The Church Murders: A stand-alone thriller (Greek Island Mysteries Book 2)

by Luke Christodoulou

  ‘Out of the twelve cars, eleven belong to people living on the street. One doesn’t. And it was parked across from my house. I’ve cracked the case, right?’ He was beaming with self-satisfaction.

  ‘I believe you have! What car was it?’

  He glowed in victory even more. I expected his bald head to start giving off light. ‘It was a 2004, white Fiat Strada. And before you go searching your database for owners, I can do you one better. It had a logo on the side. YourWoodWorker.Gr.’

  ‘That’s in Kamari, by the airport,’ Christina said. ‘I’ve met the owner. A John something. He did some work on my parent’s house a couple of years back.’

  We thanked Billy for his services. He told us to visit again.

  Menacing clouds threw their first warning shots. I called Ioli with the news. By the time we parked outside the station to pick her up, it was really pissing it down.

  Christina jumped out of the patrol car and Ioli came running out of the building, Beautiful people covering her silky, black hair that she had pulled back in a bun. Christina vanished through the open door, glad to be back close to central heating. The cold on the islands penetrated your skin and chilled your bones. Something about the sea air, I guess. In New York, if you dressed warm enough, you could tolerate the cold easy. Here, you could wear all your clothes and still feel the ice settling on your bones.

  The GPS lady, with her fine math skills, calculated the distance to 8.7 KM and 12 minutes as our estimated time of arrival. The country road was not bad, considering that with all the cuts due to crisis, no maintenance occurred anymore. The wipers were working at full speed and the thunder in the sky, drowned out the car’s radio. Not that we were listening to it. I brought Ioli up to date with our Mr. Billy visit.

  In 17 minutes (I’m looking at you, GPS lady), we were outside a lonely bricked warehouse with a tin roof. The rain fell upon it hard, its drum music echoing through the surrounding fields by the country road from the airport to the village of Kamari. We drove up to the building and in haste, found ourselves under the wooden pergola that covered the entrance. The aluminium door below the sign YourWoodWorker.Gr open. The wind banging it, yet never closing it. Inside, it was quiet like a grave. Ioli walked in, pistol secure between both her hands. I pulled out my gun and stood by the open door.

  ‘Hello?’ No answer.

  ‘John?’

  Again, no reply. Just the wind howling through gaps in the bricked wall. We both stood in the vast, open space. A damp and draughty place. Planks of wood and work tables filled the space.

  ‘Police. Is anyone here?’ Ioli called out, her gun moving around, covering the ground.

  ‘Looks clear,’ I said, and that was when we heard a faint, screeching sound. The rain was dying down and quiet spread across the valley. The sound echoed clearer this time. It came from the office, in the rear end of the warehouse. Guns straight ahead, we approached.

  Suddenly, a noise from below. A huge rat ran beside Ioli’s left foot. She whispered a curse, that found its way out from behind gritted teeth.

  The noise now clear and familiar. It reminded me of my daughter playing on our neighborhood swings. I turned the knob and pushed open the door, jumping in the room with my gun ready to threaten. I froze at the sight of the hanging, naked body. Ioli gasped for air and her eyes widened in shock.

  Before us, a man suspended by his arms and feet from the ceiling, face down. Thick, metal wire, tied to a hook on the ceiling held his wrists together. Same with his ankles. Blood dripped from his head, mouth and nose, forming a pool of blood beneath him. A second, smaller pool formed by drops of blood dripping from his dangling penis. Ioli walked around.

  ‘What the...?’ Her hand covered her mouth in disgust. His anus was held open by a weird ring, a green sex toy. He was badly bruised, showing signs of severe rape.

  I placed two fingers on his neck’s main artery. He was dead, yet the body, even in this cold, was still quite warm. He died during the last two hours.

  ‘Costa, how is this all connected?’ she asked, panic gently covering each word.

  ‘Either this guy was killed by the same murderer who killed Stella or this guy killed Stella and was killed by another?’ The repetition of the word killed, gave away my confusion. Too many puzzle pieces, no box cover to look at.

  As I called Christina and the medical examiner, Ioli searched around the building. No one was to be seen. She came back, hunting rifle in her latex-covered hand.

  ‘Think I found Kate’s murder weapon...’

  ‘Lift it for prints,’ I said and called the chief to let him know the unexpected turn our case had just taken. I also requested, all evidence and DNA sent in, to go to the top of the list.

  Half an hour later, Hercule and the coroner’s apprentice, whose name I still don’t know, lowered down the body. His back housed a plethora of tattoos. A cross, head shots of Saint John and Saint Mina and a couple of passages from the Bible.

  FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD, THAT HE GAVE HIS ONE AND ONLY SON, THAT WHOEVER BELIEVES IN HIM SHALL NOT PERISH BUT HAVE ETERNAL LIFE – JOHN : 3:16

  ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,’ Ioli read the other.

  What a way to die. Not that there is a good way. I don’t feel like dying old, senile and with shitty diapers on, in some nursing home or worse in some smelly hospital with bitchy nurses that wait for you to die cause they need the bed for the next old, senile fart with diapers on. No. Sir. There is not a good way to go.

  Loud, ground shaking thunder killed my flow of thoughts. The body of John Mina was bagged and rolled out of his workplace. Bruise-colored clouds covered the little blue left in the sky and swallowed the orange ball burning behind them, ready to dip into the horizon and call it a night. The paramedics were having a difficult time, wheeling him through the muddy pathway. The strong rain gathered momentum and a wrong step, in a wrong puddle, brought the first paramedic to her knees. Her colleague was busy pushing the stretcher, rushing to leave the rainy outdoors. He hit her hard with the stretcher on her forehead, opening up a nice, blood producing, stitches needing scar, that would be the talk of the week at the local hospital. The body bag fell to the left and rolled in the mud.

  No. Ma’am. There is not a good way to go.

  John was a simple man and so was his workplace. He only had what he needed, mostly tools. Receipts and orders filled his office drawers. No family photographs, no holiday souvenirs, no needless junk. A practical man. On his desk, an outdated computer – the ones where the screen is double the size of the modem, a brown, vintage, rotary dial telephone and a black, hardcover Bible.

  His home did not differ. He lived alone in a one bedroom apartment in the nearby village of Kamari. Never married, never fathered offspring. A forty year old that kept to himself, never socializing with the neighbors. He had a bed to sleep on, a table to eat on, an oven to cook in and a fridge to keep the milk cold. No sign of a TV or a couch.

  The night sky, filled with a glowing slice of moon and millions of flickering white dots, signalled the end of a rainy day. A single, lonely cloud shipped through the stars. It was a peaceful ride back to our hotel. Our case puzzled us both. Both needing reason to prevail.

  Ioli spoke first. ‘He kept to himself, no friends, no family... But he was religious. The tattoos, the Bible, the icons above his bed.’

  ‘Pay his local church a visit in the morning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Keep your eyes on the road, please. His last name was Mina, he had Saint Mina tattooed on his back...’

  ‘Saint Mina church in Thira.’

  ‘And that’s possibly where we’ll find our connection. It is the church nearest to Kate and Stella. They both went to church on Sundays.’

  ‘The local priest could help us. I doubt he’ll be awake at this time of night.’

  ‘First thing in the morning...’

  She did not complete her
thought. My ringtone leaped around the car.

  ‘Annoying grandpa ringtone,’ Ioli commented once again. I ignored her remark once again. It was turning into a thing. Into one of those annoying routine lines we humans tend to say. A Pavlovian response to a sound, smell, picture, movement.

  Unknown US number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Costa? Costa, my boy,’ was all my mother, Maria, managed to say without crying. The rest came with tears and sobbing.

  ‘Mama? You OK? What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s your father, Costa.’ My heart skipped a beat. The better part of my brain used instinct and pulled over, parking the car on the muddy side of the road, killing fresh grass as the vehicle came to a full stop. I had never heard this tone of voice with her. I was expecting her next words to be your father is dead.

  ‘Costa, can you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, mama!’ My voice rocketed to the high eighties of the dB scale. Ioli jumped in her seat. She laid her hand gently on my shoulder. Her smile letting me know that she was there for me.

  ‘He’s been hit by a car...’

  ‘A car? How? How’s dad?’

  ‘On his way to the park. He just got out of surgery...’

  ‘And now you call?’ I regretted yelling at her immediately.

  ‘I was in shock. I stood outside the door, going up and down like crazy!’

  ‘I know, Mama. Sorry. Is dad ok?’

  ‘They don’t know. This young blond doctor said she did all she could, but he was old and things don’t repair like when we are young. He hasn’t woken up, Costa! He might not...’ The last words struggled to come out her mouth. She could not say any more.

  ‘Call Auntie Tonia. Don’t be alone.’

  ‘I will. I will. All his friends are here, too. When can you get here?’

  ‘Me? Mama, I can’t leave...’

  ‘Costa, he’s your father! He is dying and you...’ The same angry voice I heard only once before. I was fourteen when the police came round our house. They were doing rounds asking all the neighborhood boys if we knew anything about Panayiota Karaoli’s rape. She was fifteen at the time. She was returning home, late at night, and walked through the park where all the block’s teens hang out. She was attacked from behind, blindfolded and pulled into the trees. Her hands were tied together and her legs spread apart. She felt scissors cut off her jean shorts, her Disney sweatshirt and her sports bra. She could not recall how many had their way with her as they took turns raping her. They left her there, bruised, bloody and scared. The following morning, the news spread like wildfire in our small, Greek community. Everyone was a suspect. Especially, teenage boys to whom the park served as a second home. The cops were sure one of us would know something. I had -without mama’s permission- taken the metro with my mate Jimmy. We went to that Led Zeppelin concert we were not allowed to go to. The two cops towering me, asking me about my whereabouts the previous night were less scary than my mother. As I chewed on my words, making silly, unprepared excuses, she snapped!

  ‘Now, listen here young man. You better start talking the truth right now or I swear to God and all the Saints that I will break you!’ She was so worried that her good, Christian boy had something to do with the rape that upon hearing I was at the concert, she fell into my arms and hugged me. Then she slapped me twice on my head. One for lying to the police and one for going to the concert. A third slap came as a warning not to do it again. Now, after all these years, the same angry tone was used.

  ‘Mama, I am in the middle of a case. A murder case. I have four dead bodies...’

  ‘Soon you will have a fifth.’

  ‘Mama, don’t be bitter. I’m in Santorini. A killer is on the loose. Dad is alive, and he is a fighter. I’ll fly out as soon as the case is over.’

  ‘I need you. But you stay there with your bodies. Save lives.’

  ‘Mama...’ The crackling noise came through sounding the slamming of the hospital phone’s handset. She was pissed off, and she had every right to be. I was her only son. She needed me there. Hopefully, my sister Jo, who I bet she called straight after me, would fly out of Seattle immediately. Hopefully, Aunt Tonia, who lived round the corner would be there in five. Mama always hated being alone. Especially in times like these. My father had always stood by her, through every wedding vow. Through sickness and all that.

  ‘Costa, is your father OK?’ Ioli quietly asked.

  ‘A car hit him... He hasn’t woken up yet.’

  ‘My God...’ Her breath quickened its pace.

  ‘God! It’s times like these, I wonder what kind of sick games he likes to play. We just saw a religious man, hanging naked, raped and killed. God. He took my daughter, he may take my father, somebody else’s loved one is dying as we speak. All ages, all races, all kinds of people. Good, bad. All in the same pot. All contestants in the GuessWhoDiesNextAndVoteHow, heaven’s favorite TV show!’

  ‘Get out. I’m driving.’ She exited the car and walked around. In a furious zombie like state, I did the same. ‘Let’s get you back to the hotel, big guy.’

  She never questioned my decision to stay. She was a cop and, like me, this mess was her life. We caught killers. That’s what we did. Everything else came second as horrible as that may sound to normal folk. She walked me to my door and asked if there was anything she could do for me.

  ‘No, I’m fine. You go eat and get some shut eye. Seven o’clock sharp we’ll meet for breakfast and head over to the church.’ I forced a smile. I closed the door before she could see the first tear fall. With watery eyes, I found my cancer sticks and exited to the balcony. The stunning night view, insignificant to me. I chained smoked four cigarettes before invading the mini bar. Mr. Walker and Mr. Daniels went down my throat before a fifth cigarette was lit. Same number of cigarettes that I smoked all last year. I felt like a spoiled, angry teen taking it out on my body. I felt stupid. And with that last thought, I undressed down to my boxers and fell on top of the soft bed.

  Chapter 24

  Dr. Ariadne Metaxa’s office

  ‘It’s good you cried,’ she said, widening her smile, glad her closed-book patient had opened up to her. Her lissome figure approached me and filled my glass up with expensive mineral water.

  Normally, I would not be discussing police cases with a civilian, but Ariadne was kind of part of the force and shrinks had that whole I-can’t-tell-shit-to-no-one confidentiality oath. ‘I call tears soul catharsis. Were your tears just for your father?’

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Yeah. I wasn’t thinking of anything else.’ Please do not take this to my daughter.

  ‘How did you feel when Ioli showed her support?’

  I frowned. ‘Good. It’s always good to feel that you have someone there for you.’ The sentence came out in the form of a question.

  ‘I am not implying anything, Captain. I know your relationship is purely platonic. It’s just that I know you have a hard time letting people get close.’

  I laughed. Ariadne Metaxa, for the first time, looked puzzled. She uncrossed her beautiful legs and crossed them the other way. In a modest way that is. No Basic Instinct style flash.

  ‘Did I say something amusing, Costa?’

  ‘No, no,’ I quickly replied, my laughter dying down. ‘You’re right, once again. I don’t let anyone in and Ioli is the first person I let get close to me since... since then.’ Then. Murder. Divorce. Escape from New York. Then.

  ‘I laughed at the word platonic,’ I continued. ‘My ADD mind played a scene from days past.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ she said, leaning back into her chair. Her eyes studied me and her fingers began fidgeting with her well-sharpened, rubber top pencil.

  ‘I had this friend in high school. Melissa. Terrific girl. We talked a lot and went to the movies a couple of times. Purely platonic as you said. Well, one day as we were on the roof smoking -out of adult’s sight- my mate Jimmy turned and asked if I had... slept with her yet.’ Not the word he used, but I have never been
a fan of the f word. Unlike everyone I have ever met. ‘I told him we were just friends. I still remember the shock on his face.’ I did my best to mimic Jimmy’s deep voice. ‘Friends? You freaking serious? Sweet pussy like that! If a man needs a friend, he gets a dog!’

  Ariadne’s laugh was always the same. It was more of a giggle, a little girl’s giggle. She knew that. That is why her laughter lasted exactly two seconds. A two second spontaneous giggle, abruptly shot down by her embarrassment. A light rose colored the skin on her high cheekbones. She exhaled and the color vanished. She became her professional self again.

  ‘Maybe you should get a dog?’

  ‘In my tiny apartment, with my hours? I had a hard time feeding that stupid goldfish the woman next door gave me to babysit for a week. Do you have a dog?’

  ‘No, unfortunately, I am a cat lady. And being unmarried with four cats screams spinster from a mile away.’ Too personal; it lasted just a second and she moved on. ‘So four dead bodies, what happened next?’

  ‘The lab results came in and boy, did we have a mystery on our hands! But, first we paid the local priest a visit.’

  Chapter 25

  Agios Minas Church, like most churches in Thira, hung on the edge of the caldera, reachable only by foot. Narrow, stone pathways lead to and pass by it, forcing drivers to abandon their cars a mile away. This was fine for the flocks of tourists in the summer; the church was probably the most photographed church on the island. But now, during winter, it was anything but fine. The chilling north wind roamed the more-slippery-than-a-divorce-lawyer, narrow pathway and the downpour left you with no option of walking slow. Ioli and I walked arm in arm and wobbled along like an old couple in a rush to see the evening news.

  ‘I hate mornings without a sun,’ Ioli grunted.