Tom shook his head. 'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' and went back to drinking quietly.
Annika leaned over and whispered in his ear, 'Thank you,' and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled without turning his head.
Panos said, 'Annika, I'd like you to meet my son.' She turned around to look in front of the bar but saw no one who looked like Panos.
'He's behind you.'
She turned to see the dark-haired boy behind the bar smiling at her. 'My name is Yiorgos — call me George. My father said I can talk to you.' A chorus of Greek chants along the line of 'It's time for the younger generation to have a shot at her' made her smile.
'So, let's talk,' she said, and broadened her smile.
'Not here. There.' He pointed to the dance floor.
She nodded, slid off the stool, and pressed through the crowd toward the rear. He walked in pace with her from behind the bar. They met at the end. He took her hand and pulled her into the crowd. It was body upon body upon body. She felt that, here, your body was no longer your own; it belonged to the crowd. His hands were around her waist, then on her ass. They were belly to belly moving to the music. The music pulsed and he thrusted. It felt good to have a man so close.
He dropped his hand to below her skirt and touched her bare ass. She let him. He moved his hand toward where only a bit of thong protected her and she twisted away. He persisted and she pushed him back. He gave a 'can't blame me for trying' grin, and they went back to dancing. She let him grind at her crotch with his. She knew she was building expectations she was not prepared to meet — at least not tonight — but it felt so good. When he tried to move his hand inside her again she said she wanted to get a drink. He told her he'd wait for her and started dancing with another woman who appeared not to have Annika's reservations.
Her bar stool was still available. 'I watched it for you,' said Tom without looking up.
'Thanks.' She let out a deep breath and reached for the wineglass in front of her. She paused. It had been sitting open at the bar. Anyone could have put something in it.
'I watched that too.' He sipped his own wine without looking at her.
She smiled. 'Thanks,' she said, and took a drink.
'You're some dancer Annika.'
'Thank you,' she said, not quite sure what else to say.
He spoke softly without looking at her. 'I once dreamt I lived on the edge of a wild amusement park, some place where any time I wanted, day or night, I simply stepped over the edge into the midst of my deepest fantasy, enjoyed my time there, and stepped back again unharmed.'
Maybe he's had too much to drink, she thought.
'That's Mykonos — a mad fantasy. It's not real. You might think it is when you're here, but it's not.' He sipped his drink again. 'But, then again, it's not completely the place of my dream. There I wandered about invisibly, taking in only the energy I chose and returning safely and unharmed to my reality whenever I wanted. Be careful of this fantasy, Annika, for here there's definite harm afoot.'
Before she could respond, Yiorgos was next to her, grabbing her arm. 'Come, let's go.'
'Go, go where?'
He seemed in no mood for talk. 'To watch the sunrise.' He pulled at her arm.
She pulled it away. 'I'd rather stay.' Her voice was sharp.
'We're going to close soon. It's after five.' His voice was impatient.
'I still prefer to stay.'
He tugged again.
'Yiorgos, stop.' She looked around for someone to say something to him, but none of the once-so-attentive patrons seemed to notice.
He leaned over, kissed her hard, and tried to shove his hand between her legs.
She slapped his face. He slapped her back. His eyes were on fire. Still no one seemed to notice. In Greek, he called her a miserable, cock-teasing whore and stormed out of the bar.
Only then did someone speak. It was Panos. 'I apologize for my son. He has a bad temper. Let me show you home.'
She was shaking. She couldn't believe what just happened. None of these people who'd been so very nice to her had said a word or lifted a hand to help her. 'No, no, thank you. Very kind, I'll get home okay.' She was ready to cry.
'Please, let me take you home.' Panos called to the remaining boy behind the bar for a glass of water. 'Here, drink this.'
Her hand was trembling as she took it and brought it toward her lips.
At that moment Tom said, 'Good night, everyone,' and got up from his bar stool. He stumbled and fell onto Annika, causing her to spill the water all over her dress. 'Oh, I'm so sorry. I apologize. I had too much to drink.'
Panos said nothing. Nor did he offer her another glass of water. He just glared at Tom.
'I better go too,' she said. She quickly thanked Panos for everything and hurried out the door after Tom.
She fell into step beside him. 'What was all that about? The speech — and the spilled water?'
'Nothing, just me rambling drunk and then stumbling drunk.' He didn't seem that drunk.
'Where are you going?' She sounded anxious.
'To the taxi stand and home.' He kept walking forward without looking at her.
'Where do you stay?' She kept talking and walking wherever he was headed. She didn't want to be alone right now.
'I rent a house from a farmer out beyond Ano Mera. Have been staying there summers for thirty years.'
The taxi stand was by the harbor on the opposite end of town from the bus station.
There were a lot of people in line, and she stood with him while he waited. He talked about his art. She talked about growing up in Holland, her miserable boyfriend, and how she should let her parents know where she was. He said that was a good idea, but guessed she wasn't quite ready to give up on her 'fantasy' search. She smiled and said he was probably right.
When it was his turn for a cab, he insisted she take it instead. He opened the door and told the driver in perfect Greek that she was a friend, and not to charge her like a tourist.
Annika said good night and got into the taxi, but she knew she was too upset over tonight's bad experience with another disappointing man to face going back to her room. She knew she'd fall apart.
The driver asked her in English, 'Where to, miss?'
She looked out the window at the harbor and wanted to cry.
'Please, take me where I can watch the sunrise. I'll pay you double for your time.'
'No problem. I know just the place.' He was driving on a part of the island she'd never seen before. She'd thought he was headed east to Lia Beach, where her mother and she often swam, but he'd turned and headed north. He was on a mountain by some military installation. It was almost first light — that moment when the world seemed to come alive again with the seductive promise of a fresh start. She needed this. She needed this badly.
He turned onto a deeply rutted road and they bounced along for a few minutes until finding level ground. In a saner moment, she never would have dreamt of doing this — allowing a total stranger to take her to a deserted beach. Maybe the artist was right and she was ignoring reality in search of some fantasy. Too late now, but thankfully, the driver didn't seem interested in her. He hadn't said a word the whole time.
'Here we are, miss.' He stopped and pointed straight ahead. 'I'll wait here. If you need me, just yell.'
He didn't get out of the taxi. She didn't mind.
The hard ground where he'd parked soon changed to sand. She almost broke a heel. She took off her stilettos and walked barefoot across the dunes toward some sort of structure at the far end of the beach. Dawn was about to break and she started running. Then faster and faster and faster. No goal in mind, no place in mind, just running to wherever the light took her. It was by the structure that she stopped.
She looked at the small, isolated house, totally dark inside, with no sign of life. Then she turned toward the sea and watched light fly at the horizon as if it were alive. Annika flung her shoes in the air and started running again toward the light. She pulled her dress over her hea
d and let it drop to the sand as she ran. When she reached the water, she stepped out of her thong and threw it back in the direction of her dress. Naked, she waded out to above her ankles. She paused, and stood very still, her eyes fixed on the light spreading across the sea.
The wind was light, the air was warm, the sea cold. She shut her eyes. She needed release. She needed to feel free, in charge of herself, in charge of her body. She needed her life back.
Feeling the sun on her body, Annika gently lowered herself onto her back. She lay still for a moment in the shallow, lapping water — her eyes still tightly closed — then slowly rolled farther out. Over and over she rolled until it was deep enough for her to swim. For fifteen minutes she swam as hard as she could remember swimming. She burst back onto the beach and thrust a fist above her head. 'Yes!' she yelled as if she'd just scored a goal. Her old self was back — enough with the fantasy and self-pity. 'Yes!' she yelled again and thrust her other fist in the air.
Perhaps it was her renewed appreciation for reality, but whatever the reason, she sensed she wasn't alone — and hadn't been for quite some time. But where were the watching eyes? She saw no one on the beach or in the house. The taxi driver? Possibly, but it could be anyone, maybe a soldier with binoculars from the base on that mountain. Whatever, she couldn't do anything about it now, and besides, 'I feel great!' she yelled to whoever was there.
She let the sea breeze dry her body, dressed, and walked back to the taxi. The driver was sitting where she'd left him. She gave him the name of her hotel, and he drove her there. She paid what she'd promised, and he said, 'Thank you.' The only words he'd uttered the entire trip back from the beach. Weird for a Greek man, she thought. But so what? She was back at her hotel, safe and sound at last.
7
Andreas had fallen into a routine. He'd wake an hour and a half before sunrise, dress in running shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers, do sit-ups and push-ups while his coffee brewed, gather what he planned to wear that day, and drive the five minutes from his rented house on the Paradise Beach road to police headquarters; where he'd park and jog the hundred yards onto the airport runway. At that hour only airport security and cleaning crews were around, and as chief of police, Andreas could go where he pleased.
He liked jogging inside the perimeter fence at sunrise. It gave him time to think, something you dared not do if you were crazy enough to attempt jogging on Mykonos roads — especially at sunrise. That was when the drunkest of the drunk returned from beach clubs and bars. The worst accidents took place during those hours, and heaven help the seriously injured awaiting an emergency helicopter flight to Athens. After his run he'd return to headquarters, shower, and ask the officer in charge to brief him on the 'fresh hells' to confront from the night before.
For the moment, his thoughts were on the wonder of the Mykonos morning light. It never ceased to amaze him how its pale, rose-blue magic somehow brought the island's rock-edged hills and bright white structures into graceful harmony. If only it could last, he thought, but hard light always came, bringing on the heat. Later, when siesta was over and dusk had arrived, the light changed again, with every color competing for your eye. Every vessel, every soaring bird, every stroller in the port, and every lamppost lining the harbor seemed to stand alone and yet — somehow — fit together against the horizon.
Sort of like a 3-D movie, thought Andreas, bringing himself back to the reality of his day.
There hadn't been a break on the Vandrew case. His men had shown her picture at all the likely places, but no one had seen her — or would admit to it if they had. She wasn't listed on any airline passenger list, and ferries kept no records of passenger names. Nor had they turned up anything so far in any of the tourist logs hotels were required to maintain and regularly turn over to the police. That was no surprise. No one enforced the requirement. The bigger hotels complied, the unlicensed rooms didn't, and everything in between was a maybe. Besides, none of the records were on computer so no one ever bothered to look at them unless there was a reason tied to a specific person at a specific hotel. Many simply were tossed to make room for other things.
Andreas pushed himself a little harder on his second lap around the perimeter. He assumed Vandrew arrived sometime during the two weeks preceding what the coroner fixed as her latest probable time of death. With the average tourist stay at three days, and 30,000 licensed beds to report, there theoretically were 140,000, mostly handwritten hotel entries to review for that period — assuming she was reported. Good luck finding her that way. He jogged back to the station.
Andreas had showered, and dressed and was having his second cup of coffee when the officer at the front desk called to tell him someone was there to see him — an Albanian who said he'd 'only talk to the chief.' Andreas went down to meet him, a short, slim man, about thirty, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans. He looked tired and nervous. 'You want to see me?' Andreas used his official tone.
'Yes, sir.' The man's eyes jumped back and forth between Andreas and the other policemen. 'Cousin say to trust you.'
'Who's your cousin?'
'Alex. He find body in church.'
He had Andreas' interest. Andreas led him up to his office and had him sit across from his desk. He left the door open — just in case — and smiled to try to make the man comfortable. 'So, why did you want to see me?'
The man's voice cracked as he spoke. 'Alex say I can trust you,' he repeated as if reassuring himself that he could. 'He say you fair and did not hurt him.'
Andreas just listened.
'I knew the girl.'
Andreas hoped his expression didn't show his excitement. He let him go on.
He spoke quickly in broken Greek. 'She stay at hotel I work nights. I know her from picture police show me.'
'Why didn't you tell that to the police officer when he showed you the photograph?' Andreas already knew the answer.
'I afraid.'
Andreas nodded. An honest answer.
'Because boss not want me say anything.' A surprising answer. 'I did not want lose job.' He was shaking now. Andreas offered him some water, and he took a drink. 'When police showed me picture I know it her but my boss not put her in book.'
His boss was stealing from the tax office — another Mykonos tradition.
'Then police speak to boss and he say she murdered.' He was rocking back and forth in the chair.
Andreas perked up but maintained his steady, official tone. 'How did your boss know that?' His men had been instructed not to say she was dead.
'He say everyone on Mykonos know girl found murdered and if police show picture of girl it had to be her.' His voice was slightly calmer though he continued to rock.
Sort of like trying to hide an elephant under a tablecloth, thought Andreas.
'He say he want no trouble with police and to say nothing.' He stopped rocking and started clasping and unclasping his hands.
'Why are you telling me this now?' Andreas asked, looking for a motive.
'I like her, she nice to me,' he said, his voice cracking this time.
Andreas knew there had to be more of a reason than that. Giving his best all-knowing look he said, 'And?'
The man started rocking again. 'I know Alex found her. I tell him what boss say. He say must tell you.' He paused. 'Because you will find out and I be in big trouble.'
God bless those who overestimate how much police know — and can find out — Andreas thought. 'And?' His voice was more forceful this time.
The man started to shake again. 'No more, that only reason.'
Andreas decided not to press him. He'd leave that to Kouros, who spoke some Albanian. He'd remain the good cop on this one. Andreas picked up the phone and called Kouros. He met Kouros at the doorway and whispered what the man had said and what he wanted Kouros to do.
Andreas introduced the man to Kouros as if the man were his friend. 'Officer Kouros, this man has been a great help to us. Please take his statement and make sure no one lets his boss know he wa
s here.'
Kouros turned to the man and nodded. 'Where do you work, sir?' he asked in Albanian.
'The Hotel Adlantis.'
It took about an hour of good-cop, bad-cop to get the man frightened enough to tell what else he knew. Another hour until Andreas was convinced the man wasn't lying, and another thirty seconds for Andreas and Kouros to be out the door racing toward the hotel. Annika hadn't slept well. She felt uncomfortable in the room. She wanted to get out and decided to sleep on the beach. She threw her things into a beach bag, put on a tank top and a pair of shorts, and headed out the door, flopping along in her sandals.
It was still very early for Mykonos. She'd slept only a couple of hours. She couldn't believe how different this walk to the bus station was from her last. The streets were deserted. She laughed and shook her head as a police car went screaming by her. No one on the roads and still they drive with sirens blaring. Boys never grow up, she thought.
There was only one bus, marked 'Paradise.' She smiled. That's just where she wanted to be. Andreas was in no mood for niceties. He told the woman behind the counter he wanted to speak to the owner. She said he was out and wasn't sure when he'd be back. He told her that in ten minutes either the owner was here talking to them or his officers started knocking on doors and talking to every guest in the hotel. His choice. Ilias was there in five.
'Ilias Batesakis?' Andreas' tone was as stern as his look.
'Yes.' His voice was neutral.
'Is there a place we can talk privately?'
Ilias showed him and Kouros into the small office next to the reception counter and closed the door.
Andreas stared at him, saying nothing. Without moving his eyes from Ilias he held out his hand, and Kouros handed him a photograph. 'Have you ever seen this woman before?'
Ilias looked at the photo with no emotion. 'As I told your officers last night, no, not in my life.'
'It's time to rethink your answer.'
'Who do you think you're talking to?' Ilias raised his voice. 'You come into my place of business, frightening my help and threatening me. I am a cousin of the mayor.'
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