Island Casualty

by D. R. Ransdell

  “But he’s willing to destroy anyone who gets in his way.”

  Soumba stared at me as if I’d switched to Chinese. “Who would get in his way? You don’t understand, Andy. Panos generates income for the island. I have no reason to discourage him. It’s like drinking Amirosian Sunset. The soda is crap, but buying it supports a local enterprise.”

  “What about Panos’ thugs?”

  “Thugs? What is ‘thugs’?”

  “Those tough guys who work for him.”

  “Bah! They pretend to be strong, but one punch and they’d be on the floor.”

  I repositioned myself on the chair. “So you don’t care what Panos does?”

  Soumba waved his hand through the air. “If Panos shipped the drugs, I’d stop him. But he sells jewelry, little statues, fruit.”

  “Fruit?” Rachel asked.

  “Is against the codes. But I don’t get sick, and we get the great figs.”

  “Do you think Hari was working for Panos?”

  “What?”

  “The dead guy,” I said. “He could have been working for Panos.”

  “Tzt. That guy killed himself.”

  “He must have had a reason.”

  “People don’t kill themselves for business.”

  “They do in Japan,” Rachel said. “I’ve read stories about it.”

  Soumba nodded. “Maybe the Japanese. Not the Greeks. They kill themselves for passion. Something from inside.” He touched his heart. “The other things don’t matter.” He grabbed a beat-up, portable black phone that was nestled in its cradle on the wall next to the sink. “Excuse me a moment.”

  He pushed a button that automatically dialed a number. “Lascar? Right.... Sounds good. In case.”

  Soumba pushed another button and then counted the rings. “Sometimes Petros falls asleep,” he explained. The phone rang ten times. “Petros! Yes, I know it’s boring. But have you seen anything? Have you been sleeping or watching?”

  Soumba set down the phone. “Petros is outside Eleni’s house. But if something suspicious happens, chances are he’ll sleep through it. So where were we? Oh, yes. Passion.”

  “I can’t imagine being upset enough to kill myself,” Rachel said.

  “Then you don’t know the passion.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to.”

  “Bah! What do I know?” Soumba’s yawn cut into his smile. “I have the same wife for twenty years.”

  “That sounds like a good relationship to me,” Rachel said.

  Soumba shook his head so long from side to side I thought he’d get dizzy. “We get used to each other. That is all. But come on. I show you a place to sleep.”

  We trailed him with our overnight bags to a girl’s room on the upper floor. High shelves held dolls dressed in costumes from different countries. The walls displayed posters of American pop singers I didn’t recognize. Perfume bottles were assembled on a hand-painted chest of drawers. Romance novels were stacked in the corner. A frilly white curtain billowed over a single bed.

  “My daughter’s room,” he said. “Since she’s not here, she won’t mind.”

  “Thanks so much,” Rachel said. “I appreciate your taking the extra time with us.”

  “Time is not the problem.” Soumba straightened a fold on the throw rug. “It is wrong that you had to leave the house of Eleni. This is the best we can do. But tonight you will rest comfortably. The slightest noise wakes me up.”

  “Surely you don’t think anyone followed us to your house,” Rachel said.

  “Tzt. I know nothing.” He pointed down the hall. “There are clean towels in the bathroom. Help yourselves.”

  “Great service,” Rachel smiled.

  “There’s only one small bed though—ha!” He clapped his hands. “I hope you can manage!”

  As he left, he closed the door. We stared at it like a couple of cats who have been kicked out of the house and wonder what happened. Rachel winked, slipped off her shoes, and sat on the bed.

  I sat beside her. “This is so weird. He tells us to forget about what happened today, but then he puts us up for the night. I don’t understand if he thinks we’re in danger or not.”

  “If he knows, maybe he’d rather not say.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Rachel played with the folds of the bed cover. “Do you mind sitting in the dark? After being in the spotlight all night, I like the change.”

  I flipped the switch. A thin stream of moonlight came in from the window and streaked across my foot.

  “Rachel, what do you think of Soumba?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “He’s judgmental. He makes snaps decisions.”

  “He knows enough about the island to do so.”

  “You have to admit that he’s closed-minded. He doesn’t consider any possibilities besides the ones he’s thought of.”

  “That’s what most men do.”

  Ouch. I probably deserved it, but the comment still hurt.

  “He knows more about this island than anyone else does,” Rachel said. “He’s been the police chief since Loukanides, who was his distant uncle, had a heart attack. That was some ten years ago. Soumba doesn’t even take vacation. He wants to be available when any of the islanders need him, and he wants to know what’s going on.”

  I swatted at a mosquito, but it was several times quicker than I was. “When I told Soumba about Panos, he ignored me.”

  “What difference does it make what Panos is selling? He’s doing business.”

  “I thought there was bad blood between the Greeks and the Turks.”

  “There’s bad blood between the politicians. Do you honestly think the people are that different from one another? Turkey is two miles away. And whether you knew it or not, you sat there playing Turkish music all night long. Remember all those songs in minor keys? Few originated in this country.”

  “You’re right.” I wasn’t sure she was right, but I didn’t want to argue.

  “Besides, maybe Soumba didn’t believe your story any more than I did.”

  Her words echoed through the air.

  “You said you overheard some guys on the beach, but you came back to the house in dry clothes, and your trunks are still flapping on Eleni’s clothesline, which is where I hung them up for you.”

  Whoops. Rule One. When you stretch the truth, make sure people can’t catch you at it.

  “Do you think it would be okay if we smoked in here?”

  Rachel pushed past me to reach the window adjacent to the bed. After fumbling for a few seconds, she managed to unhook the screen. She pointed outdoors. “There’s your ashtray. Don’t dodge the subject.”

  “Soumba doesn’t know where my trunks are.”

  “No, but I’m sure he has lots of practice at judging whether people are lying or not. Where’s my cigarette?”

  I reached for my shirt before realizing the pocket was empty. “Sorry. We finished them downstairs. I think there were some more on the table.”

  Rachel started to stand, but I caught her arm.

  “That’s okay. I just want to talk.”

  “You call this talking?”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Circling.” She sat so far from me that I couldn’t reach for her. “What did you do all afternoon?”

  “I drove around.”

  She nodded in exaggeration. “Sure, Andy. You drove around. You know what? You’re not even a good liar. If you ever get married, which I doubt at this point, don’t even think about having an affair. You’d never get away with it.”

  “I drove to Panos’ house.”

  She stretched onto her side, facing me but staying out of reach. “So now you think you’re a detective? Why can’t you let Soumba do his job?”

  I traced a moonbeam with my finger as it graced the edge of the bed. I felt foolish about everything I’d done the entire afternoon.

  “I was trying to protect you and the others. I was trying
to do the right thing.”

  “You don’t seem to have any idea what that might be.”

  “Rachel, please don’t be mad at me.”

  For several long seconds she watched me without speaking. I put my hand gently on her leg, but she pretended not to notice.

  “Why didn’t you at least take Nikos with you?”

  I wanted to tell her the truth, that I hadn’t wanted to put him at risk, but by now the strategy seemed naïve rather than cautious.

  Rachel shook her head as if I were a small boy who’d disobeyed. “I’m not mad at you. I’m disappointed.”

  “I’m sorry I got us into this. I’m sorry I talked to Hari at the café. I’m sorry—”

  “Shut up, Andy. You don’t even know what to be sorry about.”

  Her face was hard and judgmental. I was starting to feel angry too. It should have been a simple evening: go to the bedroom, get into bed, start playing around. It wasn’t that much to ask for.

  “Enlighten me, Rachel. And stop pouting.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. The truth is that my friends and I have shown you friendship, but you haven’t shown us trust.”

  “Rachel, I don’t even trust myself.”

  “Put it on your list of things to learn.”

  “Rachel, I’m in the dark without any direction.”

  “If you’re too stubborn to let people help you, you probably won’t get one.”

  She curled up and turned away from me.

  I sat in the dark watching moonlight dance on her legs.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next morning I woke up alone. I had no sense of how long I’d slept or when Rachel had gotten up, but I wasn’t relaxed enough to fall back to sleep.

  I wished I could. In the daylight, the bedroom was alarmingly pink. The walls were a faint shade, but the sheets were bright pink and the bedspread pink with cherry. I imagined myself in a nightmare where I’d not only gone back in time but changed genders.

  When I ventured downstairs, I found Rachel putzing around in the kitchen. As usual, my eyes focused on the contours of her muscular legs. She wore short shorts and a red tank top that dipped low enough to trigger my imagination, but she hadn’t dressed especially for me. She was wearing normal daytime garb and acting as if it were no big deal to wake up in a police chief’s house.

  There was no sign of Soumba, but the table had been halfway prepared for breakfast. Clean plates had been set out along with a bag of rolls and a jar of orange marmalade. Rachel handed me a note and stopped whistling long enough to say, “I can’t make out the handwriting.”

  I could barely make it out myself. The letters were long and tall, but they looped into one another. “‘Warn out ... ’ No. ‘Warm up the coffee. Help yourselves. Will have my men at Eleni’s, but you come back here tonight. Will send Lascar for you later.’”

  “Very sweet,” said Rachel as she put cups of coffee in the microwave.

  “They don’t have any leads. They have no idea who was after us.”

  “No.” Rachel picked up the portable phone and showed me the crack down its side. “Think Soumba can’t afford a new one?”

  “He’s probably too busy to shop. Who do you want to call?””

  “Eleni.”

  She rang Olga’s before locating Eleni at her own house. “How did it go?”

  For a minute she listened intently. Then she consulted her watch. “Okay. That sounds good.” She hung up.

  “Is Petros guarding the property?”

  “Not efficiently. He’s having coffee with Nikos and Eleni.”

  “He’s supposed to be watching the house.”

  She handed me a cup. “He’s watching from the inside.”

  “Do you get the feeling Soumba and his staff aren’t taking us seriously?”

  “No. I have the feeling they’ve never dealt with this kind of thing and don’t know what to do. I mean, this is Amiros! The most vicious thing that happens here is usually gossip. By the way, Eleni said your brother called at the café last night. He was trying to reach you.”

  My phone was in my bag, but I’d let the battery go dead.

  “What did he want?”

  “He left a quick ‘hello.’ He said for you to get in touch.”

  “I’ll call in a few hours. He always gets up early.”

  “Right.”

  I blew on the coffee. “What would you like to do today?”

  She pulled apart a roll and spread jam on one corner. “This may seem strange, but I’d like to visit Letta to see how she’s getting along. Would you mind?”

  “Not at all.” I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it myself. “Do you know where they took her?”

  “I’m assuming she’s at the main hospital. It’s close to the port.” She started opening cabinets.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A phone book.”

  She found the hospital number and handed me the phone.

  “The receptionist is a friend of Eleni’s. You’d better call. They won’t know your voice.”

  The hospital receptionist pretended she didn’t know anything about a Letta who had nearly drowned, but she hesitated long enough for me to know she was lying.

  “Letta’s there,” I said, “but it sounds like they’re protecting her from visitors.”

  “The girl attempted suicide,” Rachel said. “Maybe they treat those situations differently. Or maybe they’re afraid she might throw herself out the window.”

  “I doubt if it’s that drastic, but you probably have to be family to see her,” I said.

  “You could say you’re a cousin who’s come from the States.”

  I looked up from my plate, expecting to catch Rachel in a wide grin. Instead she was perfectly serious. I did not want to spend the morning sneaking into a hospital room, but Rachel’s tone suggested that I didn’t have anything better to do.

  I tore open a roll, sending crumbs all over the floor. “We can try.”

  ***

  The hospital was an ornate limestone building four blocks northeast of the port. Rachel claimed that the configuration of leaves and branches carved in the stone above the front door dated the building from the 1950s or 1960s. I hoped the medical equipment wasn’t from the same time period.

  As we walked in, we saw a large sign with arrows pointing to Gynecology, Emergency, and General. We steered towards General, which was on the third floor.

  The elevator opened to a U-shaped nurses’ station with a computer console. No one was at the desk, but long halls shot off to the right and left. Rachel headed right.

  As quietly as possible I chased after her. “We don’t know the room number.”

  “The names are listed on the charts.”

  Sure enough, charts hung from each heavy, wooden door.

  We were sneaking down the second corridor when a young nurse caught up with us. She was young, attractive, and composed. Her shoulder-length fair fell complacently against her uniform. She didn’t seem nonplussed that we were the only visitors around.

  “May I help you?” She asked us first in Greek and then immediately translated herself into English.

  “We came to see Letta,” Rachel said, “the one who hurt her legs and almost drowned.”

  “I’m sorry. Only family is allowed to see her.”

  Before Rachel could launch into some story about my being a long-lost uncle, I cut her off. “We helped Letta out. At least I hope we did. We found her at Petronaki. We wanted to make sure she was doing all right.”

  The woman’s eyes widened as she relaxed from her authoritative stance. “You’re the ones who carried her up the hill?”

  “I helped the fellows from Kremaki.”

  “They told us all about it. By the time they reached the ambulance, they had practically collapsed themselves. They said some big American had helped them out.” She looked me over but stopped herself short before admitting I wasn’t the kind of “big” she had in mind.

&n
bsp; The woman pointed down the hall. “Letta’s over here. Since she’s asleep anyway, you might as well look in.”

  She led us down the hallway to an isolated room decorated with floral bouquets. To the left, a window admitted morning light while a cot held extra bedding. To the right, Letta slept in a bulky hospital bed. One leg was elevated in a sling and the other by pillows. Her neck was in a brace.

  “Oh, God,” whispered Rachel.

  “She had a hard fall,” said the nurse. “Ripped her knee apart and broke her ankle in two places. Her neck is strained. Naturally she got jostled a bit while being carried.”

  “Is she going to be okay?” asked Rachel.

  The nurse considered the question. “Her leg was hurt badly, but if she is careful, and follows our therapy program, she will recover well. Her ankle will always be weak, but it shouldn’t cause her to suffer.”

  “I guess I was thinking about her mental health,” Rachel said.

  The nurse closed her eyes as she shared a moment’s pain. “Time heals all. Perhaps she will find strength in prayer.”

  Rachel and I nodded reverently.

  “She’s on heavy medication. That’s why she’s asleep.” The nurse pointed to the cot. “Her mother’s been watching over her, but she’s gone out for lunch.”

  I worried a more authoritative nurse might happen along and end our discussion, so I dared being direct. “Would you say Letta’s angry?”

  Again the nurse paused. “She feels sorry for herself. She certainly has anger towards the people in her life—her boyfriend, her mother, her father.”

  “What about towards us?” I insisted.

  “Towards you specifically?”

  “We weren’t completely sure she wanted to be rescued.”

  The nurse set her arms on her hips. “At the time, she wasn’t thinking properly. No, I don’t believe she is angry at you. She realizes that what she did was ill-planned. That fall wouldn’t have killed her, and I don’t think she’d have had the strength to swim out to sea. She probably would have pulled herself onto the shore and lain there for a couple of days before anyone noticed. I’ve heard the story several times by now because she forgets whom she tells what. She regrets her actions, but as far as I can tell, she has no anger towards her rescuers.”