Target: Tinos

by Jeffrey Siger

  I guess we’re on to fall guy candidate number three. “What friend?”

  “Tassos Stamatos. As chief homicide investigator for the Cyclades, Tinos falls within his jurisdiction and what we’re asking him to do isn’t something he hasn’t done before.”

  “I can give you his mobile number it you don’t have it. I’m sure he’ll take your call. After all, you are his boss.”

  Spiros forced a smile. “I think that suggestion might be better received coming from you.”

  Andreas couldn’t argue with that. Andreas and Tassos met when Andreas was police chief on Mykonos, another Cycladic island, and they’d become fast friends with similar views on many things, including the abilities and ways of their minister. But Spiros had even less leverage with Tassos than he did with Andreas because Tassos was well beyond retirement age and possessed secrets and connections from both sides of the law that guaranteed him lifetime job security for as long as he wanted.

  “I would owe him a big time favor. I’d owe you both,” said Spiros.

  They would be lost on your mountain of other IOUs, thought Andreas. “Perhaps if you told me what has you so wound up about this case I might be able to help you out. We both know the story is dead in the press.”

  “I’m not concerned with what the press thinks.”

  Andreas smiled.

  “At least not the Greek press. And it’s not just me who’s worried. It’s my boss.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that the Prime Minister wants the investigation closed?”

  Spiros rubbed his chin. “It’s about the money.”

  “Come again?”

  “There are serious people in the E.U. looking for any justification for ending financial aid to Greece. So far the arguments against us are purely financial. That we don’t work hard enough, we’re corrupt, we don’t want to pay taxes. You know the routine. And although you may not think it, that’s a problem for those who are willing to let us go under, because more people in the E.U. are sympathetic to us than against us. It’s a person-to-person thing. They feel the Greek people are being made to suffer by the E.U.’s big boys in an effort to deflect attention away from their own banks’ fiscal mistakes. We don’t want to do anything that might give our enemies different ammunition.”

  “What sort of ammunition?”

  “The worst, the hypocritical kind. I don’t have to tell you how every country in Europe has its own sort of immigrant issues. Ethnic stereotypes are a convenient, irresistible scapegoat for political failings, especially in hard times, and no one wants to be the first to point a serious finger at another country’s shortcomings in dealing with its immigrants.

  “But our adversaries would love to switch the focus of the debate from our country’s financial problems to our national character. Paint us as indifferent to the plight of non-Greeks, an intolerant place where only Greeks are treated as deserving of protection, and all others be damned. It’s a volatile, irrational, and emotional argument but one that could turn world opinion against us if it found traction in the press. And then it would no longer be just a question of denying us further bailout funds, but whether or not to drum us out of the E.U.”

  “With all due respect, Spiros, it sounds a bit dramatic to say that the murder of two tsigani on a relatively unknown island to non-Greeks could be the cause of getting us kicked out of the E.U.”

  Spiros shrugged. “Our Prime Minister sees it as a risk and that’s good enough for me. Psychos running around the Greek countryside incinerating tsigani play right into the hands of those who want Greece to fail. And the longer this case remains open the greater the chance of some foreign reporter seeing glory in a story that shocks the world into action against us by linking Greece to words like ‘intolerance’ and ‘genocide.’ We cannot allow that to happen.”

  Spiros seemed quite satisfied with his speech.

  Andreas said, “Don’t you think the first thing to do is find out whether there actually are psychos running around out there? And if so, put an end to them.”

  Spiros faced tightened. “There is no time for that. If the foreign press runs with that sort of story there will be no way to put the genie back in the bottle. We’ll be tarred forever. Besides, the only logical explanation for what happened is tsigani killing tsigani. I’m sure Tassos will agree.”

  Andreas was surprised Spiros had resisted adding, “even if you don’t.” He took that as a sign of how desperate Spiros was for his help. What the hell, Tassos was a big boy. He could decide for himself whether or not to go along with Spiros’ wished for explanation.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to him. But, first, I need to see the Tinos police’s file on the investigation.”

  “Why?”

  Andreas stared. “If you want me to help you close this case that can’t be a serious question.”

  Spiros bit at his lower lip. “Okay, I’ll get it right over to you.” He stood up. “But I’m counting on you to do me this little favor and get everything wrapped up before the press gets to thinking there might be more to this than tsigani fighting tsigani.”

  Andreas stood. “Thanks for stopping by. Always nice to see you, minister.”

  Spiros pointed a finger at Andreas’ chest. “And I definitely want it closed before the wedding.”

  “I’ll pass along your regards to Lila.” Andreas thought that a more politic goodbye than a simple, “So long, asshole.”

  ***

  “Maggie.” Andreas found yelling for his secretary far more efficient than the intercom. The door swung open and a sturdy five-foot three-inch ball of energy came bounding into the room carrying a half-dozen file folders.

  “You rang.”

  “I like your hair. It looks very nice today.”

  “Something really serious must be happening if you’re trying to soften me up.” Maggie had been a secretary at GADA for what seemed forever. She was its mother superior, knew all its secrets, and was used to speaking her mind. Pure chance landed her as Andreas’ secretary when her long time boss retired weeks before Andreas’ promotion back to GADA from Mykonos.

  “Why do I even bother trying to be nice?”

  “The word is ‘manipulative,’ not ‘nice.’ And the reason is because you can’t help yourself. You’re a man. Worse, a Greek man.” She put the files on Andreas’ desk.

  Andreas put his left hand to his forehead and began to rub it. “Okay, I surrender. Please, I need you to pick out a gift for Lila. Something to show her I’m thinking of the wedding.”

  “Oh boy, you must be in big time trouble.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Unexpected gifts are the sure sign of a guilty conscience. The moment she sees it she’ll know something’s up.”

  Andreas stared at her.

  “Just call her and come clean.”

  “Any other advice?”

  “Then send the gift. Like a book of photographs showing beautiful weddings in churches. May I get back to work now?”

  Andreas drew in and let out a breath. “I really do love you.”

  “I know.” Maggie turned and walked toward the door.

  “Have you been able to find Yianni?”

  “Yes, he should be here any minute.”

  “Great, tell him I want to see him as soon as he gets in.”

  “Will do.” Maggie opened the door and pointed back at the files on Andreas’ desk. “They just came from the minister’s office.” As she closed the door she whispered into the room, “The book will be there by five, so don’t forget to call.”

  Andreas stared at the closed door and shook his head. I’d rather call Spiros and tell him I quit than make this call. Lila is going to kill me. Calling off the wedding would be too easy on me.

  Andreas was the son of a working class cop; Lila was from one of Greece’s oldest, wealthiest families, and the socially prominent young widow of a ship owner. Andreas met her when he called upon Lila’s knowledge of ancient Greek art for help in an investigation and thing
s just happened between them. He loved her more than anyone on earth but never expected to marry her; even after she told him she was pregnant. He was certain they had too little in common to form a life together. Lila convinced him he was wrong.

  Andreas drew in a deep breath. Perhaps this call might just prove to her that I was right. He picked up the phone and pressed a speed dial button.

  “Vardi-Kaldis residence.”

  He let out the breath. “Hi, Marietta, is Lila there?”

  “One moment, Chief Kaldis.”

  It was Andreas who insisted the phone be answered that way. All of Athens knew his soon-to-be-wife as Lila Vardi and, besides, most calls to their apartment were for her anyway.

  “Hi, darling. I was wondering when I’d hear from you. What time are you picking me up for our rescheduled meeting with the wedding planner?”

  Something in Lila’s voice told him this wouldn’t be easy. “Uhh, sorry. Things just sort of got out of hand.”

  “Tell me about it. Remember how cute we thought it was watching Tassaki trying to walk? Well, today he’s decided to become a 24/7 sprinter.”

  Their son was named Tassos, after Andreas deceased father, but when a well-meaning American friend of Lila’s added “aki” to the engraving on the silver frame of a baby photo—thinking Tassaki meant “little Tassos”—the laughs it generated sealed his fate. Greeks were in love with nicknames and little Tassos was now affectionately known by the Greek word for “ashtray.” Andreas tried convincing Lila it could have been worse; one of Andreas’ sister’s boys was called kremidhas the other skordho, a combination of “onions” and “garlic.” Lila still didn’t like it, but had come to accept the inevitable.

  “What has him so wound up?”

  “I think he’s waiting for his daddy to come home.”

  Andreas took that as a warning: MINE FIELD AHEAD.

  “I’ll try to get home as soon as I can.”

  “Wrong answer.”

  “I know. But something’s come up and—”

  “In other words you can’t make it to the meeting.”

  Andreas prayed for sudden loss of phone service. “Sorry.”

  There was a seemingly eternal pause.

  “Andreas Kaldis, we’re getting married in six days no matter how hard you try to convince me otherwise. All I want to know is whether your son and I can expect to see you on Mykonos next Sunday afternoon?”

  Andreas swallowed. “I’ll try to be home before Tassaki goes to sleep.”

  “Much better answer. Love you, bye.”

  It wasn’t going to be a big wedding, at least not by Greek standards. Only a few hundred guests. Mykonos was where they fell in love and Lila’s family had a home large enough to accommodate the reception. But deciding to hold it on Greece’s most celebrated party island only ninety miles from Athens during the peak of the summer had turned it into one of the most anticipated social events of the season. Still, Lila wanted to keep it simple. At least as much as possible.

  Andreas remembered Lila’s exact words: “We don’t need anything else to make it perfect.” But now she wanted the bridegroom showing up. Women. Always wanting more from a man than they said. He was smiling at his own stupid joke when a bull of a man about a head shorter than Andreas opened the door.

  “Is now a good time?”

  “Yeah, Yianni, come in.” Andreas pointed to the chair closest to his desk. The men met when detective Yianni Kouros was a brash, young rookie and Andreas the new police chief on Mykonos. They’d been together ever since.

  “I had the pleasure of a drop-in visit today from our minister. This just arrived from his office.” He patted the pile of folders Maggie had put on his desk. “It’s on those two Tinos murders.”

  “I thought that was your friend’s case?”

  “No more. Our minister wants us to close it out ASAP based upon what’s in the file. He asked me to get Tassos to sign off on it. But no way I’m going to raise that with Tassos until I know what’s in here.”

  “In other words, until I tell you what’s in there.”

  “Smart thinking, detective. Get back to me by this afternoon.” Andreas handed him the folders.

  “Any ideas?”

  “Yeah, let’s try not to be as narrow-minded in our thinking as our dear minister.”

  “Huh?”

  “The dead are tsigani. Somehow he thinks that’s the answer to everything and a reason for closing the case. Understand?”

  Kouros nodded and stood up. “So what else is new? Since when haven’t tsigani, metanastes, or for that matter, foreigners in general not been our politicians’ fall guys of choice?” He gave a casual salute and left.

  Andreas turned his head and stared out the window. There had always been refugees fleeing despots and turmoil in Greece’s region of the world, but when Greece joined the E.U. in 1981 it was essentially a homogeneous land of less than ten million. With financial prosperity came Filipinos to serve in domestic jobs no longer done by Greeks and the fall of the Soviet Union in 1989 brought a wave of Eastern European immigrants seeking better lives, but it was after 2002 and the confluence of the euro currency launch, America’s wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and Greece’s all-out building boom for the 2004 Athens Olympics, that the floodgates opened.

  Romanians, Bulgarians, Albanians, and Poles came to put their much needed construction skills to work for pay far greater than any they could dream of back home, and Greece’s porous island and mainland borders became an irresistible magnet for those fleeing Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and what at times seemed all of struggling Africa. They were the metanastes—the foreigners who came to work or simply escape a life in chaos elsewhere.

  Greece’s population was now almost eleven and a half million of which ten percent were estimated to be immigrants. No one knew exactly how many more were living hidden lives within the country, but with the abrupt change in Greece’s financial fortunes virtually every lost job or criminal act now seemed somehow blamed on the metanastes or tsigani. No one had to tell Andreas how ugly the anger was brewing—on all sides.

  ***

  Maggie’s voice came over the intercom. “Yianni’s here. He said to tell you he’s read the file.”

  “Send him in.”

  Kouros walked in and sat in a chair across the desk from Andreas.

  Andreas looked at his watch. “That was quick. Just a little more than an hour.”

  “A lot of paper but not much to read. No one saw or heard a thing except for smoke just before dawn. The victims were brothers, one twenty-two and the other eighteen. They were from a tsigani camp set up on the southeast part of the island near the port and far away from where the bodies were found. They left the camp the day before they were found. Their family began to worry when they heard about the murders and the two hadn’t returned for three nights. The victims were preliminarily identified from jewelry found on their bodies, later confirmed by DNA testing. The Tinos police chief personally interviewed everyone in the camp and came up with nothing. No one had any idea of who might have wanted to kill either brother or of a possible motive. The most anyone had to say was that this was ‘not the tsigani way’ of settling scores.”

  “What did forensics come up with?”

  Kouros leaned in and rested his elbow on the desk. “That’s where things get interesting. The victims died of asphyxiation before the fire.”

  “They were dead before they burned?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “How did they suffocate?”

  “Can’t be sure, but forensics thinks it might be gas.”

  “Carbon monoxide poisoning?”

  Kouros gestured no. “Nitrous oxide.”

  “Nitrous oxide?”

  “Yes, laughing gas.”

  “That’s the sort of stuff my dentist uses.”

  “And some use it as a recreational drug. Makes you euphoric, happy. You feel no pain.” Kouros shook his head. “They think that’s what it
was because they found a nitrous oxide cylinder in the back of the van behind the bodies.”

  “That’s not what tsigani are known to traffic.” Big time drug dealing by some tsigani was another mark borne by the many.

  “Like I said, it makes things interesting.”

  Andreas picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk. “Check to see where you can find laughing gas on Tinos.”

  Kouros shook his head. “The Tinos police already did. No luck there. It’s available just about everywhere, on and off the island. And it’s not just used by dentists. Hospitals use it in surgery, motor racers use it to boost engine power, and restaurants use it to puff up whipped cream.”

  “Whipped cream?”

  Kouros nodded. “Find whipped cream and you’re likely to find a nitrous oxide cylinder somewhere. And that’s the dangerous stuff because it’s not mixed with oxygen. If you’re breathing pure nitrous oxide—”

  “You suffocate. Shit. Anything else interesting?”

  “The victims were from a clan that came to Tinos a month before the murders. But their clan wasn’t one that usually spent the tourist season working on Tinos or came there to celebrate the Assumption of the Virgin Mary on August 15th.”

  “August 15th is Tinos’ biggest celebration of the year,” said Andreas. “And it draws huge crowds, which means major opportunities for what tsigani do. Maybe the new boys on the block pissed off another clan who thought they might be muscling in on their action?”

  Kouros shrugged. “Could be, but it’s not unusual for transient clans to pass through Tinos this time of year. They always did when we were stationed on Mykonos. Tsigani revere the Virgin Mary and go there to pay their respects. Besides, why pick those two brothers and this year to make a point?”

  Andreas tapped the pencil against his forehead. “Odysseus probably came to the same conclusion. I’ll give him a call to see if he had any ideas he didn’t put in the file.” Cops did that sort of thing, especially with politically sensitive cases. “By the way, is the victims’ clan based in Greece?”