Target: Tinos ak-4

by Jeffrey Siger

  Megalochari Avenue was wide enough to accommodate two-way traffic, one line of parked cars, and a narrow lane partitioned off from the rest of the roadway by orange and white traffic cones for those choosing to crawl. Shops at the base of the hill sold whatever one might need for completing a pilgrimage; candles running from a few inches to several feet in length, metallic shapes called tama symbolizing the purpose of the pilgrimage, and everything else up to and including knee pads.

  The thirty-five degree grade up the one-half mile hill was steep enough to have Tassos pausing at each of the half-dozen intersecting streets.

  “Perhaps you’d like to crawl a bit?” said Andreas.

  “You think that’s easier in this heat? It must be a hundred degrees. Look at those poor women. I don’t see a man out there trying it today. We’re all wimps when it comes to that sort of thing.”

  “I see Maggie’s trained you well.”

  “Just you wait, mister newlywed.”

  Andreas’ phone rang. He looked at the number and answered. “You will live a thousand years. We were just talking about you.” He looked at Tassos. “It’s Maggie.” He held up the phone so Tassos could hear. “So, what do you have for us?”

  “I assume you two were saying only extraordinarily nice things.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good, then I’ll tell you the truth. All we have on the Ukrainian women are arrest records for prostitution and shoplifting. No one has seen either of them in weeks.”

  “That checks out with what the Greek hooker in Kordydallos told Yianni.”

  “That’s all I have for now. Hardly feel as if I earned my pay today. Say hello to my love. Bye.”

  Andreas put the phone back in his pocket. “She loves you.”

  “Good, let’s get up to the church already. The sun is killing me.”

  The upper part of the avenue was more park-like than the lower and ended at a broad flagstone plaza in front of the church. In a tree-shaded spot at the point where the carpeted lane ended, a massive bronze sculpture of a shrouded, faceless supplicant crawled life-like along a marble base toward the church, right arm outstretched ahead and reaching toward heaven.

  Off to the right, another avenue emptied into the plaza from the harbor, and across from each avenue a set of steps led up through a low white-capped stonewall onto a terrace spanning the front of the church. The terrace was as long as a soccer field, about half as wide, and covered in intricate mosaic geometric shapes and patterns created entirely out of black and white pebbles. A small sign on the wall

  separating the terrace from the church inside read simply SAINT PELAGIA SQUARE.

  The two cops crossed the plaza and took the steps to the right. A carpet resumed at the top of the steps. This one was crimson and twice as wide as the one running up the hill from the harbor. They followed it across the terrace and up another five steps through an intricately carved marble archway appointed with massive black wooden doors bearing carved golden images of the Virgin Mary and Archangel Gabriel.

  A broad, marble staircase started just beyond the doorway and ran up to the first level of the church. Andreas noticed that this staircase had three separate crimson runners and at the top fed into an upper, fully carpeted staircase leading to the Megalochari on the second floor. He wondered whether the sudden switch from one lane to three was in order to accommodate additional worshipers only wishing to crawl the final steps of their pilgrimage.

  At the top of the first staircase was the white marble courtyard of Panagia Evangelistria. Another staircase off to the left also led to the second floor. Andreas stared up at the facade. It was three-stories of elegant cream and white arches highlighted by discreet blazes of crimson. Arched porticos filled the first two levels and arched windows the third, all crowned by a tiara of more rolling arches surrounding intricate marble carvings. A simple marble cross was atop it all. To Andreas it looked like a giant wedding cake.

  Tassos and Andreas took the staircase to the right up to the second floor, turned left, and stopped just inside the middle of three doors to the right. They were now inside the tripartite, basilica-form Church of Panagia Evangelistria. Brilliantly colored icons and tapestries surrounded by gold and silver adorned every wall, and an elaborately carved, icon-clad marble pulpit seemed to float above the floor, but it was the silver and gold creations hanging everywhere that captured Andreas’ attention. Enormous chandeliers of crystal, silver, and gold hung amid rows of hundreds of similarly appointed icon lamps adorned with hanging gold and silver tama offerings of ships, homes, men, women, children, animals, parts of the body, and whatever else the pious brought into their prayers to the Megalochari.

  Off to the left behind a low, thin brass-tube fence flanked by massive, sand-filled brass candle stands stood an altar-like structure of carved white marble. The altar held four, fluted Corinthian columns, one on each corner, which in turn supported an ornately detailed four-sided entablature topped by a dome reminiscent of the one above Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome, at the other Vatican.

  The holy icon, enclosed within a silver case faced with glass and elaborately trimmed in gold, sat between the columns on a stand surrounded by fresh flowers and offerings of gold and gem encrusted cameos. The case was rectangular on three sides and arched at the top. The Megalochari rested inside the case, its back and sides enclosed within a golden frame, its front covered in relief gold plate encrusted with rings, medallions, brooches, earrings, precious stones, and pearls. The whole case was no more than three feet high, by two feet wide, by one-half foot deep-a simple thing to carry for anyone used to manual labor.

  Andreas stepped out onto the black and white checkerboard part of the marble floor and walked over to the icon. Guidebooks described it as portraying the Virgin Mary to the right, kneeling in a room with her head bent in prayer before a small, low stand. A book on the stand was open to the words she pronounced when the Archangel Gabriel announced to her that she would be the mother of Jesus. Facing the Holy Virgin and to the left, stood the illuminated figure of Archangel Gabriel holding the symbolic lily of purity in his left hand as, in the top center of the icon, the Holy Spirit descended from heaven in the form of a dove.

  At least that’s what you would see if the icon were not almost two thousand years old and covered in gold and precious gems. Andreas could barely make out where the faces of the Holy Virgin and Archangel Gabriel should be. No matter, he knew what was there and that was all that mattered. If he cared to see what it once looked like, a replica hung in the chapel immediately below where he stood, honoring the actual spot at which the holy icon was discovered. Andreas said a prayer, crossed himself, and kissed the glass protecting the Megalochari.

  “I’m not going to ask what you prayed for,” said Tassos.

  “Good.” Andreas pointed to a nearby tall rectangular shape draped in a crimson velvet cover. It was embroidered at eye level with an image of the Holy Virgin. “Want to bet that’s where they keep the Megalochari at night?”

  Andreas walked the few steps to the shape and ran his fingers along the right edge of the velvet. He felt two hinges, slid his hand across its face and felt a handle.

  “Very good detective work, Chief Inspector, you found our security system.” It was Eleni coming in through a side door behind him.

  “Hi, my love.” Tassos stepped forward and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice,” said Andreas.

  “Well, when uncle calls to say he’s walking up Megalochari Avenue to see me I know that it must be important.”

  “Hey, I exercise everyday.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Andreas.

  “Come, let me take you to my office. We can talk there.”

  Eleni’s office was in a separate wing of the complex, across a marble courtyard from the church and even farther away from the wing housing many of the Foundation’s most valuable museum collections.

  “Quite an operation you have here
,” said Andreas.

  “Yes, we’re very proud of what the Foundation has been able to achieve through the Blessed Virgin. Please, sit down.” She pointed to two chairs in front of her desk and waited for Tassos and Andreas to sit. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “Do you remember that card Andreas gave you at your father’s restaurant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  She laughed and looked at Andreas. “You want it back? Was it something I said or is our government in such deep financial trouble that you’re only allowed to loan them out, short term?”

  Andreas smiled. “No, we were just wondering what you might have done with it.”

  She shrugged. “What I do with all the business cards I receive. I gave it to my secretary to enter into my computerized address book.”

  “What happened to the actual card?”

  “I assume she threw it away, the same as she does with all the others.”

  “Could you please ask her what she did with mine?”

  “What is this all about?” said Eleni.

  “Please, just ask,” said Andreas.

  She looked at Tassos, “I’ll want an explanation, uncle.” Eleni picked up the phone and asked her secretary to come into the office. The secretary’s answers were simple and direct. She’d typed in the information and tossed Andreas’ card in the wastebasket. They had no paper shredder.

  After the secretary left Eleni said, “Okay, you got your answers. Now, please tell me why all the mystery over your business card?”

  “One of my cards turned up in a place it shouldn’t have and we wanted to know how it got there,” said Andreas.

  “Well, at least it wasn’t the one you gave me.”

  “Who picks up your trash?” said Andreas.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, he’s not,” said Tassos.

  “We have women who clean up every night. They take out the trash and put it in a dumpster for collection and disposal by the town.”

  “Are the women foreign?” said Andreas.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know the woman who collects your trash?” said Andreas.

  “It could be one of several.”

  This was looking more and more to be a waste of time, but Andreas took down the women’s names. He’d get Kouros to speak to them later.

  “Does this have to do with that Pakistani man who was found murdered at the dump last week?” she said.

  “Why do you ask?” said Andreas.

  “We’re not used to murders on Tinos. So, when right after you started asking questions about two killings another murder happened, it’s not that hard to make a connection.”

  “Yes,” said Tassos. “They’re related. It also appears there might be some connection to Filiki Eteria.”

  “How can that be? The Society hasn’t been active for close to two hundred years?”

  Andreas cleared his throat. “Well, seeing that your uncle has decided to share our innermost secrets with you, let me tell you a bit more.”

  “Still don’t trust me?”

  Andreas smiled. “Sorry, force of habit. Remember when we told you that an unusually high number of tough guy metanastes and tsigani had come to Tinos looking for work?”

  Eleni nodded.

  “Well, it appears someone’s been recruiting them to Tinos with promises of supplementing whatever they’re paid for their work as long as they behave themselves.”

  “Sounds like God’s work to me,” said Eleni. “Redemption is always available to the willing. But what’s the tie in to the Society?”

  “The one in charge apparently is called the ‘shepherd,’ and has ‘priests’ recruiting ‘brothers,’” said Andreas.

  Eleni nodded, “Same classifications as used by the Society.”

  “How did you know that?” said Tassos.

  “I actually studied in school, uncle. Besides, Tinos’ history is tied into it. There are families here who trace their ancestors back to Society membership. Some were even war heroes.”

  “Any whackos among the descendants,” said Tassos.

  “This is Tinos, uncle, everyone here has at least one ‘whacko’ in the family.”

  “Let me guess who qualifies for that title in yours,” said Andreas.

  Tassos flashed a quick open palm at Andreas. “Seriously, can you think of anyone in any of those families deranged or violent enough to be involved in this?”

  “Getting bad people to mend their ways?”

  “No,” said Andreas. “Murdering whoever gets in the way of whatever very bad things are planned to happen to your church at any moment.”

  “Did any one ever tell you that you do have a certain edge, Chief Inspector?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that before, but it’s called being direct and I don’t have time now to change.” He smiled. “But, please, call me Andreas.”

  Eleni nodded. “I’ll accept that as a gesture of your potential willingness to change. But the answer is still no, Andreas. There are many, shall I say, idiosyncratic types on our island. We have always attracted the artists and the unusual. I would not know where to begin. Do you have any particular family in mind?”

  Tassos said, “What about the ones who own that metanastes bar?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Tassos gave Petros’ name.

  “Oh, yes, they would definitely qualify as,” she paused, “eccentric. And their family also descends from one of the most heroic names in our War of Independence.”

  “Were they members of the Society?” said Andreas.

  “Absolutely. Leaders.”

  “Could they be involved in this?” said Andreas.

  “If you’ve met the family I don’t see how you could think that. Petros is exactly what you see, his sister is practically catatonic all the time, and Trelos is on another planet 24/7.”

  “Trelos? That means ‘crazy.’ Who’d call their kid Trelos?” said Andreas.

  “It’s what everybody calls the younger son. His real name is Pandeleis. He’s not all there. You might have seen him dancing through the town or along a highway with his iPod. He must walk the entire island at least once a day listening to his music.”

  “Should keep him in shape,” said Andreas.

  “What’s he look like?” said Tassos.

  “He’s about five-feet six-inches tall, one hundred forty pounds, has long, curly brown hair and usually dresses all in black. Trust me, if you spend any time on the island, sooner or later Trelos will dance on by you.”

  Tassos nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen him. Just never knew his name.”

  “He keeps to himself, make that his own world.”

  “How long has he been on Tinos?” said Andreas.

  “Since he was born. He’s probably in his mid-forties. His brother and sister take care of him.”

  Tassos shrugged. “Well, it was a shot.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help but there are hundreds of families on Tinos with an ancestor somehow tied into the Society. Any more questions?”

  “Only one,” said Andreas. “If you were going to steal the most valuable thing on this island, how would you go about doing it?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Kouros was on Tinos early enough in the afternoon to have spoken to what seemed every taxi driver on the island before finding one who said he recognized the Greek hookers.

  The driver was about fifty and stood next to his cab staring at the picture of the two coming out of the bar. “Better believe I recognize them. I still think of them every time I do it with my wife.”

  “How did you meet them?”

  “They called my dispatcher looking for a taxi to take them to a bar.”

  “What bar?”

  “Some piece of shit tsigani hangout.”

  “Have an address?”

  “It’s not the kind of place that has an address.”

  “How did you find i
t?”

  “They had a piece of paper with directions on it.”

  “Anything else on the paper?”

  “Yeah, directions to where I picked them up.”

  “How’d you know where to find them?”

  “They read the directions to my dispatcher. It was simple. I took a left off the highway just past the first cutoff to Volax and kept going until I saw a house. Never knew one was there. People build in the damnedest places these days.”

  “Any idea who owns the place?”

  “Not a clue, but there was a ‘for rent’ sign on the front door. Looked like one of those places Germans build in the hope of retiring there some day. Probably rent it out whenever they can to cover expenses.”

  “Was there a phone number on the sign?”

  “Don’t remember, but there must have been.”

  Kouros muttered, “damn” under his breath. “What are those directions again?”

  The driver smiled. “Hop in, I’ll give you a good rate.”

  The ride to the house took twenty minutes, during which Kouros heard in exhausting detail every word the driver had said to the women between picking them up at the house and dropping them off at the bar. Despite Herculean efforts on the driver’s part to convince them they would have a much better time partying with him and his friends than going to that bar, the women did not say a single word to him the entire trip. They talked between themselves as if he weren’t even there. Kouros almost felt sorry enough for the guy to tell him not to take it personally, it wasn’t about him; the women were on a mission.

  The house was just where the driver said it would be, and virtually invisible from any road but the one they were on. There was a car parked by the front door and Kouros had the driver honk so as not to alarm whoever was inside. It turned out to belong to the owners. Not Germans, but a French couple. The driver had guessed right about the rental part though. They’d rented out the house for the week the two Greek hookers stayed there.

  A woman had phoned them in France and said that she saw the sign on their house while trekking along a trail that ran by it. She wanted to rent it for a week, starting immediately. The rent was paid in advance through a cash deposit made directly into a bank account the couple maintained on Tinos. They didn’t know the woman but said she spoke French with a decided Greek accent. Her name was a strange sounding one, and the husband couldn’t remember it. The wife said she thought she’d marked it down somewhere and found it in her calendar. She showed the name to Kouros: Manto Mavrogenous.