An Aegean April

by Jeffrey Siger

  “It also plays into the hands of those who like labeling refugees as terrorists and criminals.”

  “So, who do you think had the greatest motive and opportunity for pulling this off?”

  “There’s so much money being made off refugees on all sides, I’m afraid that list is endless.”

  “We’ve got to start somewhere.”

  “Okay, where do you suggest?” said Yianni.

  “Talk to the McLaughlin woman.”

  Yianni voice dropped. “Oh.”

  “Don’t sound so enthusiastic. She won’t be back on Lesvos until Monday. You can talk to her by phone on Tuesday. No need to interfere with your Easter plans.”

  “Thanks.”

  “One last thing. What about the murder weapon?”

  “It hasn’t been found, but it must be an awesome sword to have done what it did.”

  “I’ll take that to mean it wasn’t the sort of machete you’d pick up at a local hardware store.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “That may be the break we’re looking for.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Our murderer’s likely too fond of his sword to part with it. Assassins generally use generic, untraceable weapons. This guy seems different. Which means, if we find the sword, we might find our killer.”

  “The police commander has his people searching the neighborhood for it.”

  “Good,” said Andreas, “but ask him if he knows of any locals with access to swords. A collector, perhaps.”

  “The killer and his sword could have come from anywhere.”

  “I agree, but anywhere leaves us nowhere. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “The police commander said the same thing. There must be something about getting lucky on Lesvos.”

  Andreas offered a theatrical sigh. “While you’re working on improving your sense of humor, would you also try getting a copy of whatever information that forensics guy has before he realizes we’ll be looking over his shoulder?”

  “Hmm, I think I know the perfect person to ask.”

  “There you go again, making me look good.”

  “It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.”

  l l l l l

  Yianni thought they’d meet at a taverna in the old harbor, for that’s where his friends said he’d find the best places to eat. But the commander wanted to be out of town, away from prying eyes, so he picked a tiny taverna nestled close by a small harbor along the road from town to the airport. He assured Yianni the fish was good, with the spartan ambiance of well-worn tables and chairs, and old family photographs adorning the walls, more rustic than they’d find in town. They’d been waiting twenty minutes for his daughter, Aleka, a delay the commander dismissed with a shrug and the taverna owner used to console them with offers of his best local ouzo and a meze of the island’s famous salted raw sardeles pastes, sougania stuffed onions, and giouslemedes, small fried cheese pies, all compliments of the house. Neither man refused his generosity.

  Yianni’s mind wandered to what life would be like if he had to make a living as a fisherman on one of those small, brightly colored fishing boats moored just off the beach. He’d been lost in his thoughts when he caught a glimpse of a tall, slender young woman, her deep brown hair cascading halfway down her back, marching toward their table.

  He jumped up and extended his hand. “Sorry, for a moment, I didn’t recognize you. The last time we met your hair was up.” He pulled back a chair with his other hand so she could sit between him and her father. “Thank you very much for coming.”

  She perfunctorily shook his hand and dropped onto the chair. “I didn’t really have much of a choice. Did I, Father?”

  “Aleka….”

  She raised a hand. “Am I here to receive more lessons on how to behave at a crime scene?”

  “No, not at a crime scene,” said the commander.

  She stared at her father. “Okay, I know, be professional.”

  Yianni leaned forward. “As a matter of fact, Aleka––may I call you Aleka?”

  She nodded.

  “Call me Yianni. The reason I wanted to meet with you was precisely because of your professionalism.”

  She smiled. “Why do I smell a seduction in the offing?”

  “Aleka!” said her father.

  Yianni raised his hand for calm. “It’s okay.” He stared straight at her. “View it as you wish, but I’m here to offer you the choice of being inside or outside the tent when it comes crashing down on the careers of some folks you know well.”

  She blinked. “I don’t understand. What am I doing wrong?”

  “Nothing, that I know of. And I doubt that even you know. But I’d bet your boss, the forensic supervisor, knows.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It has to do with what you did at the Volandes crime scene.”

  “I only did what my boss told me to do.”

  Yianni nodded. “I’m sure. Did he tell you to initial evidence bags?”

  She nodded.

  “And measurements?”

  She nodded again.

  “What about his notes?”

  She hesitated. “He said he needed my signature to confirm he’d made the observations.”

  “Did you read what you signed?”

  She gestured no. “He said I didn’t have to.”

  Her father shook his head.

  She bit her lip and glared at her father. “Stop acting as if I did something wrong. I did what my boss told me to do.”

  Yianni nodded. “I understand that sort of pressure. You didn’t want it to seem that you didn’t trust your boss and mentor. But now your name’s on something you might not agree with. And that could leave you open to taking blame, should something go wrong.”

  She ran her fingers through her hair. “So, what is it you want from me?”

  “Copies and samples of everything having to do with the forensic examination of that crime scene.”

  “How can I possibly get you that?”

  “Do you have access to them?” asked Yianni.

  She nodded. “They’re kept in the office.”

  “Then do it this weekend. After all, it’s Easter. No one will be working.”

  She sighed.

  “All I’m asking is that you provide that information to a representative of the Greek Police’s Special Crimes Unit, for the purpose of ensuring the evidence is preserved. I’m not asking you to alter or destroy a thing.”

  “But you don’t want anyone else to know what you’re asking me to do?”

  Yianni nodded.

  “So, it’s not a completely appropriate request.” Aleka looked to her father. “What do you think?”

  “I think it’s the right thing to do if you think the evidence that Detective Kouros wants to preserve supports the innocence of the man in custody.”

  She rose suddenly. “I’ve got to run.” She nodded at Yianni, exchanged quick kisses with her father, and was off.

  Yianni sat quietly staring at the commander as he watched his daughter hurry away.

  “What was that exit all about?” asked Yianni.

  “In my experience, I think it was a yes.”

  “I guess it’s tough being the father of a strong-willed daughter.”

  “You can’t imagine. Especially when you’re in the same line of work. I’m glad you gave her the lecture that you did. She wouldn’t have taken it from me.”

  “When will we know if it actually was a yes?”

  “When she shows up with what you asked for.”

  “Terrific.” Yianni smacked his hands lightly on the table. “So, could I trouble you for a lift to the airport?”

  “But don’t you want to eat first?”

&nbs
p; “I’d love to, but I’ve a got a lot of preparations to do for Easter and don’t want to risk having such a good time here that I miss the next plane to Athens.”

  “Quite the diplomat, I see. The commander smiled. “No problem, the airport’s only a couple of kilometers away. That’s another reason I picked this place.”

  Yianni laughed. “And you’re quite the master strategist. When do you think you might hear back from those collectors about the sword?”

  “Not before Tuesday, at the earliest.”

  Yianni nodded. “Easter time in Greece.”

  “Too bad you can’t spend more time here. You should get out of Mytilini and see what our island is really all about. It’s like nowhere else in Greece.”

  “So my friends tell me.”

  “Forget the places you might have heard of, like Mithymna, Kolloni, and Plomari. Wander around and you’ll find all sorts of wonderful towns and villages right out of old Greek postcards, plus glorious beaches everywhere, museums, festivals, and a million olive trees in between. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

  “I’m sure, and I look forward to doing just that, but this weekend’s all about family.”

  The commander nodded, and raised his glass. “Kalo Paska.”

  Yianni lifted his. “Kalo Paska.”

  l l l l l

  “Where are you?”

  “At the gate, waiting for my flight back to Athens. Thought I’d give you a call.”

  “Does that mean things went well or not?” asked Andreas.

  “That depends on whether the police commander’s daughter delivers on the forensics.” Yianni described his conversation with the commander and his daughter.

  “Seems strange the commander didn’t mind you putting his daughter at risk.”

  “I wondered, too, so I asked him about that.”

  “Was he offended?”

  “No, he laughed.”

  “Laughed?”

  “He said he intends on assigning his most trusted man to keep an eye on his daughter when she’s in the office, just in case something goes squirrelly.”

  “Like her boss showing up unexpectedly?”

  “Yep. He said he wants to help me get what I need, but he’s a father first.”

  Andreas smiled. “I like his thinking.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I can’t help wondering, though, why he’s being so cooperative. Local cops don’t usually side with us against other locals, especially when the one we’re focused on is someone they work with all the time, like a prosecutor.”

  “I think I have an answer for you on that,” said Yianni. “We talked about my plans to spend Easter down in the Mani with my family. He told me the only immediate family he has in Greece are his daughter and a sister with children. His parents and wife died a few years back. His wife’s family is scattered across Europe.”

  “Refugees, eh?”

  “His family, too. His grandfather escaped to Greece in 1922 when all Orthodox Christians were forced to leave Turkey. His experiences as an orphan refugee weren’t the warm and fuzzy welcoming ones many would like us to believe. But as tough as it was for his grandfather, he still was a Greek, and had it easy compared to non-Greek refugees.”

  “Sounds like he learned a lesson from his grandfather on how to treat refugees.”

  “Yeah, the Golden Rule.”

  “Seems like a good man,” said Andreas.

  “We could use more like him.”

  “What about the daughter?”

  “Headstrong, but I’m guessing trustworthy.”

  “A characteristic of your generation.” Andreas chuckled.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve grown up. She even called me sir.”

  Andreas laughed harder. “Well, then, you’ll likely feel more comfortable dealing with Dana McLaughlin. She’s ancient, like you. Maggie told me she’s almost thirty.”

  “I’ve got an elephant in the room question for you, Chief.”

  “Shoot.”

  “If this really was an assassination, what are the chances of there being other targets out there? If the killer murdered Volandes because of his plans for refugees, doesn’t it makes sense that anyone sharing Volandes’ cause is a target, too?”

  “Good point,” said Andreas. “Whoever murdered Volandes took great care to make it look like Ali did it, yet in an attention-grabbing way, guaranteed to send a message about refugees. One dramatic death like his might be all you need to dampen the enthusiasm of anyone considering stepping into Volandes’ shoes. It gets you thinking….‘This time a sword, maybe next time a car accident, heart attack, slip and fall in a shower, whatever.’”

  “Yep, just some uncomplicated cause of death that cops use all the time as a reason for marking a case closed,” said Yianni.

  “I think we’d better ask Ms. McLaughlin for a list of people who might be considered likely successors to Vola––”

  “Sorry, gotta run, Chief. The gate attendant’s waving at me like mad. Last call for my flight.”

  “You better hurry; we don’t want you pissing off the Lesvos gate attendants.”

  “For sure.”

  “After all,” said Andreas to the dead phone, “I have a feeling you’ll be seeing quite a lot of them.”

  l l l l l

  Dana stood at the southern edge of Mykonos’ old harbor, close by an assortment of commercial boats with names like Orca and Delos Express, tied up parallel to the shore. Each morning they ferried tourists the mile or so from Mykonos to the Holy Island of Delos, mythical birthplace of the gods Apollo and Artemis. In the ancient world, Delos stood as the thriving center of Cycladic life until it was wiped off the face of the Earth in the last century BCE for backing the wrong protector.

  Maybe tomorrow she’d go there for the day. She wanted a place to reflect and didn’t think she’d find it here. Mykonos over Easter was known for offering a preview of its mid-summer, 24/7 high life. Times evoking memories of the nation’s EU free money, wild spending days. A welcome distraction for Greeks worn down by a quarter of their population out of work, and an economy that sucked with no end in sight. Those crowds would be far more interested in partying than prayer.

  To be fair, she’d come here seeking that sort of diversion, though for a different reason. She sought a few days respite from battling frustrating bureaucrats and their red tape methods of maintaining an unconscionably slow asylum process aimed at keeping thousands penned up in razor wire limbo. Whether one chose to call the victims of the process refugees or migrants—categories she, as many, used interchangeably, despite the legal differences in their status—they deserved better treatment than they received.

  For her, Mihalis Volandes’ slaughter had destroyed any chance of overcoming that officious muddle, and she could think of no party-time diversion to mask the bitter sense of finality his death had brought to her hopes.

  She’d never been a religious person, the result of a Catholic fireman father marrying a Jewish liberal mother, and neither parent wanting to compete for their daughter’s religious allegiance. Still, she held a deep belief in the concept of a higher being who guided good works. It’s why she did what she did. Though, now she wasn’t so sure.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d wondered if God truly existed. In a world gone crazy, she’d seen far too many righteous slaughtered, guilty praised, and innocents denounced.

  Now this.

  Volandes’ death was almost too much for her to bear. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” she whispered to herself.

  She lowered her head, studied the ground for a few seconds, and began to sob. Thirty seconds passed. She tossed her head back with her eyes tightly shut, and drew in and let out a deep breath. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she said in a firm voice.

  She opened her eyes, stared o
ut toward the setting sun, and said aloud for any available god to hear: “I pray for revenge on the bastards who did this.”

  l l l l l

  Maggie stuck her head into Andreas’ doorway. “If you don’t need me, I’m out of here. I’ve got Easter preparations to finish up.”

  “I thought you and Tassos were coming to our place,” said Andreas.

  “That’s on Sunday. He’s coming in this afternoon from Syros, and I’ve got a lot of cooking to do to feed him until then.”

  Andreas tilted his head. “Weren’t you putting him on a diet?”

  “That’s why I’m doing the cooking; otherwise it’s takeout spanakopitia, tiropita, fried potatoes….” She waved a hand off into the air.

  “I get the picture.”

  “These days you’d need a wide-angle lens to take it.”

  “I’ll tell him you said that.”

  “Not if you value your life,” said Maggie.

  “He’d never turn on me, I’m the guy who brought you two together.”

  “He’s not the one you have to worry about.”

  Andreas laughed. “Is he very busy?”

  Maggie gestured no. “People don’t seem to kill each other as often in the Cyclades outside of tourist season. And thank God for that. If he were busier, he just might consider retiring, and I couldn’t handle that. Doubt he could handle me, either. This way we each have our alone time. His with his police buddies on Syros, and mine with you and all the joys of this place.” She forced a smile.

  “Careful, you’re bringing tears to my eyes.”

  “So, may I leave?”

  “Sure, but tell Tassos to give me a call when he has the chance. I want to talk to him about the Volandes case.”

  “Any leads?”

  “No, but I thought with all of Tassos’ connections, he might be able to give me some insight into the seamier side of the refugee trade.”