Mrs Fitzroy

by Rachael Wright

  Captain Alexandros Savva held his wife's hand as he drove the highway, which hugged the sea. In the breeze from the open window, her greying black hair twisted and snaked across her round, lined face. She wore bright red lipstick this morning and a pink wrap dress, so pale it was almost white. Shayma Savva was not a thin woman, but curvaceous and witty and with the voice of an angel. Alexandros, not prone to emotional overtures, brought her hand to his mouth, and kissed the back of it.

  He dropped her at the massive St. Valentine-colored mansion, all pink and red and white, where the refugee relief efforts for the island were headquartered. Shayma disappeared with a backward wave. Savva stroked his full dark beard and his chocolate-brown eyes closed as he dreamed of driving home; brewing a latte, taking it to the back garden, and breathing in the morning. If he was lucky, his neighbors would still be out of town and their radio would be off. But a sharp infuriating ringtone echoed from the glove box and his morning bliss was snuffed out like a candle.

  "This had better be good, Booras."

  Stelios stood, the wind whipping pale red dust across his jeans, looking down at the corpse. It leaned against the pile of diatomaceous earth like he'd laid down for a rest. Sort of. If you ignored certain irregularities. "I was dispatched to a report of a body this morning, Sir."

  "What happened?"

  "Murdered. Back of the head is bashed in."

  "Where are you?"

  "Mt Lepetimnos."

  "Where?"

  "There's a trail. You can see the whole island from here. But it's two and a half kilometers from any road."

  "Have you called for transport?"

  "There aren't any helicopters available, Sir. I asked. Hellenic Police are raiding a drug cartel tonight so they're tied up. I've called the medical examiner and rung HQ for more men to carry the body down. It's a good thing he isn't fat," Stelios said with a weak chuckle.

  "Don't laugh."

  Alexandros Savva might be gruff, bordering on rude, to those whose incompetence or political aspirations he couldn't stand, but he had a firm and unwavering belief that morbid jokes of any kind had no place in a murder investigation, especially when crouched beside the mangled remains of a human being. They had a solemn duty to the dead, but also to the families, and belittling a life never put them closer to a killer.

  "Sorry, Sir," Stelios said. "If you drive to the station, you can follow the boys to the trailhead."

  "Which medical examiner is on call?"

  "Dr. Panteleon."

  "Good."

  Savva hung up; thankful Stelios hadn't crowded in details of the scene. Never theorize before, always wait for the evidence, never come with prejudice, and never assume you know the answer. It's what Savva drilled into every officer who came under his considerable influence.

  Savva's grey Saab, a police SUV, and the medical examiner's white van, arrived an hour later. A shaky, ashen-faced Stelios was propped against a wooden trail marker. Savva glanced from Stelios to the mountain behind him. A life-threatening climb in the withering heat--the horror. The back of the ME's van banged open and Dr. Panteleon pulled out a canvas stretcher. One of the young police officers handed Savva a three-liter bottle of water. Savva contemplated his new, but ten-year-old, hiking boots and sighed.

  "It's about an hour up, Sir."

  "You said its two kilometers."

  "It's all up-hill."

  "I hope you left someone at the crime scene."

  "Yes, Sir, Private Kaikas."

  "Who?"

  "She's new, Sir, transferred a few months ago from Athens."

  "Let's hope everything's intact when we get there." Savva waved for the other officers, scene-of-crime kits hoisted on their broad shoulders, to start. They stepped off the gravel road and onto the red dirt. "Is this your second time up?"

  "Ugh, you should have been there, Sir. Kaikas ran up. It was all I could do not to look like an out-of-shape fool."

  "Are you?"

  "Yeah," Stelios confessed, "I am. Kaikas said she hiked this last week. No body."

  "Good."

  "He looks like a two-day body to me."

  "Let's wait for Panteleon to give us time-of-death. Tell me about the hike," Savva said with a grunt.

  "This is it, Sir. It's rocky. It's steep."

  "Is this a popular hiking spot?"

  "I'll ask Kaikas. Maybe she knows."

  "Who found the body?"

  "A tourist. American. Out for a morning hike."

  "Such derision. That bad?"

  "Everything he's wearing is new. He probably bought it just for the trip. Superiority complex as well, like he did us a favor by calling."

  "Really?"

  "Yep."

  Savva turned around to face a florid-faced Stelios. "Are you always rude this early in the morning?"

  Stelios stared at him, wide-eyed. "I'm sorry, Sir."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, Sir," Stelios said, taking a half step forward.

  Savva blocked him. "I'll ask you one last time."

  The answer dribbled off his tongue like an upturned olive oil bottle. "Theia broke it off last night."

  "Broke what off?"

  Stelios' arms flailed like loose threads. "The wedding. Our engagement."

  An officer, twenty feet in front of them, turned around at Stelios' shout. Savva waved the loitering officer off, and turned back to Stelios. His voice softened. "What happened?"

  Stelios ran a shaking hand through his mussed hair, leaving streaks of red dust behind. "I don't know. We argued last night ... about everything: groceries, the trash, sex. It just exploded. She screamed and screamed and then her eyes glazed over. She dropped her ring on the floor and said we were over. She left," he ended lamely.

  "And?"

  "I called this morning. I thought we could talk, but before she could say anything, dispatch called. I asked if I could call her back. She knew who was calling. She screamed some more. So I hung up and hiked up to this damned body."

  "Booras," Savva growled.

  "Sorry, Sir."

  "I get it. You're upset, but either be professional or you can go back to headquarters and I'll work the case with Private Kaikas."

  "Yes, Sir."

  Savva nodded, put out a thick freckled hand, patted the younger man's shoulder, turned, and resumed their trudge. Stelios and Theia had been an on and off again item since their school days. That loss, no matter what the circumstances, was excruciating. He cast around for something to say unrelated to women. But all that came to him was the sound of his wife's voice as he stood in the shower. "Kupía Savva, invited you for dinner tonight."

  "I'd be thrilled, Sir."

  They hiked in silence. Breath hitched in their throats, sweat rolled in their eyes, and the sun roasted their foreheads, and sent up popping lights in their vision. Savva grumbled. With every step his boots rubbed and rubbed and rubbed. Every movement was agony. But then, one by one the other officers and Dr. Panteleon scrambled over a lip and disappeared from sight.

  "Kalimera, Captain Savva."

  Savva studied the overeager face of a young woman with wild curly hair. Private Kaikas and no other. She radiated joy from her twitching fingers to her bright fingers. "Where is he?"

  The small crowd parted to expose a male body, propped against a rock like a discarded sack of animal feed. Blood had dried in rivers across his face and his head lolled sideways on his chest. Savva swallowed against the knee jerk reaction to walk away. It was an inert body, a body that did not know the fear it instilled in the nine people gathered around it.

  Stelios led a tall, wiry man over. He was pale and wiped his hands repeatedly on his trousers. Large stains emanated from his armpits. "Sir, this is Mr. Adam Harris. He found the body."

  Indeed Stelios and Adam Harris could be father and son, so alike were they with long noodle-like limbs and thin lined faces. But a wariness coiled in Adam Harris' quick moving, green eyes.

  "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harris," Savva
said in accented English. "I'm Captain Alexandros Savva." Adam Harris grimaced as he struggled for speech. "Where are you from Mr. Harris?"

  "Colorado," he moaned, "the United States."

  "I had a layover in Denver once," Savva said dreamily. "Your mountains put ours to shame."

  "But your sea is mesmerizing, Captain."

  "It is." Savva let a comradely silence build between them before starting in. "Tell me, in your own time, what happened."

  Adam inhaled, rubbed his arm, and closed his eyes. "I left the hotel around six am, and drove here. A hotel employee told my wife about this hike and I decided to go. The mountain was deserted. I reached the top and turned to look at the view behind me and I saw him. At first I thought he was resting. Oh God, I didn't see ... his head. I said hello and then 'kalimera', you know in case he didn't speak English, but he didn't move. I said it louder. And then I saw the blood. I don't know how I missed it. I checked for his pulse; there wasn't one. I had to Google your emergency number. I waited, as the dispatcher asked, for your officers to arrive. It took a while. I haven't touched him ... well you know ... apart from checking for a pulse."

  "Yes, it is a long hike. You've given your information to my officers?"

  "I have."

  "Sergeant Booras will call to schedule a time for you to come to the station and give us your statement. You're free to go back to your hotel. Would you like an escort?"

  Adam shook his head, stepped away to leave, but craned his head towards Savva. "How are you going to get him down?"

  Savva smiled wearily. "The same way you're going, Mr. Harris."

  Adam grimaced, wished the officers a safe journey down, and then slipped over the ledge.

  * * *

  Savva turned from Adam's departing figure back to the body. He couldn't be much older than forty with a well-muscled body. He wore a simple grey v-neck shirt and beige hiking pants with cargo pockets. Quite unlike Savva's boots, this man's were well worn and still tied tight around his ankles. This was a man who took regular and vigorous exercise.

  "What's he doing here?"

  Stelios peered over Savva's shoulder. "Hiked?"

  "With someone else? Alone? Are there any footprints?"

  "No, Sir. It stormed last night, the wind would have obliterated them."

  Savva turned to face the medical examiner. "Dr. Panteleon, is there an obvious cause of death?"

  Dr. Lena Panteleon was a small stocky woman with close cropped blonde hair and perpetually frowning green eyes. She hovered over the body, balancing on the balls of her feet, looking as though she was about to take flight. Thick fingers, encased in white gloves, probed the back of the head, twisting it to see the extent of the damage.

  "Apart from the obvious head wound? But see this trail of dried blood? I'd say he was hit from behind, fell forward, then the blood trickled down his face and dried before he was set against this rock. There could be more injuries. I can't say for sure it was the cerebral damage which killed him."

  "Did he surprise the killer? Or did he hike with them and get hit from behind for his trouble?" Savva mused.

  Dr. Panteleon said nothing. It wasn't a question she couldn't and shouldn't answer.

  "What do you think, Sir?" Stelios said as he continued to hover at Savva's shoulder.

  Savva sidestepped Stelios' proximity and his stale garlic laden breath. "Help the other officers process the scene so we can get back down and get him to the morgue. And check for blood splatter, see if you can pinpoint where the attack took place."

  Dr. Panteleon stood and wiped a hand across her forehead. "His pockets are empty, Captain."

  Savva licked his lips and bent back over the body. "Empty?Tiléfono?"

  "No. No identification either."

  He intertwined his fingers behind his back and leaned forward, over the body, like a guardian angel. "Do you think he's Greek?"

  Dr. Panteleon peered at the bloody face. If one averted one's eyes from the crumbling mass at the back of his skull, the man could be taking a mesimeri, reposing against the rock with the olive branches wafting his face like an ancient philosopher-king being fanned by a slave. He had dark Mediterranean skin, sharp contoured cheekbones, and a contemplative look to his mouth like he'd been caught pondering some hidden secret of humanity. The pools of blood, cracked at split from the heat, obscured his eyes and distorted what could have been a handsome face. Savva shook his head. As he turned, in irregularity caught his eye and he pattered around the body to the left hand where it lay splayed in the dust.

  "Did you notice these?"

  Stelios and Dr. Panteleon surveilled him from where they'd begun to organizie the descent.

  "What is it?" Stelios asked.

  "These fingers are broken."

  Dr. Panteleon walked over and bent over, her blond hair fell forward across her cheeks. The fingers lay in the dust, broken at such sharp angles that shards white bone had speared open the skin. Savva's stomach contracted. It must have been excruciating.

  "You're right. The second and third. Why were these two broken? Was he holding something?"

  "He's left handed."

  Dr. Panteleon cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

  Savva pointed at the fleshy side of the hand where it was tinged grey. "It's what happens as the hand drags across the paper." He lifted his left hand so Dr. Panteleon and Stelios could see the same smudge.

  "He's left handed ..." Stelios said.

  Savva turned to Dr. Panteleon who was busy placing bags over the hands. "Could the killer have stepped on it?"

  "It's possible. X-rays will show if there's any evidence of remodeling."

  "It's obvious it's recent. He couldn't have hiked up here like that," Stelios said indignantly.

  Somewhere down below a raven screeched and the sun went behind a mere wisp of a cloud, casting the scorching hilltop in shadow for a moment. The sweat on Savva's forehead cooled.

  "I'm being thorough," Dr. Patneleon said with a growl.

  "That's enough," Savva said. "When can we move him?"

  "Whenever you want. I'm finished."

  "Stelios, check underneath the body, and dust surrounding rocks for fingerprints."

  Savva turned away from the corpse; from a man who had a family and dreams and ambitions and here he was being poked and prodded with more indignities to come when all that was hidden was exposed for everyone to see.

  Savva kicked a lone pebble off the cliff, scuffed at the thin dust, and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. If he ignored the scampering of police officers and listened to the birds and the far away cries of lambs in search of their mothers, he could pretend he lived in a simple world. In a world untarnished by murder. There was nothing glorious about this work, nothing bright or shiny to polish and present to the people. It was horrific, following in the train of killers, rapists, abusers, drug addicts, and picking up the pieces of fear--fear that had escaped its careful bonds.

  Stelios' voice echoed across the hilltop and fell into the valley, as he ordered the other officers along. His voice had deepened beyond its normal tenor. Stelios still found joy and pride in what they did. He walked with a swagger (though he tripped on occasion) when ordering other officers about. But for Savva those times were long gone. He served the state with a heavy heart. He was good at what he did. He enjoyed the mental stimulation, but no parade of grateful citizens and booming trumpets played from him. He walked on for the dead. For people like this man who had lost what was most precious. If not for them he would've given up long ago.

  Stelios sidled up alongside him and as one, closed their eyes against the reality of death. The living could afford to ignore it. "We're ready, Sir. Two officers will stay behind to finish processing the scene."

  "Don't drop him," Savva grunted.

  "We won't, Sir," came a warbling voice behind him.

  Savva turned to the speaker, a stout muscular man (though barely old enough to drink) with a razor straight part in his thick brown hair, and a half-cock
ed smile. He stood with his weight placed on his right leg, as though he imagined himself Michelangelo's David. Savva couldn't grasp how physics still managed to keep the man upright.

  Savva turned from this ridiculous sight. "Dr. Panteleon are you ready?"

  "Ready."

  "Drop the body and the one responsible works weekends with the Tourist Police."

  A shiver went round the group. Stelios winced and tried to hide it by applying a thick coat of Vaseline. Savva stepped back and motioned for them to start.

  Dr. Panteleon stepped in front of him. "Am I included as well, Captain?" she asked with a wink.

  "You aren't a police officer and therefore don't work for me so I can't arrange your schedule. And I wouldn't imagine asking you to hold the stretcher," Savva grunted. "But," he leaned over conspiratorially; "I'm going to make Booras take turns with the men, just so he knows his summer is on the line as well."

  "Are the Tourist Police that bad?"

  Savva narrowed his eyes at the arguing men carrying their burden down the mountainside. "They all ask the same questions. 'Where's the beach? Where's the bathroom? What's the best restaurant? Which boats are for hire? Do you speak English?' The same questions but in different languages. It's maddening."

  "I can't believe you've done it ... spoken to them I mean," Dr. Panteleon said as she lowered herself over the edge, her foot slipped in the loose gravel. "I took you for a recluse, Captain."

  "On my good days; I am. It was three months. I thought I'd die. My superior officer had me in his office every week lecturing me on my manner; people complained I was too gruff." Savva broke off. "Booras, switch with Elias!" The pretend David, Savva couldn't for the life of his remember the boy's name, choked back a laugh.

  Every five minutes Savva called out for a rest and a rotation. The stretcher shifted, tilted, and slipped as the men, sweat dripping into their eyes and down between their legs, stepped over boulders and ducked under trees and skidded over loose rock. Stelios shifted his hands on the stretcher and flexed his fingers and winced in the sun.

  Savva brought up the rear, his eyes scanned the ground around the trail for evidence, anything cast away in a killer's haste. He stooped to peer into a patch of thorny bushes, which seemed a likely dumping place. Nothing. No spent cigarettes. No faded candy wrappers. No dilapidated plastic water bottle full of dirt. The chirping cicadas fell silent as he passed by; quiet as if they marked a moment of silence for death. He'd have to send up some uniforms to scour the area. They couldn't just do a quick pass at it.