church’s treasures.”
Tassos shrugged. “I think perhaps we should take a different approach and stop trying to figure out what the bad guys could steal.”
“A ‘different approach’ for you generally means head-busting,” said Andreas.
“I don’t think we have to go that far, but I do think it’s time we pay a visit to some of Tinos’ more recent emigres and try to find out what brought on their sudden attraction to life on this island.”
“Like I said, head-busting.”
Tassos and Andreas had been driving around for almost a half hour looking for a dovecote. When you mentioned Tinos to a native Greek the second most likely thing to come to mind were the island’s nearly one thousand intricately designed, two-story stone dovecotes. They were almost as famous as the Church of Panagia Evangelistria. Decorated in elaborate geometric patterns and natural shapes like cypresses and the sun, dovecotes were mainly built on slopes near water and cultivated areas in the eastern and central parts of the island where the wind offered easy takeoffs and landings to attract the doves. Venetian occupiers had introduced them to Tinos in the 18th Century to satisfy their taste for pigeon meat and provide a high quality source for fertilizer.
But Tassos and Andreas weren’t sightseeing. They were looking for one dovecote in particular. Eleni’s father told them that a Tinian contractor specializing in restoring dovecotes had a lot of new metanastes working for him. He remembered seeing some that morning on a farm on the far side of a village “about twenty minutes from here if you know the way.”
“That must be it.” Tassos pointed to an open field off to the left fenced in by centuries-old stonewalls. Beyond the field sat a traditional white Cycladic farmhouse and next to it on the left a freestanding, two-story white and natural stone dovecote. The bottom story was for storage and gathering bird droppings, the top for the doves. Three men in work pants and tee shirts stood smoking in front of the dovecote.
“Must be break time,” said Andreas.
Tassos looked at his watch. “More likely boss-is-away time.”
“Well, let’s see if we can get their attention.” Andreas made a left onto the gravel and dirt path leading up to the farmhouse. He turned on the flashing roof lights as the cruiser approached the men.
“What are you doing that for?” said Tassos.
“To see how they react. And to let them know this is a formal visit. May as well start getting the word out that there’s a new sheriff in town.”
“You and those damn American westerns.” Tassos opened the door before the car stopped and stepped out the instant it did, keeping the door between him and the men. “Okay, guys, over here.” He pointed to a spot in front of the car.
The men looked at each other as if waiting for one of them to make the first move.
“Like I said, ‘over here.’ And that means now. ”
One man started forward and the other two followed.
Andreas stepped out and leaned against the driver’s side of the car. “You, in the green tee shirt. Drop the hammer.”
The man kept coming and Andreas put his hand on his holster. A dark-skinned, wiry man in a white tee shirt turned to the one in green and said something in a language Andreas did not understand. The man dropped the hammer.
“Those two don’t understand Greek,” said the man in the white tee shirt.
“That could be dangerous,” said Andreas not taking his hand off his holster.
“Papers please,” said Tassos.
The man in white said something to the other two, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a passport and working permit. The other two men did the same.
“Is there a problem officer?”
“I’ll let you know,” said Tassos.
“Call them in,” said Andreas. “Let’s see what we have on them.”
Tassos reached into the car for the transmitter. Andreas slowly walked to the front of the car and leaned back against the hood. He was about six feet from where the men stopped. He stared at them for about a minute without saying a word.
“Where are you from?” said Andreas.
“They’re from Romania, I am from Pakistan.”
“I meant in Greece.”
“Athens.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Since the end of June.”
“And the other two?”
“I don’t know, about three weeks I guess.”
“Before those two tsigani were murdered?”
The man shrugged.
“How come you speak Romanian?”
“I’m good with languages. It’s how I got this job. I do the translating and they do most of the work.” He smiled.
“No outstanding warrants,” said Tassos. “But some very interesting arrest records. For all three.”
“How’d you manage to get working papers?” said Andreas.
The man didn’t respond.
“Let me guess,” said Andreas. “No convictions and friends in very low places.”
Andreas got off the hood and stepped to within a foot of the man’s face. He was a head shorter than Andreas. Andreas patted him on the shoulder. “You and GADA’s Chief of Special Crimes are about to become a 24/7 item.”
“Why are you hassling me?”
“Why are you on Tinos?” said Andreas
“To work.”
“Please don’t tell me you found religion,” said Tassos.
“Sort of.”
“ Stop fucking with us,” shouted Andreas.
The two Romanians looked at each other.
“You better tell your buddies to relax.”
The Pakistani said something to the others. “We came here because we heard we’d find work. And that if we kept out of trouble the pay would always be good.”
“Who told you there was work?” said Tassos.
“Someone I met in Athens.”
“Got a name?” said Tassos.
The man gestured no. “He said he was a ‘priest.’”
Andreas nodded. “A priest.” Andreas cleared is throat. “Was he dressed like a priest?”
“No.”
“Did you meet him in a church?”
“No. I met him on Sophocleos Street, just off Pireos.”
He’d just named perhaps the worst section of street in central Athens, a veritable no man’s land of 24/7 vice and crime. “He acted like one of those missionary types seeking converts but he wasn’t talking religion.”
“Then how did you know he was a priest?” said Andreas.
“I didn’t say I knew he was a priest, I said that’s what he called himself.”
“And you left Athens to come here based on that?”
“No, I checked with friends who were working here. They said it was legit.”
“I’m sure you have names for your friends,” said Tassos.
The man looked around, as if for a place to run.
“You won’t make it,” said Andreas. “The names.” He knew they’d be phony.
