‘Enjoyed time with my family and friends. I’m coming tomorrow... to Athens, for good,’ she stressed each word, still trying to persuade herself that it was happening for real. After the Olympus Killer, she was promoted to Lieutenant A’ and officially my partner; our team in charge of homicide investigation over the Greek islands.
‘You ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be! Everything has already been shipped to my new apartment in Athens, my suitcase is packed and my mother is preparing me with enough meals to last me well into the next ice-age.’
‘So, I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then!’
‘Yes, sir. Ready for duty,’ she said and the phone went silent.
I sat up, feeling like some damn woodpeckers had just moved into my frontal lobe.
In Chania, Crete, Ioli was not feeling much better. She stood alone in her now empty apartment, her thoughts bringing tears to her eyes.
Ioli never cared much about housework. She never understood the joy her mother and aunts talked about when they had finished all their chores. Their pride of a spotless house after a full day of cleaning and tidying up.
Her apartment was not dirty, yet she never dedicated much effort to keeping it tidy. She saw it as a place to shower, sleep and get dressed before going back to work. Now, empty before her eyes, she realized she would miss her one-bedroom home.
A new chapter awaited her. Her gunshot wound had healed and mentally she felt ready to catch some bad guys. She lived for the investigation process. She was born for it. The youngest Lieutenant at 32 and now at 35 Lieutenant A’.
‘Goodbye home,’ she whispered and locked the door behind her.
Chapter 15
CASE No.2: The Red Horse – Ending peace, people killing one another...
Kate –Katerina- Spanou awoke in her four bedroom, blue and white country house on a fine, winter morning. Santorini may be one of the top destinations in the summer, but Kate loved it during the winter. The peace in the air, the majestic sunsets over the ocean, the stressed locals relaxing after a long and exhausting summer season working in hotels, bars, restaurants, water sports, souvenir shops and other services provided for the tourists that flocked to the island during hot months.
She woke alone. Her husband Mario had been gone for hours. She never understood why fishing had to start so early.
Saturday mornings were always so peaceful. Her two daughters stayed with her mother on Fridays and they all met up Sunday morning at church, after which the girls returned home.
She sat down at her round wooden table and bit down on her honey covered toast. Nothing signalled that, today, she planned to kill her husband. Today was an ideal day to kill him, with the kids gone and Mario out fishing. Even the chicken had defrosted to its core, ready for their midday romantic meal. She cleaned the house through and through, chopped up the potatoes and the home grown carrots, had a nice, hot shower and wore that dress he liked. She poured herself a glass of chilled white wine and threw the vegetables around the chicken that sat alone in the Pyrex. Half a liter of olive oil and a handful of salt later and Mario’s final meal was ready for the oven. She sat back, drank her glass down in one long gulp and waited.
One o’clock and the front door finally opened. Mario came smiling in, five or six fish tangling dead from his hand. His smile widened at the sight of the black dress that revealed her bare left shoulder. The smell of roast chicken filled the narrow hallway. He towered his petite wife and bend down to kiss her with passion on her thin lips.
‘Mmm, something smells nice.’
‘And you stink of fish,’ she joked and pulled back playfully.
‘Give me ten minutes,’ he said, kissed her again with force and ran up the stairs.
Kate knew she was not a pretty girl. Short, always a few kilos heavier than she would have preferred, pale skin, hook-like nose and boring eyes. She knew people thought her lucky to have a man like Mario. Tall, athletic, handsome, dark, seductive eyes and a magazine smile. She felt insecure at first, but after the perfect wedding day and two beautiful daughters, she was living the family dream.
‘But, men will be men... and men are pigs!’ she whispered to herself as she served their portions.
Mario gobbled down her delicious offering and then asked for dessert in a playful tone. She giggled and ran up the steps, jumping on their king sized bed. He chased her; his clothes falling to the floor one by one. He was completely naked by the time he reached their door. He stood there, breathing heavily, like an animal ready to attack and devour her. She pulled up her dress, to reveal that no underwear graced her body. Soon, he was on top of her, kissing her violently along her neck. She moaned into his ear and he entered her with that joy that men feel as their favorite toy finds refuge in a warm, wet vagina. He pulled up her dress, over her head and down to the floor. His tongue journeyed down and reached her breasts.
He bit her nipples. He knew all her buttons.
‘Did Stella and Maria love having their nipples bit?’
His body froze, his erection started going soft, his eyes painted with terror.
‘Baby, I... What rumors have you been...’
‘Oh, don’t baby me,’ she said with disgust and pushed him off her.
He stood up and started to mumble words of apology that fell dead upon reaching Kate’s ears. She looked at the clock.
‘Shut up! Fuck your lies. And please, get off my Persian carpet. Go die in the hallway!’
‘Baby, they meant nothing, you are the one... Wait, what? Die?’
‘Poison should kick in by now.’
‘You bitch, you would poison your own husband? The father of your children?’ The last word came with a cough. He felt his heart being stepped on by a stampeding elephant. An inner force pushed him to his knees. He fell like a tree in free fall to the cold ground.
‘Help...me...’ the words were squeezed out from insides switching off.
‘Your funeral will be great, I will even invite your girlfriends. Help enough?’
Chapter 16
Three days later, Kate kept her promise. The funeral took place in Mario’s village, Megalochori (Big Village). Everyone came to say goodbye to the forty year old that had died so young from a heart attack. Not many were surprised. Mario always had a weak pumper in his chest. The doctor had arrived at his house to find a crying, distraught Kate explaining how he felt chest pains during their intimate moments and in a matter of seconds had collapsed to the floor. He declared Mario dead, called Kate’s mother to come comfort her and arranged the body’s transfer to the morgue. No foul play, no police.
Agioi Anargyroi church in the center of the picturesque village soon filled up with tragic, black dressed figures. His devastated mother, his grieving sister, his wife with two young girls in her arms, his friends and of course Stella and Maria, who both did an excellent job at hiding their sorrow. Both were married, yet the loss of a lover is painful. Their exciting dalliance had come to an abrupt end.
After the ceremony, they all followed his coffin to his final resting ground. Through the narrow streets, past neoclassical houses, under the famous bell tower with the six bells forming a pyramid, along the side of grape-less vineyards and into the cemetery. A freshly dug grave waited for them, amongst white and grey marbled headstones. The wind blew strong and cold; the sunlight scarce. Even the January sky had dressed in black.
‘The view is to die for,’ Katie joked to Mario, last time they were there, at an uncle’s burial.
Just like in her hometown, the capital Thira, the cemetery clung to the top of the 400 meter cliff, looking down the caldera and into the blue waters that caressed the volcanic islands sleeping in the vast ocean.
Kate held her girls every second of the ordeal, only letting go when she approached the deep hole in the ground, looked down at Mario’s coffin and as tradition ordered, she threw a handful of soil on top. As she walked away, men from the church and of the family picked up old shovels and proceeded to cover the hole.
Flowers were laid on top by the women and everyone walked back to his mother’s house for coffee, biscuits and stories about the goodness in Mario’s weak heart.
The next morning, Kate woke up once again in an empty house. The girls had stayed with her mother. Everyone agreed that she needed rest.
She had cried herself to sleep the night before. She did not regret her actions, but felt sorrow for her girls. Movie reels from happier days played through her mind, keeping her company until she finally managed to close her eyes and drift off to sleep.
Thoughts that woke up with her. Thoughts erased with a good, strong, Greek coffee and two slices of homemade bread with honey. Thunder also helped clear her mind. She got up, walked over to the kitchen window and opened it slowly. Drops of light rain flew in, but she did not mind. The smell of fresh air, fused with hints of sea water perfume, filled the spacious kitchen and entered her lungs. A little smile was born across her face.
‘Life goes on...’ she said out loud, the sentence coming at the end of an inner pep talk. It did, but not for Kate. The bullet flew through the rain and struck her in the face, just below her right eye. She was dead before she hit the icy floor. Her mother found her, the following morning, lying in a pool of blood. Her favorite cat sat beside her, enjoying a drink at the bloody pond, until he ran out the open window, chased out by the old lady’s high pitched screaming.
Chapter 17
Ioli Cara’s arrival at HeadQuarters easily became the hot gossip of the first week of the year. A tall, athletic, young, single Cretan woman with long, black hair, dark, seductive eyes, sun kissed skin and an amazing field record fed hope to single and divorced cops in their thirties and minor envy to women who took time to accept foreign bees into the hive.
Ioli’s outspoken character mixed with her love for food and a good time helped her adapt in an otherwise competitive playing field. I watched her as she walked confidently towards my desk, coffees in hand.
‘Good morning, Captain,’ she smiled, passing me my coffee and parking her jean wearing behind on the edge of my desk.
It is hard to explain the bond between partners who live through danger together. I had saved her life from the hands of the Olympus Killer and she saved mine from boredom, depression and decay.
‘Any murders today?’
I nearly spilt my coffee at the question. She flashed her trademark Julia Robert’s smile and rushed to say ‘You know what I mean. I don’t wish people to die, but I have been here two weeks now and all I have been doing...’
‘Is doing my paperwork,’ I said, and passed her a couple of handwritten reports for her to type into the system.
She grabbed them, got up, looked at my office phone and ordered it to ring. Silence. Mumbling, she made her way to her desk. The neatest desk on the floor. She had even blu-tacked her keyboard and her pencil holder down.
Polina Demetriou coughed behind me. She had brought more reports from the guys working Athen’s homicides. I was starting to regret offering to help them with their workload. I meant field work, not paperwork.
‘Erm, Captain, it is... erm..’ she played with her curly hair and continued to inform me that it was Euaggelia’s, the canteen lady’s birthday and most were going to surprise her at closing time with a cake and beers. She asked me to join them.
‘Yeah...’ was the only word I managed to say. The roaring of my black, old fashioned, cheap telephone intruded upon my flow of thought..
‘Captain Papacosta... Hmmm... Ok... Aha... Yes, setting off now.’
‘Polina, call the police speedboat. Tell the driver to be ready in twenty minutes. Fuel up for Santorini.’
‘Right away, sir.’
I stood up and crashed into Ioli, who was hovering around me.
‘Dead woman, found in her home by her mother. Shot through the open window. She buried her husband yesterday,’ I spoke in police telegraph talk as we made a beeline for the elevator doors.
‘Kids?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Sad to lose both parents in a matter of days.’
We exited the underground parking, with its bad lighting and its smell of stagnant, stale air, rubbish and cigarette smoke. Ever since smoking had been banned in all public buildings, it seemed like everyone lived in the basement or the roof.
‘I’ll drive,’ Ioli said beeping open our patrol car. The one and only patrol car belonging to the Island’s Homicide Department. In the back, my black and yellow Goodyear suitcase next to her double the size, red Samsonite, already packed since last week.
Chapter 18
A good nap and some four hours later, our ferry floated at the bottom of the 400 meter cliff. The blue lagoon between Santorini and the volcanic island opposite it, lay vacant. In the summertime, some of the largest cruise ships in the world, stopped here releasing thousands for a day excursion. There are three ways up to Thira, walk the long, winding, labyrinthine road with the 600 plus steps, hire a donkey to carry you up or use the newly installed teleferic. We opted for the cable car.
‘Santorini is the most beautiful Greek island, hands down,’ Ioli declared, looking out the window; wires flying us up into the grey, winter sky.
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ I answered, remembering another life, years ago, when as a young man, I came here from New York with my now ex-wife.
A young police constable welcomed us to the island. We walked through well-maintained, rock-paved roads towards the first parking lot. Driving was not possible along the edge of the precipice. A few shops were open, with a couple of postcard stands outside their door, but most were shut, with that polite little notice hanging on the door. CLOSED FOR THE WINTER.
The crackling in the skies above gave pace to our walk and as soon as our seat belts had us buckled in, the first drops made their way back down to earth.
Constable Christina Dionysiou informed us that the house of the late Kate Spanou, age 38, was just a few minutes away, located in a side road just after the church of Agios Minas.
‘Her mother discovered the body. She was in a right state, sir, but I managed to take her statement. No idea what-so-ever about who would want to hurt her precious angel,’ Christina said, passing me a piece of paper with a few drops of rain on it.
‘How did her husband die?’ Ioli beat me to the question.
‘Heart attack. Always had a weak heart. A good man, Mario was. Loved in our small society.’
‘His wife?’
‘She kept to herself. Housewife, busy with chores and kids. Most described her as friendly and quiet.’
We parked outside the typical, Greek island, white painted house with the rose garden in front and a bricked pathway leading to the main entrance. Crying relatives and nosy neighbors had gathered and were contained under a yellow, dancing in the wind, car-less parking tent by a tall, muscular constable and the heavy downpour. Constable Christina said something about an umbrella in the back, but before she had finished her sentence, Ioli and I were out of the car, running in the rain.
A long-in-the-tooth, grizzled and decrepit man stood in the hallway, looking at us; disapproving our entrance.
‘Wipe your feet,’ the eighty year old man growled. ‘This way.’
‘I see, coroners do not retire here,’ Ioli whispered.
‘More like a doctor who is enjoying government benefits and refuses to give up his throne.’
We followed him into the cold kitchen. The window wide open, welcoming in the chilling air and a spray of rain fall. The woman’s body lying on the floor; an open wound in the middle of her face. A halo of blood around her. Blood spatter on the wall behind her and to her right.
‘She stood right here,’ Ioli said and stood by the kitchen sink and stared outside. ‘Bullet came flying through the open window...’
‘It looks like a bullet from a hunting rifle. The killer could not have stood at a long distance,’ I said.
‘The roof of the house opposite, otherwise he –or she- wouldn’t have a clear
shot.’ She turned around holding a picture frame. A photograph of a four member family, smiles all around, having fun at the beach. Ioli always felt for the children. ‘They are never to blame and always get screwed over by adult’s bullshit,’ she once told me.
‘Are you two going to keep staring around or can I take the body now? I’ve been here for four hours!’
‘Time for your meds?’
‘What did you say girl?’
‘Yes, you can take the body... after you tell us time of death,’ I intervened.
‘Sometime yesterday morning; can’t be dead for more than 24 hours. I’ll know more after my apprentice performs the autopsy.’
I helped the doctor and his youthful apprentice with lifting up the body and placing in on the wet, orange stretcher brought in by Kyriako a.k.a. old man’s apprentice. Ioli went upstairs to look through the house for clues. I took the ground floor.
The body was wheeled outside and neither the muscular constable nor the torrential rain could hold back her mother and friends. They escorted their loved one to the back of the ambulance; their tears becoming one with the cloudburst.
We searched through private items, unfolding the life of a typical family. Photos from vacations, school clothes, jewelry, books, souvenirs, candles, socks, USB’s, DVD’s, goldfish, ashtrays, perfumes, toys, piggy banks and the list goes on. Pieces of materials that form our possessions. Pieces of a greater puzzle called domestic life.
The rain outside decided on a break. The black sky rumbling loud, getting ready for round two. We discussed our findings on our way, across the wet, slippery road to the neighbor’s doorbell.
Please not a grumpy, uncooperative old woman. Ding-dong.
The door flew open in a split second.
‘Yes?’ the pink-haired twenty year old asked, trying to catch her breath. She had been watching from behind ripped, worn-in, beige curtains. Her cigarette, lying in the tinted glass bowl that served as an ashtray, was still breathing smoke into the untidy room, its furniture from another era. She was wearing a wide, silly grin, jean shorts as wide as my belt, black socks to knee level and a white T-shirt with some club’s logo printed on it. A T-shirt that did not leave much to the imagination.
The Church Murders: A stand-alone thriller (Greek Island Mysteries Book 2) Page 6