Stelios returned. Holding his phone out to Savva. ”The tags on the quilts in the smaller room are from 1974. Matthias' name is embroidered on them.”
"Is there anything in the other bedroom?"
"Nothing, Sir. There's a small chest of drawers, but it's empty as well."
"Rallis was right, this is a show home."
"But who stayed here?"
"Presumably a man, a woman, and two children."
"Matthias didn't have any relatives, though, so who were they?" Stelios pondered.
Savva grunted and turned to the small kitchen. The appliances were old but scrupulously clean apart from the grey smudges where they'd been fingerprinted. The cabinets were painted white and the marble countertops pristine. Stelios opened every door and peered inside while Savva frowned at the polished floor, at the trestle dining table, at the braided rug under the sink. Such care. Such a clean, ordered, home. But where were the photos?
"Nothing," Stelios grunted.
"Nothing outside either," Kaikas said, from the front door. "The Land Registrar's Office doesn't have a deed of transfer for the property, so technically it still belongs to the grandmother. Well, I was told that the paperwork must have been lost after they moved buildings, but they probably can't be bothered to look."
"Set a watch on the house," Savva said, he walked to the doors that were flung open to the back garden.
"I've already done it, Sir," Stelios said. "I called when we drove in."
Savva shut the glass doors. "Let's go then."
As they trooped around the house, another police SUV pulled into the driveway and a uniformed officer stepped out. Stelios walked over to speak with him. Savva walked to his car without a backward glance. The uniformed officer snapped a salute, which he waved off.
"Go back the office," he shouted over his shoulder before reversing down the drive.
Kaikas stared at the Saab's trail of dust, which rose on the drive and obscured the car in a thick haze. "Do you think he's alright?"
Stelios shrugged, the state of their boss' mind was not something he was keen to discuss. "He's fine."
"He doesn't seem like it."
Stelios slipped behind the steering wheel of their SUV, eased the vehicle around the other officer's car, and drove toward the Saab's dissipating trail of dust. "Have you kicked him out yet?"
Kaikas's head snapped around. "Who."
"Your boyfriend."
"Oh." She visibly melted. "No, I haven't. I'm still at my friend's house."
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
She crossed her arms and glared determinately out the window. "Nothing. I just hate confrontation, that's all."
"Clearly," Stelios said. "Look, do you need help? I'll drive over with you, if you want."
"Oh no. I can do it."
"It doesn't look that way to me."
"You don't understand. It's not that easy. If I kick him out everyone will hear about it. I don't want to deal with the fallout from my parents. My job will be dragged into it."
"Why?"
"They had a plan for me. Find a good man, get married, have babies, and run his house. They were fine as long as my job was temporary: a way to whittle away my time. I met Dimitris right before the transfer to Lesvos came through. They weren't happy about any of it ... about us living together, but they figured he'd propose and that would be that and we'd move home. But if I marry him, all I am is someone else's property with no life of my own and forever doomed to cleaning and cooking and producing children. It's not what I want. It's not what I've ever wanted, but try convincing them of that."
"It won't last forever."
"What? Disappointing them?" Kaikas blurted.
"Mine got over it pretty quickly."
"I doubt that. I know your mom asked you to come to Mykonos."
"How?"
"All of a sudden, everyone has days off. You've picked up their shifts and they're singing your praises."
"We'll have to go over there anyway if my dad's right about these missing girls."
She laughed.
"Kick him out," Stelios said. His tone softened and his hand hovered over her arm. "They'll forget about it."
"If you say so."
Stelios turned and peered over his shoulder as he eased the vehicle down the drive. "I'll give you a hundred euro if you do it today."
"You're on."
* * *
Savva pulled into the parking lot at the police department and stared blankly at the building. He had no memory at all of the drive. The parking lot was empty except for a battered green jeep in the far corner, jacked up, with the driver's front wheel unceremoniously abandoned on the rusted hood. As he slammed the car door, the smell of roasting lamb curled and wafted across the parking lot. He rotated on the spot to find the source of the delicious scent and saw, at an apartment three stories above him, a man in black shorts standing by a barbecue, unbuttoned shirt flapping in the wind, waved a spatula in a strange salute.
He trotted up the stairs at headquarters. A smile broke over his face–at long last his legs worked and acted like real legs and every step didn't feel like one step short of torture. He unlocked the door to his office, hung up his suit coat, and went to stand by the window where he could look down onto Kikladon Street. The simple white clock on the wall ticked-ticked-ticked as he watched scooters, tourists, and locals shuffle by.
Matthias' face swam before him. Savva dragged a hand across his eyes and sat down heavily behind his desk. Who lived in the cottage? Were they in danger? Had they been caught up in the killer's web? Where were they? How would he warn them? Savva hung his head, in an effort to control the rush of worry, that engulfed him at the thought of children in danger. It brought back too many memories–memories that already threatened his peace.
A knock proceeded Kaikas' and Stelios' arrival. Stelios carried pizzas and Kaikas a box with Aris and Spiros' bakery logo on the side and a bottle of mineral water.
Savva shoved the contents of his desk to one side. "I don't mind that it took you forever to get here.”
"Sprios and Aris assured me the tiropitas are fresh, Sir," Kaikas said, placing them reverently in front of Savva. "They're angels–pastry angels."
Stelios opened the boxes to reveal a tomato, olive, and basil pizza with a cream sauce and another with eggplant, tomato, and mozzarella. "Bon appétite."
A reverent silence curled around the room as all three paid homage to the slow-fired pizza and the melted pastry and cheese. By the time they'd finished eating, Savva's craving for Davonna's scones had disappeared. Kaikas rose and put the empty plates and boxes in the trash. Stelios licked his fingers free of malingering pastry.
"Well, what do you think?" Savva said.
"It's going to take weeks to get the DNA results back from the hairs, Sir. The likelihood that we'll get a match in a government database is slim."
"We'll know if they're related."
"Do you think they are, Sir?" Kaikas said inquisitively.
Savva curled his beard with his thumb and forefinger. "They're either Matthias' children, or the woman's, or both."
"I've checked the records, Sir," Kaikas said, "Matthias wasn't married and he isn't listed on any birth certificates."
"What if he wanted to keep the kids a secret?" Savva offered.
"Why?"
"Think about it this way," Savva said, "Taras is still alive and Matthias makes a lot of enemies in his work, what does he do when he meets a woman–he keeps her safe. Then, fortuitously, his father's violent past catches up with him and he dies. Matthias and this woman are in love. Since his father is dead, he's free to leave the mafīa. Matthias disappears into the Athenian hordes. What if he had good reason–aside from getting out of the business? What if she was pregnant, and he was desperate to protect her? What if they didn't get married because he doesn't want her linked to him?"
Savva sat back and watched the weight of this settle on the two young faces in front of him. Kaikas push
ed hair out of her face and nodded.
Stelios leaned back in his chair, folding his long arms over his thin chest. "It's conjecture until we get the DNA results back, Sir."
"But it would explain a lot. Perhaps Matthias was on Lesvos because he was visiting his children, and if he was visiting them, and if the woman is their mother, then she and Matthias were likely still in a relationship."
"I think you're right, Sir, but we need to be able to prove it."
Kaikas twisted in her seat. "How do we know they aren't in danger too, Sir? We need to find them."
"Damasos said something to me at the Acropolis. He said Matthias had a family, not one I'd find on registers or certificates, but he had one nonetheless. He must have been here visiting them when he was murdered. We need to find them, and fast."
"Did he give you a name?"
"He didn't know her name, but he said she was the reason Matthias left. Taras was gone and he didn't want to put this woman in danger."
"Could he have been murdered because of a grudge against his father?" Kaikas asked, as Stelios tapped his pen repeatedly against his thigh.
"Anything's possible. Taras got them involved with the mafía in the first place."
"Back to the girl, Sir," Stelios said–the tapping stopped. "What if he met the her around the time his father died?"
"I think there's more to it than just a girlfriend; more that he needed to keep safe," Savva said, his hand returned, on it's own accord, to the familiar curling hairs under his lip.
"She could've been pregnant," Kaikas whispered. "I'll find her Sir."
Stelios shot a look at her. Savva caught the look but couldn't figure out what was hidden there: pain, worry, pride. He dropped his head, feigning ignorance of the understanding that had somehow grown between these two. The room fell silent aside from the occasional shuffling as Stelios adjusted his legs. Stelios waved his hand at Kaikas and they left soundlessly, closing the office door behind them.
* * *
Stelios hunched over his computer. Savva had gone home to his wife and their unexpected guest, and he and Eleni were left behind to torturously work through decades of files. "Have you found anything more on the 1987 murder?"
"Nothing more than what Colonel Callas gave Savva. There's nothing remotely related to it."
"The mafīa did a good job cleaning up."
"That would explain why there's so little," she said, angrily flicking loose hairs out of her face. "I'm trying to find witnesses but I don't think there are any."
"Pity," Stelios said, slumping back in his chair.
"I'm beginning to regret telling Savva I'd find the girl Matthias was involved with. I don't even know where to start."
Stelios laughed. "I'll help in a minute. I've left about a hundred messages. It'll be a while before anyone calls me back.
"I suppose I should start calling you 'sir' now," Eleni said.
Stelios glanced up. The room was empty; the clock was quickly approaching eight. "I guess. But not if we're alone."
"It wouldn't be right …"
"I didn't mean it like that," Stelios said blushing. "I mean if we're working on a case alone, like this, it gets tedious to always have to insert 'sir.'"
"Is that how you feel with Savva?"
"Hell no," Stelios gasped. "It's just become his first name."
Eleni laughed and dropped her eyes back to her screen. "You deserve it, you know."
"Efaristó," Stelios said. "Kleitos probably promoted me because there was no one else."
"No," she said. "You're the best one for the job and because he knows Savva would take it above his head if he promoted anyone else. Besides," she added, "he could be punishing you. You have to do all the duty rosters now."
"I forgot," Stelios groaned. "So ... are you going to go kick your boyfriend out tonight?"
"Absolutely. I've got a hundred euros when I do. If we're done here."
"I don't think there's much else we can do tonight."
Eleni picked her purse off the floor and hugged it to her chest. Stelios shut down his computer and locked a stack of files in the black cabinet under his desk. When he turned back to her, she was frowning at the opposite wall.
"Do you think the woman lives here?" she blurted out.
"The one Matthias was seeing?" he clarified. "It's possible."
"What were they doing at the cottage? No food, no cooking utensils, no toys, or clothes. It's so out of the way too."
"They could've been hiding from someone–it's obvious the cottage is a kind of retreat."
"Do you think the four of them couldn't be seen together?"
"Why do you ask?"
Eleni shook her head. “Well, he's former mafía, he can't take the chance of being recognized, but maybe she never told anyone who the father was. He hasn't been married–it's obvious protecting her is his first priority."
"What if she lives here? "
"If she lives here, then her family probably does as well."
Stelios huffed and collapsed in his chair again. "How on earth are we going to search the whole island?"
"On the upside it's less than the students registered at the University of Athens."
"Not by much."
Eleni pulled her hair out of its braid and wound it up on top of her head in a loose bun. "Ok, I have to go or I'll never do it."
Stelios stuffed his wallet into his trousers and plastered a wide smile over his thin face. "I'll drive you over."
"You don't need to."
"I'd do it for anyone. It's what friends would do."
They piled into Stelios' car in the gathering dark. Eleni hugged her purse to her chest and took long steadying breaths. Stelios stared out the windshield, the car occasionally tilting from pits in the road, throwing them against the doors. He slowed to a stop three houses down from hers, turned off the car, and stared at the house with the drawn curtains.
"This isn't how I expected it to end," Eleni whispered.
Stelios couldn't think of a single thing to say and so said nothing. Her pain radiated through the car, stilling his tongue, and cauterizing his mind. He hoped driving her home was enough, his companionship was enough, and the use of his extra bed that first night was enough.
"I thought we'd get married. He was so kind when we met, respectful, acted like he cared about what I did. He cared all right ... as long as I didn't stay late at work. As long as I didn't talk about my boss. As long as he was the most important thing in my life."
"Ego," Stelios offered.
"It's more. He's weak. He's built himself on my back, I pay for everything while he pursues 'freelancing,' whatever that is when it's at home with its mother."
"Then it's good, right, that you aren't marrying him?"
"Good? I suppose. Only we, women I mean, we're supposed to be ok with it, to give them the benefit of the doubt. I didn't get hit, so his behavior isn't abuse. He's just jealous of my friendship with another man. He listens to the wrong advice. It was a horrible day at work. He probably didn't hear me when I said no."
Stelios swallowed. Oh, he was desperate that the last statement didn't mean what he though it meant. But what hope or comment could he give that wouldn't sound trite? That wouldn't be another man telling her what to do? He couldn't add his voice. He was never in danger of being overpowered.
"I'll have the hundred euro in the morning."
"You know I don't need your money to kick him out."
"Buy … uh … new shoes or perfume. Or something."
Eleni ignored him, shoved the door open, and looped her purse across her chest–it smacked against her hip and bounced against the side of the car. She turned to smile at Stelios, a glint in her eye. "I'd better go before I lose my nerve."
He watched her walk away with a smile on her face: her back straight, arms loose at her sides. He fought the urge to wait until the boyfriend slunk out of the house carrying his stuff, but she wouldn't appreciate it, and besides, there wasn't anything between him and El
eni. There was no reason for him to stay. Yet he waited and at the gate she turned, her bun wobbling in the breeze, and flicked her hand twice, waving him away.
Stelios started the car, and drove down the street, paying little attention to the road. A stray cat jumped out of the way when his car mounted the curb. He slung the vehicle back onto the road with a sigh. The light would last another two hours and he thought about going down to the beach, but his car somehow found itself on a familiar road and in front of his own empty house. He sighed, in the resigned way of a man being ordered around by his better instincts: the need for sleep.
He went through the front door. It still smelled like her Chanel perfume, still bore the traces of her long habitation: the ornate white frames with the gold detailing she'd bought in Athens last year, the Persian carpet in front of the white sofa she'd dug out of his parents storage, and the lavender scented soap in the marble dispenser. When would she leave? When would he stop thinking that any minute she'd walk through the front door, flick her long hair out of her face, and bend over to take off her heels? When would he stop wanting to feel her underneath him, to see her hair splayed out on the pillow, and their clothes in clumps on the floor?
The house groaned with the absence of her, and he loathed it. It was over; Savva was right. How he wanted to hate the man for his perfect life and his perfect wife, and the way Shayma looked at Savva as though he was the physical manifestation of her wildest dreams.
The thought of that … the thought of being chosen for himself instead of what he could provide, fell like a hammer on his shuttered emotions. Stelios collapsed against the wall of the living room and sobbed into his knees. She was gone. Gone. And there was nothing he could do to bring her back. Moments after the tears dried, and he was pushing himself upright, chastising this emotional flood, his tiléfono rang.
"Booras."
"I did it."
"Did what?" he asked in his best imitation of Savva's gravelly voice.
"Kicked him out," Eleni said.
"Feel better?"
"No. He yelled a lot."
"You should go out and celebrate."
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