friendly basis, and sensed to do that it would have to be on the priest's terms. Andreas walked to the edge of the water and did what everyone else on this island did with a few moments to kill — he stared out to sea. Again his thoughts turned to his father. Damn it, why did Tassos have to mention him?
He was reaching for a cigarette when Father Paul went racing past him into the water. Ripples of white trailed behind him until he disappeared beneath the surface where, quickly, a film of white percolated above him, like an escaping halo. He must have been under for more than a minute before surfacing. He dipped his head back into the water and rubbed vigorously at his hair to get out whatever remained of the whitewash. Andreas saw now that his hair was almost as white as the paint. He was probably in his sixties, though you'd never think that if his hair were dark.
Father Paul emerged from the water as if born anew — and just as naked. He was holding his shorts in his hands, wringing them out. 'Yes, my son, what can I do for you?'
The first thing Andreas wanted to say was 'Put on your shorts,' but hey, this was Mykonos and he didn't want to do anything to spook the guy. 'I understand you look after some of the old churches on the island.'
'Every one that needs my care.' He was smiling, still squeezing and still naked.
'How many are there?' Andreas asked, his voice friendly.
Like a loving father proud of his children, the priest did not give a number. Instead he named and described each one in detail. Andreas did not interrupt, just took out his notebook and wrote what he was told.
'Thank you, Father. That's quite impressive. I have some questions about the church on the other side of this mountain.' He pointed up the hill.
'Ah, yes, my beloved Calliope.' Andreas noticed that before saying her name, he put on his shorts. 'How can I help you?'
'When's the last time you were up there?'
'June eighth.'
Andreas was surprised at how quickly he answered.
'With all the churches you look after, how can you be so certain of the date?'
'It was her name day. I always conduct mass there on her name day.'
Andreas should have known that. 'Are you the one who cleaned it and put in the candles?'
'Yes, I do that the week before celebrating mass.'
Andreas remembered that the night before the name day, there's a celebration dedicated to the saint and the souls of the family members whose bones are buried there — though it's more like a big party, with food, dancing, and music. 'Was there a panegyri?'
He shook his head. 'No, not up there. I'd be the only one. I went to a panegyri at a different church honoring Saint Calliope.'
'How often do you visit that church?' Andreas pointed up the hill again.
Father Paul looked Andreas straight in the eye. 'The same as all my churches, twice a year — once to fix it up and once to say mass. I wish I could go more often, but I have so many to take care of and I'm only here for two months a year.'
'Which months?'
'It depends, but always July and sometimes June — like this year — and sometimes August.'
'How long have you been taking care of them?'
His eyes hadn't moved. 'Twenty years or so. I started after I built this place and came across poor, neglected Calliope. I realized at that moment there was a need for me to fill, that God had brought me here to take care of his neglected ones.'
Andreas was getting an uneasy vibe from this guy but didn't want to show it. The man didn't seem curious in the least as to why the chief of police was out here asking him all these questions. No reason to make him think I'm suspicious, he thought — at least not until I've had the chance to check him out, and the forensics are back.
'Thank you, Father. I appreciate your cooperation.'
The man extended his hand, and this time Andreas shook it. Father Paul turned and started back toward his house. 'Oh, by the way.' He kept walking as he talked. 'There is one thing I'm curious about, Chief Kaldis.'
Ah, here it comes, thought Andreas. 'What is it, Father?'
'Why didn't you ask me about the body?' Andreas kept yelling at himself as he drove back to town. He'd screwed up. In trying not to seem suspicious he'd made it clear to the priest that he was. Father Paul might be without a phone, but he was not without friends. Several had stopped by earlier in the afternoon to tell him about the body in 'his' church. The priest was not mad. Far from it. The more appropriate word was eccentric. He claimed to know nothing about the body, adding that he had no reason ever to disturb a burial crypt — and regarded even an attempt as a sacrilege.
Andreas left it at that. He knew he'd better prepare a lot better for his next round with Father Paul. No more questioning until he heard back from forensics or — God forbid — something else went wrong. The first call Catia made that morning was to her brother's wife, Lila, in Athens. Her daughter, Demetra, and Annika were like sisters. Catia could not imagine Annika going to Greece without seeing Demetra. Her sister-in-law hadn't spoken to Catia since before Annika's graduation and wouldn't let Catia say a thing until she'd heard all the details about that. Catia gave the hurried version and, before Lila could raise another subject, asked if she'd heard from Annika.
'Yes, the day she arrived in Greece. She called me for Demetra's cell phone number — to make plans to travel the islands together.'
Catia hadn't realized how anxious she was until hearing her sister-in-law's words. She let out a deep sigh of relief and smiled. Her daughter had once more shown good judgment. 'Do you know where they are?'
'I know Demetra is still in Milan. She's not through with her work-study semester at the fashion house there. I think they made plans to get together when she gets back.'
Every anxious thought came rushing back. Catia struggled for control of her voice. 'Do you have any idea where Annika may be?'
'No, but I'm sure Demetra does. Here, let me give you her mobile number.'
When Catia called no one answered and as instructed she left a message for Demetra. Something was wrong. She sensed she'd never find her daughter this way. There was no logical reason for her feelings, only a mother's intuition. For the moment, though, Catia could think of nothing else to do but tell her husband how worried she was, wait for a call from Demetra, and — probably — throw up. The phone rang and it was Tassos. He had some preliminary results for Andreas.
'I'm impressed, Tassos — answers before lunch.'
'You'll be glad you didn't eat.' His voice was grave.
'That bad?'
'Very.'
'The woman suffocated to death… almost certainly right where we found her. She'd been prepared for burial while alive… tampons pushed very deeply into vaginal and anal cavities… far more than would be used for burial. Probably torture.' Tassos kept pausing, as if trying to grasp the meaning of his own words as he said them. 'As best as Costas can tell, she probably died somewhere between the seventh and ninth of June.'
'Saint Calliope's name day!' Andreas blurted out.
'Yes.' Tassos went silent for a moment. 'He confirmed she was in her twenties, Caucasian, blond, blue-eyed, and almost six feet tall.'
None of this was news. Andreas waited for the other shoe to drop.
'Preliminary pharmacology results show a strong indication of methamphetamine.'
Instantly, Andreas felt he knew the reason for Tassos' mood. 'Crystal meth! The same as in your body from ten years ago! The Scandinavian girl.'
He didn't have to see him to know Tassos was nodding. 'Yes… but I'm afraid that's not all of it.'
'Not all of it? We've got two dead bodies ten years apart in what probably are ritual killings. How much worse can it be?' His voice exuded anxiety.
Tassos paused again. 'In churches as old as this one there was no separation of the bones in a burial crypt; one generation was piled on top of the next. That's why it's not surprising we found the body lying on old bones.' Another pause. 'We know that the last member of the family who built that church left Mykonos more than sixty years ago. We should check to see if anyone remembers the last time someone was buried there.'
'Why?'
