Island Casualty (Andy Veracruz Mystery Book 2)

by D. R. Ransdell

  “He’s trying to keep up with you.”

  “Impossible!” He closed his eyes to a wave of pain. “I guess I’m not working on my suntan today.”

  I moved the room’s only chair closer to the head of the bed and sat. “Leave the sun rays for the Scandinavians. They need it more than you do.”

  Rachel leaned against the bed. “How are you really?”

  “The painkillers work great. I can even feel when they start to wear off. So please, be polite to all the nurses.”

  We smiled appropriately. He may have been seriously injured, but his spirits were higher than I would have expected.

  “I had a close call, didn’t I?”

  I blinked my reaction.

  “I have to consider it a blessing in disguise. Nothing like a scare to put your life into perspective. Did you figure out what happened?”

  “That woman, named Agnesa, thinks I killed Hari. She was avenging the death of the man she wanted to have as her son-in-law.”

  “How did she make such a leap?”

  I explained some of our theories, but they didn’t sound any better in the morning than they had the night before.

  Joey nodded at our assumptions. “She’s lost some marbles along the way. It’s hard to know where. You’d never met her before?” he asked Rachel.

  “I’ve heard Soumba talk about her from time to time, but that’s it.”

  “If she were my wife, I wouldn’t talk about her either. And I would discourage her from talking to anyone I knew.”

  We heard a timid knock on the door as Soumba entered. He looked worse than Joey. His shoulders were stooped, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was pale. I wanted to assign him a hospital room.

  Soumba came straight towards the bed. “Mr. Veracruz, I offer my deepest apologies. I can do no more.” He bowed so low I thought he was going to fall over.

  “Call me Joey.”

  “Right now, my wife has the heavy drugs. She will not hurt anyone.” He spoke softly but evenly, a man defeated.

  “I hope she feels better,” said Joey.

  Soumba started twirling his worry beads.

  “She’s crazy,” he finally said. “She sees the doctor, she takes the drugs, but still she’s crazy. I want to take care of her, but I must find a clinic. There is no other way.”

  Joey and I nodded silently, waiting.

  Soumba kept twirling the beads. He did so in the regular way the locals did, by flipping the beads over the back of his hand, catching them, and swinging them around so he could flip them again.

  “You are resting well?” Soumba finally asked.

  “Yes,” Joey said. “Everyone has tried to help.”

  “There is something I could get for you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Soumba swept the room with his arm. “Do not worry for the bills. Of course we will pay everything.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  I noticed that Soumba didn’t define “we.”

  The police chief joined his hands together like a schoolchild. “Andy, Rachel, I need your help to make a full report on yesterday afternoon. For now, please do not talk of this for anyone.”

  “A lot of people know what happened,” Rachel said. “There were dozens of witnesses.”

  Soumba kicked at an imaginary piece of dust. “Agnesa prefers to have her problems in public.” He moved a few steps closer to the door. “All night I am talking, talking with the psychiatrist. Bah! He is my second cousin, so he has to listen. I will travel to Athens in a couple of days to visit clinics for the crazies. Right now, I’m too tired to think. I must go home for some sleep. You will stop at my office this evening?”

  We promised to do so.

  Soumba shuffled to the door and closed it quietly behind him.

  We listened as his footsteps faded in the hall.

  ***

  Hours later when we reached the police station, the secretary was actually working. Lascar and Petros greeted us but were uncharacteristically silent.

  “Soumba said we had to make a report on what happened yesterday,” I explained.

  “Right,” said Petros. “He’ll be in pretty soon.”

  “Can we get started?” I wasn’t in the mood to wait.

  Petros handed me a form on a clipboard. “He’ll be right back, but you can start now. Go on into his office. Have a soda.”

  “What do you think?” I asked Rachel.

  “I don’t mind a soda.” She led me into Soumba’s office.

  The stacks of papers had not moved. I wondered how many years they had been sitting in the exact same place.

  “Something feels strange,” I whispered. “I’m not sure why.”

  “I sense it too. Maybe they feel bad for their boss. They might be as surprised as we were.” She picked up a picture frame from Soumba’s desk. One side had a picture of Letta taken by a photographer. The other side had a snapshot of his wife standing on a boat. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  She leaned against the least crowded edge of Soumba’s desk. “It’s such a shame about Hari. He and Letta could have had a beautiful life together.”

  I sat across from the desk. “Maybe. It’s easy to fantasize about a relationship. Living one is different.”

  She put back the frame. “You’re cheery.”

  “I like to think I’m realistic.”

  “Relationships take time and effort. Plus both parties have to try to make things work.”

  “It takes more than just trying. Luck, maybe.”

  Rachel went around to Soumba’s chair and swiveled in it. “So you’ve never been married because you haven’t been lucky or because you haven’t tried to make a relationship work?”

  “I’ve tried,” I said. “Some.”

  “But never wholeheartedly. Never with all of yourself.”

  “Sure I have. The first year of university. I had this girlfriend named Kathy, a sweet thing from Iowa who had gone to college on the West Coast in order to see the world. She was as lovely as she was smart. She would come to Noche Azul on the weekends and do homework while I played. I even took her to meet my parents.”

  “And then?”

  “She wanted to get married.”

  “So?”

  “I was still in college. I wasn’t ready.”

  The temperature in the small office had suddenly risen. I took an Amirosian Sunset from the fridge, popped it open, and handed it to Rachel.

  “Did you talk about getting engaged?” she asked.

  “I wasn’t ready to talk.”

  “I see.”

  “She kept pressing me to make a commitment. She wouldn’t try to understand.”

  Rachel swiveled in a regular rhythm, going a hundred and sixty degrees in each direction.

  “Who came after Kathy?”

  “Different girls. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since then.”

  “You’ve never lived with anybody?”

  “Living together is a serious step. You have to be sure.”

  Rachel kept swiveling, but she didn’t say anything.

  “It’s easy to make a mistake, and then all of a sudden you’re stuck.”

  “God forbid that should happen,” she said.

  “You’ve avoided serious relationships as well.”

  “I’ve been waiting for a right one.”

  “Like with Vangellis?”

  It was a mean comment, but I hoped it would shut her up. Instead she worked the chair in grander motions.

  “I used to count the hours until I saw him,” she said. “I was miserable on days I couldn’t see him.” She swung back and forth in a consistent rhythm. “The funny thing is that there was nothing special about him. Oh, he was writing his own songs and stuff, and I admired that, and he was a fine musician. But he was nothing to lose my head over.”

  I hadn’t thought about Kathy for years. She’d gone back to Iowa, and I’d lost track of her. I was sorry we’d broken up, but not sorry enough
to have devised an alternative.

  “Vangellis was your first big love, so you fell hard for him.”

  As she made a complete circle, her ankle brushed past a stack of files and spilled them onto the floor. “That’s a logical explanation.” She bent to gather the files.

  I bent to help her. I knew I should have left well enough alone, but a mean streak slipped through. “If Vangellis came through the door right now, how would you react?”

  “He won’t,” she said sharply. “That’s all that matters.”

  “You’re playing a mind game.”

  “Me? You’re the one who’s still in love with What’s-Her-Face.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “So?”

  “I can’t be in love with a ghost.”

  “You can’t? Do you honestly think Letta has fallen out of love with Hari?” Rachel got out of the chair and walked over to the window.

  “I’m not sure I was really in love with Louloudi.”

  “No. You were more like her puppy dog.”

  Rachel’s words stung because they were true. I’d been a Chihuahua wiggling behind its master as it tried vainly to keep up.

  And I’d been really stupid. Joey had told me as much, but he hadn’t slapped my face with it. And as much as my cheeks were ringing now, I knew better than to argue.

  Rachel pointed to the clipboard. “Why not write your report so that we can get out of here?”

  I’d nearly finished when loud noises signaled Soumba’s arrival. “Go on,” we heard Soumba tell his assistants. “I’ll find you later.”

  “Do I need to keep guarding Olga’s house?” asked Petros.

  “Do you want a paycheck?”

  Soumba crossed into his office. “Thanks for coming.” He collapsed into the chair behind his desk while Rachel slipped into the chair beside me.

  “I’m sorry you had to wait,” he continued. “And I’m sorry for your brother. There is no way I can be sorry enough, so I’m sorry for that too.” He pointed at me. “Soda?”

  I shook my head.

  Soumba nodded. “I’ve talked to Dr. Naraki. He says your brother will be fine, but he should stay on the hospital for a few more days so that he doesn’t re-open the wound. As I said this morning, of course, we will pay all the bills for medicine, treatment, the doctor, and for what your brother needs in California. I will sign all the forms. If something happens to me, it won’t matter. This office will always be responsible.”

  I indicated my paperwork. “Could you make sure this is okay?” I asked. “I have to swing by the hospital before I start packing.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  Joey and I had discussed the situation at length. We couldn’t figure any way that my staying on Amiros would help him, and he wanted me to get back to Squid Bay so that I could cover some of his appointments and be available for his daughters when Christina was working.

  “As you pointed out, my brother’s condition is stable, and he’s not in danger.” I hardly needed to mention that the only thing Amiros had brought me was trouble. Leaving would be a blessing. I just prayed it would really happen.

  Soumba started to play with a paperclip, but it flew off his desk, landing with a tiny ping near the wastepaper basket. “Of course, you must do as you wish. But please talk to your brother. Ask him not to make the charge on my wife.”

  “Agnesa tried to kill him!”

  “She’s a sick woman.”

  “She shot my brother! How can you ask Joey to forget about it?”

  “I don’t ask him to forget. I ask for no charge. My wife is sick, but sending her to jail for trying to kill your brother does not help.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Certainly she’s suffering from depression caused by—”

  “—my daughter’s severe injuries. Yes.”

  “And the broken engagement.”

  Soumba’s voice was stern. “There was no engagement.”

  “Your wife said—”

  “She’s crazy. We know this.”

  “Hari and your daughter—”

  “Yes, yes. She was studying on the same university where he worked. A coincidence. There are not so many universities in Greece. Naturally many students attend each one.”

  “Your daughter was engaged to Hari.”

  “No. You are wrong.”

  “Soumba,” Rachel said quietly, “we saw a picture of her on Hari’s website.”

  Soumba’s eyes widened, but he willed them to return to normal. “Tzt, tzt.”

  “It was a personal website,” I continued. “Not the one he used for teaching.”

  Soumba swatted the air. “Tzt, tzt. He was trying to show off. Make everyone think he has a girlfriend very young.”

  “A website is a public place,” said Rachel. “Why would he publish something untrue?”

  Soumba waved his palms. “I should know?”

  “When Hari turned up dead, your daughter didn’t want to live anymore,” Rachel said, raising her voice.

  “My daughter thought she failed some exams.”

  Just what we needed. A police chief in denial.

  “Your wife tried to kill us because she thought we were responsible,” said Rachel. “She knew Hari hadn’t committed suicide.”

  “Tzt, tzt. Of course he did.”

  “Hari started doing business with Panos and got in over his head,” I said slowly. “He borrowed money and couldn’t pay it back, or he promised goods he couldn’t deliver. Panos got rid of him.”

  Soumba raised his eyebrows as if he hadn’t heard me right. “Panos is a teddy bear. I know him my whole life. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “But Hari wouldn’t hurt himself,” Rachel stated. “So now what?”

  “You want to see the note? I have it right here.” Soumba pulled a piece of paper from his top desk drawer. He pointed to the Greek words as he translated them. “Mom and Dad, I’m so sorry. I love you. Someday you’ll understand.”

  “That’s all he wrote?” I asked. “No mention of your daughter?”

  “Why he would mention my daughter?”

  “That’s short for a farewell note,” said Rachel. “Professors are usually more long-winded. Besides, you’d think that someone who was going to kill himself would have more to say.”

  “Read it for yourselves!” Soumba turned the paper around so that we could see it right-side up.

  The sparse words were typed on a half piece of paper.

  As Rachel stood, she planted her hands on her hips. “You faked that note.”

  My heart skipped three beats and then started thumping louder than the bass guitar in a rock and roll band. Many of my previous lovers had been foolhardy or unintelligent, but none had come close to accusing a police chief of lying.

  “How dare you!”

  Rachel neared Soumba and spoke right into his face. “Hari’s mother died several months ago. It was on his website.”

  “Tzt, tzt.”

  “He cancelled class for it.”

  “He was lying.”

  “No one lies about a dead parent! It’s bad karma!”

  “Shhhh!” Soumba lowered his voice to a whisper. “You caught me. I wrote the note. Don’t tell Petros or Lascar. They are bad actors.”

  “But why—” Rachel started angrily.

  Soumba put a finger to his lips. “Is obvious Hari had a boating accident. But every time someone dies thanks to the sea, we have a terrible chaos. The tourist business falls flat. Nobody can survive the next winter. But suicide is personal, so outsiders ignore it.”

  “What if he was murdered?” I asked.

  “No proof. Meanwhile people have to eat.”

  I pointed to Hari’s briefcase, which had suddenly jumped out at me from among all the other clutter around Soumba’s desk. “Where did you find that?”

  “Near the dock. But it wasn’t me. I think it was Lascar.”

  “No suicide note inside?”

  “No. But the sea is stron
ger than people think.”

  “Don’t the next-of-kin get the personal effects?”

  Soumba clasped his hands. “If somebody asks.” He stared at us with the blinking eyes of a frog who’d swallowed a gourmet fly but didn’t want the other frogs to know about it.

  The silence got loud.

  “I better get to the taverna,” Rachel finally said. “We’re expecting a full house.”

  Soumba shook our hands. “Have a good trip back,” he told me.

  As we left the office, I felt Soumba’s eyes boring into my back. I was so relieved to hit the street that I stumbled out the front door, catching myself just before falling smack on my face.

  “Are you all right?” Rachel asked.

  “Kind of. Shall I walk you to work?”

  “If you want.”

  We headed north towards the taverna, dodging tourists. I couldn’t get my heart back into my chest, but Rachel was surprisingly composed.

  “Why aren’t you upset?” I asked.

  “Why should I be?” she asked.

  “Soumba faked a suicide note! He tampered with his own investigation!”

  “Two years ago, The Amirosian reported a big motor scooter accident: three deaths on the hill near Niros on account of poor roads that needed maintenance. The story got picked up by an Athenian newspaper. Island visitors dropped 20% the following month and 30% the month after that.”

  “Because of one story? Not possible.”

  Rachel started walking faster. “There are lots of Greek islands, Andy. That means lots of competition. One small story can turn the tables.”

  “That’s not even logical.”

  “You can explain the numbers another way?”

  Rachel was walking so fast that despite my legs being much longer than hers, I had to hustle to keep up. “There might have been lots of variables.”

  “You weren’t here, Andy. You didn’t see the merchants and chefs and waiters who suffered when only a few tourists got off each ferry. Soumba has to protect tourism because it’s the island’s lifeline. Anybody who lives here knows this.”

  We turned north, marching past two hotels as we did so. It was perfectly true that the island lived on tourism. There were a few farms and olive groves, but they didn’t do much business.

  “It’s flat wrong for the police chief to make up history, no matter the reason.”