Poppy glanced around the room. ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said.
‘What’s the first thing you remember?’ Katarina said.
Poppy gathered her thoughts, evoking that distant day. ‘It was the second of April, 1968,’ she said, tilting her face towards the recorder. ‘I recall fretting about what to wear for my confrontation with Emmanouil. Silly really, considering Yánna and her baby were dead and Matthia in hospital, yet it seemed important.’ Poppy closed her eyes and concentrated. ‘Eventually, I chose my newest outfit; a candy-striped sweater over homemade orange flares.’
‘Is this necessary?’ Spanaki said. ‘I’ve got a plane to catch.’ He stared at his watch.
Poppy felt the heat of a blush.
Katarina squinted a silent curse at Spanaki and then nodded at Poppy. ‘Go on, as I said, every detail is important at this stage.’
Poppy thought for a moment. ‘I painted my nails tangerine, and backcombed my hair into a bouffant,’ she said. ‘I used sugar and water to set kiss-curls against my cheeks.’ She met PC Katarina’s eyes and half smiled. ‘I was a cool-cat, hip, very with it. The clothes and make-up were important, they made me feel strong enough to stand up to Emmanouil.’
‘I understand,’ Katarina said.
‘I walked to Emmanouil’s house rehearsing my speech: I was sorry he’d lost his wife. Yánna had been a good woman, everyone liked her – she had been one of my bridesmaids. Fate had been unkind and I completely understood Emmanouil’s need for revenge. I was going to tell him our family would make the first move in the truce. There would be no reprisals for the terrible beating they gave Matthia. That would be the end of it.’
‘And you rehearsed all this, on your way to his house?’ Katarina said.
‘I did. I was very afraid, but I had to try to stop the vendettas.’
‘Don’t think about that now. Concentrate on what you saw, and the sounds you heard as you went along the street. See if you can return there in your mind.’
Poppy placed her hand on her stomach. ‘I had this fear trying to rise up inside me, but I pushed it down, determined to complete my plan.’ She took a breath. ‘I threw my shoulders back and lifted my chin. I clearly remember doing that.’ Poppy sat taller. ‘The street was empty. Nobody called, “Come for coffee!” yet I sensed my friends were behind me. I reached Emmanouil’s house.’ Poppy shrank into the chair and felt herself shaking. ‘I can’t . . . I . . .’
‘Okay, take two steps back. Tell me what you smell.’
Poppy closed her eyes again. ‘Honeysuckle. I recall thinking Yánna wouldn’t be pleased.’
‘Why not?’ PC Katarina said.
‘She was very house-proud. Their home and the street outside were always spotless.’
‘And how was it that day? What did you see?’
‘Emmanouil’s door was turquoise planks in a frame painted Greek-flag blue. A folded olive-sack improvised as a doormat. Fallen honeysuckle blossom lay scattered over it. It hadn’t been swept for a week. The door handle was a twisted iron ring.’
Poppy’s fingers curled. She felt the contrasting rough and smooth of corrosion and gloss paint. ‘The sun was on my back and I could feel its warmth in the handle.’
‘You’re doing great,’ Katarina said. ‘Go on.’
‘“Emmanouil!” I called, twisting the handle to go in. “Emmanouil!” He didn’t answer so I pushed the door . . . Oh, no . . . No!’ Poppy’s eyes flew open.
‘Go on in, Poppy. Tell me what you see,’ Katarina said quietly. ‘You can smell honeysuckle. The street’s quiet. The door handle’s warm.’
Poppy lifted her hand and pushed the imaginary turquoise door. Her voice trembled. ‘There’s fine dust on the door, it’s silky against my fingers. We’d had the Sirocco, the Sick Wind, for a week. “I’ve come to offer my condolences,” I called out, but then I couldn’t get into the house.’
‘Why not? What stopped you?’ Katarina said.
Poppy shook her head. ‘It’s no good. I can’t remember.’ She dropped her face into her hands.
The door burst open, hitting the empty chair and sending it skidding on the polished floor.
‘Thanassi, what are you doing here?’ Poppy said.
‘Malákas!’ Spanaki pulled the desk drawer open, snatched an ashtray and a packet of Silk Cut and said, ‘We’re in the middle of an interview, get out of here.’
‘I’ve come to help,’ Thanassi said and then turning to Poppy, ‘Forgive me, Poppy. I’ve always known what happened to Emmanouil, but as you weren’t here there was no need to tell.’
Another policeman came barging into the room. ‘Sorry, sir. He asked where Mrs Lambrakis was. Before I could get around the counter, he was racing down the corridor.’
Spanaki stared at the young officer, then at Thanassi. ‘And you couldn’t catch him, Olympian as he is?’
‘I was up the ladder trying to stop the strip-light flickering, sir.’
‘I’ve come to tell you what really took place,’ Thanassi said, shoving the empty chair towards the table.
‘Get out!’ Spanaki yelled at the policeman. ‘And take this old fool with you. Get him to make a statement at the front desk.’
‘Don’t say anything,’ Katarina said to Thanassi. ‘We’re conducting a formal interview.’
The policeman tried to steer Thanassi through the door but he wouldn’t budge.
‘I did it, Poppy, it was me!’ he said.
‘Sir, you’re corrupting our investigation. Please leave!’ Katarina turned to the young officer. ‘Take him to the other interview room. We’ll be there when we’ve finished –’
Spanaki interrupted. ‘Katarina, let him tell us what happened. Get it over with. I’ve got things to do.’
PC Katarina rolled her eyes.
Thanassi fell into the empty chair and reached for Poppy’s hands.
‘I hid the string, Poppy, and the wood that was nailed to the table. And I took Emmanouil’s letter, his confession,’ Thanassi said. ‘I’ve been out of my mind since you came back to Crete. I didn’t believe you’d ever return so I let everyone believe you’d killed my brother.’ He turned to Spanaki. ‘She didn’t kill anybody.’
The door closed behind the young officer and silence returned to the interview room.
‘String? What string?’ Poppy muttered, and then her eyes widened. The interview room disappeared as her memory of those lost minutes returned. ‘Of course . . . there was a length of twine tied to the inside door handle. It slid through a bent nail on the doorframe.’ She turned to Katarina. ‘That’s what stopped me from entering. I thought the catch must have broken.’ She stared at the interview room door. ‘I tried to pull a little slack and unhook it from the nail.’
Poppy placed a hand over her mouth and cowered in her seat. In her head, she heard Emmanouil’s voice coming from the gloom inside the room.
‘Wait!’
She shoved the door, opening it a little more. A shaft of sunlight illuminated Emmanouil. He wore days of beard growth and black clothes, his hands were prayer-locked, eyes closed, lips moving.
She hadn’t understood, stared at his face and tried to enter the room. Then she saw the shotgun fixed to the tabletop.
In that small space, the flash and the sound of two deafening blasts seemed to rip the brains right out of her head. The gun recoiled with such force, it slammed the door against her shoulder before it ricocheted back into the room. Bright sunlight streamed into the house and revealed the carnage. Poppy, choking on the stink of burned metal and flesh, knew she was screaming but couldn’t hear anything above the ringing in her ears.
She turned away from the blood, and the stench, and the smoke. Gripping the top of her arm, she ran, and ran . . . and it seemed that she had been running from that moment for forty long years.
Poppy forgot the police, and the wedding, and lost herself in the exploding memory. She sobbed, trying to reject the picture of her brother-in-law’s dying s
econds. The image so grotesque, her mind had blocked it. His face had disappeared into a splatter over the whitewashed wall, even before the rest of his body, in the chair, tipped back.
With no recollection of the shotgun fixed to the table – and feeling the terrible recoil pain in her shoulder – she concluded that she had pulled the trigger.
Spanaki lit a cigarette, got up and opened the window. Honking horns, people shouting, and revving engine noises told of a commotion on the main street. He glanced at his watch again. ‘Sounds like the street’s blocked, now.’
Poppy stared at Thanassi and then faced Katarina. ‘I remember everything.’ She slid the backs of her fingers under her eyes, wiping away her tears. ‘I didn’t kill Emmanouil. He’d rigged his shotgun so that when the door opened, it fired.’ She glared at Thanassi. Her forty wasted years of dishonour and distress morphed into pure anger.
‘Poppy, can you forgive me?’ Thanassi asked. ‘It wasn’t that I wanted to get you into trouble. I simply didn’t want Manoli bearing the shame of his father’s suicide. I knew Emmanouil very well. He couldn’t watch his son growing up without his mother and sister because we’d caused their deaths.’
‘You bastard!’ Poppy cried, pulling her hand back and delivering a vicious slap across his face. ‘You let me, and my family, think I’d murdered him! What sort of person are you? I’ve been parted from my parents for all that time, because I thought I had killed somebody. How dare you ask for my forgiveness?! I know you didn’t intend to harm Yánna, Thanassi, but let’s not forget, you did try to kill my brother, Matthia.’
Thanassi, stunned for a second, nodded while rubbing his stubbly old cheek. His wrinkled hand shook violently.
‘Take it easy,’ Katarina said to Poppy.
‘It’s true, I admit it,’ Thanassi said, his eyes wet and his lips trembling. ‘But Matthia had cut the brake line on our truck. It was only luck we found it. My entire family were going into Viannos the next day. We could have all gone into the ravine. That’s why Emmanouil wanted his revenge.’
Poppy’s mouth fell open.
‘After Emmanouil’s death, I confessed to what we’d done to Matthia’s motorbike. I was sent to prison for three years for involuntary manslaughter and malicious intent to cause harm. But I didn’t say why, Poppy. Matthia would have been locked up for a long time too, if I’d spoken out.’
‘So all this happened in 1968?’ Spanaki said to Thanassi. ‘You were convicted and sentenced for your part in the crime?’
Thanassi nodded.
Spanaki addressed Poppy. ‘And you didn’t commit a felony apart from leaving the scene of a crime?’
‘A crime?’ Poppy said.
‘To attempt suicide was against the law in those days and carried a prison sentence.’ Spanaki shut down the recorder and faced Katarina. ‘Shall we bring this to an end? There seems little to answer for. I’m sure you can deal with the minutiae.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Katarina said.
Spanaki nodded at them all, picked up his cigarettes, and left the room.
‘Poppy, we’ll need a fresh statement. What time’s the wedding?’ Katarina asked.
Poppy glanced at her watch. ‘Any minute now. Please . . . it’s so important to me, and my daughter. You can keep my passport; I can’t go anywhere.’
Katarina squinted at Thanassi. ‘Mr Lambrakis, you will be held for further questioning. We’ll probably charge you for withholding evidence.’
‘You destroyed my family,’ Poppy said quietly, anger curling her lip. ‘How could you put an end to so much love and unity, to preserve the false reputation of a bastard like Emmanouil. He had made my life hell ever since I was a little girl! You may have idolised your older brother, but let me tell you, Thanassi, he was a bully and a filthy paedophile.’
Katarina and Thanassi stared at her.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Thanassi said, staring at Poppy, then casting his eyes down shamefully. ‘Sorry seems inadequate, but what else is there? Let’s just clear it up. I’ve paid my price –’
‘Paid your price?! When you’ve spent forty years in isolation, away from your family and all those who love you, then you will have paid your price, Thanassi,’ Poppy said through fresh tears. ‘How could you? All those years I was ostracised by my village and my loved ones. You knew I was innocent and said nothing!’
‘Poppy, if you think I haven’t been punished enough, so be it. Who cares? I’ve no family left except for Agapi, and she hates me; and Manoli who’s locked up because I never told him the truth about his father.’ He nodded at Katarina. ‘She really should be at her daughter’s wedding. The bride has no other immediate family.’
Katarina stood.
Poppy’s anger died, her heart bursting with hope. Could she get to the church before the end of the ceremony?
‘I’m truly sorry, Poppy,’ Thanassi said. ‘If you can’t forgive me, I understand. I thought you were happy in England. Please don’t be hard on Manoli. He’s never known the truth. Did Angelika tell you, Emmanouil left a letter explaining everything?’ He reached into his jacket pocket and passed over a heavily stained envelope.
‘Don’t touch it!’ Katerina cried. ‘We have a procedure. I need to contain it in case it’s needed for evidence. Just place it on the table.’
Poppy trembled, exhausted.
‘I didn’t show anyone the letter,’ Thanassi said. ‘I was going to give it to Angelika, but now I believe I should take it to Manoli myself, if they’ll let me,’ He nodded at the officer. ‘I’ll tell my nephew what actually happened. He’ll come to terms; the young find it easier, don’t they? Manoli’s a hot head, but he’s not really bad.’
Thanassi had known that Poppy faced execution for killing a military policeman. ‘Would you have remained silent if I’d been caught by the junta police, Thanassi?’
He shook his head.
She remembered the young man who worshipped his older brother. Only a couple of days back, he had sent Manoli to prison in order to save Poppy from further acts of revenge.
Calmer now, she looked into Thanassi’s face and recognised a reflection of her own wasted years. She had lived with four decades of torment and regret. A life of misery that should have been joyous, should have been spent with the man she loved so dearly. If Yeorgo had lived, oh how she wished . . . now that they were old, they could have lived their days in happiness together. Her tears rose. How she wanted to be held in his arms once more; to feel the strength of him, hear his voice, listen to him as she played the lira. In her head, she heard him play their song, ‘Stars Don’t Cry For Me’, and fresh tears rolled down her face.
You’re my moon and stars, Calliope Lambrakis, my moon and stars.
For forty years, alone in her bed at night, Poppy had thought of the man she loved, and remembered his last words to her before he turned and walked away forever. Every night since, hugging her pillow, she told Yeorgo’s spirit about her day. She recounted her thoughts and wishes, and shared her fears. This was the only way she could get through another night without him.
She swallowed hard, reached across, and took the hands of the man who regarded himself as Yeorgo’s brother. ‘I forgive you,’ she said. ‘I forgive you, Thanassi.’
The old man nodded, his eyes brimming. When he blinked, the tears ran down his tired old face and splashed onto the table.
The feud had finally ended.
Katarina touched Poppy’s shoulder and jerked her head towards the door. ‘Come on, let’s see if we can make the wedding. You’ll have to return for your handbag later . . . there’s too many forms to deal with.’
‘Good luck,’ Thanassi said.
‘Thank you,’ Poppy replied.
They left Thanassi with the police officer. Poppy followed Katarina out of the back exit, and into a patrol car. Katarina pulled the wing mirror in and turned on the siren. ‘Belt up,’ she said. They lurched down an alley behind a taverna. Scavenging cats scattered.
‘You’re go
ing the wrong way!’ Poppy cried.
‘Trust me.’ Katarina licked her lips, raked an elastic band from her bottle-blonde curly hair and shook it free. ‘I’ve always wanted to do this. Yee-ha!’ She grinned and ploughed through a strip of red and white tape that closed the entrance to road works.
The back of the car fishtailed as it spun into a turn on the loose, brown dirt. The half-constructed bypass joined the main road just before Amiras. They raced through the village, siren blaring.
*
Angelika and Matthia were in the church porch. Poppy got out of the police car and couldn’t speak at first. Neither could Angelika. They rushed towards each other, hugged and kissed, and then Poppy shook her head and whispered, ‘It’s over; I didn’t kill Emmanouil. I can’t tell you what a relief . . . oh! It’s indescribable.’
‘Thank God, Mam,’ Angie said. ‘I never believed you would kill someone, anyway. But what a turn of events. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, all alone in that police station. I’d already booked a taxi to take us straight there after the church.’
Poppy faced Matthia. ‘Emmanouil committed suicide. Thanassi helped to bring my memory back, and he has proof. A letter Emmanouil wrote just before he died.’
‘Poor, poor Mam. Thank God it’s over. You must be completely exhausted.’ Angie squeezed her mother and planted a kiss on her cheek. ‘Let’s get you into church, so you can tell everybody. Yiayá is out of her mind with worry.’
‘Just a minute! You mean Thanassi knew?’ Matthia shouted in rage. ‘All this time he knew and he kept quiet!’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll kill him, the bastard!’
‘Stop it, Matthia. Let it go. It’s over. I’m tired out by the emotion,’ Poppy said quietly. ‘Put your hand on your heart and swear the vendetta has ended, Matthia, forever. No more reprisals. Thanassi has made a confession and is in prison. From what I heard, it’s lucky you aren’t locked up for attempted murder too.’
Begrudgingly, Matthia placed his hand on his chest and swore an oath.
Poppy nodded. ‘Thank you. Now, I’d better get inside.’
Island of Secrets Page 39