‘‘So how was your date?’’ I asked as I drove the wrongly-steered car.
‘‘It wasn’t a date,” she retorted and then added in a low, toneless, calm voice “and it went fine, he’s a good man that professor.’’
‘‘Never had you for the geeky type!’’
‘‘Me neither,’’ she replied and we both chuckled.
‘‘Please bear left and take the next exit on your right,’’ the mechanical voice from the device advised me.
‘‘Read me the details of our eye witness,’’ I asked Ioli, who was busy looking through her notes from the crime scene. She flipped a couple of pages in her little black agenda book and read, ‘‘an Apostolos Demetriou. Shop owner of Pepis Mini-Market. Last person to see the victim alive, according to Captain Filippou’s call this morning. The witness told the police that the victim left with a man she had just met at his shop and that he saw them walk down to the beach together.”
‘‘Let’s hope he remembers what the man looks like,’’ I remarked.
Pissouri Bay was quiet. Just the one lane with a few shops, a pizza place and many restaurant signs popping out at you every now and then. Some senior couples from northern Europe were walking by the shops, side by side, and further down was a British family obviously beach dressed and heading for the water. Soon, we both saw the sign Pepis and I indicated left and parked outside of the shop. It was a tall stone building. Later, I found out that it was used as a warehouse in the old days for grape storage. Now, outside, it had ice-cream fridges and fridges with every sort of ice cold drinks along with swimwear, beach toys, hats, shoes and anything you could imagine for the beach. Inside were mini-market goods, a wine and spirits cava and low-cost souvenirs. We entered the shop and introduced ourselves to the owner.
‘‘Would it be easy for you to go talk somewhere a bit more private?’’ I asked as I looked upon the few tourists that were shopping souvenirs and discussing what would look better on their grandma’s bedside table.
‘‘Yes, of course. My wife can take over here and we can go upstairs,’’ he said and called over his wife who smiled politely at us.
Upstairs was an old wooden office with three Greek coffee shop chairs where we could sit and discuss the night Alicia walked off into the night with our murderer. All kinds of stock for the shop below filled the high ceiling room.
‘‘Would you like something to drink?’’ he inquired kindly.
‘‘Thank you, but no,’’ I said as I looked over to Ioli to see if she wanted something. She quickly shook her head that she did not.
‘‘Mr Apostole, according to the report of the police officer you spoke to this morning, you were the last to see the girl before her death. You say, she left here with someone?’’
‘‘Yes. She came for an ice-cream as I was closing up the shop. Very beautiful girl. She had forgotten her money at the hotel so the man in queue behind her offered to pay. He had bought an ice-cream too.”
‘‘Was the man Cypriot?’’ Ioli asked.
‘‘No, I believe he was a foreigner. Well, he did not speak Greek,’’ he replied.
‘‘Would you say he was English, like the girl?’’ I asked.
‘‘They all sound the same to me. He could be. He was white like the girl, but more tanned. He spoke to me and to the girl in English. I’m afraid I do not recognize the different accents of my customers. Mostly Europeans down here. British, Germans and Russians. And lately, we have been getting quite a few Israelis. Don’t get many from other countries.”
‘‘Mr Apostole, when I first started out in law enforcement I wanted to become a sketch artist for the police. I took most of the lessons, but field work won me over in the end. Do you think you could describe the man to me?’’ I asked.
‘‘Sure, yes. I’ll go get you one of our sketch pads,’’ he said and got up quickly to go get them from the shop below.
‘‘What a kind man,’’ I remarked to Ioli who was staring at me.
‘‘Well, what you know, sketch artist huh?’’ she said and raised her eyebrows.
‘‘Oh, shut up,’’ I snapped back and gave her one of the same goofy looks I used to give to Gaby when she was being a smart-ass. Which was quite often, I must add.
‘‘I just hope you’re good!’’ she said, copying my look.
‘‘Here you go,’’ he said coming back up the stairs. He passed me the pad and pencil and sat back down in his chair.
I pulled my chair closer to him and sat opposite him. I placed the sketch pad on my lap and took the well-sharpened pencil into my sweaty hand. Ioli got up, walked over to a camp bed in the rear of the room, sat down carefully and began to flick through her notes. Guess she thought to give us some space.
Mr Apostolos looked anxious as he fiddled with his fingers waiting for me to say something.
‘‘Mr Apostole, just try to relax. Take a deep breath… exhale… I need you to close your eyes and really focus. Try to picture the man who was in your shop. Focus on his head and its features… relax… open your eyes,’’ I said in a calm voice as I drew some different circle and oval shapes on a piece of paper.
‘‘How would you describe the shape of his head? Was it round, did he have a long face…”
‘‘Oh, I can’t really say… he… well… he looked normal, if you get what I mean,’’ he said with complaint colouring his tone.
‘‘Take a look at these. What shape would you say suits him the most?’’
He pointed at one and said ‘‘But a bit more open at the forehead.”
People don’t realise how long these sketches can take. Especially by hand. Even with the help, nowadays, of computers and facial reconstruction software a sketch artist will take the least a good half an hour. I sat there gently drawing the head and finally asked ‘‘Describe his hair for me.”
‘‘Like yours. Very short. But, if I may say, with more volume. More thicker if you know what I mean.”
I nodded with a half smile that I did and asked, ‘‘colour?’’
‘‘Black. Dark black. They were the two things that were very distinct about him. His really black hair and his really green eyes.”
‘‘And his eyes? Can you choose a shape out of these or describe them to me?’’
Mr Apostolos was very cooperative and put in an effort to help us, though he could not recollect many specific details as I asked about the suspect’s nose, mouth, jaw, eyebrows and ears. He was just another guy in the shop. The owner had no reason to pay extra attention. The only things that stood out for him were the colour of the hair and the eyes.
‘‘You say his jaw was like mine?’’
‘‘Yes, but a bit bigger I think. It was a strong jaw, you know? If only my eldest daughter was here at the time. She never forgets a face. She is very fastidious. She is thirty years old today and she sees people on the street and remembers that they went to kindergarten together.’’
‘‘You’re doing fine. You are more helpful that what you imagine,” I calmed him.
“And finally, do you remember any distinctive features like a mole, a tattoo or a scar maybe?’’
‘‘No, no. Nothing like that,’’ he said and sighed with relief.
‘‘Ok, I think that just about covers it,’’ I said, looking down at my sketch and realising that Ioli was standing right above me scanning the sketch too.
‘‘I just wish I could have been more helpful. You know, it was late and I was tired. Should have paid more attention to the man,’’ he remarked with sorrow in his voice.
‘‘There is no way you could have known that he was not just another customer, Mr. Demetriou. And from what I can see, you two did an excellent job,’’ Ioli kindly said and earned herself a wide smile from the caring man.
We thanked the owner and his wife and even allowed them to offer us some refreshing beverages as they would not let us leave otherwise. When we sat in the car, I gave my sketch to Ioli to hold and said ‘‘We have to take this quickly to the police station. T
he bird guy they arrested does not fit this description and they should get men to go door to door or better shop to shop down here.”
‘‘Ok,’’ she said and pulled out her phone. She took a picture of the sketch, played around with the gadget for a second and said ‘‘Ok, now what?’’
She laughed at the amazed, confused look on my face.
‘‘Who did you send it to?’’ I asked.
‘‘To Giorgo. He gave me his number this morning.”
‘‘I bet he did,’’ I said and raised my eyebrows.
“Next moves?” she asked, disregarding my comment.
‘‘Well, since we do not have to deliver the sketch, do you want to take a walk down the beach? I want to follow the victim’s and the killer’s last route.”
‘‘Sure. Good idea. I need a stretch,’’ she said smiling.
We walked down the little stone steps that lowered you to a narrow, sandy path right next to the beach. The beach had that wild beauty feeling. Sandy but with stones and pebbles. Clear waters, but with tall waves. To the right the path headed and ended at Columbia Beach Resort.
‘‘They must have turned left,’’ I noted.
“I agree. Someone would have seen them if they headed towards the hotel and all its lights. I doubt the killer would have risked it, especially considering that the hotel is probably fully booked this time of year.”
“Is it summer time? Hadn’t noticed!” I joked as I wiped for the millionth time the sweat off my forehead.
As we walked further down, Ioli pointed out that the street lights did not go all the way to the end of the bay.
‘‘He could have parked in any field nearby. No one would have noticed them in the darkness of the night,’’ I continued on her observation.
‘‘She was not drugged, though,” Ioli thought out loud as she scanned the area, turning round 360 degrees.
No needle entry found read the text I received early morning by the coroner.
“We’ll have to wait for the lab report to be one hundred percent sure, but my gut tells me she wasn’t drugged. And with no needle entry visible and no clear defensive wounds, I would assume she most likely went with him willingly. He may have offered her a ride to see Aphrodite’s Rock,’’ Ioli continued her thought.
‘‘A pretty girl like that. He must have been one good looking charmer to…’’
‘‘Don’t these girls watch the news? Hell, don’t they watch any movies? I mean, who gets in a stranger’s car so late at night?” Ioli interrupted me aggravated.
We spent the next half hour looking through the fields up ahead for clues between the summer flowers and the water-deprived olive trees.
‘‘Case solved! It was Colonel Mustard with the wrench in the middle of freaking nowhere!’’ Ioli said angrily as she lifted up an old, broken, rusty wrench.
Just then my phone rang.
‘‘Grandpa ringtone!’’ she chuckled at the sound.
‘‘It’s a classic. Reminds me of my house phone as a child,’’ I quickly remarked before answering the call from Captain Filippou.
‘‘Didn’t know you grew up during the Great War.”
The girl was on a roll in an attempt to relax her nerves, but I was dead serious listening to how a local hotel owner identified a guest of his as the man in my drawing.
‘‘The police are with him now at Hodjas Hotel Apartments just across Pepis Mini-Market. He is English just like the girl. I thought to let you interrogate him there.”
‘‘On our way now,’ I said, walking off towards the road.
“Filippou?” Ioli asked.
“Yeah. A guy was arrested opposite the mini-market. Fits the description apparently.”
As we approached Hodjas’ steps that lead up to the reception, Giorgo came towards us smiling.
‘‘Captain, room 201. It’s the one just there,’’ he said, pointing towards it.
‘‘Hey, Ioli,’’ he greeted her in a high school manner.
‘‘Hey,’’ she replied, rushing up the steps, following me and crushing Giorgo’s hopes for a conversation.
Hodjas apartments looked like every other holiday apartment block found in Greece in its price range. Nice gardens with buildings dying for a dip of paint and a cosmetic lift. The chipped wooden doors looked worn in and the furniture was bought somewhere near my entrance to this world.
Room 201 was spacious with everything a studio apartment could need. Well, everything basic that is. A bed, a sofa, a TV, AC, bathroom, small kitchen area, two armed policemen towering over you, and a view. The view that included the entrance to Pepis Mini-market. The balcony where he could easily have seen Alicia enter the shop and be right there behind her in a matter of a minute.
Mark Russell sat in the middle of the sofa looking guilty as hell. A tall, handsome guy in his early forties with thick, black hair and green eyes. He looked so touristy with his blue Speedos and a plain white Just Do It T-shirt over his athletic body.
‘‘Indeed, he bears a striking resemblance to my sketch,’’ I whispered to Ioli as I approached to introduce us.
Two shabby, wooden kitchen chairs had been placed opposite him for interrogation purposes.
When we sat down, Mark got even more nervous and tears began to run down his cheeks.
‘‘Thank God, you speak English. No one is telling me anything. I was instructed to just sit here. What’s going on?’’ he cried as I introduced us.
“I am Captain Papacosta and this is Lieutenant Ioli Cara,” I said, while reading a piece of paper provided to me by one of the officers with us in the room. Apparently, the senior lady in the room next door heard him opening his door at three o’clock in the morning on the night in question.
‘‘Woke me up, he did! Old, creaking doors! And then he took a shower, waking up all these old pipes! I’ve been up since then, tell the stupid boy,’’ the cranky Swiss lady yelled at the officer.
‘‘Mark, are you here on holiday alone?” I asked.
‘‘Yeah,’’ he said, fighting back more tears from falling.
‘‘How long have you been here?’’
‘‘A month or so.’’
‘‘Been here the whole time or did you pop over to Greece?’’ I kept the questions coming.
‘‘Greece? No, no… been here since I flew in from London…’’
‘‘Do you know how to sail a boat?’’
‘‘A what?’’
‘‘A boat,’’ I repeated calmly.
‘‘No, I… what is this about?’’ he said, looking first at me, then Ioli and proceeded to place his face in his hands.
‘‘If he’s the killer, he fucking deserves an Oscar, along with his life sentence,’’ Ioli commented in Greek.
‘‘Came back to his room at three o’clock a.m.,’’ I replied and gave her the note.
‘‘Can you please speak in English? And what’s that paper? Who is saying what about me? I have rights you know!’’ Mark said, gathering himself out of his pitiful state.
‘‘Do you prefer we go down to the station and sit in a cell until you find a lawyer?’’ Ioli asked.
After a long pause, he quietly answered, ‘‘no’’ and exhaled heavily.
‘‘Where were you Tuesday late evening, Mr Russell?’’ she continued.
‘‘Down at the bay.’’
‘‘Late night swim?’’ I asked.
‘‘Something like that. Listen, this is getting ridiculous. I don’t even know what it is you think I have done!”
He sounded angry, but his voice had guilty written all over it.
‘‘Meet anyone?’’
His eyes dropped to the floor.
‘‘Mr Russell?’’ Ioli asked, slightly leaning forward to follow his gaze.
‘‘I think I want an attorney now,’’ he firmly said with his eyes never leaving the dusty floor.
‘‘Why the change of heart?’’ I asked.
‘‘Listen, I didn’t mean to. Ok? One thing just kind of led to the other. I d
idn’t know. That’s what I will say in court. You can’t harass me like this! I ain’t going to stand for it!’’
‘‘What happened on Tuesday night, Mark?’’
‘‘I’m not telling you shit till you tell me what it is you think I’ve done! I’ve watched too many shows to know never to reveal anything that the police pretend to know!’’
I was starting to get annoyed by this guy’s behaviour, but I managed to remain serene.
‘‘Pretend to know? I’ll tell you what I think I know. I think you met someone Tuesday night. I think you went for a walk together. And at three in the morning you came home… alone. Where did the other person go, Mark? What happened?’’
‘‘I have no idea! Is he missing?’’
‘‘He?’’ we both asked simultaneously.
‘‘Sorry, I don’t remember his name. He told me, but it was too difficult to remember. Something like Chris-o-do-los.”
‘‘Christodoulos?’’ Ioli corrected him still confused.
‘‘Yeah, could be. Listen, I left him sound and well. Who knows what he got up to after me.”
‘‘Where did you leave him?’’ I asked, not knowing whom we were discussing.
‘‘At the beach, I swear I did.’’
‘‘Here, down at the bay?’’
‘‘No, the next beach, the gay beach behind the rocks. That’s where we met. Listen, I swear to God, I did not know he was a prostitute. I thought I got lucky, then he asked for money. What was I supposed to do? I paid up. Please, I came here to relax. Broke up with my boyfriend back home after two years and thought to get away, you know? I swear, I did not know…’’
‘‘Mark, relax! We are investigating a murder case…’’
‘‘He’s dead?’’ he said with terror in a high-pitched, ear-splitting voice.
‘‘A murder case of a dead girl,’’ I continued raising my voice.
‘‘I… I… Had nothing to do with that! I swear…’’
‘‘Stop swearing because I’m going to start swearing soon and boy, you are not going to like it! Please, be quiet!’’ Ioli announced, annoyed as hell.
Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 8
