one they picked – perhaps because its accommodations were better than the others.’

  Dimitri took another drink. ‘Some say it’s just a coincidence that during its rise, the abbot of that monastery was from Cyprus. I’m not suggesting he did anything wrong. He was quite gifted at convincing the very rich from around the world – not just those who’d found their way to Cyprus – that charity toward his monastery smoothed the path toward salvation.

  ‘Some also say it was a tragic coincidence when the patriarch of Africa, purportedly sent by the Ecumenical Patriarch to check that monastery’s books, perished in a helicopter crash on the way to Mount Athos. Others say some of the monastery’s Eastern European contributors were anxious to remain anonymous.’

  Andreas shook his head. ‘You sound like an old Greek sitting around a taverna spinning bits of old news, idle gossip, and off-the-wall speculation into international conspiracy theories. There’s no proof whatsoever for what you’re implying.’

  Dimitri picked up his glass and winked. ‘That you know of.’

  Andreas looked at Kouros, then back at Dimitri.

  ‘How’s all that tie into Vassilis’ murder?’

  ‘Don’t know. But the Russians could have used their big money to burrow so deeply and secretly into that monastery’s infrastructure that even its abbot wouldn’t know what was going on. That would have made it relatively simple to embarrass the whole of Mo
unt Athos by involving one of its oldest and most respected monasteries in a financial scandal and greatly increase the chances of relocating the head of the Eastern Orthodox Church to Russia. With all that’s at stake, I wouldn’t bet against the Russians doing whatever it took to pull it off, including murdering someone who might have figured it out.’

  ‘Vassilis?’ said Kouros.

  ‘Enjoy the meze, I’m going to get the fish.’ Dimitri stood up and walked away, taking his glass with him.

  ‘The man sure as hell knows how to make his exit,’ said Kouros.

  ‘And his point.’ Andreas drummed his fingers on the top of the table and looked west. ‘You know, if any of what he told us is true, or if he’s working for somebody who’s trying to make us think it’s true, we could be in the middle of some very deep shit.’

  ‘Located in the middle of a very big minefield.’

  ‘Blindfolded. I think the time has come to find who put us here.’ Andreas reached for his cell phone.

  ‘How are we going to do that? The minister sure as hell isn’t going to tell us.’

  ‘He probably doesn’t even know. My guess is this didn’t pass through normal channels.’

  ‘So, like I said, how do we find out?’

  Andreas dialed and waited. ‘Hi, it’s me. We need to meet and talk about how you can help with a big surprise party.’ He hung up. ‘Answering machine.’

  Kouros said, ‘I hate the way we have to use cell phones these days. Can’t say a damn thing on them directly. You’d think after that scandal over tapping the prime minister’s phone they’d have figured out some way to make them secure.’

  Andreas shook his head. ‘If someone has the right sort of equipment there’s virtually no way of preventing him from listening in on cell phones.’ He picked up a piece of cucumber with his fork. ‘And if something at all close to what Dimitri suggested is true …’ he rolled his fork in the air, ‘I don’t even want to think about it.’

  Kouros picked up an olive and popped it into his mouth. ‘Why, worried about mind readers?’

  Andreas shrugged. ‘That’s all we’d need, but thanks for reminding me. I better call Lila as soon as we get to the hotel.’ He put the fork in his mouth.