Murder On Display: A riveting, stand-alone murder / mystery that keeps you guessing until the shocking end (Greek Island Mysteries Book 4)

by Luke Christodoulou

  ‘Come back, now,’ Ioli said, her heavy breath intercepting every word of the order. ‘We are going to your place. I need your make-up and your most revealing dress,’ she added, leaving the young officer in a more confused state. ‘Or something that fits, at least.’

  Outside, away from the safety offered from the conditioned air behind the glass front-hotel door, Ioli stood under a tilting, adolescent palm tree. A foot taller than the wooden fence that surrounded the pool area, a view of careless vacationers rolled out in front of Ioli. With a slight smile, her eyes followed the short skirt, bikini top-wearing waitress expertly carrying a tray of two ice-cold beers over to the white, round, plastic table where Alexandro sat listening to old war stories by Captain Apostolou. They accepted their beers with wide smiles –their eyes moving around rapidly, along the curvy lines of the waitress’ figure, and ordered lunch.

  ‘Lieutenant Ioli?’ Valentina’s voice came from behind her.

  Ioli was amazed how she did not hear the loud vehicle park just meters from her. ‘My thoughts have shut down my concentration.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you were pulling my leg. You sounded dead serious,’ Valentina said as Ioli entered the car and made herself comfortable beside her.

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ Ioli replied, turning up the weak A/C.

  ‘So, my house?’

  ‘Straight there,’ Ioli answered, leaving Valentina wondering the reasons why.

  Valentina turned up the radio and pressed her foot down. Ioli watched as the blonde drove with one heel on her left foot and one brown slipper on the other. ‘Oh, I can’t drive in heels,’ Valentina excused herself. ‘My slippers…’

  ‘Hey, I never judge,’ Ioli cut her off. Although she did think that the slipper did not work miracles on Valentina’s lack of driving skills.

  A new scenic route cemented Ioli’s belief that Folegandros had to be one of the most picturesque islands she had ever set foot upon. Valentina drove away from the town center and headed through fields of orange and lemon trees, before taking a right towards her own neighborhood. She drove past the two-story house and turned down a narrow dirt track, leading to the back of her yard. ‘I basically live in my parent’s garden. I fixed up my grandma’s old warehouse and outdoor kitchen into a studio apartment,’ Valentina explained. ‘If we go through the front, you will lose four hours of your life, listening to my mother’s endless set of questions and my father’s not-so-subtle jokes and theories. If he gets started with politics, we may never leave.’

  Ioli chuckled. ‘Normal Greek parents, then.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Valentina agreed and laughed. ‘Do you think we will be like that with our kids?’

  Ioli rubbed her tummy and replied ‘I hope not! Poor boy.’

  Soon, Valentina locked her blue, glass and aluminium door behind her, glad that her parents were preoccupied watching the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games in Rio and arguing if London’s had been more dazzling and exciting.

  ‘London’s had James Bond and the Spice girls,’ her father said in the only volume his mouth had, loud.

  ‘As if you like either! This has an ecological message. And culture!’ her mother contended.

  Ioli tried to subdue her shocked look upon entering the spacious studio with the efficient kitchen area and the cozy living room corner. ‘So this is what it looks like when a unicorn pukes up rainbows.’ The sheets on the single bed competed with Valentina’s nails for most colors blended together. The orange couch clashed with the purple carpet in front of it. The pink curtains made sure you realized a girl lived in the colorful environment with the dozens of animal ornaments. There was a shelf dedicated to frog statues while below it a shelf housed glass pigs, cows and other farm animals.

  ‘May I ask what this is all about?’ Valentina found the courage to ask as she opened her burgundy drawers and started to unload her extensive collection of eye shadows and lipsticks.

  ‘I think you better not know. I’m scared you will change my mind. I’m in my crazy place right now and not to show off, but my gut works perfectly in crazy mode. Helped me solve many cases in the past…’ Ioli said and paused. ‘Leave the make-up for last. Show me your wardrobe. No offense, but find me a dress that reveals legs, back, boobs, the whole works, you know. And, something stretchy. I have to get this baby bump in it!’

  Chapter 19

  On Board – Island of Syros

  Disappointing results.

  That is exactly how the Chief would react to my investigation so far. That is if he knew about it. Funny, the sense of freedom. Not having to delineate back to anyone or fill in endless pages of reports that will be read once and filed away, destined to become a meal for the Homicide Department’s large family of mice.

  After the expected ‘angry school boy’ rant from Nick, he and the Captain, along with a few other crew members searched the ship. The official reason given was one of a lost pet iguana. The Captain was not one for meticulously-crafted excuses, yet it served its purpose. Tourists opened their doors and let a crew member look in the bathroom and under the bed, while scanning 360 degrees the cabin. People on deck or on the bar who asked about what was going on after witnessing crew members searching around, went back to their sunbathing and drinking upon hearing about the unfortunate lost pet.

  Disappointing results.

  Holly was nowhere to be found.

  As for my secret search of the teachers’ rooms, all I could say is that Mrs. Anne needed to add more color to her navy blue, grey and black wardrobe while Mr. Zack did not bother hiding his cannabis that well, as it sat upon his brick of a science book. The few grams in the sealed bag were the only amount I found, so I ruled out any chance of him selling to his pupils and classified my find under ‘recreational fun for a bored teacher’.

  Without a body, and without a documented crime with evidence, the ship docked in the idyllic port of Ermoupoli, the main town of Syros; a place where over twenty thousand lucky Greeks lived. The passengers disembarked and filled the narrow, romantic, quaint streets of the aristocratic town. Among them, the group of pupils and their two teachers. Mrs. Anne wore her bravest face and began the tour she had planned months ago. I had not informed her about my findings in the girls’ rooms as keeping the four girls on board while the rest enjoyed the island would appear to be an accusation. They had the right to explain themselves.

  The voices that lived inside my head had finished their debate assembly. Logic prevailed over passion; I locked away the case in a dark corner of my mind and returned to Tracy.

  ‘Ready for our date, Mrs. Papacosta?’

  She fought to contain her flashy smile as she lifted her head from her book. She took off her glasses and placed them upon her bare, crossed legs. ‘I never did take your surname,’ she replied.

  ‘Tracy Wilson, may I have the pleasure of your company for the next twelve hours?’

  ‘What do you have in mind, smooth talker?’

  ‘As if you haven’t planned the whole day out,’ I said and approached her laughing. ‘Bet you have even written down what we are going to do on each island.’

  ‘Now who is in whose head!’ she said and jumped out of her seat. She wore black underwear and as she walked by me, I noticed she had fixed her hair and touched-up her makeup. All she had left to do, was to slide into her short, black Versace dress. The one she spent a fortune on and I resisted commenting how could a dress with so little fabric and with more holes than Swiss cheese could be so expensive. Classic guy and fashion case, I guess. The result, though, was something we could both agree on. She looked stunning. Since my eyes first had the honor of seeing Tracy, thirty years ago, she never lost the ability to rock my inner world. People who manage to maintain their love and passion through the years are heroes in my book. Life is never easy, no matter how much advice from self-help books and sites you get and apply. The trick is to ignore the bad as much as you can and focus on the good. Do things that make your heart skip a beat. Do this, do that. All
just advice. For me, all that mattered is to have someone to travel along this road together.

  ‘Your eyes are watering up, tough cop,’ Tracy said as she placed her soft hand in mine.

  ‘Yeah, the sun…’

  ‘Ssh. Don’t ruin it with one of your lame jokes. Let me shower in the love. Girls would kill for a stare like yours.’

  Soon, we were strolling in a tangled embrace along the lengthy promenade listening to the sound of the waves and breathing fresh sea air mixed up with kebabs’ sweet cooking smell. Relaxed chatter could be heard all around us, from tourists enjoying the serene evening. Soon, the aroma of freshly-made loukoumia permeated the air. Our first stop. Sweet tasting. Souvenir shopping followed. I enjoyed my hobby of talking with local shop-owners while Tracy interrupted every minute to show me a plate, statue, coin, snowball, magnet and such. If I nodded and smiled, it was a guaranteed buy.

  The square behind the main, seafront road was the meeting point for the locals. Always one event or another taking place. We ordered takeout gyro from an Obelix-looking guy in a shop smaller than my bathroom. We took our oily, onion-smelling, delicious street food –‘dirty food’ here in Greece, and headed to the steps of the neo-classical building of local administration that towered over the square. With watering mouths, we ate while enjoying street performers act and people strolling around.

  ‘Quick, Costa. Finish your food,’ Tracy ordered as she leapt up, french fry hanging from her lips. I looked up at her with tzatziki-painted lips and mumbled something along the lines of ‘what’s the rush?’.

  ‘The train,’ she said and rushed down the steps.

  It took me a second to realize she was talking about the made-for-tourists locomotive that ran on a car’s engine and carried three blue and white painted wagons with seats behind it. It had no glass fitted on the windows, letting you enjoy the breeze along with the view.

  ‘Proper tourists,’ Tracy said as she sat down and held out her phone to picture my large behind squeezing into a seat. ‘Smile,’ she said with a grin. ‘Smile again, your eyes were closed,’ she continued as the train began to roll.

  It took us twenty minutes to reach the top of the hill and Saint Demetrius. The stone church was remarkable in its own right, yet it was the view that attracted the flocks of holiday makers. Globetrotters from all over stood and looked down at the charming town with its unique, romantic bay. Tracy and I shared a kiss, and that was the last moment my mind wasn’t on the case. As our petite train took us back into town and Tracy was ready to surprise me with the restaurant she chose for our wine and dine, I saw the group of the elite school. The four girls stood together, feet from the rest of the group –all with the same bored expression as Mrs. Anne explained the years each building was born.

  I did not let my over-analytical mind ruin date-night and as Apollo dragged away the sun and his sister, Artemis brought a half-moon into the dark sky, two happy, well-fed and verging on drunk fifty-year olds returned to the docked ship.

  With the cabin door sealed behind us, pieces of clothing fell to the floor. Naked, Tracy opened the cabin’s balcony doors. ‘The stars are magnificent tonight. Too many lights in Athens,’ she said and walked towards me. I lay on the bed and waited for her lips to travel up my body.

  Sex on holidays. I really would love to see a case study upon the subject. I could picture all the graphs and the lines indicating how times of coitus traveled upwards and peaked during vacations. Did we always have these hormones and urges, but everyday life tired us down or did the surroundings inspire us to turn our Latin-lover button on?

  Tracy’s hot body pushing up against mine, switched off my brain from thinking about the subject more. Twenty minutes later, cheerfully exhausted, we shared a pillow, our arms around each other. Tracy closed her eyes, while I secretly craved a cigarette. That was, however, not the last thought on my mind. In the morning, I had to speak with the girls.

  The sunrise found Tracy still in bed, stealing back hours of sleep lost due to work. I, on the other hand, peed, scratched, splashed water upon my wrinkle-breeding face, brushed my teeth, dressed in a matter of minutes and headed to the ship’s breakfast area. The teachers kept a strict timetable. Eight o’clock sharp all pupils reported to breakfast. I devoured two freshly-baked croissants with my steamy Greek coffee as my eyes studied the students’ behavior. The ship had long set sail for Sifnos where the day offered swimming in remote exotic bays.

  The four girls sat together at the end of the long table assigned and reserved for the International school. My ears struggled to hear as Holly’s name was mentioned by Pascale. Her eyes seemed watery and her fingers played awkwardly with each other. Karen stroked her back. Opposite her, Nicole rolled her eyes and looked away, while Marina continued eating, taking rushed chunks of egg off her porcelain plate. The rest of the students seemed to go about with their vacation without discussing much the disappearance of their fellow pupil.

  ‘Maybe Holly was not their friend? Maybe she did the bullying? Could I be reading them wrong? There was a chance that their spirits were indeed dampened. Teens should be more lively than this’. That is when the next thought woke me up better than ten strong Greek coffees. ‘Where is Chris?’ Holly’s boyfriend was nowhere to be seen.

  Mrs. Anne walked around the pupils and was ready to serve herself and join her fellow teacher, when her eyes caught a glimpse of me. I nodded to call her over.

  ‘Good morning, Captain. I was going to come find you after breakfast. My heart has been pounding since yesterday. How did the search go? Secretly, I wished you would call me and say, Holly was hiding somewhere…’

  She spoke at a faster pace than my mother when I got into trouble.

  The mighty sun appeared to avoid her flesh. Ashen, her thin lips rushed to utter everything on her troubled mind. ‘… I just managed to control myself and not come hitting on your door last night.’

  I smiled and wished her a good day, too. ‘Maybe you should eat first,’ I advised. ‘I, for one, could never function on an empty stomach’.

  ‘Nothing would go down.’

  ‘I found her missing jewelry. Her friends had them.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘All four,’ I said, and her eyes opened wide. She turned and stared at the girls as I continued ‘bring them to the Captain’s office, right after breakfast.’

  She nodded and whispered a choked ‘sure, sure.’

  ‘Oh, and Mrs. Anne?’

  ‘Hmm?’ she finally turned back in my direction.

  ‘Where’s Chris?’

  Ghostly white, paper white, snow white. I thought hard about the word that could describe her color upon hearing my question. Later on, I googled the whitest white to satisfy my raging curiosity. Because white is an achromatic color, a color without color, the whitest white is found on the chitinous scales of the Cyphochilus beetle. They perfectly reflect light from all colors, thus our human eye sees a blazing white color. There; now your mind works as weirdly as mine.

  Ten minutes later, the four girls, the Captain and I met in the top-deck cabin that was turned into an office. The room boasted four large square windows with unobstructed views of blue sky. None were open and the room was air-conditioned. However, in the war against the heat wave, the ceiling unit was losing. I guessed Zephyrus blew too strong at such a height for the windows to be open.

  The Captain remained seated throughout the conversation and to my satisfaction, silent, too. He stayed behind his antique desk and scratched his two-day beard. He coughed a couple of times, yet I doubt, intentionally. The girls sat in a row; each chair touching the other. Pascale and Karen held hands in the first two chairs, Marina with her eyes fixed on the shining chandelier was next and Nicole sat at the end; the only one with her eyes looking straight at us. I sat my right buttocks on the edge of the desk and introduced myself formally.

  ‘It is my knowledge that you four are Holly’s closest friends,’ I said and paused to read their expressions. I searched for guil
t and yet found none. Not even on Nicole’s stern, cold visage. ‘If you know anything, anything that could help us locate Holly or figure out what is going on, please tell us. You won’t be in any trouble whatsoever. On the contrary, keeping secrets from the police is a criminal offense,’ I continued and stressed the last two words.

  ‘We know nothing, sir,’ Karen spoke with a heavy, New York accent. ‘Last time we saw her, she was fine. Happier than usual.’

  Pascale nodded shakily and agreed. ‘Yes, yes. In high spirits as you say,’ the French girl said.

  Marina’s eyes had relocated from the ceiling to the floor and she remained silent. Nicole sat up straight and exhaled deeply, adding tones of drama in her prolonged sigh. ‘We already spoke about this between us. We know nothing. She said nothing to us,’ she said, complaining. ‘We are worried sick. Who would do such a thing to Holly?’

  ‘Maybe a thief after her expensive jewelry,’ I said, hoping to read their eyes.

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ Pascale agreed again, letting go of Karen’s hand.

  ‘Where do you think the missing pieces of jewelry are?’

  Silence spread out in the low-ceiling room. I waited and none replied. I turned my gaze to Nicole and raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Why you looking at me? How should I know? That’s your job to figure out!’

  ‘Oh, but I have. Four pieces missing,’ I said and dropped the bag of bijouterie on the desk in front of them. All four opened the eyes wide and stared at the nylon bag.

  ‘Then why are you asking us about them? Did you catch the thief?’ Marina, the only Greek, in the group asked.

  ‘Because I found a piece of jewelry in each of your rooms. One in your bag, one in your box, one in each of your possessions,’ I said, my stare travelling from Nicole to Karen.

  Their shock and attempts of explanation were silenced by the knocking on the door. As I hoped and thought about all night, it was the doctor.