“You don’t actually believe he’d be insane enough to go to Mykonos if he had anything to do with Christos’ murder?”
“I find it hard to believe that he’d come to Greece under any name at all, let alone his real one.”
“I know you’re the cop, not me, but even assuming he has no idea we have his girlfriend on video at the scene of Christos’ murder, wouldn’t he have to be a complete idiot not to realize that once his girlfriend turned up dead in the same Polish town where he lived, that she and he would be prime suspects in Christos’ murder if for no other reason than coincidence?”
“You’re absolutely right, and whether he’s sane, insane or an idiot, it’s precisely because of what you just said that all my instincts tell me that whatever reason was strong enough to bring him to Greece to face that risk must have something to do with Mykonos.”
“In other words…”
Andreas smiled. “Humor me.”
***
Less than an hour later Maggie burst into Andreas’ office followed by Kouros. “We found our boy. He was on a Sea Jet that arrived on Mykonos around noon out of Rafina.”
“Makes sense,” said Andreas. “He probably took a taxi from Venizelos. It’s a closer port to the airport than Piraeus. Any idea where he’s staying on Mykonos?”
“I called Tassos,” said Kouros. “He’s making discreet inquiries. Sergey just arrived, and hotels don’t have to turn over information on new guests to the police until tonight.”
“Heaven forbid they were required to submit in real time by computer,” said Andreas.
“If he’s staying in a rented room rather than a hotel his name may never turn up,” said Kouros.
Andreas stood up. “Grab your toothbrush, Yianni. I’m betting Tassos will find him. But even if he doesn’t, we’ll comb the island until we do. Alert the coast guard and airport police that if they let this bastard off the island before I say he can leave I’ll have them all transferred to where there’s no more beaches, no more nightlife––”
“No more nookie,” said Kouros.
“In other words,” said Maggie, “you’ll cut their balls off.”
“Precisely. Including those who don’t have any.”
***
Andreas and Kouros just made the seven o’clock flight to Mykonos. No helicopter was available and even if one were, with all the economic cutbacks Andreas would need ministry-level approval to use it. It was a lot less hassle to fly commercial and, in this case, quicker. Tassos met them as they stepped off the stairs from the plane onto the tarmac.
Tassos pointed at an unmarked police car off to the left and walked toward it. “I found Sergey. He’s ensconced as a VIP in the best suite at the Asteria.”
“So much for trying to hide,” said Andreas.
“And rumors are flying all over the island that he’s a big-time Russian with lots of money to spend.”
“How the hell did those start?” said Kouros.
“My guess is from him,” said Tassos.
Tassos slid onto the driver’s seat, Andreas sat next to him, Kouros in the back. “Before we start to drive, I think we should decide where we’re headed with this guy. He’s not behaving like a suspect in a murder investigation. He hired one of the most connected pieces of nightlife scum on the island as his assistant and they’ve already met with the owner of the Asteria in what I understand was a command performance ordered by Sergey. At least that’s what I heard from the hotel concierge who tracked down the owner and set up the meeting at the urgent request of one very anxious Wacki.”
“Wacki? Is that jerk-off Sergey’s assistant?” said Kouros. “He’s been involved in every sort of dirty deal on the island, from hookers and drugs through election rigging.”
Andreas nodded. “Yeah, I know him. He’s everything you say and more. But he’s also clever enough to go where the money is.”
“So, how does a guy less than two months out of a Polish prison manage to show up acting like an anointed king?” said Kouros.
“Tassos is right. This isn’t adding up.”
“The part about coming to Mykonos fresh out of prison to make a score isn’t a new story,” said Tassos. “But with this guy it’s the other way around. He’s bringing serious money here. My guess is, unless he’s hit the lottery, the money’s not his.”
“Yianni, check out what Europol, Interpol, CIA, MI6, and anybody else has on Sergey. I want to know everything there is on this guy.”
“I assume that means we’re not paying him a visit tonight,” said Tassos.
Andreas nodded. “Not until I have a better idea of whom we’re dealing with. Just make sure the local cops are watching him like a hawk. I don’t want our boy taking a piss without us knowing about it.”
“Some of my guys from Syros are on him 24/7. There aren’t enough cops on Mykonos to do the job right.”
“Terrific,” said Andreas.
“So, where to?” said Kouros.
“Dinner. Tassos, you pick the place.”
“Ahh, the kind of police work I can sink my teeth into.”
Kouros groaned. Tassos smiled.
***
Tassos turned right out of the airport, drove down the hill, went straight through the south rotary, and a couple minutes later slowed to turn left at the road’s intersection with the old road by the bus station. In high season this was the most hectic intersection on the island, if not in all the Cyclades.
To the left, the old road stood lined on both sides with car and motorbike rental agencies clogging the already narrow two lanes down to one and a half with their rows of double and triple parked motorbikes and four-wheel ATVs. Pedestrians, finding no sidewalks, had no choice but to dodge and weave among the madness, ever alert for less than accommodating drivers coming at them from all directions.
Tassos sat stuck in the middle of his left turn between a Jeep facing him at a stop sign on his left and a phalanx of motorbikes parked on the right. He could have squeezed the unmarked car between the Jeep and the four wheelers but a big guy in a sleeveless t-shirt, sitting on a motorbike outside the first rental shop and chatting with the owner, blocked what was left of Tassos’ side of the road.
To make things worse, another turning car now blocked Tassos from behind and the intersection was in total gridlock. All because of the idiot on the motorbike. A third-year cadet out of the police academy was too busy flirting with a pretty tourist girl to do his job directing traffic.
“How the hell do these rental places get away with tying up this intersection with their shit?” said Tassos.
“They’re protected,” said Kouros.
“Not by me.” Tassos hit the horn but the guy on the bike ignored him. Tassos honked again. The guy still didn’t turn around, but flipped an open hand curse gesture over his shoulder at whoever was honking. Tassos, took his foot off the brake and allowed the car to coast forward until it nudged the rear wheel of the motorbike, sending driver and bike spilling lightly onto the road. The driver jumped up cursing and ran at Tassos’ window. He reached in awkwardly for Tassos’ throat.
Tassos grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled, grabbed the man’s elbow and pulled some more until the man’s head slammed into the top of the doorframe.
“Whoops, so sorry,” said Tassos allowing the man to pull away. Before the man could make another run at the car the cadet was at Tassos’ window yelling at him to get out. The owner of the rental agency was screaming to the cadet about what the “fat asshole” in the car had done to one of his motorbikes.
“Need help?” said Andreas.
“You must be kidding.” Tassos got out but didn’t say a word until the rental guy had finished his rant. The cadet asked for Tassos’ identification.
“You’re a newbie here, aren’t you?” said Tassos showing his badge to the cadet.
The cadet
jerked to attention. “Please, sir, continue on. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Now the owner started cursing Tassos and the cadet.
Tassos smiled at the owner as he said to the cadet, “I want you to call your sergeant and tell him I said to get his ass over here right away with enough trucks to confiscate all of this guy’s four-wheelers.”
Tassos pointed to a turn down the road. “All the way to there. And what the hell, while they’re at it, have them pick up his two-wheelers, too. They’re all illegally parked, and probably a hell of a lot more than his license authorizes him to rent.”
The rental owner was screaming at the top of his lungs with threats of what he’d do to the “fat man who thinks he’s a big shot” if the cadet weren’t there.
Tassos kept smiling as he walked over to the owner. He stuck his credentials in the owner’s face and said, “Do you want to go home or do you want to go to jail?”
The man didn’t say a word.
“I said, ‘Do you––’”
“Home.”
“Then shut the fuck up.” Tassos got back in the car and blew the rental owner a kiss.
“Very nicely done,” said Kouros. “I’ve had wet dreams about doing something like that to some of those assholes. They’re out of control.”
Tassos pulled away, smiling as he did at the man he’d knocked off the bike.
“You can get away with just about anything on this island if you pay the right people” said Kouros.
“Didn’t use to be that way,” said Tassos.
“Well, it sure seems that way today,” said Kouros.
“It isn’t quite that bad,” said Andreas.
“Probably only because the limit hasn’t been tested yet,” said Kouros.
Fifty yards past the intersection, where a ramp to the left led up to a classic Mykonian hotel, the craziness of the intersection turned into sea views and old stone walls overlooking the sandy cove of Megali Ammos at the bottom of the hill. At the near end of the cove sat one of the last, and certainly most enchanting, old time beach tavernas on the island.
“Perfect choice,” said Andreas. Tassos nestled the car up against a fence on the left side of the road. “But I don’t think you can open your door.”
“No problem, I’ll slide across and get out on your side.” Tassos looked at Kouros in the back seat. “What, no wisecracks?”
Kouros opened his door. “Not after I saw what you did to that guy on the motorcycle…old man.”
Chapter Twelve
The bamboo-capped, white stone shack known as Joanna’s Place sat perched on the bottom of a waning crescent moon beach. Charming during the day, it turned downright ethereal at night in the silver moonlight reflected off the water.
The three cops made their way across the road to a narrow archway in a solid white wall forming the rear of the taverna. On each end of the taverna the wall dropped down to serve as the low border for the seaward side of the road, and together they wound away in both directions until out of sight.
Eight steps down from the road brought you back fifty years, to a time before the world had discovered Mykonos and Mykonians had not yet made dozens of other beaches readily accessible to visitors. Back then this was the place to come, and come they did. Even the Beatles and Pink Floyd ate here, though the music they heard––or one might hear on a chance evening today––was quite different from their own.
Off to the right stood a bar lined with wooden stools arranged so that patrons had to turn to get a peek of the sea through windows cut in walls. On the left sat the primary reasons for coming here: a huge kitchen and massive outdoor grill.
The half-dozen tables spread about inside were mostly empty, for here you came to sit outside on a covered stone patio running the length of the place, twenty feet from the edge of the sea. You could dip your feet in the water between courses.
Tassos embraced a smiling woman with short dark hair and a staunchly British accent. She promptly kissed and hugged Andreas and Kouros.
“Ah, the three musketeers have returned to Mykonos,” said Joanna.
“All evil should quake in its boots,” said Kouros.
“Let’s hope not,” she said. “On Mykonos that would bring on a major earthquake.”
They all laughed, and she led them to a table in the corner at the enclosed right end of the patio. “This should give you privacy and you’ll still have a great view of sunset.”
“Every table has a great view of sunset,” said Tassos.
Joanna smiled and patted Tassos on the shoulder. A young woman brought them water, a bottle of wine, and menus. “The wine is with my compliments. I’ll be back in a minute for your orders.”
All that separated the tables from the beach were a low white masonry wall running parallel to the sea and a few hand-hewn wooden pillars supporting the bamboo roof. A dozen handwoven wicker baskets from the nearby island of Tinos hung upside down from the ceiling, each fitted with a single bulb capable of casting just enough light to bring a pale glow to the room once sunlight was gone.
The only sound was the lapping of the sea against the shore. None of the incessant, pounding club music of virtually every other beach taverna at this sunset hour.
The sea shimmered in combinations of gun-metal blue, silver, and gold against a backdrop of vermilion skies and shadowy forms of distant islands. Except for a lone white church with a blood-red roof on the tiny island of Baou at the entrance to the bay, nothing in view suggested that the hand of man had played a part in any of this––unless of course you looked sharply to the left or right. But no one here did that. This was a place for remembering simpler times as you watched a glowing orange ball fade below the horizon.
Tassos broke the silence. “I first came here forty years ago. I was with my wife. In my mind, this place hasn’t changed that much.” He paused. “Come to think of it, my wife hasn’t either.”
He poured wine for the others and himself. “Yamas.”
“You still think of her?” said Kouros.
Tassos smiled. “You’re only asking that question because you haven’t yet found the love of your life. Otherwise you’d know the answer.” He took a sip of wine. “My memories of my wife are like that ring you wear of your father’s. With you always, even if you don’t think about it. Then comes a time when you notice…and remember…and forget again…until the next time.”
Kouros spun the ring on his finger. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound insensitive. I just thought what with you and Maggie…” He let his voice trail off.
Tassos smiled. “No offense taken. I understand. And yes, Maggie is very special to me, but my wife will always remain in my thoughts as that young woman she was on the day that she died.” Tassos gulped down the rest of the wine and smacked the glass on the table. “Theos singhorese tin.”
Kouros and Andreas did the same, “God forgive her soul.”
Tassos filled the glasses again, and lifted his, “And to Yianni’s father.”
“Theos singhorese tin.” They toasted and went back to staring in silence at the sunset.
“What’s more, these days Joanna’s is just about the only place on the island where I can afford to eat. That is, if I were paying.” Tassos winked at Andreas.
“The island’s changed so much since I first came here,” said Kouros. “I can’t imagine how different it must seem to you.”
Tassos nodded. “Some say it’s changed for the better, others for the worse. But it’s definitely changed a lot. Especially after the sun goes down. In mid-summer I don’t recognize this place at night anymore.”
“And with the likes of Sergey showing up, it’s in for a hell of a lot more changes,” said Andreas.
Tassos picked up his wineglass. “Foreigners aren’t responsible for what’s happened on Mykonos. Mykonians control it, they get the credit as well as t
he blame.”
“Maybe,” said Andreas. “But if they let Russian mob types get a foothold here, they’re in for a whole different kind of grief. Things won’t run the same way. It will be bloody.”
“Yeah, but who’s going to be dumb enough to let them in?” said Kouros.
Tassos smirked. “With so many big time property owners in deep shit with their banks, unpaid taxes, and loan sharks, it’s only a matter of time before some of them start accepting offers they think will make them healthy again. And from past experience, for sure some of them won’t give a damn about what it might mean for the future of the island as long as it puts money in their pockets.”
“Hey, if you really want to play the cynic, my friend, be a real one,” said Andreas. “Why should any oligarch with big ideas and a bank account to match waste his time negotiating with property owners? No matter how bad a jam they’re in or lousy the economy, they think their property is worth whatever they say it is. The smart move is forget about them, buy up some nearly bankrupt bank that holds their mortgages and start foreclosing. Soon you’ll own half the island. Yamas.”
The men clinked glasses.
“From what I’ve been reading in the papers, I think the technical term for that sort of financial situation is a ‘fucking mess,’” said Kouros.
“Depends,” said Tassos. “Others would call it ‘opportunity.’”
“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” said Joanna armed with a pen and pad in hand, “but have you decided yet?”
“Uhh, no, we’ve been too busy taking in the view,” said Tassos.
“And holding hands,” said Kouros.
“No problem. Happens all the time. Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of ordering the appetizers. You just have to figure out what else you want.”
“Fish,” said Tassos.
“Barbouni,” said Andreas.
“And octopus,” added Kouros.
“The octopus is already coming. I’ll get the red mullet on the grill and we’ll keep going from there. Okay?”
Mykonos After Midnight Page 9
