NINETEEN
Mavros looked up and down the main street. There were cars parked on both sides, including a large black pickup with tinted windows.
‘You’d better get your pistol,’ he said to Mikis. ‘And your meat cleaver.’
The Cretan came back with the weapons covered by a jacket. ‘How do you want to do this?’
‘Let’s get up to the terrace. You go left and I’ll go right.’
‘Thought your old man was a Commie.’
Mavros smiled as the adrenaline began to flow. They went up the steps as quietly as they could, obscured from view by tall bushes. When Mikis moved away, Mavros took out the kitchen knife and put his ear against the bright blue door. Nothing. He walked to the nearest window and slowly put his head round. He saw a tidy sitting room, but there was no one in it. Then he heard a high-pitched wail that could have been a cat, but he was sure was human. It came from the rear of the building. Stepping less cautiously, he rounded the corner and went along the side wall. A window towards the rear showed the kitchen. There was a pair of bare legs lying inside, while the rest of the person was on the back terrace.
By the time he got there, Mikis was crouching over a women in a short skirt and white blouse, who was on her front. There was blood on her arms.
Mavros joined him and they rolled the woman on to her side. Blood came from her mouth, as well as a couple of teeth.
‘Bastards,’ Mikis hissed.
The woman moaned and opened her eyes, looking at them blearily as she spat out more blood.
‘Yiota?’ Mavros asked. ‘Yiota Prevelaki?’
‘Yes,’ she said weakly.
‘Where’s Maria?’
The woman tried to focus. ‘Maria? She’s. . she’s inside.’
‘Shit,’ Mikis said. ‘Stay with her.’ He stepped over her legs and headed inside. A few seconds later, there was a loud crash and the sound of subdued male voices.
‘Stay on your side,’ Mavros said, getting up and going into the kitchen.
By the time he made it to the hall, the front door was open. Mikis was lying motionless a metre inside. Two men in black, caps drawn low over their faces, were carrying a woman out of the gate, her long black hair hanging down.
‘Stop!’ Mavros said, looking for Mikis’s pistol. It was nowhere to be seen. He ran down the steps, brandishing the kitchen knife. ‘Stop thieves!’ He hoped that would attract attention from passers-by.
The men were pulling shut the doors of the pickup when he got to the street. The engine roared and it veered out into the street, provoking vigorous horn blowing from an old man in an ancient Fiat. Mavros squinted into the late morning sun and tried unsuccessfully to make out the number plate. He cursed himself for not taking it earlier — the vehicle was the kind that men from Kornaria drove.
Running back to the house, he turned Mikis on to his side and made sure his airway was clear. There was a nasty wound on the side of his temple, blood welling from it.
Mavros called for an ambulance as he headed back to the woman. She had pulled herself up and was sitting against the doorframe, her head back.
‘Did you recognize the men, Yiota?’ he asked, checking that she was breathing without obstruction.
‘No. . one. . one of them knocked on the door and they. . they just pushed in, grabbed me by the hair. I managed. . to pull away and run this way, but one of the pigs caught up with me and punched me. .’
He found a cloth and soaked it in water. ‘Here, hold this against your mouth.’
He looked back at Mikis. He hadn’t changed position, but his chest was moving.
The paramedics arrived quickly and looked the casualties over. One of them led Yiota to the ambulance and then returned to help his colleague with the still unconscious Mikis.
‘I don’t like the look of that wound,’ he said, turning to Mavros. ‘What happened?’
‘He was hit, I don’t know what with. Maybe a pistol butt.’
The men exchanged glances and started to move Mikis on to a stretcher.
‘Take them to the West Crete Clinic, please,’ he said, slipping the Cretan’s phone and car keys out of his pocket. His large knife must have been removed along with the Colt.
Before he went to the Jeep, Mavros scrolled down the phone book and found the entry for ‘Dad’. Inhaling deeply, he called Mr Tsifakis and explained what had happened.
‘We’ll see you at the clinic,’ Mikis’s father said, with impressive composure. ‘Don’t call the police.’
I wasn’t thinking of it, Mavros said to himself, as he walked past the overturned wheelchair.
But the police, in the form of Inspector Margaritis and a bull-chested sidekick, were waiting for him at the clinic.
‘Alex Mavro,’ the inspector said, with a thin smile. ‘You’ve been poking your nose in all sorts of places.’ He pointed at the dressing on Mavros’s neck. ‘You should be more careful.’
‘You should be looking for Rudolf Kersten’s killer.’
‘Rudolf Kersten killed Rudolf Kersten,’ was Margaritis’s riposte. ‘The forensic examiner’s report is in.’
‘That was very quick.’
‘We don’t have as many suspicious deaths as you do in the big city.’
Mavros made to move past them. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to see how my friend is.’
‘This won’t take a minute,’ the inspector said, grabbing his arm and pressing long nails through Mavros’s shirt. ‘Get off the island, you meddling piece of shit. There’s nothing to keep you here.’
Mavros said nothing about Maria Kondos’s abduction. ‘You’re not the first person to say that. Who’s paying you?’ He leaned close to the thin man’s sparsely covered head. In the background he saw a large man with grey hair and a face that was a heavier version of Mikis’s. The woman next to him was almost as bulky and her face was set hard as she looked at the policemen. He reckoned he could go put the boot in. ‘Waggoner? Roufos? Or the wankers up in Kornaria?’
Margaritis dropped his arm like it was a piece of carrion. ‘You-’
‘
‘What happened to the woman and young Tsifakis?’
‘Slipped on a step.’
Margaritis snorted. ‘Both of them? Anyway, that’s not what we heard. There was another woman.’
Some citizen of Galatsi had obviously become suspicious when Maria was carried out of the house.
Mikis’s parents came over.
‘What’s going on, Inspector?’ his father demanded.
‘Nothing,’ Margaritis said, with an unctuous bow. ‘We’re finished.’ He departed.
‘Haris Tsifakis,’ the big man said, extending a thick-fingered hand. ‘My wife, Eleni. Pleased to finally meet you, Mr Mavro.’
‘Alex, please.’ Mavros shook their hands. ‘I’m very sorry about-’
‘No need for that,’ Tsifakis said brusquely. ‘Mikis can look after himself.’
‘Not this time,’ his wife said, looking into Mavros’s eyes. ‘We know you and Mikis have put yourselves up against some of the island’s most dangerous people. That shows courage. But tell me that you didn’t lead my son into unnecessary danger.’
‘To be honest, he’s been the one leading me most of the time,’ Mavros said, provoking a grin from Mikis’s father.
‘That’s my boy. Let’s go and see how he is.’
Mavros led them to the lifts and they went up to the fourth floor.
‘You again,’ said Doctor Stavrakakis to Mavros. ‘Do you like this place so much you’re going to take up residence?’
‘How is my son?’ Eleni put in.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Tsifaki.’ The family was obviously well known. ‘I’m afraid he’s still unconscious. We’re
