Murder in Mykonos

by Jeffrey Siger

  He turned the key to unlock the front wheel and slowly pushed the bike forward along the road without starting the engine. He pushed faster and faster until he was running beside it. When he stopped he was breathing heavily but not as much as you’d expect for a man of his age.

  He turned the front wheel and carefully pushed the bike toward the downhill side of the road. Slowly, he eased it over the edge. The bike started to get away from him but he used his strength to hold it back. It was a tough fifty yards down the hill to the mine entrance. You couldn’t see it from the road. He was halfway there when the weight of the bike and the angle of the hillside combined with the sandy, dry dirt to overcome his strength. His feet slid out from under him. He struggled to keep his balance but couldn’t. He was sliding out of control toward the boulders below, still holding the bike. He wrenched it onto its side and fell behind it, trying desperately to stop their slide. Both stopped about thirty yards on when the bike hung up on a huge wild rosemary bush – and he slid knee first into the motor housing. He cursed.

  He was fifteen yards below and to the side of the mine entrance. He steadied and lifted the bike, angled it toward the entrance and dragged it. Limping because of his hurt knee, he cursed again.

  By the time he reached the entrance, almost forty-five minutes had passed since he’d left her. He stood catching his breath and looked down at his pants. They were torn by the rocks when he fell and there was an ugly gash along the side of his thigh. His knee was throbbing. He looked like a tourist who’d been in a bike accident. Perhaps this wasn’t such a brilliant plan after all. Dumping her at sea was beginning to look better all the time.

  Catia’s plane to Athens arrived right on time, leaving her a bit more than an hour to catch her connection to Mykonos. Plenty of time for a call to her brother and a coffee. He wasn’t in his office. She left word that she was at the Athens airport and would call him when she got to Mykonos. She bought a coffee, walked to the gate, and sat in one of the plastic and metal chairs anchored in rows to the floor. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was after one. She’d be there by two-thirty – the time Annika most liked being on the beach.

  She covered her eyes with her right hand and tried to keep from crying.

  As usual, things didn’t go as planned. It was almost one-thirty before Tassos and his men arrived in Ano Mera; but the delay did give the mayor enough time to obtain a letter from the archbishop ‘blessing’ a search of the churches. Though built and cared for by local families, churches were holy properties under the control of the archbishop. The letter was all the legal authority Andreas needed. He didn’t want to think about what the mayor must have promised to get that letter; he was just happy at the result. The last thing he needed at this moment was a battle with the Church; he’d worry later over what part the mayor undoubtedly had him playing in their deal.

  Within an hour, sixty plainclothesmen working in teams of three and carrying a copy of the archbishop’s letter, a photograph of Annika Vanden Haag, and descriptions of the possible suspects were on rented motorbikes heading to every known church in the countryside named for Saint Kiriake. Teams with more than one church to cover were assigned churches as close as possible to each other, with at least one team member stationed at each one. Team members were ordered to remain in open radio contact with one another at all times until relieved. Five uniformed two-man teams, in marked cars, were assigned specific areas of the island to serve as backup, just in case. All were told to be polite but firm and, if asked the reason for the search, to state only that they were acting with the permission of the archbishop and to show the letter.

  Seventy cops were now dispersed throughout the Mykonos countryside. Another dozen were walking beats among the churches in town. Tassos said it might have been the biggest show of force on Mykonos since World War II. It couldn’t help but attract attention from the locals. Still, it was the best plan they could come up with under the circumstances – at least that’s what Andreas hoped.

  He limped all the way down the tunnel, wheeling the bike. When he reached the cell he leaned it against the wall and opened the door. The tribute lay exactly where he’d left her. Still breathing, too. As he went inside, he stooped to pick up a water bottle on the floor. He walked over to her, dropped his pants to his ankles, and sat next to her. The floor was cold. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, as if in prayer, then at her as he poured water on his thigh and rubbed at the blood and dirt in his wound. He poured on more water but his eyes were back on the ceiling, as if he was waiting for a sign.

  It was the pinging that caught his attention. Very high-pitched, like metal striking metal. It wasn’t a natural sound in a mine. He leaped up and pulled on his pants. Sweeping her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a doll, he carried Annika out of the cell. The sound was getting closer. He lifted her onto the bike so that her legs straddled the frame and her chest leaned forward over the handlebars. Looking down the pitch-black tunnel, he determined that the sound was coming from there. Behind him was the entrance he’d just used, which led into daylight at the middle of the island.

  There was no other way to go but toward the sound. In that direction two tunnels branched off to the right. The one he wanted was the second, less than three hundred yards from where he stood. The other was only a hundred yards away, and the sound seemed to be coming from that one. He pushed the bike ahead into the darkness. There was no time to get his night-vision goggles or anything else. It didn’t matter. He knew his way from here in the dark and that he’d better hurry.

  He was almost to the first tunnel when he saw a faint flicker on the wall ahead of him to the left. Someone was coming down the tunnel. He heard the noise again, then voices. He had to get past the opening or they’d find him for sure. He pushed the bike faster, and at the change in momentum, her body unexpectedly slumped away from him. The bike began to tip. He grabbed for her with one hand and steadied the bike with the other. He was almost at the first tunnel. He held his breath and listened. He saw more flickers, brighter but still random as if no one was paying attention to what was up ahead. Again, he held his breath, seemed to immerse himself in deep prayer, and pushed the bike and the girl across the opening.

  The three men had been walking in the dark since eight in the morning, stumbling over, under, and around boulders, timbers, and all sorts of debris without finding a sign of anything but snakes and feral dogs. As far as they were concerned, they were on a dusty wild-goose chase into a dilapidated and dangerous hole. No one in his right mind would walk around in here – least of all a young tourist woman.

  For the first few hours they’d been careful to be quiet. They weren’t trying to surprise anyone; they just didn’t want someone to hear them coming and set up an ambush. After a near miss from a surprised – and striking – viper, they decided a little noise was a better risk than startled dogs and snakes. None of them had any plans of becoming a hero or doing any more than was required to keep the mayor happy and themselves on the municipal payroll.

  The oldest of the three had worked in the mines thirty years ago and the other two – both in their twenties – had to put up with his stories of the ‘good old days’ of six-day work weeks, sleeping next to the mines in five-man tents and living off the food he’d carried back from town on his one day off. At first they listened to kill the boredom, but when he started talking about ghosts haunting the mines, they told him to ‘shut the hell up.’ He didn’t. Instead, he began pinging away with the butt end of his sheath knife at the miner’s tool he carried. ‘To ward off the spirits,’ he said. It also kept his weapon handy. Something they all did – just in case.

  They’d gone in through an entrance on a hillside above the priest’s beach and walked west for two hours before turning southwest into a connecting tunnel. That was several hours ago. Now they were coming up on a T. If they turned right at that spot and walked two hundred yards they’d be at the beginning of a mile-and-a-half-long tunnel running north to the sea.
If they went left, they’d end up outside about a quarter-mile away, just below an old mining road. The oldest searcher said that heading left was very dangerous – the tunnel was almost impassable – and they should take the tunnel to the right to get out.

  ‘Bullshit,’ said the youngest, who was out in front. ‘I’m not walking another couple miles in this shit if I can get out in a quarter-mile. Have some other assholes check out that tunnel over there.’ He swung his head to the right to indicate where he meant, and the light on his miner’s helmet turned with it.

  ‘Hey, keep your light pointed where you’re headed,’ said the oldest. ‘I don’t want to have to carry you out of here because you trip over something.’ He kept his own eyes on the fifteen feet in front of him, regularly glancing farther ahead to see what to prepare for next. ‘That’s how you get through dangerous places like this.’ He’d told them that over and over.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ said the youngest. ‘Hey, I see the T, there it is.’ He pointed and started walking faster.

  The oldest shook his head. ‘Take it easy, and remember, take the right. We’re going back the safe way.’

  As the youngest reached the merge he looked back over his left shoulder, threw an open palm at the oldest – the Greek equivalent of the middle-finger salute – and turned left. He froze in midstep. ‘Jesus. Look at that.’ He was pointing straight ahead.

  The others ran up to him. A hundred yards straight ahead, light was streaming into the tunnel. There appeared to be an open door. They looked at one another, checked their weapons, and crossed themselves. They seemed like frightened rabbits about to confront a hound. Cautiously, as if in prayer, they headed toward the light, their eyes fastened to it, their ears perked for sounds ahead, beyond the crunch of their own boots on the earth.

  By the time they reached the door the man holding his breath in the dark – ten feet to the right of where they’d turned left – had finished his own prayers and slid deeper into the darkness. Only the faintly perceptible sound of wheels under weight turning slowly in the dirt could be heard – if someone were listening for the sound in that direction. But no one was, so no one ever heard him or saw him – or her.

  19

  The first report in to Andreas was ‘they found her.’ He was so relieved at the words that he hugged Tassos. On their way to the mine entrance closest to where she’d been ‘found,’ he’d learned the truth. The plunge from great joy to deep despair took only the time it took to hear a single missing word: what they’d found was ‘her hair.’

  Andreas stood at the edge of the road, staring down the hill toward three of his men waiting by the mine entrance. His face looked bloodless. He wondered if this was how his father felt when facing the end of his career. No, Andreas knew it must have been a lot worse for his dad. He’d been betrayed by someone he trusted. Andreas would never do that – trust someone – or so he kept telling himself.

  ‘Pretty deserted out here. Guess that’s why he picked it.’ Tassos sounded like a cheerleader. ‘We’re just over the hill from Panos’ farm and less than a mile from the artist’s place.’

  ‘And this tunnel ties in to an entrance above the priest’s beach.’ Andreas kicked a rock down the hill. ‘Pick one.’

  Tassos shrugged and watched the rock tumble until it disappeared. ‘Any news on the suspects?’

  Andreas nodded no. ‘A few people saw Father Paul having lunch on Paradise Beach two days ago with some woman from California, but we can’t find him – or any of the others.’

  They started down the hill. Now neither seemed very enthusiastic.

  ‘Hey, look at this.’ Tassos pointed at gouges in the dirt. ‘Something big slid through here recently.’

  They followed the marks.

  ‘Looks like another motorbike accident,’ said Andreas. He pointed to a few bits of bloodstained fabric near the end of the slide and moved toward a large wild rosemary bush. ‘The bike and driver ended up here.’ He looked around. ‘I don’t see anything, do you?’

  Tassos nodded no. ‘The driver must have dragged the bike back up to the road. Guess it wasn’t serious. Damn lucky. Could have been a lot worse.’ He started toward the mine entrance.

  Andreas grabbed his arm to stop him. ‘Wait a minute.’ He drew a line in the air running from their feet to his men at the entrance. ‘Those are tire tracks. That’s where the bike is.’

  Andreas yelled to his men. ‘Is there a motorbike in there?’

  ‘A what?’ a man yelled back.

  ‘A motorbike,’ Andreas barked.

  The men looked at one another then back at their chief. ‘No, sir.’

  Andreas and Tassos followed the tracks up to the mine. The entrance was crisscrossed with boards warning of danger in three languages and signs depicting stick figures falling off a cliff. The tire tracks went inside. They maneuvered themselves through the maze of boards by following the tracks and, with flashlights blazing, found the reason for the warnings. About fifty feet inside the entrance, an ugly, jagged gash in the floor opened into an abyss. The tracks ended there. Andreas pointed his flashlight into the hole. ‘My God, do you think the driver and bike are in there? I can’t see the bottom.’

  Tassos angled his beam across to the other side of the gash, then onto the ceiling and back along the walls behind him. Andreas sensed he wanted to say something. ‘What is it?’

  Tassos seemed reluctant to speak. ‘I don’t think so. Take a look at the ground on the other side.’

  The tire tracks picked up again, about two feet from the edge.

  Andreas was amazed. ‘It’s at least fifteen feet to the other side of this! How the hell did he get over there?’

  Once more Tassos paused before speaking. ‘He had some ancient help.’ He directed his light on the floor at their feet. ‘Our guy knows his island history.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Andreas was getting impatient.

  ‘I’ll bet our killer is the one with the bike.’ He pointed into the light at their feet. ‘The tracks end about two feet from this edge and resume about two feet from the far edge. And there’s a three-foot-wide impression in the dirt between the tire tracks and the edges on both sides.’

  Andreas wanted him to get to the point. ‘Great, this hole to hell keeps the curious away from his hiding place, but how’d he get across?’

  ‘That’s where he turned to the ancients.’

  Andreas’ voice was rising. ‘What the hell are you trying to tell me?’

  Tassos didn’t answer. He simply pulled at a timber about five feet back from the edge of the hole. It looked it was holding up the roof – not a timber you’d want to move.

  Andreas instinctively looked up. That’s when he saw a huge plank coming toward him. It was part of the ceiling spanning the chasm, but it wasn’t falling; it was slowly descending, suspended by ropes at each corner. The near end rested at his feet precisely within the impressions in the dirt.

  ‘Amazing,’ said Andreas.

  Tassos spoke like a teacher delivering a lecture he’d given a hundred times before. ‘Actually, this sort of thing wasn’t all that rare on the islands in ancient times.’ He paused as if considering whether to continue. ‘Every island built secret tunnels to hide from pirates and invaders. Sometimes, an earthquake created an underground abyss – such as this one – across a tunnel. The ancients took it as a sign that the gods would protect them if they reached the other side. Trouble was, a permanent bridge made it easy for their enemies to reach it, too.’ He pointed to the timber he’d pulled. ‘Ingenious how they did it. The timber secures the whole system in place. It works sort of like a castle’s drawbridge, except this bridge drops straight down.’

  ‘This can’t be that old,’ said Andreas.

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Tassos, who no longer showed any reluctance to speak. ‘Whatever caused this hole happened after the mine was built, and this setup uses modern ratchets, weights, and pulleys to lower and raise the plank. The timber keeps the ratchet from allow
ing the plank to move.’ He pointed to the other side. ‘I’ll bet somewhere over there’s a ratchet for moving the plank from that side. My guess is this was built by our killer – he knew what he was doing.’

  Andreas didn’t feel like complimenting the killer, no matter how obvious his skills. ‘It’s time to get over there.’

  Tassos gave a slightly nervous look over the edge. ‘Heights aren’t my thing. After you, Chief.’

  Andreas patted him on the back and winked, then briskly crossed over the plank. ‘Just keep your eyes shut.’ He was beginning to sound like himself again.

  Tassos let the three officers cross before slowly inching himself along the plank, shuffling – not lifting – his feet to the other side. He started breathing again when he stepped onto solid ground. The others were fifteen feet ahead staring at a mound of debris blocking their way. It looked impassable. ‘A little labyrinth, I see,’ said Tassos.

  Andreas pointed at the tire tracks. ‘And here’s Ariadne’s cord to lead us through it,’ he said, just to let Tassos know there were a few things he too knew about ancient Greece and its myths.

  Tassos grumbled, ‘Yeah, and maybe at the other end we’ll get lucky and find Theseus ready to slay our version of his youth-devouring Minotaur.’

  Andreas decided to leave Tassos with the last word on that subject.

  They followed the tracks and fifteen minutes later were standing with the men who found the cell. Each swore none of them had gone inside. Andreas stood at the door and stared at the mound of blond hair in the middle of the floor. Near it was a bag, a beach tote. Andreas tried not to think of what she had been through – and was going through. He just wanted to catch the bastard before . . . He noticed a puddle on the floor and carefully stepped into the cell. He knelt down and examined the liquid. ‘I think we have some blood here, Tassos.’