"What's this about?"
"Is your father here?"
"No, he took the boys to the other side of the island to fish. Why do you want to know?"
"It's best if we speak in private."
Maria stood irresolute. The seconds ticked by. A skateboard escaped down the street as its cursing owner tore after it. Savva itched with a fierce desire to turn around and check the street, but he forced himself to smile hopefully at Maria and trust in the visual acuity of Private Kaikas. Maria cocked her head, a frown creased her forehead, and she swallowed thickly before nodding.
"Come in."
"You won't mind if Private Kaikas stays outside?" Savva asked. "It might be a little crowded, and we wouldn't want to be interrupted."
"No ... you're right," Maria said. "Would your colleague like a water or a coffee?"
Savva turned as though he had only realized Kaikas was standing at the gate. He smiled but waved off her offer. "Oh, no thank you, Kupía Iliadou, we won't trespass on your hospitality. I'm sure Private Kaikas will be fine."
Maria stood aside to allow them to pass. She closed the door. Her hand hovered on the lock for the shortest portion of a moment. Stelios, who's back was turned, missed it, but Savva caught the awkward gesture. Maria turned around and grinned sheepishly at him, unable to meet his eyes. She led them across the house into a bright sunroom. A pair of French doors stood open at the opposite end, letting in the heavily-scented garden breeze. Underneath the arms of a spinning fan with palm-tree leaf blades, the sunroom was pleasantly cool. Maria motioned to two cane chairs upholstered in blue.
She collapsed into one and curled her legs underneath her. "Please sit, may I get you anything?"
"Nothing for us," Savva said courteously.
Maria folded her hands demurely in her lap. "What can I do for you?"
Stelios leaned forward, and reached out his hand to bridge the distance between them. "As you know we're investigating the murder of Matthias Papatonis, and we need your help."
"Help with what? The Harris'? I'm sorry but they've already left."
"Not the Harris'." Stelios reached for Maria's hand. "We'd like to ask you about your friend from university who died." Maria blinked; all color drained from her face. "When we talked at the taverna, I assumed it was a woman who'd died and you didn't correct me."
Maria said nothing. In the resultant silence all that could be heard was the spinning of the fan above them. Savva gazed benignly at Maria. Stelios crossed one leg over the other. They waited. Maria bit her lip, pushed back the cuticle of a finger with the nail of her thumb, and stuck her free hand between her legs. She swallowed thickly and blinked back tears.
Something stiffened behind Maria's eyes. She was beyond kind words and heartfelt gestures. They had entered a zone in which her defenses were raised. "It wasn't a woman."
"You mentioned the father of your children, Maria, what's his name?"
"I'm not sure that's any of your business."
"We'd like to exclude him from our inquiries," Stelios said heavily as though it was the last thing he wanted to be bothered with, but was forced to do because of an inane bureaucracy.
"He has a right to privacy."
"Does he?"
"Of course he does. We all do!"
Savva lowered his head and spoke slowly, as a rescuer talking to a trapped and bleeding animal, desperate to be seen as harmless. "We found the cottage, Maria."
Maria's eyes were flat planes of black. She flicked her braid over her shoulder. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Savva put the black folder on the table, and placed his hand on top, framing the golden insignia. "We have DNA."
"DNA from whom?"
"Your sons. Matthias' sons."
"That's nonsense," she said. "No one has our DNA on file."
Savva sighed. "This folder also contains a court order for samples from all three of you." Maria's chest heaved, as hidden as it was by the sweatshirt. Her nostrils flared. She leapt from her chair; the room was suddenly heavy from the weight of her fear and anger. "If you don't want to cooperate we can wait until your father comes back with your sons."
"No," she seethed.
Savva sat back and waited. Maria looked anywhere but the two police officers. Her face was mottled, as though rage and fear had somehow curdled on her cheeks and on the tip of her nose. She could no more stop these men from trampling the garden of her life than she could bring back the man no one knew she loved. Resignation set in, it started as a lump in the throat until it became unbearable, and the body vomited it out. Maria collapsed back into the chair and covered her face with her hands.
"Matthias ... is their father."
"Does anyone know?” Savva pressed on. “Your father?”
"My father? No. He hates the mafía. It wouldn’t have mattered that Matthias hadn't worked for them for ten years. My father would have forbidden it."
"Forbidden what?"
"Us. Matthias and I."
"How did you meet?" Savva asked.
"At university. He lived near my apartment. I met him in my second year–taking out the trash of all things. He was sweet, asked me what degree I was going for, where I was from. At first we connected because we were both from Lesvos, but he was so kind–so inherently good you couldn't help but love him. We were just friends, but one day it changed. I was out with girls from school at a club, and a man I didn't know started harassing me. I called Matthias from the pay phone and asked if he'd come get me, then I walked out front to wait for him. Matthias had a car–an old MG. The guy from the club followed me out. He had me by the hair when the MG mounted the curb and Matthias came tearing out. He hit the guy once. Then as the man was clutching his bleeding nose, Matthias whispered something into his ear.
"The man went white, tottered, slipped on the greasy pavement, and ran. Matthias pulled me up, took me home, made me soup, and put me to bed. We were inseparable afterwards. Before we got involved, he told me what he'd done and who he worked for. But he wanted to leave it behind. His father died a year later, the same year we got pregnant.
"I couldn't ask him to meet my father. I told him we didn't need to get married. I'd return to Lesvos after the baby was born, and until then we could be a family. Matthias was there for me–always. The boys call him papa and they miss him so much when he isn't here. His grandmother's cottage was the only place we could be without worrying who saw us. I can't tell the boys he's dead. I can't tell them their father is never coming back, because then my father would know. Matthias left it all behind! No one knew where he was. Lesvos was supposed to be safe."
The last words tore themselves from her throat. Maria curled into her chair and her face fell into planes of such misery, Savva wanted to reach around the table, wrap her in his arms, and whisper everything a parent whispers to a crying child. Instead, training took over, he shoved those feelings aside and plowed forward without the presence of empathy.
"Are you sure your father doesn't know about Matthias?"
"Anything's possible, but I don't know where he would have heard it from. The boys have never said a word–they know the rules. We don't even have any pictures of Matthias in the house. The boys don't know his name. He's just papa to them."
"Do you know anyone who'd want to kill Matthias?" Stelios whispered.
Maria threw up her hands in exasperation. The fan whirled overhead in an unending cycle. "I didn't want to know the details of his life before. It was what his father forced him to do. We were secretive because that's the way it had to be: to protect us all. We were always so careful."
"I'm so sorry for your loss, Kupía Iliadou," Savva said softly. "We'll go before your father gets home."
* * *
Stelios opened the front door, motioned to Kaikas to follow, and headed for the hidden grey Saab. Savva paused at the edge of the garden, and sensed, Maria walk up behind him.
“Wait.”
Savva turned. He saw Maria’s wide dark eyes as she stuck
her head out of the house, as if checking the street for the signs of her returning children.
"How did he die?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"I'm sure."
"Blunt force trauma to the head."
"What does that mean?"
Savva contemplated his feet. "He was hit multiple times with a brick. I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but you'll have to come and identify him soon. There aren't any surviving family members; other than your sons."
"I'll do it," she said immediately.
Savva nodded and touched her arm. "All you'll have to do is look at a picture. Stelios or I can go with you if you need."
Maria wasn't roused by the pressure on her arm but gazed down the street with glazed eyes. For all the attention she paid Savva, he might not even have spoken.
"Are you sure Matthias never mentioned anyone who had a grudge against him?"
"No, we were happy. Life had finally found a rhythm. He was proud of the boys. We were talking about moving to Thessaloniki or Crete to start over, because there we'd able to be a family."
"I'm sorry," Savva studied her blank, exhausted face. "Where were you living in 1987?"
"Why?" When Savva didn't answer, she plowed on. "Here and in Athens. My father started a business. We were only supposed to be there for a year or so, but we left after a few months and came back to Mitilini."
"What business?"
"I don't know. I never paid much attention. Something with transportation."
"Thank you for your time, Kupía Iliadou."
Savva turned back to the street, and checked, just as she had, for Matthias' sons walking down the road. But it was empty and silent apart from the snapping of clothes on lines, being bleached dry by the sun, and a mangy grey cat slinking across the pavement.
"Anything, Sir?" Stelios said as Savva slid into the driver's seat.
"They lived in Athens for a few months in 1987. Her father was setting up a business."
"I'll check on it, Sir," Kaikas chirped from the back seat.
"Did she know what it was?" Stelios asked.
Savva started the car and turned around in a short driveway. "She thinks transportation." Kaikas, typing on her tiléfono, huffed in exasperation. Stelios stared out the window; his head perched on his fist. "She said Matthias wanted to move to Crete or Thessaloniki for a new start." Kaikas looked up from her screen and Stelios dropped his hand. "What do we know about her father?"
"Nothing, Sir," Stelios answered. "There wasn't a reason to look into him."
“Kaikas?" Savva said.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Send a photo lineup to Adam and Jane Harris, include a picture of Kyrios Iliadou. See if she picks him out."
"Yes, Sir," Kaikas responded, bending her head back over her phone.
Savva turned onto Eressou Street; headquarters loomed in front of him. "Who are the hardest people to keep a secret from?"
"Your wife … and too often your parents," Stelios answered.
* * *
Savva pulled into the parking lot. Stelios and Eleni exited the Saab and headed for the back entrance. Eleni's head was still bent over her phone. Savva leaned against the Saab but catapulted himself off as the scorching metal burnt his back. With a sigh, he dropped his head back, put one hand over his eyes, and stared at the sky. Cirrocumulus clouds mottled the sky like curled cheese.
He was close; so close and all he had to do was wait for confirmation from Jane Harris. Had their plane landed in London yet? Would Adam check his email at the first opportunity? The odds were high since the couple wasn't speaking to each other. But if Jane Harris confirmed it was Maria's father who had told her about the hike, what did it help? Where was the evidence linking Maria's father to Matthias' death? All Savva had was a trace of brick in the head wound and the fact that Matthias was his grandsons' father. There was nothing else. Any defense attorney worth his salt would rip the circumstantial case to shreds.
Savva was stopped in the midst of this particularly depressing thought when his tiléfono rang. Kleitos' office. "Captain Savva," he answered in his most banal voice.
"Ah Captain, I'm glad I've caught you," the low, smooth voice of Kupía Galanis said. "Colonel Kleitos would like to have a word."
"I'll be in in a moment."
Savva trudged in through the back door and sighed at his misfortune. Only the thought of seeing Kupía Galanis with her bright smile and strange camaraderie propelled him forward. When he arrived upstairs, she was at her desk, in front of a thick stack of paperwork, fingers furiously typing out notes on an iPad. Savva walked toward her, she slid the white tablet out of view, and the stack of papers seemed to expand to fill the empty space.
"Any idea what this is about," Savva asked conspiratorially.
"Checking in on your progress, and, according to him, the made up plight of missing girls."
Savva's heart plummeted. "Fantastic."
She leaned forward and put her hands on top of the papers on her desk. "Captain, is there a way I might be of help?"
He considered her for a moment and the missing tablet. "Why were you taking notes?"
She winked and placed her hands reverently over the stacks. "These are cases that have come up recently, and I'm taking note of any discrepancies."
"What do you mean?"
"Police power being abused, proper handling of evidence, cases that are cold and shouldn't be."
Savva's brows rose of their own accord. "What do you plan to do with this information?"
"Oh, I don't know. It might be useful someday … they have their ways, and we have ours. Think of it as an insurance policy, Captain, should the worst happen."
Savva extended his hand. "I look forward to working with you."
"As do I, Sir." She grinned, nodded demurely, and pressed the intercom button on her desk phone to announce his presence to Kleitos.
Colonel Kleitos sat behind his mammoth desk; elbows splayed out like a preening peacock, looking like a man with a horrible case of constipation. A stack of paperwork covered Kleitos' desk, but unlike Kupía Galanis, he wasn't studying them. "Savva. Good you're here."
Disdain rolled off Kleitos like cheap cologne. Savva smiled benignly at his superior. So, they weren't bothering with anything so trivial as titles today. "Sir." He took his cue from Kleitos and refrained from using his superior's title.
"How close are you to wrapping this up?"
Savva blinked. "Are you referring to the Papatonis case, Sir?"
"Of course I am," Kleitos barked. "Do you think I'd waste time asking about petty burglaries in Sappho Square?"
"No, Sir. Your time is vastly more valuable."
Kleitos frowned, searching Savva's face and comment for any signs of sarcasm or irony. He leaned back in his chair, clearly detecting nothing. "Who is it?"
"Who is who?" Savva asked.
"Who murdered the man–the mobster?"
Savva inclined his head deferentially. "As you know from my report, Sir, we now have hundreds of new suspects. Lieutenant Booras, Private Kaikas, and myself are working as quickly as we can. But you can be sure the moment we have a suspect in custody, you'll be the first to know."
"I'd expect nothing less. Now, Anthony Goldstein, what are you doing with him?"
"Goldstein, Sir?" Savva asked innocently.
"Don't play the idiot with me, Savva. You've questioned him twice."
"I apologize, Sir. I haven't ever considered him a suspect.” Savva studied the floor, allowing Kleitos to preen and sigh in relief. "He was seen arguing with the victim outside a restaurant and referenced a missing persons case as the reason. We're ascertaining his alibi, Sir."
"Good. That'll be all then, but get this cleared up soon. I don't want to have to keep beating off the press."
Savva nodded and exited the room. Kleitos liked nothing better than to be in front of the island's press, lecturing about the effectiveness of the team he'd put together, and that flowering–under his leadership�
��they successfully kept the island crime free.
"How'd it go, Sir?” Kupía Galanis asked.
"Oh, the usual," Savva answered, before realizing she didn't necessarily know what the 'usual' was with Kleitos.
Kupía Galanis nodded and turned back to her stack of paperwork. Savva watched her as her head dropped over the sheets and her fingers once again typed unceasingly on the iPad. She glanced up expectantly and he decided to risk it. He pointed to the tablet in her hand, "Are you good with that."
A smile lit up her face. "I'm brilliant."
"Can you get me information on someone?"
"What kind of information?"
"Information on why a police colonel would go out of his way to protect someone's good name."
"It would be my pleasure," she said with a sly look. "Whom shall I research, Sir?"
"Anthony Goldstein."
"Kyrios Goldstein ... what a pleasure," she said with barely suppressed glee. "I'm on it."
Savva stepped closer to her desk, and laid his hand on top of the thick stack of files. "I hope I don't have to insult you by asking this remain between us."
Kupía Galanis sat pristinely in her chair, as though this was a regular occurrence, going behind her boss' back. "I will be the bastion of discretion."
"Do you know where my office is?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good." He turned and walked down the hall, said a silent prayer, crossed himself, and shook his head. Helena Galanis had better be the person she seemed to be.
* * *
Savva stepped into his office, flicked a black fedora from the coat rack, stomped down the stairs, and exited through the revolving door. The lobby was deserted; the desk sergeant smiled at his crotch. Outside, the sun burned with a vengeance, roasting the tourists who were idiotic enough to walk around at this hour. This was the time of day to be safely tucked inside with a cold drink instead of padding around the streets of an old town getting sunburned.
No one could mistake a man in a grey suit and a crisp white button down shirt and oxfords as a tourist. Savva slammed the fedora on his head and cocked it so he wouldn't have to meet anyone's eye. It was amazing how easily a hulk of a man could fade into the background if he hunched his shoulders and stared at the ground with his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
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