hurt — as long as his asshole boss doesn't find out who snitched on him.'
'I wouldn't worry about that,' said Tassos, taking a piece of bread from Andreas. 'Ilias probably can't find better or cheaper help. Besides, the worst he could do is get him deported to Albania. Even if that happened, he'd be back in Greece in no time.'
'I guess you're right. And he'd be nuts trying to mess with the guy. He must know how tough the Albanians can be at protecting their own from legbreakers.'
'Mmm,' Tassos agreed through a sip of wine. 'He knows. And without his cousin the mayor backing him up, Ilias is a bit of a coward.' He took another sip. 'You still think it's him?'
'Don't know, but there's something about Father Paul that's not right.'
'I'll ask a friend in London if they have a file on him.'
'Good idea.' Andreas was into the octopus and salad.
Tassos lifted his fork to his mouth. 'Any other suspects?'
Andreas gave the upward head gesture for 'no' among Greeks. 'Not yet,' he said, then took a sip of water. 'I think I'll stop at the hotel after we're done. Where are you staying?'
'Just outside of town, at the Rhenia Hotel. I'm catching the first morning boat to Syros.'
Andreas pushed his plate forward. He was finished eating. 'I meant to tell you, your forensic guys did a great job.'
'Thanks,' said Tassos.
Andreas was sincere. Tassos' men had agreed to no suits, no sirens, no marked cars, and whirlwind stops at the churches. Andreas had left them with the body at Saint Fanourios while he went on to the last three on Father Paul's list. His first stop, at Saint Spyridon, yielded an empty crypt and hopes of no more bodies. Forensics caught up to him before he'd opened the crypt at Saint Marina's. There they found another decomposing body on another pile of bones. Andreas waited until Tassos arrived from Syros, and together they went to open the crypt at Saint Kiriake's. From the edge of that crypt Andreas called the mayor to come to his office for their meeting and Tassos called forensics to come for its fourth pile of bones and another body.
'They're excited about this. It's the biggest challenge of their professional careers. I told them, if one word of this leaks out, they'd find whoever's responsible under a Syros church someday.'
Andreas smiled. 'Do you think they'll keep quiet?'
Tassos paused, his fork held midair, and stared at him. 'You think I'm kidding. They know better.'
Perhaps they do, thought Andreas.
Over coffee, Tassos said he'd get his men looking for every official and unofficial detail on Ilias — and the death of his father. He'd also call the mayor in the morning for everything he knew about his cousin.
As they walked back to the car, Tassos put his arm across Andreas' back and rested his hand on his shoulder. It reminded Andreas of how his father used to walk with his friends in the evening through the square by their home in Athens. Both the memory and the arm were comforting. When they reached the car, Tassos refused a ride. He wanted 'to walk off the meal.' Andreas said something about the Balkans being pretty far away and Tassos gave him a less-than-pleasant one-finger gesture. They hugged good night and agreed to talk again at ten the next morning.
As Andreas drove to the hotel he thought about the death of the deputy minister who'd set up his father. Over his years on the force, Andreas had reviewed and investigated — unofficially — every bit of information surrounding his father's death. He also knew his father had friends 'from the old days' — and some probably were responsible for getting Andreas into the police academy. As for whatever else they did — or might have done — out of loyalty to his dad, Andreas had no interest in finding out, from Tassos or anyone else. His only interest was in being a cop who would honor his father's memory. He always had been, and he hoped he always would be.
Andreas pulled up to the hotel and got out of the car. Damn, he thought. I hope the night guy's in a cooperative mood. I've no time left to fuck around and make nice.
10
The lobby lights were dim and a muted TV was flickering with a rerun of a soccer game. The night manager was lying on the couch dozing. He jumped up when he heard someone and forced a smile through sleepy eyes. He didn't recognize Andreas at first, but when he did the smile disappeared.
'Mr Ilias not here.' He was nervous.
'I'm not here to see him. I'm here to see you.' Now the man was very nervous. 'Where can we talk?' Andreas' voice was crisply official.
The man showed him to the office by the reception counter.
'I have a few questions for you,' Andreas said.
'I told you everything,' the man said, his body shaking.
Time to make him shake more, thought Andreas as he shook his head and said, 'I don't think so.'
Andreas made him repeat everything he could remember about Helen Vandrew. Nothing new. Andreas raised his voice a few notches. 'Okay, now tell me anybody else you can think of who might know something about her. Anybody you saw talk to her, anybody you saw with her, anybody you saw near her!' His voice had risen until he was yelling.
'I don't know.'
'Think, damn it! Did you ever see her with anyone?'
'No, like I said, never.' The man looked hysterical with fear.
Andreas softened his voice a bit. 'Look, she was pretty and alone here for two days. Someone must have tried to talk to her. At breakfast or when she was going out.'
'Honest, there no one. She never come to breakfast. She never come back second night, and first night she go out of taxi alone.'
Andreas heard a new word.
'Taxi? You never said anything about a taxi.'
'It just Manny. He bring her in morning.'
Now Andreas was yelling for real. He grabbed the man by the shirt. 'Listen, you bastard, I told you I wanted the names of everyone you ever saw with her. Even Jesus Christ himself! If I even think you're holding back or covering for someone, I'll find so many ways to keep your ass in prison the only way you'll ever get out is in a coffin! Understand? Now tell me everyone!'
The man was probably frightened enough to wet his pants. He was in tears. 'I no think you mean taxi drivers. Sorry, sorry, sorry. There no one else, no one. On my mother's grave no one else.'
Andreas kept scaring the life out of him for another fifteen minutes until he was certain the man was telling the truth. All that work for the name of one lousy taxi driver. Annika wasn't quite sure why she agreed to leave the piano bar with him to get something to eat, but he knew everybody there, was interesting, and behaved like a gentleman. It seemed harmless enough — and it wasn't as if he were a total stranger. He suggested a place out of town, a local Italian restaurant on the road to Kalifati Beach, southeast of Ano Mera. She'd been there before and liked it but didn't tell him; after all, she wasn't supposed to know the island.
The place was full when they arrived, as if no one knew or cared how late it was. He acted shyer than she expected, often pausing thoughtfully before speaking. In academic circles, taking such time to collect your thoughts was known complimentarily as taking a 'Harvard pause' — though Yale kibitzers said it meant waiting for the voices inside your head to tell you what to say next.
They sat outside, just off the beach, at a shaky wooden table barely covered by a plastic, blue-and-white checkered tablecloth. The ground was hard-packed and sandy, but the nearby fig trees and geraniums seemed to like it. So did the mosquitoes. The owner brought Annika some repellent and a wrap for her shoulders — the night air was a bit nippy for beach wear. She wasn't dressed or in the mood for a romantic dinner, which made this all the more perfect a choice. The only thing romantic about this place was a funnel of rippling silver moonlight coming at them across the sea between two matching hills locals called 'the breasts of Aphrodite.'
They ordered pizza and chilled red wine. It was great, and reminded her of a late-night food-run in college.
