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

by Luke Christodoulou

  I squeezed my car between an old Honda and an overflowing trash can. I opened my door, saddened to say goodbye to my air-con. The heat surrounded me, choking me, mocking every dry pore on me. I slammed the car door shut, scaring away rough-looking cats feasting on thrown-out fish bones.

  I pushed the button labelled Papademetriou. A soft voice came out of the built in speaker.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Captain Papacosta with the Hellenic Police. I called you yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Come up, 502,’ she said, buzzing me in.

  I pushed the door open and proceeded towards the elevator that awaited me with open doors. I entered and pressed five. The elevator doors closed, leaving me alone with my reflection. Getting old sucks. Don’t let anyone fool you and tell you otherwise. I was getting fatter, with less hair than before and with deep lines decorating my once youthful round face.

  I stepped out onto the fifth floor. A row of grey iron doors stood before me. One slightly opened.

  ‘Miss Louiza?’ I called through the gap.

  ‘Come in, Captain. Close the door.’

  A cool breeze welcomed me in. The living room was vast with a panoramic view of the city.

  ‘Sit down, I’ll be with you in a minute,’ the voice continued from inside the kitchen. I sat down on the beige leather couch and waited.

  A tall brunette appeared through the doorway, silver tray in hand.

  ‘I took the liberty of making you coffee.’ She placed the redolent coffee, a glass of iced water and a plate of cinnamon cookies on the cherry wood coffee table.

  She wore black and looked sickly pale. She sat down in a huge armchair opposite me. It made her look like a child.

  ‘I am sorry for your loss.’

  She smiled for a brief second out of politeness and then let her lips drop back to a flat line. I took a sip from my boiling hot Greek coffee.

  ‘Your coffee is exquisite.’

  ‘It’s a special kind of coffee. Demetri is a... was a coffee junkie.’

  ‘Nice place. How long have you lived here?’

  ‘Demetri bought this place when he first came to Athens six years ago with big dreams of making it in one of the league’s top football clubs. I moved in a year ago. I decided to further my education with a PhD in Literature.’

  ‘Must have cost an arm and a leg. A place like this.’ Demetris’s background check reported that he was from a poor family living off the land in the agricultural village of Chrisavgi.

  She sat up, uneasy.

  ‘He did not manage to pay it off. The bank owns it now. I’ll be gone by the end of the month.’

  Samuel 31:3-6. Saul lost it all.

  ‘What else did your brother lose?’

  ‘It has been a rough year for Demetri. He lost a lot of his money on investments gone bad, his contract with his club was not renewed, he owed this place and his Maserati and to top things off, his skank of a girlfriend left him for his best friend when they both realized he was a sinking ship. They enjoyed living his lifestyle.’ She struggled with her words. Tears of anger were forming in her eyes. ‘I tried to help him. I really did. He never did listen to me. He never listened to anybody. I even sought professional help for him as his depression grew. I tried to send him on a couple of blind dates with friends of mine, but it was too late. He was in a very dark place.’

  Demetri wasn’t the only one in a dark place.

  Rita Simonide’s husband praised the Lord I had arrived. Murder flashed in his eyes. He paced up and down their living room as he told me their story.

  ‘... Rita was a good woman...’ he wept. ‘And an excellent mother, a wonderful person...’

  ‘Mr. Simonide, if you could please just take a minute and relax...’

  ‘Relax? Relax! After what they did to my poor Rita?’

  ‘Who did what?’ I raised my voice.

  He suddenly stopped and sat down on the floor in front of me. He fixed his gaze on the floor and struggled with the words.

  ‘Now, she is dead, I need no revenge, I need no justice. Promise me, you will not take this any further.’

  ‘Mr Simonide, if a crime took place, I am obliged to...’

  ‘Then we have nothing to say here.’

  ‘Did Rita commit a crime?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘No...’ He bit his lips. ‘Rita was...’ He swallowed and exhaled. ‘She was raped.’

  My eyes grew larger. ‘Raped? When?’

  ‘Last month. She was leaving her Christian Ladies group and was ambushed by two men. She fought to...’ Tears flowed down and choked his words. ‘I wanted to call the police, I wanted to go out and find them myself, but Rita would have none of it. She was such a devout Christian. She said she forgave them and she did not wish everyone, especially our two kids and her mother, to know. But, it did not end there. A few days after the attack, we received a DVD and a letter in a brown envelope, left on our doorstep. It was the worse day of my life. Are you married, Captain?’

  I nearly answered divorced. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Imagine watching your wife being raped. Forced to do unholy things. Two beasts all over her.’ He went silent in disgust.

  ‘The letter? What did it say?’ I asked, trying to draw his mind away from the images engraved in his mind.

  ‘They wanted 200,000 Euro delivered in a month. Details would follow.’

  I looked around. A plain, three-bedroom house, worn furniture and decorated cheaply. Outside an old Ford. Achillea Simonide worked as a plumber.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he chuckled. ‘We don’t look like millionaires, do we now?’

  ‘I must admit that I was wondering why they would be asking for such a large amount of money from a middle-class family.’

  ‘Rita was a writer. She wrote Christian stories about love, faith and the good in mankind. Her books made over 50,000 per month. She gave most of it to charities. She was actively involved in many support groups for abused children, single mothers and so on. She said the Lord gave her the stories so any profits from them were not hers. She only kept enough to make ends meet and banked a few thousand every month for the kids’ studies. She was more concerned about embarrassing her family when the video went public. She said that no one could guarantee that they would not keep coming back for more.’

  ‘Achillea, whoever did this knew the kind of money she was making. Don’t you suspect anyone?’

  He shook his head. ‘Anyway, Rita’s wish was to leave things untouched. I respect that and I, too, do not want my children finding out. They have just lost their mother.’

  ‘How about I ask a few questions and see what I can do? Unofficially? And report only to you if I hear anything?’

  ‘No need.’

  I did not tell him that I wanted to and had to report it. But, I would make sure nothing got out to the public.

  By nightfall, seven stories unfolded before me. Seven tragedies that led seven people to their grave. Demetri lost it all, Rita killed herself to save her family from embarrassment, Eftychia was diagnosed with severe manic depression and believed her life was just a test, Nikolas like a second Judas betrayed his own father and testified against his family’s law firm -both his parents were sentenced for money laundering, Anastasia was diagnosed with terminal cancer and had two more painful months to live and Agatha was tormented by her desires. Her computer hard drive was filled with child pornography.

  Idalia’s story was made known through the morning paper’s. She had sent in proof to police headquarters before taking her own short life. She was left an orphan at the tender age of twelve and sent to live with her mother’s cousin. A cousin who with her scumbag boyfriend, rented little and beautiful Idalia out to older men for a hefty price. Both were arrested, along with a group of sick, perverted men.

  God, sometimes you really make me lose all faith in you...

  Chapter 43

  Dr. Ariadne Metaxa’s office

  Trac
y twisted and turned in ‘my’ armchair. She played with her fingers and avoided eye contact with Ariadne. She had already regretted her decision to come. She remembered how it had taken her months to trust Susan with her deepest thoughts and emotions.

  ‘It’s our first session. Try to think about it as a visit to a new neighbor. We can talk about the weather, everyday life, fashion...’ Ariadne said, reading Tracy’s mind.

  ‘Fashion?’

  ‘Athens has nothing to envy from other cities. But, then again, you are a New York woman.’ Ariadne’s warm smile lifted Tracy’s spirits.

  ‘I must admit, I still haven’t learned my ways around the market yet.’

  ‘How about every time you visit me, I let you in on an amazing boutique?’

  ‘I don’t know about your professional skills, but you are one hell of a marketing guru.’

  ‘Anything else I can bribe you with?’

  ‘Now that you mention it, I am looking for a better beauty salon.’

  Both women shared a laugh.

  Ariadne kept the conversation on a friendly note. She always took this as a first approach. Used to traumatized police officers, she knew people needed time to talk about deep pains.

  Chapter 44

  Ioli awoke before the sun had risen. She sat up and exhaled deeply. The dilemma of staying or leaving kept her awake until midnight. She had to speak to the boy. She had to ask him what he meant. She had to make sure he was going to be better. She knew she was probably reading too much into what he said.

  Only you can save me. He would have said the same to anyone standing next to him, right? she thought.

  She decided on a cold shower and an ice-cold frappe. It felt good to shower without a rush. Ioli always struggled to be punctual. She worked long hours without slacking off and she would not allow anyone to have something to hold against her. The chief frowned upon officers being late and she never wanted to be at the receiving end of that frown. For her, to be on time meant forcing herself out of bed and running like a headless hen to be on time. Now, she let the water run down her body. She stood there for a while, clearing her mind. She brought the shower gel to her nose. Some sort of Hawaiian tropical flower mixed with honey and milk. The gel turned into foam as she rubbed it gently on her skin. This was not a shower, it was a ritual. She stepped out and naked as she was, she plucked her eyebrows and applied her subtle makeup. Her long black hair was pulled up into a high ponytail. She pulled on her tight blue jeans and a casual white blouse with a discreet v neck.

  The frappe mixer soared to life and sun rays sneaked into the room. She pulled back the heavy curtains and exited onto the tiny balcony. The sea’s fresh air rushed down into her lungs and Ioli thanked God for Greece’s stunning views. The Greek land always running to meet the sea. The clear skies above the turquoise tranquil waters. More divine was the coffee that flowed down her oesophagus and into her nervous system. The breakfast buffet did not open for another half an hour, so she settled herself down in a white plastic chair and placed her long legs upon the round balcony table. Her romance novel rose to eye level and Ioli truly let her mind relax.

  A flock of noisy seagulls shattered the fantasy world into which she had ventured. As her senses returned to planet earth, she inhaled a whiff of crispy fried bacon.

  She was second to the buffet, beaten by a loud German and his even louder family. By the time Ioli had filled her tray with all sorts of morning goodness -and of course another coffee- the dining room and its balcony were filled with European tourists.

  Ioli enjoyed her meal, feeling rather lonely. She people-watched for a while; letting her food settle down and with one last sip of her coffee, she was off to the hospital.

  Ioli was the youngest person on the first bus of the morning. The usual group of senior citizens was heading to the hospital to stock up on their medicine. The bus driver smiled warmly at her hopping on and stared through his overhead mirror at the out-of-towner who took a seat in the back. The old bus roared to life and with a screech and a bang, it set off for the hospital. Outside, the small town awoke slowly. Ioli squinted at the sun sneaking up from behind houses with windows and doors still shut.

  The bus driver, who was missing a neck and half a brain, drove the entire bendy road with one hand. The other was preoccupied with cursing other drivers, talking on the phone, drinking an iced coffee and smoking. The elderly women, accustomed to his driving, exchanged yesterday’s news while older men either continued their sleep or argued about politics. All of them oblivious to the chaos unfolding before Ioli’s eyes. The driver ran a red light, climbed up and down a pavement, nearly left a row of cars without their wing mirrors, honked cars with priority out of its way and sped down narrow village dirt roads. As the menacing bus slowed to a standstill, she thanked God for sparing her life. She did not thank him as much when she found out from yesterday’s beautiful nurse that the Antoniou family were no longer at the hospital. The nurse’s jaw dropped upon hearing the profanities Ioli’s mouth was capable of.

  ‘What do you mean they left?’

  ‘Mrs Antoniou checked herself and her boy out, against doctor’s orders. We cannot force people to stay.’

  ‘Can you call me a taxi then?’ Ioli asked disappointed.

  ‘Sure thing,’ the girl smiled in an attempt to cheer her up.

  Ioli walked over to a huge vending machine offering a large selection of hot and cold beverages. Most options were covered by a white sticker declaring ‘NOT AVAILABLE AT THE MOMENT’. Thankfully, double espresso had no such sticker. She slipped the money into the slot and placed the thick paper cup under the machine’s outlet beak.

  ‘It will be here in five.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ioli responded and coffee in hand, she walked outside. A crying for a re-paint bench welcomed her. She kept herself busy by scratching the sun-blistered paint and enjoying her coffee. By the last sip, her carriage had arrived.

  ‘Where to?’

  She was ready to name her hotel, when she thought what the heck? Why not? It’s worth a shot.

  ‘Do you know Sophia Antoniou’s residence? I have something for her. I thought she would be here and...’

  ‘Oh, the priest’s widow. Yeah, I’ll have you there in ten minutes,’ he said and did not bother to ask any further questions. He turned up the radio playing the morning news and drove in silence. Ioli’s mind wandered and soon she was having an inner discussion about the ups and downs of small societies.

  ‘Just around the corner, ma’am. It is... What the...?’

  Around the corner, in contrast to the quiet streets that they had travelled, dozens of people were gathered around news outlet mini vans. Yellow police tape, stretched across the front yard of the house next to the Antoniou residence, was dancing in the light morning wind. In the driveway, a muted ambulance with its red lights glowing and two police cars were parked. Cameras were rolling and focused on Sophia. Ioli quickly paid the driver and shot out of the car. She ran over and was relieved to see little Antony, standing all shy behind his mother.

  ‘Mrs Antoniou, you are saying you saw Saint Gerasimos last night?’ a reporter asked with disbelief.

  ‘As real as I see you and you are seeing me, mister. He came to me and told me that everything will be alright and that the pain will be shared amongst the righteous.’

  ‘Did you see him go next door?’

  ‘No. I was in shock to see my husband following Saint Gerasimo, bless his name!’

  The questions kept on coming and Sophia stood her ground.

  ‘Hey kid, show us your hands.’ one tall, blonde reporter yelled.

  ‘Hey! This is no sideshow,’ Ioli could not restrain her anger. She pushed herself through the pack of wolves and with her arm around the boy she led him inside the house. Sophia was taken aback and took a few seconds to realize that it was the lady from the hospital, just the previous day. She took in a small breath and continued with last night’s events.

  ‘Thank you,’ Antony said with
a strained voice.

  ‘What happened next door?’ Ioli stooped to his eye level.

  ‘Elisabeth, the girl next door, woke up with stigmata too.’

  Her eyes opened wide. ‘You don’t say. Like yours?’

  ‘Just her hands. But her wounds weren’t all the way through. They did not let me see her. She is a year younger than me and I know I shouldn’t be playing with girls, but Elisabeth is pretty cool. And mother likes her too. She is in my Sunday school.’

  ‘Antony... At the beach, do you remember what you said to me?’

  The boy nodded. ‘I said you would save me and so far you have. I don’t like reporters. All they do is talk and talk and ask and ask, but they don’t care. Not a single word they say to you is polite or nice. Rude. That’s the word Miss Despo would use.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Miss Despo, my teacher.’

  She looked straight into his peculiar violet eyes. ‘Save you from what?’

  The door being flung open, startled them.

  ‘How dare you?’ Sophia asked, closing the door behind her.

  ‘I...’

  ‘No, no. You don’t get to speak to me. Who told you, you could take my boy away?’

  ‘Sophia, I apologize, but it was no place for him out there.’

  ‘That is for his mother to decide. His marks are for the world to see. They are not his to own. Neither are mine. Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, gave them to us for a reason. And now, Elisabeth next door? All this means something.’

  ‘I respect your beliefs, Sophia. I acted on impulse. Antony looked so uncomfortable out there. I’m sorry. I only wanted to help.’

  ‘This is all too much for me...’ Sophia leaned back against the wall and slid down to the tiled floor. Tears formed around her eyes’ black circles.

  ‘Sophia, be strong. For Antony,’ Ioli said, rushing over to her.

  ‘You don’t believe any of this, do you?’

  ‘I must admit, it has me puzzled.’

  ‘God’s glory is before you. You skeptics are always declaring that seeing is believing. Now, you are seeing and still...’ Sophia paused for a second. ‘You really want to help?’