the most sense to put it on top of the mine. That way he wouldn't have to excavate a place for his family's bones. He could just use the old mine entrance as a burial chamber.'
A chill shot through Andreas. He looked at Tassos.
Manny's right eye was twitching, and he started rubbing it. 'Sorry, it's been a long day.'
'No problem. You're being very helpful.'
'Where was I? Oh, yeah, so about ten years ago the farmer built his church. Tom was pretty upset because it closed off his entrance to the mines. He spends a lot of time wandering through mines all over the world. He tells everyone it gives him inspiration.'
'Inspiration for what?' said Andreas.
'I don't know, something about those tall, blond figures in his paintings.' Manny sounded proud of his knowledge of his friend's work.
Andreas glanced again at Tassos. 'So, what's he done since the church was built?'
'We really haven't talked about it, but I guess he's found another way in. The mines are too important to him. He calls them his roots.'
'Guys, are you done yet?' asked Katerina, looking bored. 'I know all this mining shit must be of deep interest to you public-servant types, but those of us who work for a living have to get back to our paying jobs.'
Andreas smiled. 'Just one more question. Manny, where do you think Tom is now?'
Manny looked at his watch. 'I don't know. Probably off in some mine.'
15
Katerina and Manny had left — but not before she asked Andreas to meet her later that night at a boat leaving for a 'pre-panegyri party.' He said he'd let her know and joined Tassos in kissing her good-bye.
Tassos was shaking his head. 'So, what do you think, party boy, is the artist our new number one suspect?'
Andreas ran his fingers through his hair, shrugged, and went to sit behind his desk. 'He's sure moved up on the list, but being eccentric doesn't make you a serial killer.'
'And everyone who knows him seems to know about his tall, blond-haired nymphs and the mines. Like you said, he could just be our killer's inspiration.' Tassos dropped back into his chair.
Andreas stretched his arms out above his head. 'We still have to find him — and his four missing potential disciples: Panos, Paul, Ilias, and George.'
Tassos patted his chair. 'What do you think about Manny?'
Andreas nodded no. 'I don't think so, but we've got to keep an eye on him until the deputy minister's niece is found, just to be on the safe side. After all, he's the only suspect around to watch. Be a shame to lose him too.' Andreas gave a sarcastic smile.
'I know how you feel.' Tassos paused. 'Let's head back to the artist's place and check out the church. I know it's not one of Father Paul's, but I still think we should — just to be sure.' He put his hands on the chair arms and pushed himself to his feet.
Sure of what? thought Andreas as he stood up and walked around his desk to the door. 'Okay, but I think you're just trying to keep me away from Katerina's party.'
Tassos laughed. 'You know, in the old days — before Mykonos had all this 24/7 nightlife — a panegyri was the only place for the locals to party.'
Andreas grinned. 'Like I said, you don't want me to have a good time.'
'It's also where the unmarried met — some even eloped right from a panegyri. I'm sure Katerina knows that.' He gave Andreas a light tap on the back of his head. 'You'll thank me in the morning.' Echoes of London had been their favorite album for waking up on a gloomy Sunday morning in Peter's flat. John Williams — of all people — made them want to have sex. Annika rolled onto her side to feel him, to stroke him in the darkness. He wasn't there. She wanted Peter; she wanted him very much. She thought he must be asleep on the edge of their bed and stretched out her hand but did not find him. She rolled toward him and reached again. Still no Peter, but she felt something — something familiar, like the music.
Annika ran her fingers lightly along the hard, strong textures — all silky no matter where she touched. She felt no pain. She wanted to be closer and slid on her side to where she could press her body against the one her fingers were exploring. She felt the smooth, cool skin against her own. She pressed and released her breasts and thighs against her companion until the tingle came between her legs, the one she wanted Peter to touch. But he wasn't there. Only their music was with her.
She wanted more. She forced herself to her knees and pressed her body against her newfound lover as she struggled to her feet. Her head was swooning. All she could think of was finding release. She moved to the music as she had so many times before. It felt so good — the firm, cool pressure of his body as she slid along him in a slow, torrid search for what she knew must be there.
She found it in a place perfect for her needs. She gripped it lightly at first, more tightly when she knelt to take it in her mouth. Her tongue fluttered over it until it was as wet as she. Abruptly she stood, then paused trying to make out her lover's face in the darkness. She could not, but no matter, she needed this. She spread her arms and legs and stepped forward to mount him and be taken. Up and down she moved, her nipples as hard as his, her inner thighs wet from how he made her feel. Faster and faster she drove herself until, screaming, she collapsed onto the floor, next to the wall. He was a watcher. It was his greatest pleasure. He couldn't remember when he began watching, but it was when he was young. His sister had caught him once, then told on him.
To his mind, the modern world was overrun by an endless rush of words. Far too many for him ever to know what was true and what was not, what was right and what was wrong. In his silent world beneath the earth he only watched — never spoke, never exchanged a smile or a nod of recognition. He showed his tributes no sign that he existed in their world — or they in his. That was how it should be. That was how he wanted it to be. That was how it was.
He touched the scar on the head of his penis. It was a cigarette burn, like the others circling his groin. Marks from his father. For watching his sister, he'd said — or was it for watching them both? Whatever, it didn't matter anymore. By the time they reached the artist's place it was early evening. There was no light in the house, but there was a glow about the door frame of the church. They parked by the house, quietly made their way to the church, and listened. They heard nothing at first but after a minute caught the sound of something human. It was definitely coming from inside, yet it sounded far away at the same time. Andreas looked at Tassos and pointed at the door handle. Tassos nodded and pulled his pistol.
Holding his gun in his right hand, Andreas reached for the handle with his left and gently turned it. The door was unlocked, and he crouched and yanked it open.
Tassos' eyes darted back and forth above his raised gun as he scanned the room. Seconds passed, and there wasn't a sound.
Andreas was about to speak when he heard the sound again. It was coming from under the floor, up through an opening partially covered by a marble slab. That was where the light was coming from too. There were shadows moving about in the light below the floor. Someone was down there. They could make out a ladder of sorts anchored to the far side of the opening. It was the way down into the crypt — and what must be the old mine entrance. He whispered, 'Should we go in?'
Before Tassos could speak, they heard a sudden, high-pitched wail and a deep, soulful moan rising out of the earth beneath them. It was the music that finally got to Annika through the haze that was her mind. Why was it playing here — wherever here was? She felt herself fading away but forced herself back. She thought, I told him, didn't I? I told the bastard all about Peter, about us… about our music. She was fading again and knew she was losing herself to sleep. She moaned to herself, 'Water, water. Don't drink water,' and passed out. It was the third time that day that Catia had called her brother's office, and the third time his secretary said he was in a meeting. In her most courteous tone Catia said she did not want to interrupt her brother but it was 'urgent he gets this message immediately.' The secretary wrote down Catia's words and read them back at her request. Catia said, 'Perfect, dear. Thank you. Please give it to my brother at once. Good-bye,' and hung up.
The secretary knew this was not the sort of message she'd dare walk into the deputy minister's office and
