kick around some local dealers to try and come up with a match, but without a suspect, forget it.'
Andreas let out a breath. 'Could be homemade stuff. All he'd need is fertilizer, battery acid, and cold medicine.'
'More Internet research?'
Andreas let the teasing pass with a smile. 'I think there are three things to get started on right away, One' — he popped out a finger for emphasis — 'identify the sets of bones; two' — out popped another finger — 'find anyone who saw the Vandrew girl on the island and three-'
'Look for more bodies,' Tassos interrupted.
Andreas hadn't intended to say that. He'd thought it, but that wasn't his third choice — his was checking out Father Paul. Finding more bodies would make it a hell of a lot tougher to keep things quiet — practically and morally.
Andreas shrugged. 'You're right.' He'd check out his original point three on his own.
Tassos said, 'I'm pretty sure the bones we found were tourists because there are no women — Mykonian or otherwise — reported as missing from Mykonos even faintly resembling the size of the skeletons.'
'How can that be? There are four women buried in a church on Mykonos. You'd think someone would have reported at least one of them missing.'
Tassos shook his head. 'That's why I'm saying we should widen the search, look for missing foreigners generally — or at least off-island Greeks — not just those who disappeared on Mykonos. Someone might have tried to file a report, but Mykonos has a long history of claiming 'nothing bad happens here.'' He emphasized the phrase with his fingers in quote marks and a look of disgust. 'If someone tried reporting a foreign woman as missing on Mykonos, the police would say she must have left the island and no missing-person report would be tied to Mykonos. Only if a missing person were local or one with Greek friends or a family raising holy hell would there be a real push made.' He grinned. 'Isn't that one of the reasons you're its new chief — to change all that?'
There really were no secrets from this guy, Andreas thought. It reminded him of how his dad somehow always knew when he was hiding cookies under his pillow. 'How do you suggest we get an ID on the bones without going through official channels?'
'I'll ask a friend at Interpol who owes me a favor for a list of possible matches.'
Andreas leaned back in his chair. He knew any likely match meant DNA testing against family members. How the hell to keep that quiet? 'My guys are checking the hotels, bars, clubs, taxis, tavernas, shops, and beaches for anyone who might have seen Vandrew.'
Tassos nodded. 'So, on to point three.'
Andreas said, 'How are we ever going to search all those churches?'
Tassos shrugged. 'Good question. Even if we had the men, the families and the archbishop would be down our throats the moment we started. Trust me, our quiet investigation would end in roaring flames.'
Silence.
Andreas swiveled again. 'Maybe we don't have to go at it that way. If our killer's hidden other bodies,' and it seemed painfully certain he had, 'I think I know where to find them.'
Tassos didn't seem surprised. 'And where would that be?'
Andreas stared at him. 'In churches looked after by Father Paul.'
Tassos nodded and smiled. 'You mean your original point three?'
'Wiseass.' He really does know me, thought Andreas.
They spent the next several hours poring over Andreas' Internet research trying to agree upon a profile for their suspect. They concluded the killer was at least forty and acting alone. Based upon the sheer size of the victims, if their killer were female, she'd have to be tremendously strong or have help, and since statistically most were men acting alone, they went with the percentages. They pegged his age to the fact one victim was murdered fifteen years ago and most serial killers don't start killing until their mid-twenties.
How much older than forty he might be, they couldn't guess. The literature said serial killers act when they feel a 'compulsion' they must satisfy — usually driven by 'power-to-control or sexual urges.' There are 'cooling-off periods' of years or weeks between killings, but when they get the urge, they have to feed it — and the longer they kill without capture, the more frequent their need. The killer could go on killing for as long as he had the strength for it.
Much of what they read seemed consistent with what they'd seen. 'The extreme, sadistic urges of many serial killers are typically expressed in bondage, mutilation, and torture of a sexual nature' — the twine, shaved hair, and tampons — 'and killing victims slowly over a long period of time.' Suffocation in a crypt was certainly that.
They agreed on a description to distribute to their cops, being as careful as they could not to make it sound too much like the list of characteristics in Tassos' pocket.
'A forties-plus male, in reasonably good physical condition. Intelligent, possibly a little kinky or sadistic, with a bad family history. May have a police record,' read Andreas.
'Covers a lot of guys on this island,' said Tassos.
'Let's add 'more than fifteen-year resident or tourist on Mykonos.''
'Sounds good to me.' Tassos looked at his watch. 'It's almost eight-thirty. I better head to the port if I want any chance of getting back to Syros before it's totally dark.'
'Thanks.' Andreas reached out to shake hands but Tassos embraced him in the traditional Greek fashion of goodbye between friends.
Tassos gave him an extra pat on the back. 'Speak to you tomorrow… my friend.' Andreas sensed he wanted to say more.
After he left, Andreas looked over the notes of his conversation with Father Paul. He'd scribbled down the names of the churches the priest had rattled off, but he knew for sure he couldn't find all of them on his own. He'd have to come up with some innocuous way of getting that contractor Pappas to help him. For sure that would earn him a 'favors beget favors' lecture, but what the hell, sometimes you have to deal with the devil to catch a sinner.
That was something he'd learned from his father.
5
The massive ferry made its traditional, midnight grand entrance into the harbor. The town looked more alive than Annika remembered — lights and people everywhere. She couldn't wait to get off. As she stepped out onto the open deck, her honey-blond hair whipped across her face. She liked the way it felt: free and unhampered. Meltemi winds blew only on late-summer afternoons, she thought, but then again, this was the island with windmills as its symbol. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair to pull it off her face and thought to grab a sweater out of her backpack but didn't. Once out of the wind, she'd be fine.
She'd chosen a loose-fitting beige T-shirt, matching khaki cargo shorts, and sneakers for the trip. She wanted to look like every other backpacker. At just under six feet tall, that wasn't possible, especially when the straps of her backpack pressed her already ample bosom into the realm of wow. Nothing she could do about that. Nor about virtually every Greek man and adolescent boy around her taking part in a running gag all the way from Patmos as to how best to find and devour karpouzi. Since there were no watermelons anywhere to be seen, she had a pretty good idea of the melons that held their interest but acted as if she didn't understand a word of their conversations. She was being true to her father's favorite lecture: 'Don't let strangers know you understand their language. It gives you an edge.'
She'd decided not to let anyone but her cousin and aunt know she was here. She wanted to be anonymous for as long as possible — just a poor little Dutch girl in search of a good time on Mykonos. She'd let the Greek boys take a shot — maybe one would get lucky. No, maybe I'll get lucky, she thought. Time to take charge of my life and do what I want to do, not what pleases some dickhead. She knew she still was angry, but she couldn't help it.
She waited until the boat docked before going down the stairs. From experience she knew hurrying to get off in the first huddled rush meant a pressing crowd of anonymous groping hands. By the time she stepped onto the concrete pier a crowd had gathered about fifty yards away. That would be where the hotels solicited customers. She walked over and looked for someone holding a sign with the name of a hotel she recognized but where no one
