A Solitary Reaper

by Rachael Wright

  Lambros whipped around, eyes wide, as Stelios tripped on an exposed root and cursed. "Don't come any closer," he shrieked.

  "Lambros, we didn't come here to hurt you. Look, Lieutenant Booras, will holster his weapon. We're here for Maria. She loves you, Lambros. Come back with us. Come talk to Maria."

  Savva stepped forward. Lambros' eyes flickered from Savva's face to the edge. Savva put out his hand, straining his fingers. Stelios took one step forward and Lambros spooked. The brick dropped with a muffled thud into the dust. Savva couldn't see it happen, but one moment Lambros stood in front of him, and the next he wailed as his feet failed to find purchase on the edge.

  Savva threw himself forward. His fingers curled around Lambros' plaid shirt. Lambros dangled over the edge, his legs violently beat the air, and he groped for any hold, for Stelios' outstretched fingers. He screamed–alien screams.

  Savva moaned as a rock jabbed against his rib cage. Warm blood seeped out as it punctured the skin. "Get him up."

  "I'm trying," Stelios grunted through gritted teeth.

  They heaved. Savva found Lambros' other arm and pulled. First his head, then torso, then legs, then the flailing feet, reappeared and all three men collapsed. Savva struggled to his feet with a hand on his ribcage. He stumbled over a rock and fell down again. Lambros shoved him aside and grabbed at Stelios' waist. He dived at Stelios, knocking him to the ground, slamming punch after punch onto Stelios' face. Savva dived forward and caught Lambros around the neck in a chokehold, and dragged the older man back. Stelios stumbled to his feet, chest heaving, weapon raised. Lambros writhed furiously. Savva tightened his hold.

  "It's over, Lambros."

  Lambros heaved and strained against Savva's arms. He was rank from sweat and dust. "No, I won't go back."

  "Cuff him," Savva shouted.

  Stelios ran forward, holstered his pistol, and slapped the cuffs on Lambros' wrists. As soon as the hot metal touched his skin, Lambros withered. Stelios cautioned him and held him still. Savva tucked the pistol back into Stelios' holster. He lifted his shirt to check the gash. It was matted and crusted with dirt and would have to be cleaned.

  Savva motioned for Stelios to begin the long descent. As Stelios guided Lambros over the lip, Savva turned, plucked out a plastic evidence bag from his coat pocket, and bagged the brick that lay in the trampled dust. Lambros walked with his head down, gaze intent upon his feet, and not behind him. Savva, in the rear, turned around once, and could just make out the summit. He thought of Matthias peering out over Lesvos, his heart full of possibilities. If Maria's father knew and would have given his blessing, Matthias would have been able to see the boys every day. He could wake up every morning next to Maria, her long, dark hair splayed out on the pillow. At the summit of all that happiness … the blow had come.

  Savva bowed under the pain of that loss, his shoulders slumped, and his mind drifted over to the remote corner of the island where a boat had sunk. He watched Stelios move down the trail, his hand on Lambros' shoulder. The man diminished with every step, until he was nearly incapable of putting one foot in front of another.

  The other officers loitered in the small parking lot and Savva dismissed them as Stelios buckled Lambros in the backseat of the Saab and shut the door with a snap.

  "Call Kaikas."

  Stelios nodded and pulled out his phone. After a few seconds Kaikas answered, Stelios told her they had Lambros Iliadou in custody, and would take him to the police department for booking.

  Savva brushed himself free of the worst of the dirt. He put one hand on his knee and massaged. It burned. Every part of his body ached. He felt older than he had in years.

  "Let's go then."

  "Yes, Sir."

  * * *

  They pulled to a calm stop in front of the police department's revolving door. Stelios hopped out, long legs uncoiling beneath him, and he towed Lambros from the car. They walked in a sad line, Savva at the back, his hands clasped demurely behind him. Stelios turned immediately to the desk sergeant, not registering who stood at the far end of the lobby. But Savva saw: Maria in a black dress and sandals. Kaikas beside her, wearing an expression of humble penitence.

  "Papa?"

  Lambros' back straightened. "Maria."

  "Papa, why?" she wailed. "Why?"

  Savva inched forward so he was slightly in front of Lambros who shook his head.

  "Look at me!" Every eye in the room snapped to Maria as she glowered at her father. She held them there, captive to her fury and her pain. "Why did you kill Matthias?"

  The handcuffs clinked as Lambros raised his hands to his daughter. "I thought he was going to take you away."

  "This isn't about me. You didn't kill Matthias because of that. They told me. You killed him because his father forced him to kill your friend. You had to make sure he was punished!" she screeched.

  Savva stared at Maria. She grew in her fury and towered above them all. Her feminine beauty was replaced by steel. She was beyond words. Beyond apology. Beyond penitent offerings. Lambros nodded.

  "He was their father, Papa," she wailed. "You could have talked to me! Why didn't you talk to me? I could've told you about him. Papa, he was good and he suffered every day. He worked so hard to provide for the boys. And he suffered. He had PTSD and nightmares from all the horrible things he'd done. Why did you have to punish him more?"

  Lambros' eyes dropped to the floor. The power that had emboldened her now dissipated into the stale lobby air. She shuffled to a metal chair and collapsed. Stelios took Lambros upstairs and Savva shuffled over to sit down by Maria.

  She buried her face in her hands and drew her legs underneath her. "Where was he?"

  "On the mountain; where we found Matthias."

  "Why?"

  Did she want to know why he'd killed Matthias or why her father had gone back to the scene? "Revenge."

  "He didn't know about the boys?"

  Savva put his hand on her shaking shoulder. "No."

  "I should have told him. Maybe he would have seen Matthias as more than just mafía."

  "You're not to blame. It was his choice. This all started long before you."

  Maria shook her head. Long strands of her hair fell forward a shield from Savva's probing eyes.

  "Where are the boys?" he asked softly.

  "With our neighbor ... how am I ever going to tell them? They don't know their papa is dead."

  "I'll get someone to drive you home."

  "What's going to happen to him?"

  "It's premeditated murder," Savva said by way of explanation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Four days later Savva trekked to the beach with Stelios and Kaikas in tow. They did not celebrate. They did not go out for a drink to toast the end of a difficult case. Stelios stared blankly ahead as he'd been formally announced a lieutenant. Kaikas was perpetually close to tears. Even Savva found it difficult to growl, though the occupants of the North Aegean Police Headquarters deemed his loss of edge an egregious turn of events and therefore avoided him at all costs.

  Savva stepped across the pale, sun-weary grass, and sat down on his bench with Stelios and Kaikas on either side. He gazed over the sea, and listened to the families frolicking on the beach without a care in the world. The merriment, the sounds of the waves on the shore, the gulls in the air–all inaudible. All he could see was Maria's pale, miserable face as she watched her father be denied bail. The dark bags under her eyes, the way her hair hung limp around her shoulders, how her pallid skin stretched over the bones of her chest; it haunted him. At the end of the hearing, she had walked past without uttering a word. Taras Papatonis' boundless cruelty had ruined so many families and ended countless lives. And now Lambros Iliadou was another fly trapped in the web.

  "Are you alright, Sir?" Stelios asked.

  Savva jerked. "What?"

  "I asked if you'd heard anything about Iliadou."

  "The prosecutor phoned. They'll likely go for the maximum sentence." Savva said. "No
t that it does anyone any good."

  "It's such a shame," Kaikas chimed in. "Do you think if he'd known Matthias was the boys' father … he might've …?”

  Savva rested his elbows on his knees and addressed the ground. "Perhaps. But ifs and maybes aren't our jurisdiction. Thank God."

  Stelios ran a hand through his hair. "So much pain."

  Kaikas sniffed and wiped her nose. "All because of Taras Papatonis." She cleared her throat. "Have you talked anymore with Phebe, Sir?"

  "Yes."

  Stelios perked. "Anything?"

  "No. She either doesn't know who took her, or she's not saying. We could be at this for a while. Chances are you'll both need to go to Mykonos."

  Kaikas looked down at her watch. "I'm on shift in a few minutes, Sir. Do you mind?"

  "Go on," Savva grunted.

  The faintest of smiles found its way onto Kaikas' face before she nodded goodbye to Stelios and set off up the hill to headquarters.

  "I'm sorry,” Stelios said.

  Savva shook his head as Stelios opened his mouth to say more. Nothing could put into words the utter waste of the whole debacle. The only one to be pleased with the outcome was Colonel Kleitos who was thrilled it was an islander who'd murdered Matthias Papatonis and not an American. None of the national newspapers–I Avgi, Kathimerini, or Ta Sea, would care enough to write a story. Matthias and Lambros and Maria would fade into the sad history of the island; a passing fancy of a future researched. Kleitos would congratulate himself on a job well done.

  Savva picked a piece of lint off his trousers and flicked it at the ground. "I have a favor." Stelios glanced up, expectantly. "I need you to come over to the house tonight and sit with Phebe. We're going over to Davonna's for dinner."

  "Babysitting?"

  "She's an adult, Stelios."

  "What do you want me to do with her?"

  "What I told you: keep her company."

  Stelios swallowed thickly. "In her room?"

  "No. She comes down. Sit in the living room; play a game, talk, I don't care. Make sure she's safe and that she doesn't leave the house."

  "Alright."

  "Good."

  Savva bit his lip. There was nothing he could say to convey how thankful he was for Stelios' loyalty and companionship and understanding. How could he, reticent man as he was, tell Stelios how enjoyable it was to sit on the bench in companionable silence? Whatever he said would make them both uncomfortable. And yet he felt an overwhelming urge to speak and to not let the moment pass.

  "What time should I be there, Sir?"

  "Eight."

  Stelios glanced at his watch. "I better go, Sir. Colonel Kleitos wants those staff rosters in."

  "Go on," Savva prodded.

  Stelios rose, walked a few steps, and then whipped around. "We'll find them, Sir, whoever's taken these girls. We'll find them. It'll stop."

  Savva didn't turn, but resolutely faced the sea. He nodded once. The sounds of Stelios' steps faded and Savva thought he might sit for the rest of the day on the metal slats, but loneliness overcame him. He had no wish to be left alone with his memories–the failures that plagued his mind. He left the bench–the quiet, and the solitude.

  * * *

  Shayma cornered him in the kitchen. "Are you sure this was the best decision?" she hissed, surreptitiously turning to peek at Stelios: who sat, limbs splayed out in all directions, on the sofa. In the living room, Phebe was curled, like a cat, on the chair opposite Stelios, plucking stray threads out of her sweatshirt cuffs.

  "She's not a baby," Savva whispered. "I'm sure he can manage."

  "Alexandros, this is serious."

  "I trust him," Savva said. The discussion was over. He walked into the living room, swept up his black suit coat, and pulled his arms through.

  Stelios jumped up from the couch with an innocent air as though he hadn't heard his boss and his wife arguing thirty feet away. "We'll be fine, Sir."

  Shayma cocked an eyebrow at the two of them and crouched next to Phebe. She laid her hand on the girl's arm and whispered to her in soothing tones.

  Savva motioned for Stelios to follow him out the front door. "First thing Monday I want to talk to Goldstein. The longer we wait, the stronger the odds they'll track Phebe down, and we'll have a proverbial gunfight on our hands. I don't want to be surprised."

  "I'll call him tonight."

  Savva looked out over the twilight island. "Good. You both should get over to Mykonos as soon as possible to interview the other parents. Phebe doesn't deserve to stay cooped up like this. She should be able to go home. Besides, there are the other girls."

  "I'll tell Kaikas."

  "Don't make it an official visit. Kleitos can't object to you both taking some time off after all the overtime."

  "That'll be easy, since I'm in charge of the duty roster now." Stelios sighed. "You know, Sir, it's not exactly how I envisioned spending my vacation: at my parents' house."

  "You'll have Kaikas to keep you company," Savva said with a smirk.

  "Are you done out here?" an imperious voice inquired behind them.

  Savva peered over his shoulder to see Shayma toss a black-beaded wrap around her shoulders as she walked down the front steps. "We are,” Savva replied.

  "I'll call if there's any trouble,” Stelios said.

  “See that you do.”

  Savva slowed the Saab to a stop in front of Davonna's pink and white mansion. Shayma sprang out of the car, without waiting for him to open her door, and skipped up the marble steps. Savva muttered something indistinct and sedately followed his wife. Her arms were tight around Davonna's shoulders. Thanos stood by her side.

  Thanos extended his hand. "Kalispera, Sir."

  "We aren't at work," Savva grunted.

  "No, we aren't." Davonna moved forward, her arms open wide. "It's good to see you, Alexandros."

  Savva returned her embrace with a small smile. "You too."

  "Come in. Come in." She waved them through.

  Inside where candles glinted off polished surfaces, the atmosphere one of joy. No trace at all remained of the man who'd tormented and abused her. There was life and promise inside the walls. It was a haven. A sanctuary. The house was different because the woman was different. He glanced to his right, into the library, where he'd told Davonna her husband had killed himself in order to frame her for his murder.

  Davonna led them through the hall, out of the wide-open glass doors, and onto the terrace. Savva stopped on the threshold, gazed out at the twinkling lights in the cypress trees, and listened to the tinkling water of the fountains. He closed his eyes, relaxed into the easy company, and listened to the barking laugh of his wife.

  They sat down to a sumptuously laid table with everything Savva loved; bowls of fruit with fresh crème, lamb kleftiko with potatoes, spinach and feta filo fingers, roasted vegetables, honey drenched baklava, and a towering platter of scones, set pride-of-place next to a bowl of clotted cream.

  The meal passed slowly, just as Savva liked. A platter of tiropitas was handed around. He reached for the opened bottle of Chianti classico and poured another glass.

  Across the table, Davonna studied him. "Have you found anything out about the girl, Alexandros?"

  "A bit." Savva sipped his wine. "We know her name and where she's from."

  "Why was she taken?" Thanos interjected.

  Savva looked up to see Thanos and Davonna's interconnected hands resting on the table. It made him smile, this easy show of affection. "She hasn't told me. I have people looking into it. People I can trust."

  "It's horrible," Shayma whispered. "All of it. Taking advantage of refugees. Killing them at sea."

  Savva thought of Maria and Matthias and Lambros. "The world is full of horrible decisions and there's a lot of money to be made from selling slaves."

  Savva watched the pale, horrified faces in front of him. The air was gone from their party. He studied his lap and brushed away the tiropita crumbs. Shayma laid a hand on his knee.<
br />
  "I have some good news," Davonna said.

  Shayma sat up with a strange smile on her face: expectant. She glanced from Thanos to Davonna. Savva shook his head; he knew exactly what was going through his wife's mind.

  "Go on," Savva said languidly.

  Davonna took a huge shuddering breath. She glanced at Thanos who gave her an encouraging nod. Shayma's hand vibrated on Savva's knee. "I met with a human rights attorney today. He practices in Europe but he owns a home on Lesvos. He wants to work directly with us. He's sure he can bring in more donors and expand what we are able to do for the refugees."

  Shayma's hand dropped. "That's fantastic."

  He knew this was not at all the result she'd hoped for. Savva swirled his glass. "Why'd he buy a house here?"

  "He vacationed here once or twice, originally from Athens, graduated from Oxford," Davonna said with a winning smile.

  Savva lifted his glass in a toast. "Good for him."

  "When does he want to start?" Shayma asked.

  Davonna gleefully dropped her blue napkin on the table. "On Monday!"

  Thanos smiled at Savva, who returned the grin with raised eyebrows. After her visible disappointment, Shayma roused herself enough to lapse into deep discussion with Davonna about what steps they could take to better the lives of the refugees and decrease the burden on the camps. Savva brought his glass to his lips and leaned back to stare at the stars, which had only just begun to peak out from the dusky sky.

  Savva twirled the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. "What's his name? The lawyer?"

  * * *

  "Ambivalent IS a word," Phebe said gratingly. "That's 17 for the word, 50 for using all my tiles, then a double word score: total 84."

  "I'm not ambivalent about how many points you have," Stelios said under his breath.

  She leaned over the table to see the scorecard under Stelios' elbow, made from the backside of a shopping list. "How many points do I have?"

  "Three hundred and seventy seven."

  Phebe rubbed her hands manically together. "Oh goody."

  "There are two tiles left in the bag." Stelios held it out to her.