‘Why?’ Andreas was abrupt.
‘Uh, I got a call from Manny’s lawyer. Said she’s on her way here and to tell whoever’s interrogating Manny what she’ll do if anything happens to him. When I gave the message to the deputy minister, he started cursing you.’
Andreas was quiet for a moment. Katerina had returned Tassos’ call as they were leaving the harbor. ‘Good point, Yianni. Is the girl’s mother there?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Give her the message.’
‘Will do, sir.’
Andreas hung up, his expression stern. He muttered to himself, ‘Screw “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”; I’ll bet on a mother protecting her young any day.’
Annika didn’t feel the pain at first. Her focus was on reaching shore ahead of him. She’d succeeded, but her bare feet were bruised and bleeding from her stumble through the rocks in the shallows. Now she was struggling to climb the grade toward the church and her wrist was killing her. She kept tripping on the front of her wet dress, and her feet kept finding the rocks and sharpest thistles on the hillside, but she didn’t stop. She looked back and saw the boat at shore. Thank God it wasn’t a completely dark night, she thought. The moon gave her enough light to make out shapes and movement. She tried moving faster; the pain didn’t matter anymore. She looked back again. He was out of the boat and undoing the rope on the bow.
She was halfway to the church and shouting again for help. Still no one answered, and no one was in sight.
‘Annika.’ He was close enough to her that he didn’t shout.
She was frantic to reach the top and kept yelling for help.
‘Annika . . .’ The voice was soft, emotionless, and getting closer.
She yelled louder, ‘Help, help me, please! Please, someone help me!’
All she heard was his droning on in Greek. ‘You did surprise me, Annika. I never thought you were Greek. I never planned to sacrifice a Greek. It never seemed wise before. Fascinating how the ancient gods managed for you – a Greek beauty – to be here on their island on the name day of the Greek beauty who defied them.’ Now he was closing quickly. ‘Seems ordained, don’t you think?’
She was almost to the church. It was tiny, no more than eleven by nineteen feet. He was right. There was no one in sight. It was deserted. Fear again. She looked back. He was less than thirty feet away, walking parallel to her toward a gully just below the south side of the church. He was moving steadily, the rope looped and swinging in his hand. She stumbled up to the rear wall of the church by its corner with the north wall. Just beyond the north wall was another rocky rise leading up to a steeper hillside. She knew she couldn’t make that climb and pushed herself along the north wall – leaning on it for support – toward a pile of rocks just beyond the front of the church. She had to get there before he reached her. She just hoped he wasn’t already at the front of the church, waiting for her.
* * *
He knew she was headed to the pile of rocks; it was her only choice. It wasn’t really a pile so much as a fallen ancient wall. He wanted to get there first and angled himself toward it for a run up the side of the gully. He was almost to the top when a sudden sharp pain in his injured knee made him stumble. His feet slid out from under him and he tumbled to the bottom of the gully.
He cursed in English, stood, and took a step. He felt the pain again but limped as quickly as he could to the top.
He reached the southwest corner of the church and stopped. Not a sound, and nothing was moving. She still must be on the other side of the church, he thought. He stepped out to cross in front of the doorway and surprise her at the other corner. He was almost there when the first rock hit him. The pain in his shoulder was instantaneous. The second rock whizzed by his head and ricocheted off the wall, striking him on his back. The third rock struck him in the chest, possibly breaking a rib. He groaned and stumbled back toward the south wall for cover, shielding his head from the hailstorm of rocks.
‘Take that, you miserable bastard!’ she screamed.
The rocks kept coming even after he’d found cover. She was dangerous, this one.
Each rock had to weigh at least five pounds. Any one of them could have killed him.
He waited a few minutes, then carefully peered around the corner. He saw no movement at the pile. Perhaps she’d run away. He waited a few more minutes. Not a sound. Quickly he jumped out from behind the wall. A rock sailed by him, and he jumped back to cover. Again, more rocks flying.
‘Come on, you cowardly, motherfucking bastard! Come on out so I can kill you.’
He knew she would too. He’d have to come up with a different plan – or let her be.
Annika was breathing so quickly she thought she’d hyper-ventilate. An eight-pounder was in her hands above her head – as if ready to throw in at a soccer match. No longer feeling the pain in her wrist, she was waiting for him to come out again so she could kill him. She knew she’d hurt him. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to kill him. If she’d taken more care with her aim the second time, instead of just grabbing and throwing everything she touched, maybe she’d have hit him in the head and knocked him out. She’d take better aim this time. Then, when he was down, she’d beat him to death. Her face twisted with rage.
Not a sound from behind the wall. Maybe he was playing her game: staying quiet and waiting for the quarry to move. She kept her focus on both corners of the church, just in case he sneaked around to the northwest side. That corner was less than twenty feet away from her. If he came at her from there, she’d have no time to grab a rock and aim. She had to be ready with a rock in her hands, but her arms were aching from the weight. Her adrenaline rush was over. She lowered the rock to her chest. She was feeling weak.
She glanced quickly to her right and left. Ten yards behind her was a stone wall. It was about ten feet high and ran for only twenty feet or so to her left before ending at the top of some rough stone steps starting somewhere between her and the end of the wall. To her right, the wall seemed to run on forever. She glanced at it again. It wasn’t like the walls she was used to seeing on Mykonos. These rocks were flat and layered on their sides in staggered piles, like books. This was more like a wall from Delos.
She looked again at the walls and back at the church. For the first time she noticed little stars looming in the distance behind the church, but they weren’t stars and they weren’t in the sky. They were lights on a hillside across the water – on Mykonos! Suddenly, it all made sense.
There were no people here, and there wouldn’t be any until sunrise. She had no idea what a church was doing here, but she was certain this was Delos – its most deserted part, at the very northeastern edge of the ancient stadium. There was no place to hide here, and if he reached the footpath that ran along the top of the wall behind her, she was as good as dead. She was by the top, northeast edge of this cigar-shaped island and had to move south, toward its broader center and the heart of the ancient city’s ruins. There she could find a place to hide until dawn – when people would come and she’d be safe.
Slowly, she edged out from behind the pile and along the wall to her right. The rock was back above her head, her muscles twitching from the weight. Carefully she moved, wondering when the charge would come. She’d have to make sure the rock struck his head. She stepped again, her heart pounding but her breathing steady. She almost was at an angle to see along that southern wall. Just another step . . .
He was gone! No one was there. She panicked. Where was he? Had he gone into the gully to the south or swung around to the north up the hillside? Either way he could get – or already was – above her. She couldn’t stay here. She lowered the rock to her waist and staggered south along the wall toward the main ruins. They were at least a half-mile away – over mostly open ground – but it was her only chance. After a few yards she dropped the rock. It was too heavy, and besides, if he was waiting to ambush her up ahead, it wasn’t likely to help, only slow her down. All she could do was pray to
find a place to hide before he found her. She knew for sure that the next time they met one of them would die.
Andreas saw the Zodiac before he noticed the church. ‘Over there!’ he shouted. ‘In that cove.’ The lieutenant sped up and threw on his searchlights. They lit up everything in their path, but there was nothing in the water and nothing to see beyond the Zodiac except barren land and the church. The lieutenant brought his boat as close as he could to shore. Andreas and the others jumped into the water and waded the few yards to dry land. The lieutenant kept the boat at idle, and the light beamed on the men racing up toward the church.
The church blocked the light from reaching its front side, and by the time Andreas got there, glare had wiped out his night vision. He was the first to reach the front door and the first to trip over rocks scattered everywhere. He fumbled for a flashlight. The door was locked. No sign of anyone. He knocked, not expecting an answer. He yelled, ‘Police, open up!’ Still no answer. He tried to force open the door. It was built to resist those with bad intentions and all the time in the world to break in to an isolated church on a deserted island.
He gestured for the others to step back, pulled out his gun, and put two rounds into the lock. Then he kicked in the door. He saw nothing inside but the expected.
Tassos’ light flooded across the foot-square marble floor tiles. ‘No burial crypt in the floor, but wouldn’t expect one in a new church.’ He lifted his fist to knock on a wall. ‘Bones go inside the walls in most of the new ones,’ he said, and pounded twice. Two dull, solid thuds. He knocked again at another place. Same result.
Andreas knocked on the opposite side wall. ‘They’re solid. There’s no place to bury anything in here,’ he said, sounding confused.
Tassos looked around, then smacked his forehead with his hand. ‘Of course, there’s no place to bury anyone in this church – we’re on Delos!’
Andreas gave him a blank stare.
Tassos sounded frustrated. ‘Since, like the fifth century BC there haven’t been bones buried on Delos and no one’s been allowed to give birth or die here. All the bones are buried over there.’ He was pointing west. ‘On the neighboring island of Rhenia, the one the locals call Big Delos.’
‘Do you think he’s taken her there?’ Andreas asked, alarmed.
Tassos spoke with a simmering rage. ‘I don’t know. My gut says no – and there’s that boat behind the church – but he knows there’s no place to bury her in this church. I’m sure of that.’
Silence.
Andreas yelled to the two men outside, ‘Check around the foundation for signs of fresh digging.’ He looked at Tassos. ‘Maybe he buried her under the church?’
Tassos shrugged but said nothing.
‘If he knew he couldn’t bury her here, he must have planned to bury her somewhere else on Delos. Where in hell could that be?’
Tassos shrugged again. ‘I think he’d go for the spectacular. He seems the sort.’
‘But where?’
Before Tassos could answer, one of the port police shouted from outside, ‘Chief, I’ve found something!’
He was standing behind a pile of rocks next to a wall.
‘There’s a puddle of water here, and footprints in wet dirt.’
Andreas stared at the footprints and pointed his light at the front of the church. The whitewash was riddled with gray and brown marks – the same color as the rocks he’d tripped over. ‘I think our girl’s giving him a fight. Looks like she got away and was throwing rocks at him. Don’t think she got him, though; and he didn’t catch her. At least not here.’
‘Why’s that, Chief?’ asked the officer.
‘No body,’ said Andreas, ‘and the same pair of bare feet moving back and forth behind this pile, then heading south – toward the center of the island. They’re all the same footprints,’ he repeated as he pointed into the light, ‘except for these, a pair of sandal tracks heading south and overlapping the bare feet.’
He looked at Tassos. ‘It’s the sandals from the cove where we found the motorbike. Looks like he came down those steps’ – Andreas pointed the light north – ‘and is following her tracks – something we’ve got to start doing right now.’ His voice was urgent.
Andreas told the other port cop to get their brightest portable lights off the boat. ‘We want him to know we’re looking for him.’
Tassos said, ‘I think your two rounds into the door did a pretty good job of that.’
Andreas wasn’t sure if Tassos was making a joke. ‘Let’s get going,’ he said to Tassos and the officer who found the tracks. To the cop heading back to the boat he yelled, ‘Catch up to us with those lights and tell the lieutenant to keep an eye on the Zodiac – just in case he doubles back.’ He held the beam of his flashlight snug against his chest so Tassos could see his face. ‘Maybe she’s still alive.’
‘Maybe.’ Tassos’ voice held no enthusiasm. ‘Then again, there’s a reason the guy brought her to a place where no one’s been allowed to die for twenty-five hundred years.’ His light moved to the rocks scattered by the door. ‘That’s ending tonight.’
24
Annika’s move south along the narrow dirt footpath from the church to the upper path was taking much longer than the few minutes she thought it would. She’d gambled that he’d gone north because the church was Delos’ northern-most structure and he only had to climb a low hill to reach the path above her. If he’d taken the gully to the south, there was the Stadium Quarter’s maze of excavated walls, wells, and foundations to negotiate in the dark just to reach the path she was on. Going north was the obvious choice for someone in a hurry. Still, her heart jumped to her throat every time she inched past an excavation. She knew he could be waiting for her in any one of them.
It seemed a lifetime before she reached the upper path and was on open ground in familiar territory. It was as close to a sense of relief as she’d felt since her nightmare began. She could see if someone was in front of her, avoid places where he might be hiding, and move faster – if only her legs would respond beyond a drunken stagger. She couldn’t seem to run no matter how hard she tried – nor could she breathe through her nose. She’d been so focused on escaping she’d forgotten all about that – and the pains in her belly and below.
Without stopping, she worked her fingers at her nostrils until she found an edge to get at with her nails. She pulled slowly. She didn’t know what to expect but, in the surreal tale that her life had become, was not surprised at finding tampons in her nose. She didn’t care about the pain – just wanted to breathe – and pulled them out as best she could.
Annika noticed something else. She was cold, very cold. Even in July, Delos was cold at night, particularly out in the open with the wind picking up as it had. What made matters worse was the soaking wet dress. She pulled it off as she stumbled forward and wrung it out as best she could. She thought of putting it back on, but it still was too damp to wear. Fitting the shoulder straps over her head, she wore the dress down her back like a cape. It would dry faster in the wind that way.
She was between the stadium and the northeast corner of the Lake Area ruins, headed south toward the middle of the island, when she came upon a half-dozen or so houses about a quarter-mile from the center of the ancient town. They were built as a concession to the modern practicality that those working Delos’ archeological digs and protecting its sites from plunderers and mischief makers needed housing. Newer ones were built more out of sight, on the southern tip of the island. One house sat only about twenty-five yards to the east of her, beyond a low stone wall running along the eastern edge of the narrow dirt road the footpath had become. It curved south toward the Archaeological Museum, a quarter-mile away. The other houses were to the west across flat, open ground, with the nearest forty yards away and the rest at least twice that.
There wasn’t a light or sign of life in any of them. Maybe everyone was living in the new ones to the south? She thought of yelling but doubted she’d be heard above the wi
nd blowing in from the north – even if anyone was there to hear her. The only one listening for certain was him. He was back there somewhere, and she knew it was only a matter of time – possibly minutes – until he found her.
The houses were her only hope of finding help before dawn – but that choice could lead to catastrophe. If she went for the houses and they were empty, she risked him catching up to her before she reached the high ground that she thought gave her the best chance of holding him off until the morning. Morning seemed an eternity from now . . . and that place was another quarter-mile past the museum, at the far southeast side of the ruins.
She took a deep breath and decided to gamble on the houses – but on the ones to the west. Even though they were farthest away from the road she wanted to stay on, there were more of them, so the odds seemed better. She did a quick scan behind her, saw nothing, and headed toward them. She was almost at the first one when she heard two gunshots. They came at her on the wind from the north, from the direction of the church – and the way he’d be coming. Certain they’d been aimed at her, she fell to the ground for cover.
Her mind was racing but her body didn’t move. He has a gun! She waited for the next rounds but heard only the wind. Slowly, she lifted her head and looked toward the houses. Not a single light had come on, not a sound from a door or window opening. Maybe the wind had swept the sound away from them – or maybe no one was there. Then she thought, if he has a gun, I’m not safe in those houses even if people are there. I must get to where I can defend myself – against him and his gun.
She stared north, looking for movement – and found it coming steadily south on the road fifty yards north of where she’d left it. ‘It’s him!’ She said the words aloud into the wind. She watched him start to run. He’d seen her. The road was no longer a choice. She had to get away, had to start moving. She crawled up into a crouch and moved as fast as she could to the west, away from the road. She was headed into the ruins over a half-mile from where she wanted to be. It was Delos’ flattest and most indefensible part.
Murder in Mykonos Page 25