‘Good idea. I need a cigarette and some cold air,’ Eugene said and walked towards him.
‘Hasn’t mum picked up yet?’ Elia asked his sister.
‘I can’t seem to get through. There’s no signal. That’s weird. It had full reception before.’
Neofytos pulled down the door handle a few times before swearing that the door was locked.
‘Can they just lock us in? That’s absurd,’ Apollo said. ‘I think we need to get that owner out here or find Platonas. He seemed to be the only one from the staff that was entitled to reveal details to us.’
‘Ask the two actors by the body,’ Dianna said.
Valentina stood up and turned towards them. ‘We aren’t actors. We are police officers and, ma’am, not to panic you, but this is a real dead body.’
‘Okay, fuck this shit, I’m getting out of here,’ Jocasta said and approached the nearest window.
Suddenly, all lights went out, and darkness fell upon them. A loud rumbling noise emerged from all around them. Heavy, steel planks descended and covered each window; the darkness turning into pitch black.
Screams and cries floated in the air and hands reached out to find someone to hold.
‘They are sealing us in!’ Salome, the bishop’s wife, yelled and leaned into her stout husband.
‘I’m sure it is just part of the game, dear. Try to relax. You know how you can get.’
Most followed Clio’s idea for light and raised their cell phones into the air.
‘Is anyone getting any reception?’ Alexandro asked.
‘Nope.’
‘Me neither!’
‘How can they kill our phones? How is that even possible?’ Hope wondered.
‘It’s easier than you think,’ Dinos said and tightened his hug around his ashen-faced sister.
As swiftly as it had vanished, the light came back to the room. Every single light bulb came back to life, revealing the sealed-off windows. Maximos banged against the steel and whistled in amazement.
‘Now, what?’
Chapter 10
‘If someone came to the house, either to see him or kill him, that means the old man told that certain someone about his plan to go to his forgotten cottage in Rhodes. We checked all his appointments, office and home phone calls, and whereabouts, dating back days to his disappearance...’ Ioli said and paused as she stepped off the ferry; our feet back on the ground in Athens. ‘Am I making sense or am I rambling? Those nasty waves shook my brains to scrambled grey cells.’
Scratching my neck, I replied that I was following her drift. ‘Go on,’ I urged her.
‘Well, we know exactly who he talked to those days as his bodyguard, chauffeur, wife, and secretary were always with him. I mean one or the either... God, that sea really messed up my vocabulary... Anyway, the old neighbor said he sent her a voice message. His cell was with a private company, if I recall correctly. They just sent us his phone call list to help with investigations, and printouts of his message inbox after we got a warrant.’
I walked beside her up to the police car that waited for us by the quiet bar that served the pack of sea dogs that roamed the old harbor. A rookie sat in the driver’s seat, putting in an effort to look professional and making sure we did not catch his young eyes scanning the two ‘working girls’ that stood behind the bar’s premises, close to the men’s lavatories.
‘So, what you are saying is we head out to the phone company and check his voice box? If they save them, that is.’
‘Nowadays, they save everything,’ she replied and opened the car’s rear left door. I walked round the car and sat shotgun. ‘Brrr, cold winds today, huh?’ I asked and looked at his name tag. ‘So, Tito, do you know where QV2’s main offices are?’
He blinked rapidly and moved his lips, yet no words came out at first. ‘I thought we were going back to headquarters. I’m sorry, sir, no one informed me of our route...’
‘Calm down, boy. It’s a last-second decision. So?’
‘So...?’
‘Here,’ Ioli interrupted and handed him her phone. The map and route were ready on the screen. ‘And quick,’ she added.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived outside of the twelve-story glass building that housed the telecommunications company. A flashing, signature blue sign dominated the entrance. ‘QV2 welcomes you,’ the electric sliding doors announced as we entered the luxurious office building.
We bee-lined to the enormous front desk where a plus-size girl, in her mid-twenties, wearing a tight, white shirt and an overly-happy-for-such-a-late-hour expression welcomed us to QV2. She then pushed a button on the desk in front of her and lowered her head microphone to mouth level.
‘Mrs. Pandora, the police are here... Yes, I will send them right up,’ she said and pushed the flashing, green button again. It turned red for a second and then faded back to a dull grey. ‘Mrs. Pandora will see you right now. Third floor, turn right, office 306,’ she said, maintaining the same merry tone.
‘Imagine that voice on a Monday morning after a Sunday shift,’ Ioli said and shivered as the elevator doors met in front of us.
‘Third floor,’ Mrs. Elevator soon announced and the doors departed from their embrace. We stepped out, and with the cheery voice in our heads, we followed instructions and headed right down the long hallway; our eyes scanned the metallic plated numbers upon the doors.
‘300... 302... 304... here we are,’ Ioli said as she mumbled along the way.
I knocked on the cherry-red door and waited for a reply.
‘Come in.’ The steady voice came from inside. I pictured a strict-looking fifty-year-old with a tight suit on, yet my cliché image could not have been further from the truth. A tall woman, in her late thirties with silky, olive skin and lively eyes stood behind her mahogany desk with her hand extended to the two armchairs in front of her. She wore a pair of faded jeans, those with multiple rips along the sides. Her belly was on display as her bright, yellow tank top failed to cover it. Though a tall lady, her feet were carried by black high heels.
‘How may I be ofassistance, officers?’ she asked as her eyes watched us settle in the white armchairs she had motioned to. Patterns of red raindrops decorated the white leather, while the armchair’s twisted wooden legs caught my attention. At least, there were more comfortable than they looked.
‘It’s about the case of Thanasis Zampetides...’ Ioli began to say.
‘Yes, we have already provided everything to investigators...’
‘After a court order was presented,’ Ioli replied. She hated people interrupting her.
‘Company policy,’ Mrs. Pandora said and sat down in her chair.
‘I am Captain Costa Papacosta, and this is Lieutenant Ioli Cara,’ I said before Ioli could reply. ‘We are investigating a different aspect, a new idea based on new evidence. Is there any chance you have backups of voice messages?’
Mrs. Pandora tapped her well-shaped, manicured nails upon the desk’s surface. Her new-born frown curved her thin, arched eyebrows into a McDonald’s sign. ‘Yes, we can retrieve voice messages. Our servers keep backups dating two years back. Then, the system begins to erase them by day. However, Captain Papacosta, your court order was pretty specific. Phone calls, messages, emails. Voice messages were not mentioned, and we require written permission from an individual to release his voice messages. Or a specific court order, of course.’
Ioli’s annoyance did not take long to come to life. ‘Well, we need them. Our individual is dead, you see, and will not be giving his written permission. Waiting for a court order will take days. Days in which his killer will escape. Do you wish us to inform his family and let your wealthiest clients know, how you aided his murderer in his escape? Now, that’s a box you should not open, Mrs. Pandora,’ Ioli said, leaning slightly forward. Her fingers interlocked, and her arms rested upon her legs as she spoke.
Mrs. Pandora locked her eyes upon Ioli’s. ‘Listen, I’m not trying to be a bitch...’
I could alm
ost hear Ioli’s thoughts. Well, you’re doing a fine job at being one.
‘... I really do want to help. You have to understand, I answer to a lot of people above me. Anyway, you’re in luck. First, it’s the weekend, and none of them are present at such an hour and second, my husband - AKA top-notch, tech geek - is in his office as we always work the same hours. He should be able to provide you with everything you need. Though, please, put forward the procedures for a court order. If your case goes to court and you present Mr. Zampetides’ voice messages as evidence, my husband and I will get into trouble with our bosses. I will aid you now to help with your case, but please have the paperwork sent to me ASAP.’
Ioli smiled and stood up, extending her ring-wearing hand for a shake. ‘Not a bitch, after all,’ she joked.
‘Tell my husband that when we go up to the labs,’ Mrs. Pandora replied and slid her hand into Ioli’s.
Five minutes later and the elevator informed us that we had stopped on the eleventh floor. Soon, we stood in a long hallway with a glass wall on one side. Machinery and computers filled our horizon. A handsome, goofy-looking man dressed in a white lab coat stood by an open glass door. ‘Hey, babe,’ his first two words came out as his eyes lit up at the sight of his wife.
‘Newlyweds,’ I whispered.
Their fingers met, and he fought back the urge to kiss her. She explained our story to him, and we watched as he rubbed his strong chin and grunted a couple of long ‘hmms’. Finally, he lifted his reading glasses into his thick, curly hair and asked us to follow him.
‘I never knew wires came in so many colors,’ Ioli commented, keeping her voice down, as we followed him into the futuristic room.
A low buzzing sound escorted us through a maze of machines. A background pulled out of a science fiction film. The cheap, B-movie kind that I enjoyed as a teen. A few more ‘lab rats’ passed by us, their heads bowed and their eyes glued to their notes. None were paying much attention to our presence.
We were formally introduced to Themis as he led us to a room that resembled a conference room more than an office. He sat behind a gigantic screen, and his fingers clicked away. ‘Thanasis Zampetides, you said, right?’ he mumbled and continued clicking; his expert fingers resembling those of a professional pianist, running along the different keys.
‘Okay, I’m in,’ he announced. ‘Voice messages... hmm... Okay... Got any specific dates?’
‘Try the last week of September and run through the days until the 1st of December, the day he was reported missing,’ Ioli said.
Themis continued playing his new-age symphony; the data on the screen was reflected in his round specs. He scrolled through the intel’ and announced, ‘Thirty-two voice messages. Wow, the old man used them a lot. In the age of Viber, WhatsApp, Messenger and so on, we don’t see many clients with such high numbers.’
‘It seemed to be his preference,’ I commented. ‘Can you exclude, for now, those received and sent by known numbers? I mean, people from his contact list?’ I added.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Only one message sent to an unknown number.
‘Can we hear it?’ Ioli asked, placing her hand on the desk.
Our expert did not reply. Instead, his hand landed on the flashy red mouse and he clicked on PLAY.
‘This is Thanasis Zampetakis. I do not take kindly to receiving threatening letters. Blackmailing is a serious crime. I know you feel with the evidence you hold against me that you have me in your hand, however, I do urge you to think twice. Prison sentences are tough to cope with. I will be at your meeting point. I will come alone as ordered. Do not contact me again.’
The old man sounded firm, yet with a second listen, you could almost hear the desperation and worry in his voice.
‘Can we get information from the number he sent the message to?’
‘Let me check,’ he replied, and his hovering hands attacked the keyboard yet again.
‘Nope. No details. It’s a card-phone number. Sold in every kiosk, on every corner.’
‘Shit,’ Ioli said and ran her hands through her black hair. ‘Can we at least trace the number? I saw a film once, and they pinpointed a phone to the nearest tower...’
‘The number has been deactivated. You see here...’ he said and pointed to a red light in the corner of the screen. Ioli was ready to curse again, when Themis continued, giving us a touch of hope. ‘...I could tell you the exact point the phone was when it received the message, though. Give me a moment or two.’
As he clicked away, his proud wife’s hand settled upon his shoulder, rubbing it gently. Ioli and I remained silent, eager for a clue to latch onto.
Chapter 11
‘Come on, Mum. It’s starting soon!’
‘Finish your vegetables, and then you can be excused,’ Pavlo’s mother replied to her impatient son. Not that she blamed him. She, too, wanted nothing more than to go to the living room and tune in to the adventurous event, but she was a mother, and her offspring’s well-being came before entertainment.
The clocks around Greece struck nine and people were ready for the final episode of Survivor. The hit show had returned a few months ago to their TV sets and had become the biggest thing in years. Countless hours were spent discussing the players, the games and of course, the voting. And tonight, it was all coming to an end. The grand finale was just minutes away.
Snack-covered coffee tables welcomed their respective families and groups of friends, and everyone smiled in excitement as the evening news came to an end.
Rival channels stayed out of the path of the juggernaut show, offering a variety of repeats and indifferent programming, with many so-called anti-Survivor fans opting for a night out.
The music that accompanied the opening credits escaped from open windows as the majority of TVs played the show. Certain bars and cafes were even having Survivor-themed nights.
I was just about to settle down my rather large behind and take Tracy into a hug when, yet again, she remembered another essential item missing from our pizza-infested table. ‘Costa, dear. The ketchup? Oh, and some napkins, babe.’
I contained my tongue and replied with a short-lived, flat smile. Happy wife= happy life.
I sat down just in time for the recap. ‘Previously on Survivor...’
Those were the only three words any one of us heard of the show. Suddenly, the TV screen switched to black. People at public events were the first to begin shouting. At home, hands reached out for remote controls, while others checked the wiring. Strangely enough, all other stations were broadcasting fine.
A flashy, silver cycle appeared on our screens. Soon, a crimson-colored number ten took shape, and the countdown began.
Lips counted with the bloody-looking numbers and minds processed the anxiety regarding what the producers of Survivor had come up with.
Little did anyone know of the panic at the Sky channel. Their signal was interrupted abruptly, and their sensational, triumphant show had vanished from the air. Executives cursed in all directions, and tech-geeks desperately searched for a solution.
‘Who the hell is hijacking us?’ a producer yelled.
‘Where is the signal coming from? Can they just broadcast from our signal like that?’ a petite brunette executive dressed in a tight brown dress asked, wandering up to the control room.
Many questions were raised; no answers were provided.
Silence fell upon all as the numbers reached zero and light came back to our screens. All eyes witnessed a vast room with a group of people looking around, stress and worry clear upon their faces.
I stood up at once. ‘That’s Valentina and Alexandro!’
‘My God, you’re right. What is this?’ Tracy said, leaning forward, departing from the comfortable back of the leather sofa.
‘My fellow Greeks...’ a robotic voice boomed over the live image of people searching for a way out of the room. The group of people all came to a pause, stopping to listen to the mechanical voice as well.
‘...
it has been eight years since our economy collapsed. Eight years of suffering for mistakes not made by the common people. We are governed by dogs. Dogs obedient to the World Bank and our new oppressors, the EU and its banks, led by Angela Merkel. We have seen our children’s rations shrivel up because of worthless politicians and greedy bankers. New measures have just been announced and we, like sheep, sit down to watch Survivor. The real survivor is our everyday lives. The homeless are the ones truly without food. But, no more. I have gathered a select group of people, each representing a larger group of vampires with their fangs deep into our necks.’
Our screens went blank once again, only to come back with a dead body on display. Pavlo’s mother gasped and covered her son’s innocent eyes.
‘This is Dr. Loucas Michael. Our first victim of the evening,’ the robotic, deep, distorted voice continued. ‘A doctor at Evangelismos Hospital. A public hospital. His wages were coming from taxpayers. From all of us. Like many, he took advantage of his position and took money on the side. Money to bump you up on surgery lists, to get on transplant lists, to get you better medication. Money from hard-earned wages and pensions. The money being passed around in envelopes in our hospitals needs to stop.’
The camera zoomed onto the brown envelopes soaking up the doctor’s blood. A time of two hours appeared in the corner and began travelling backwards.
‘The Minister of Health has two hours to announce the firing of the list of doctors he has just received on his fax. All guilty. Guilty of the same crimes of Dr. Loucas Michael. Also, to announce the placement of non-government, private sector controllers in hospital boards. If he fails to do so, the next victim will be chosen, and his or her blood will be on the Minister’s hands.’
The screen darkened, and photos of faces flew around the screen. ‘Let’s meet our players. Each guilty. Each with filthy hands. You, the viewer will choose our next victim. Use the hashtag #nexttodie and the name you wish to punish.’
Hotel Murder: The most gripping, page-turning mystery of the year (Greek Island Mysteries Book 5) Page 6
