by D C Macey
‘The Gallery of Modern Art.’
A ten-minute drive took them through the heart of the Old Town, down The Mound and into the New Town where they passed quickly through the symmetrically laid out Georgian city streets and on beyond the Dean Bridge. A few minutes later, Sam swung the car into an impressive driveway that ran between broad green lawns and directly ahead stood the gallery.
‘Why here?’ said Helen.
‘Just fancied a change of scene. There’s off street parking and the food’s good too.’
They left the car and strolled round to the front entrance.
‘Let’s go down to the café first,’ said Sam. ‘We can have a look round afterwards if you like.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Helen as they crossed the entrance hall and headed downstairs to the café.
They worked their way round the self-serve counters and both got the same order: soft drink, carrot and coriander soup with crusty bread, and impressively large cheese scones and butter to follow. They chose to sit outside and slipped through the glass doors that led on to a walled patio. Selecting a quiet table, they put their trays down and sat.
‘So, enough of my stresses and woes, any news?’ said Helen.
She noticed he looked around to ensure nobody was within hearing distance. Sensing the caution in his manner she leant forward, both to promote their privacy and because she was eager to hear his news.
‘I called Grace, she and Elaine are returning tomorrow. Xavier and Angelo are in better shape now; both are going to make it. Xavier wants to know why you haven’t been out to visit. I said you would phone Grace this evening to make arrangements for collecting them from the airport when they get back.’
‘No problem, I’ll call. I need to keep Elaine up to speed on what James Curry is doing anyway. And I’ll get them to pass a message to Xavier for me.’ She felt guilty that she was the only one who had not been over to visit. ‘I hope to get out there in the next day or two. It would only be a flying visit. You might want to come with me?’
Sam shook his head. ‘Sorry, more news means I really want to go elsewhere as soon as possible.’
Oh, what’s happened? What have you found?’
‘Hereford Cathedral has been very helpful, as usual. They have given us a steer on what the two unknown Mappa Mundi icons represent.’
‘And?’ asked Helen, leaning in closer. ‘Where are they?’
‘One is near the French Mediterranean coast. They were not quite sure exactly where, it might not even be a town. We have to accept that some of this stuff is subject to modern interpretation; everything is viewed through seven-hundred years of change. To be frank, I thought the image looked like a row of seashells but the experts suggest it might represent hills or mountains - the space between towns rather than a particular town. It’s to the west of Marseilles for sure.’
‘That’s not much help. In fact it’s pretty vague.’
‘Yes and no. The other shape they have identified as Kefalonia. Easy, when you know the scribble on the icon is actually the name. And of course, Kefalonia is in the east, where one of our saints is more popular.’
‘St Athanasius.’
‘Exactly, our old two beards. Which means we know the church in the south of France is or should be dedicated to Mary Magdalene.’
‘Well I suppose that narrows it down a bit.’
‘A good deal in fact. I’ve got Davy on the case. He’s found a church in Kefalonia dedicated to beardy. I think that must be one of the targets.’
‘And in France?’
‘He’s compiling a list of possible churches just now - country churches in the hills of the Languedoc. It won’t be too big a list and I bet by the time he’s applied a seven hundred year age condition to the list it will be pretty small. But Helen, think about what else we know. The unidentified men who were killed here earlier in the summer, they wore French labelled clothes. You were pretty sure the old man who escaped had a continental accent and Elaine reckoned it might have been French. I’d say that the odds are our villain comes from the French connection.’
As she took a sip of her drink, Helen considered what Sam had said. She had to agree with him. ‘Okay, I buy into what you’re saying. So how should we approach this?’
‘I want to go to Kefalonia right away.’
‘On your own? Don’t you think I should come?’
‘Probably. But I just intend to nose about a little. Not break cover. Remember, after all these years there might not be anything to find anyway.’
‘I think I should be there too, Sam.’
Sam’s head nodded. ‘I agree, but you need to get Elaine sorted out here and you must go to visit Xavier. Why don’t you do what needs to be done here, for the church; then visit Xavier, and finally join me in Kefalonia if I haven’t already returned to Edinburgh? By Friday we can be happily searching the tunnel together, what do you say?’
As usual, Sam’s argument carried logic and was a practical solution to the competing pressures they faced. Helen smiled and lent across the table to kiss his cheek. ‘You’re right, let’s do it your way. We’ll go home now and get tickets and hotels booked. But don’t be getting in any scrapes without me. I need you.’
• • •
Cassiter glanced again at the screen. Why had Sam Cameron just bought a ticket to Kefalonia? What was he up to in such a hurry? It needed to be investigated. A sudden dash half way across the continent could not be ignored. And the Johnson girl - she was going to Sardinia. He could guess why she was going there, no problem with that one.
He thought for a little while, spun in his chair to look out of his office window. All he could see was the building on the opposite side of the street. For all the beauty of Paris, his office had an uninspiring outlook. He missed the view from his Edinburgh office, the panorama that he could lose himself in while weighing issues, or just allow his mind to sink absently into the scene. He was away from it now because of all this business but mostly because of these church people who repeatedly obstructed his moves. He had lost good team members because of them. A bill had to be settled and they would all pay. The sooner they were swept away the sooner he could start restoring his life.
He needed to get people to Kefalonia but he was becoming short-handed. It would take him a couple of days to get teams in place. Suddenly he spun back to the computer, leant forward and started typing. After a minute he stopped, scanned what he had written, made a couple of minor adjustments and sent the email. This was the opportunity to put to the test Parsol’s claims of having people everywhere and his group’s concept of mutual support. If the man could put a team on Kefalonia by tomorrow, he would be a worthy partner. Skills were important but Cassiter had to concede, sometimes scale was just as valuable.
He walked from his private office out to the reception, looked at the middle-aged Frenchwoman sitting at the desk; he saw her glance up at him and smile a professional greeting.
‘I’m going now. Be sure to forward any information that comes in my absence. There must be no delays.’
CHAPTER 25 - TUESDAY 3rd SEPTEMBER
Sam hunched the rucksack higher onto his shoulder. He had left it half-empty to ensure it could accompany him into the cabin as hand baggage. He really was travelling light.
Helen slipped her arm through his as they approached the airport’s automatic glass entrance doors. ‘You be careful, Sam. I know we agree the French location is probably where the trouble stems from but this is still unknown territory.’
‘Don’t worry. I have no intention of stirring up trouble. In, out and away. I’ll probably be back before you finish visiting Xavier and Angelo.’
‘I hope so. Look, I’ll go and get us coffees while you check in, okay?’
‘Fine,’ he said and Helen watched him head off towards the check-in desks. He paused briefly to look at the departures board then continued on.
In the café, Helen chose a quiet table where she sat and waited for Sam. She passed the f
ew minutes idly watching a group of young men standing in the all-day travel bar. Tourists catching a late summer break. The empty glasses arrayed around them indicated they had been in the bar for a while. One or two were becoming a little boisterous. She wondered if they would all get on the flight.
Sam eased himself into the seat beside her; he followed her gaze, saw the young men and grinned. ‘Oh to be nineteen again,’ he said.
Helen smiled a noncommittal smile, she was not so sure. ‘Is there anything I can do while you’re away? Anything we should be looking out for?’
‘No, I think you have your hands full as it is. Though, you should have a word with DCI Wallace, just a general update, nothing heavy. I know he finishes soon, but the man has gone out on a limb for us.’
‘You’re right; I’ll give him a call this morning. It’s the least he deserves.’
‘Yes, he certainly seems to understand the real meaning of duty. That’s a rarity these days. Once I get back, we’ll check out the tunnel, use the church entrance. I think we should arrange to go to Switzerland together as well - I really need to look more closely at that glass plate or tray or whatever it is. The ruby clearly shows it is linked to the signet rings and hence to the daggers. We have to work out how. What does it mean or do? I’m certain it is central to the puzzle.’
‘Okay, Franz Brenner has invited us to stay, I’ll get in touch with him, but let’s plan it once we’re both back from our travels, and after we’ve been down and searched the tunnel.’ She pointed up at a flight information board. ‘Your flight’s been called. We’d better make a move or you won’t get through security in time.’
• • •
There was definitely something to be said for direct tourist charter flights, limited legroom or not. If he ever came back to Kefalonia, that’s how he’d travel. A fourteen-hour journey, including two flight changes and one very long delay at Athens had filled his day - so much for scheduled travel he thought. Then he laughed to himself - no, if he ever came back, he’d try to get access to Xavier’s private plane; now that was how to travel.
Having booked into the neat low-rise hotel that sat proudly facing on to a square in the middle of Argostoli, he had taken a quick shower to freshen up and then headed straight back out. A quiet buzz filled the air as tourists flitted between shops and restaurants or just wandered about, enjoying the warm evening air. He could hear bouzouki music drifting out from one of the restaurants. The sound was accompanied by the smells of roasting meats that blended with the sweet scent of the island air and the slightest tang of the sea drifting up from the harbour. He found himself irresistibly drawn towards the restaurant.
Eating over, Sam finished his cool beer and then, tourist map in hand, he wandered out into the evening. The square was a little busier now as more tourists came out for food and fun. He worked his way round the square and took the street leading down to the harbour.
The lights from the shops and cafes that lined the street shone like beacons, each competing with the next to catch the attention of passing tourists. Low canopy trees were spaced at regular intervals along the pavements, casting shadows to disrupt the light show. They would offer shade for pedestrians during the day. Sam wondered if they were the source of some of the sweet evening scent that was stronger here than in the square. Beyond, where the street sloped down to the harbour, Sam could see glimpses of sea, reflecting the harbour lights. He glanced again at his map and hurried on.
About two thirds of the way down the street, just a stone’s throw from the harbour, he stopped. Puzzled, he looked again at the street map, looked at the note Davy had given him, and finally he backed up the street a little. This was not right. He checked the street name and the building numbers and then headed back down the street towards the harbour. Reaching his previous stopping point, he paused again. This was still not right.
Where the church of St Athanasius should have stood there was nothing. No signs, no rubble even, just a wire fence enclosing an empty, overgrown building plot. Sam looked about for something, anything that would give him a steer, finding no inspiration he walked down to the harbour. From there he turned and quickly traced the other routes leading up from the sea. None contained the church he wanted. It simply wasn’t there. This was not how it was meant to be.
He continued to walk, spreading his search wider and wider, as he methodically checked each street in the vicinity of the harbour. He drew a blank, no sign of St Athanasius’ anywhere. Tiredness was catching up with him as he decided to call it a night and head back to the hotel. The problem would have to wait until he had a chance to sleep.
CHAPTER 26 - WEDNESDAY 4th SEPTEMBER
Morning came and Sam woke with the same problem he had gone to bed with. Where was the church? It could not have vanished. Had Davy got his facts wrong?
He crossed to the window, swung open the blinds and looked down into the square. It was deserted now save for a street sweeper clearing away the tourists’ droppings, and a waitress wiping tables in anticipation of another busy day.
An hour later and Sam had readied himself. His breakfast over, he presented himself at the hotel reception. In response to his questions about the church of St Athanasius, the teenage girl behind the desk shook her head, unknowing. Her English was quite good, which relieved Sam - for all his language skills, Greek was not a strength. He asked where he might make some formal enquiries. She shrugged and called for her grandfather, the hotelier, who emerged from a back office to stand next to her.
‘Sir, how can I help you?’ said the manager in good, albeit heavily accented, English. ‘Please, you should call me Haris.’
‘St Athanasius’ church, it’s on the street map but I can’t find it. Can you explain? Maybe point me in the right direction.’
Haris tutted and hurried round the counter to take the map from Sam. He looked at it carefully, slapped the back of his hand on the map and tutted again as he returned it to Sam.
‘It’s no good. Old map, very old.’
‘Can you sell me a new one?’ said Sam.
‘No sir, you don’t understand. New paper, old map.’
‘No, I don’t understand,’ said Sam.
‘Very sad, many years ago, when I was just a baby the whole town was wrecked by an earthquake, devastated.’ His hands went up and described a circle to encompass the hotel building. ‘My family lost everything - hotel, furniture, car, all gone, everything. The family got out in time, me too, of course.’ He suddenly laughed. ‘Not so bad now, my family had good standing in the town, my grandfather was able to rebuild from scratch and now I own the finest hotel in town. Yes?’
Sam nodded a polite agreement while trying to take in the information. ‘So this was all destroyed. The church too?’
‘Yes everything came down in this part, very bad. But I don’t know about the church, it has never been there in my memory. But, what do I know? I was a baby then.’
‘So it was never rebuilt after the earthquake. But why is it still on the map?’
The manager waved his hand dismissively at the map. ‘Like I say, new paper, old map. Nobody has bothered changing the print yet. This is our island; we all know the church isn’t there just now, even though the map shows it. Who would bother changing it? I read there is a new map coming out this year, maybe the church is gone from that one - maybe not. Maybe one day they’ll rebuild it, who knows?’
Sam was fighting to find some sense in what the hotel manager was saying. The church had been gone for over half a century. How on earth would he find what he wanted? Perhaps it had all been lost in the earthquake. Was this the end?
Haris could see Sam’s disappointment. He turned and shouted into the back office. The stream of Greek words were quite meaningless to Sam.
An equally unintelligible response came right back from the office, an older voice, female. The manager grunted acknowledgement and turned back to Sam. ‘She knows something, just a minute, she’s coming.’
A few moments later
, a much older lady appeared at the doorway and shuffled out, her stick clicking on the marbled floor. The manager hustled Sam over to a group of comfortable occasional chairs opposite the reception desk. ‘Here, you sit with mama, I will bring you coffees. Talk. She will know more.’
The old lady fixed Sam with glinting eyes; they seemed much younger than her stooping body. ‘You’re British,’ she said. Her genteel English, fit for a garden party, contrasted starkly with the clatter of Greek that had poured from the office moments before.
‘Yes,’ said Sam, ‘Scottish too.’
The old lady smiled. ‘We like the Scottish, we like the British too. Your navy were the first to help when it all came down. Saved many lives. How can I help you?’
‘I was looking for the church of St Athanasius. It’s on the map but doesn’t exist. Can you tell me anything about it?’
Mama sat quiet for a long moment before answering. ‘The church. Yes, I knew it well. It was my church back then.’ She waved a hand towards her son who was approaching with a tray of coffee. ‘Haris was christened there. Though you’d never think it, he never goes to church now. Hey, what example is that to set my great-granddaughter?’ She smiled towards the girl at the reception desk. ‘What hope has she got if that lazy son of mind won’t set a good example? I ask you.’
Sam nodded thanks towards Haris as he put coffee cups on the table beside them.
Haris gestured gently towards the old lady. ‘Don’t set her off about going to church or she’ll be moaning at me all day,’ he said and bent to give his mother an affectionate kiss. Sam could see the old lady was delighted, though she feigned annoyance and shooed her son away.
‘Nobody has mentioned St Athanasius’ to me for a long time. What is your interest? I’m surprised a tourist would even know of its existence.’