Hotel Murder: The most gripping, page-turning mystery of the year (Greek Island Mysteries Book 5)

by Luke Christodoulou

  A photo of a blonde lady appeared. ‘Diana Alexopoulou. Owner of Humbo. The country’s largest chain of supermarkets and toy stores. During the last five years, her net worth has risen to two hundred and thirty million, while all employees at Humbo were forced to take a twenty percent pay cut and new employees were illegally forced to sign contracts accepting ten-hour shifts. To top this, Mrs. Alexopoulou uses Bulgaria as her head office and gets taxed there. She also transferred her warehouses to Albania and fired hundreds of Greeks that worked at the company’s warehouses, once located in Greece. She represents the low-life, inhumane, anti-Greek, greedy bosses that believe they are above the law. Vote for her death, use hashtag #nexttodie, followed by Diana.’

  Pavlo’s mum sent her boy to his room. ‘Early night. Go to bed,’ she ordered him as he whined about missing Survivor. As she heard his door slam behind him, she turned to her phone. Make me work six ten-hour shifts, you bitch. Take me away from my family for seven hundred euro. Her fingers clicked away. The first vote against Diana had been submitted before any other names were revealed.

  The next photo was a bulky man in a grey suit, stepping out of a flashy, red Ferrari. ‘Neofytos Theodoulou. The Greek-Cypriot chairman and major stockholder of The Hellenic Bank. The bank which collapsed due to bankruptcy, yet saved by the government. With our money. The bank which continues to pay its golden boys millions in bonuses every year, while forcing people out of their homes due to unpaid mortgages. The man who as an advisor to the Minister of Finance agreed to all austerity measures upon the people while protecting his elite group of filthy bankers. Vote for his death, use hashtag #nexttodie followed by Neofytos.’

  Tracy stood up, shaking all over. ‘Costa, can this even be true?’

  I reached out and took her cold hand in mine. I shook my head and kissed her trembling fingers. ‘What the hell are Alexandro and Valentina doing there?’

  Chapter 12

  Alexandro and Valentina held hands while wondering the same thing.

  ‘Could we be blamed for the police force? I mean, for breaking up protests and such?’ Alexandro whispered.

  Valentina took a deep breath. Diana sat on the floor opposite them, sobbing, smearing her French make-up as she frantically rubbed her face. Neofytos had lit a Cuban cigar and sat motionless on the fourth step of the staircase; his weary, watery eyes were betraying the tumult inside. ‘Don’t be silly, Alex. Look at them. They are all bosses. If the head of the police was here, yes. But, we are as the voice said. Common people. We have done nothing wrong,’ Valentina replied.

  ‘Oh, stop crying, woman!’ Theodore shouted at Diana as his name was next to be mentioned. ‘Let me hear my crimes. Shh!’

  ‘...the known to all, member of parliament. The leader of Greece’s biggest party. His signature below every acceptance of his party. Acceptance of every measure that punishes hard workers. The man responsible for excluding members of parliament from austerity measures. Besides a generic pay cut, their privileges have remained unchanged. Their pensions? Safe. Their free cars? There! Their trips, lunches, houses? All paid for. Worthless ticks living of us! Especially, Mr. Theodore Botsari who, like a snake, slithered away from every scandal, his dirty hands spread out like an octopus. Vote for this swine. #Nexttodie Theodore.’

  Theodore nodded and bit his lower lip. ‘Yep, that’s me,’ he commented and passed his hands through his thin hair. ‘Got an extra smoke?’ he asked Neofytos and sat down beside him.

  ‘This is absurd!’ Jocasta shrieked and threw the glass vase to her left at the wall. The glass shattered against the steel-blocked windows and white roses were the next to die on the hotel’s carpet.

  ‘Hope Hatzi and Galatea Nerantzi,’ the robotic voice came again and gathered eyes back to the hanging speakers. ‘Co-chairwomen and owners of Greece’s biggest TV station. Fitting that it is serving our purpose right now. Also, owners of major radio stations and newspapers across the country. A secret lesbian couple...’

  ‘My dear Lord,’ Hope said, and her hands waved around by her side, as she searched for Galatea’s comfort.

  ‘...they both married rich men in the media. Both men dying under suspicious circumstances and their fortunes being passed over to the in-love duo. Ruthless and cunning, they accept payments from political entities and parties and present the news under the scope of their respective client. Always portraying the common people to blame, the government as always trying and working for our benefit, and shadowing over the truth from Brussels. No more! #Nexttodie Hope and Galatea.’

  ‘Galatea?’ Hope asked, verging on screaming after hearing the noise beside her. Galatea fell to the floor, having lost consciousness.

  ‘This is madness! We need to get out of here. Where the fuck have all the staff disappeared to?’ Eugene said, before freezing on the spot at the mention of his name. He listened as he was blamed for writing the speeches of the prime minister, aiding him to hide the truth, to twist the real fate of Greece and for helping the wrong people gain votes.

  ‘It’s my job, you sick fuck!’ he yelled and picked up a chair. As he prepared to swing it at the speakers, the voice stopped him with its next words.

  ‘... Also, a rapist as he assaulted and raped interns at the prime minister’s office. Cases thrown out, as they were covered by his powerful masters. Judges were paid off and he personally gave massive compensations to the victims, paying for their silence. Poor, young girls in need of cash silenced. #Nexttodie Eugene.’

  The chair fell from his hands. ‘Oh, come on. Cut the stares. As if all you are so freaking innocent. Hmm, let’s see who is next.’

  ‘Bishop Arsenios. Need I say much about the church?’ the voice relentlessly continued.

  ‘Bless us, Virgin Mary,’ Salome said and turned, hiding her face in her husband’s broad chest. He placed his hands upon her head and stroked her natural, hazelnut hair. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes, waiting to hear the voice’s next words.

  ‘The billion euro business/church that refuses to pay any sort of taxes has its claws tightly around major businesses and factories around Greece. Lost in their own ideal world, they have lost all touch with true Christianity. Bishop Arsenios is a millionaire, with a palace to his name, a limo driver and a Jacuzzi on the Athenian Metropolis offices’ terrace. The gold cross around his neck could feed a whole family for an entire year. He represents everything wrong with the church today. Personally, he has my vote for #nexttodie.’

  Salome sunk further into her husband. Just two watery eyes standing out; her black dress against his black clothes.

  ‘This is ludicrous,’ she said and choked. Her two eyes set upon the doctor’s body. A body that validated the danger they were in.

  ‘Well, I guess I’m one vote ahead of the rest of you,’ he tried to joke; his fruity, delightful voice had lost all of its vivid tone.

  Jocasta resembled a wild, caged animal. She walked around the room, her eyes and hands studying every window, every locked door. Her nerves attacking paintings, vases and ornaments. Obscenities escaped from behind closed, grinding teeth and she yelled at her every failed attempt to escape the room.

  ‘I’m going upstairs,’ she announced and ran towards the staircase. ‘It is not so high as to jump out of this goddamned hotel.’

  Her figure vanished into the darkness of the floor above as the voice announced Maximos’s name.

  Maximos had remained the coolest out of the group. He sat on a purple, high-back chair in a dark corner of the room and waited to see the outcome of the situation.

  ‘Go on, coward. Tell me my sins, hiding behind the safety of your camera,’ he said, standing up and coming into the middle of the room. He stared straight into the camera and opened his arms out wide. ‘Give it your best shot, mate!’

  ‘...a man that introduces himself as a farmer, yet never reveals the number of farms in his name. One of Greece’s biggest potato producers, Maximos Kaklamanis made his fortune on the back of the Greek people. He would often ruin his
own crops and, having paid-off inspectors, he claimed huge amounts of compensation from government funds. As his empire grew, he turned to sneakier ways of earning money, manipulating prices by bullying sales markets, offering Mafia-like services of protection and even organizing farmers’ strikes when political officers did not agree to his terms. He represents every wrong with the farming industry today. An industry that could be thriving due to amounts from the EU and because of the honest folks working our lands. #Nexttodie Maximos.’

  Maximos nodded his head in agreement. ‘A man’s got to do what he’s got to do! No apologies from me!’ he yelled, showed the camera his middle finger and returned to his chair. This time, sitting up straight and biting the nails of his left hand.

  ‘Jocasta Oikonomou. This despicable woman represents every wrong with the public sector today. Hired through the back door due to her politician uncle. Under qualified and extremely lazy...’

  Jocasta’s heels were heard as she gradually came down the stairs, stopping behind the two smoking men. Rivulets of tears were running down her pallid face, and the nerves of her right arm revealed the intensity and strength with which she held onto the lavish railing.

  ‘... each year she takes up to forty days of sick leave, and even on the days she is supposed to be working, she clocks in and sneaks out; off to the shops and the beauty salon. Her wages from our taxes. She maintains ties with criminals and gets paid on the side, to offer IDs and government documents on demand. #nexttodie, followed by Jocasta.’

  With the echo of her name, her eyes journeyed up, and a loud breath departed her dried lips as Jocasta passed out and fell upon the men sitting in front of her.

  Chapter 13

  People sat in disbelief, glued to their TV sets. The video that had interrupted their signal had gone viral and even escaped Greece’s long coastline.

  Ioli had just placed her son to sleep and tiptoed out of his room, turned on his Hulk night light and took ten seconds to quietly close the door behind her. Her husband Mark stood statue-like in front of the screen.

  ‘Babe, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you watching Survivor? Break already? What did I miss?’

  Mark remained silent and took two steps to his right.

  ‘What’s this?’ Ioli asked as she approached. ‘Is that... what the... is that Alexandro? What is this?’

  ‘...is this the shipping industry our country deserves? A mafia leader running it? #nexttodie, followed by Apollo,’ the distorted voice was saying.

  ‘Who is speaking?’

  Mark shrugged and passed his hands through his rich, brown hair. ‘They are being held captive. There is already one dead, and this lunatic is asking people to vote on who to punish next.’

  ‘Punish for what?’

  Mark exhaled deeply. ‘The crisis, apparently.’

  ‘What did he blame Alex and Valentina for?’

  ‘He hasn’t yet.’

  Ioli sat down on the coffee table’s corner, dipped her fingers into her glass of water, and wiped her forehead.

  ‘The Afroudaki triplets. Dinos, Elia and Clio. The offspring of the power couple Andrea and Yianna Afroudaki, owners of Greece’s largest hotel chain. As we witnessed over the last year, the company declared bankruptcy, driving thousands to the hell of unemployment, leaving hundreds of suppliers unpaid and causing a major dent in our tourism industry. A wealthy couple capable of saving their business, yet with money safe in Switzerland and other companies in various family members’ names, the couple chose to let the hotel chain die and cause misery to their employees. Their children’s social media filled with photos of their expensive cars, lavish jewelry, and world journeys. Money spent that should have at least been used to pay their employees and suppliers.’

  Miles away from Ioli’s apartment, in an eight-room mansion on the upbeat side of Athens, Andrea Afroudaki punched the 50-inch TV while his wife, Yianna, collapsed to the floor, sobbing and screaming.

  On the hill-top behind the mansion, Sky network buildings stood.

  A scruffy-looking engineer with rasta hair and a Che Guevara T-shirt came rushing into the control room with his tablet in his right hand.

  ‘The signal is coming from a few blocks down,’ he said, short of breath, and turned his tablet for all to see its screen. A beeping red dot dominated the map shown on the screen.

  ‘I’m calling the police,’ the director said and picked up the phone.

  Chapter 14

  Silence spread out into the magazine-cover room. Minutes passed, and the robotic voice did not return. Stares from the corners of eyes gathered upon the couple who declared that they were police officers.

  ‘What were your names again?’ The congressman was the first to speak as he stood up and leaned against the antique, beige drawers by the wall.

  Alexandro turned to his direction. ‘You met us on the boat. I’m Alexandro, and this is Valentina. We are police officers and...’

  ‘Why weren’t you mentioned?’ Jocasta demanded to know, her makeup and tears having blended into one.

  ‘I told you; they are actors,’ Diana insisted.

  Valentina clenched her fists and blew out gathered air. ‘Now, look here, lady. Cut the crap. Can you see anyone else from the hotel with us? The bloody game was just to lure us here. They have all vanished.’

  Diana took a step back. ‘That’s what a planted actress would say,’ she mumbled. ‘Wouldn’t they?’ she raised her voice as she took a few steps closer to Hope and Galatea.

  ‘Actors or no actors, screw you two. We are the ones up for death. I say, we find a way out. We should...’ Neofytos, the banker, began to utter his plan.

  He never finished his sentence. With a mechanical roar, all doors, aside from the bolted main, unlocked and swung open. Everyone stood still, waiting for someone to appear. More lights came to life along corridors and in all rooms. No one showed up.

  ‘Great, let’s find a way out,’ Eugene said and rushed into the dining room. ‘Aristoteli? Aristoteli Minoa? Get your ass out here, now!’ he yelled.

  Others moved slowly towards the doors to their left, while Jocasta started to ascend the stairs. ‘I hope there’s a window open.’

  ‘Wait,’ Alexandro called out. ‘Can’t you see? We are splitting up. You said it, yourselves. You are being sentenced. Chased! You are helping this sadistic bastard. Votes are coming in, and one of you is next. Do you really want to be alone? I say, we stick together, in the dining room. There’s food and drinks. Sooner or later someone is going to come for us. Notice us missing on Monday...’

  ‘Is that your line?’ Dianna said, her arm around Galatea, who had not stopped trembling since the mentioning of her name.

  ‘Oh, give it a rest. I’m on your side...’

  ‘You do understand our disbelief, though, don’t you?’ Apollo said and forced a faint smile. ‘You seem like a good guy, but even I -who trust so easily, am having a hard time listening to a word you say. Have you got your police ID with you?’

  Valentina’s gaze fell to the floor. As they were packing, she had giggled at Alexandro placing his badge in his suitcase. ‘Really? Are you planning on arresting anyone on our vacation? Playing real cop in the game?’

  Alexandro looked at Apollo and shook his head. He agreed with Valentina, and his badge was now miles away, back in the comfort of their own apartment.

  ‘Have you any idea or excuse, why you two were not mentioned?’ Clio asked, finally having found the courage to wipe her eyes. Her whispery voice hardly heard in the high-ceilinged room.

  Valentina found herself exhaling deeply once again. ‘Maybe we received it by mistake. A postal error. No offense, but you all seem upper-class folk. I do not believe Alex and I were supposed to be here. Yet, here we are. Stuck in this shit with the rest of you.’

  Yes, but if you think that not everyone accepted their invitations, our accusations were written after we accepted. Why weren’t any accusations written about you two when you showed up?’ Dinos said, standing by his sist
er. His brother Elia nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, good point. They saw who showed up out of their invites and laid charges against us.’

  ‘Maybe, we haven’t done anything to be held responsible for,’ Alexandro snapped, seeing his girlfriend trying to excuse them.

  ‘And we have?’ Clio’s frail voice came from behind her brother.

  ‘Whatever. It doesn’t really matter, now,’ Maximos said and picked up a three-legged, wooden side table. He threw it to the marble grounds with force. ‘Hmm,’ he said and laughed. ‘I look like one of those zombie killers on TV,’ he said, taking a long piece of sharp-edged wood into his large hands and staring at himself in the oval mirror on the wall to his left.

  ‘You mean a vampire killer,’ Hope said and smiled widely.

  ‘Works on both,’ he replied and continued in a louder voice, while looking straight into the camera, ‘and will work on you, too, motherfucker.’ He then turned towards the group of ladies and added, ‘Pardon my French. I tend to swear when agitated.’

  ‘Don’t we all,’ Eugene agreed.

  ‘I read it is good for our psychology. It helps the mind unleash stress.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case, Mrs. Diana, close your ears,’ Maximos said and yelled out profanities while throwing pieces of the shattered table towards the camera.

  ‘Are you finished, Mister?’ Theodore asked calmly. ‘I think we should stick together, but not stay still like sitting ducks. Let’s carefully explore the house as a group.’

  ‘Also, if I may put my two cents in,’ Hope said, ‘maybe we should put an effort to present the better side of us. If he is asking for people to vote for our death, that means we are being broadcasted.’

  ‘How is that even possible? Over the internet? How will he get people to tune in? If that is even the proper lingo,’ Dianna commented and rolled her eyes. ‘And, who the hell would vote for such a thing? We aren’t murderers, for crying out loud.’