With only one demand met, Greeks ignored the late hour and remained glued to their TV screens; their eyes opening wide as the ten-second countdown began.
At the house, Salome sat weeping outside the locked door. To her surprise, none of the other guests appeared; no one was replying to her calls for help. Her hands covered her ears, unable to block out the voice announcing her husband’s death. Her Arsenios, her rock, her man, called, ‘one down’. As if the evil behind this was numbering cattle or killing off cockroaches. A not-so-innocent child with a stick squashing hard-working ants.
No one came to her aid, as no one could. Every time a door was opened, and the room welcomed him or her in, the door mechanically shut behind them. Slowly-slowly, the group was dismantled.
Each room contained cameras and mics in plain view around the room.
The largest group left consisted of five people. Alexandro, Valentina, Apollo, Congressman Theodore and Maximos.
‘I hate to be the doomsday guy, but I truly believe we are all going to die,’ Apollo said, maintaining the cool in his steady voice.
Maximos slapped him upon his chest. ‘Speak for yourself, weird dude. I plan on getting out of this hell hole.’
‘Sorry, I don’t mean to... well, I don’t know. I say strange things when stressed. Forgive me. I mean, we are losing people along the way...’
‘Doesn’t mean they are dead,’ the congressman said, pushing through their middle, looking around the room. ‘I, too, plan on surviving. So far, so good. And having the cops with us can only help,’ he said and flashed his running-for-office smile at Valentina, who moved around the house like a cornered cockroach looking for a way to escape the guillotine of the slipper.
‘This can’t be one man’s work alone,’ Valentina said, her hands holding the sides of her head. ‘This is organized. This place is a maze full of traps...’
Alexandro wrapped his arms around her. He never could stand to see her cry. Her cracking voice reduced to a choke. ‘Shh, my love,’ he said and lowered his voice, his mouth coming inches from her ear. ‘We aren’t on the list. Keep that in mind. Keep your cool. We can solve this. You know how I love to be the hero.’
Just in the corridor outside, Hope also held Galatea in her arms. She kissed her on her sweaty head and swept back her hair. Both moved together, following Diana, who marched down the long corridor, pulling on every door handle and banging upon the thick, wooden doors.
‘Close your ears, girls,’ she warned them and screamed a prolonged one-word curse. ‘Fuck!’ she yelled and grabbed a painting off the wall. The depiction of a bowl of fruit fell to the floor and smashed below Diana’s stomping.
‘There’s only one door open, and even if God himself came down, I am not going in there,’ Diana said.
‘Let’s just stay here in the corridor,’ Galatea’s weak voice escaped her frail vocal cords. ‘Safe here until saved.’
‘By who?’ Diana yelled and continued swearing.
‘Now, now. There’s no need to lose it,’ Hope said. Let’s all enter the room simultaneously. That way, even if the door slams behind us like with everyone else, we will still be together,’ she added and squeezed Galatea’s icy, trembling hand. ‘Do you want me to take a look?’
Galatea rolled her eyes. ‘How you find the strength to joke is beyond me.’
‘I guess this whole near-death experience, has really opened my eyes,’ Hope replied and chuckled.
As Galatea turned, Diana approached the lone open doorway. Cautiously, with her hands upon the outside walls, she ducked her head into the room. An abandoned, small, dusty kitchen filled her view. A whiff of fresh air pushed back her platinum hair. And there, besides the rusty fridge, an opened window with a view of the ocean. ‘Oh, thank the heavens,’ she cried. ‘Girls, it’s open. Let’s get the hell out of this place,’ she said and her smile widened. One step into the room and two loud slams echoed around her. A steel plate came down and sealed the window, while the door slammed shut behind her. Another prolonged scream of profanities followed. Diana sat down on the floor and laughed hysterically. ‘Where are you now, Dr. Abramowitz?’ she asked, her mind thinking of her snob of a psychologist. She had advised her to stop being uptight and learn to remove the anger and stress. ‘Turn it into a punch or a yell. Get it out of you. It is building up and eating you away.’ Diana had then thought that with her large behind, she wouldn’t mind something eating her away.
Her inner voice was interrupted as an electronic countdown from five echoed in the small room.
‘Bravo, Greece,’ the distorted voice came back and was heard around the country. Live feeds from European and other major networks made this revenge, hostage scheme a world-wide broadcast. ‘You have stayed up with us. We thank you. Thank you for your thousands of votes. Our demands were not fully met. Some have. It is still a long, uphill road. This country has a lot to change before we accept it back as our mother. The fight will continue, and your wishes will be delivered upon. Your dream that your children will live with dignity will and must, come true.’
There was a pause in the speech and the image went from black to a narrow corridor and two ladies hugging by a broken painting.
‘Galatea Mitsotaki and Hope Pavlidi. You have the highest number of votes. Following the online discussions, this might come as a shock to the population who were betting that the banker or the politician would be next. This is a testimony of your late husbands’ good names and reputations. They built network TV as we know it and you two drove them to their graves. Together, as a couple, you murdered free speech. Dirty money from political parties flowed into your bank accounts and what was worse? You paid and treated your employees like dirt. Guess their votes came racing in. Any last words?’
Galatea placed her hands on Hope’s cheeks and pulled her close for one last kiss.
‘I love you. I loved you with all my heart and soul. You made my life better, and I will cherish everyday you offered me,’ she managed to say before kissing her again.
‘My angel,’ Hope replied, and her hands ran upon Galatea’s face. ‘My beautiful.’
In their embrace, the opening of the door to their side went unnoticed.
Outside, the climate showed its compassion and droplets fell to the small, round-shaped piece of land.
Inside, two muscular men came through the open doorway. Both wearing black, thick ski masks, their smiles were hidden from the cameras. Each grabbed a lady by her hair and forced her to her knees. Galatea screamed in pain, while Hope remained silent.
Her mind travelled back to her childhood when late at night her father would return home. He’d reek of alcohol and cheap-whore’s perfume. Her mother would rush to open the door as he rattled his keys, unable to unlock the front door.
She stood by the door. ‘Shh, Hope is sleeping.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do, woman,’ he replied. Loudly, on purpose. He trudged into the house, kicking the door behind him. Her mother shut her eyes as the door slammed closed. ‘It’s your fault, anyway. Why the hell, do you keep locking it? Can’t even walk into my own home!’
Young Hope’s eyes shined in the light invading her room from the slightly ajar pink door. She listened to their every fight. Each time, hoping her mother would not reply. This was not one of those times.
‘I’m all alone with a child, nearly all night. I’m scared. Of course, I am going to lock the door.’
He turned towards her as his jacket fell to the floor. ‘Who’s going to break into here? Shithole of a house. Everyone in the village knows we’re poor,’ he said, maintaining his menacing tone. ‘Unless, you think someone will come to mess with your fat ass. Let’s go rape fatty!’ he yelled and his monstrous laughter echoed around the house.
‘No need to be so mean,’ her mother replied and bowed her head. ‘Your dinner is in the oven,’ she continued and walked by him.
The fingers of his right hand found their way around her neck. ‘You want mean? I’ll show you mean!’
‘Daddy, please. Stop,’ Hope’s frail voice came from behind them. She held onto his leg; standing no taller than his belt.
‘See what you’ve done? You’ve woken up the kid,’ he said and pushed her back. His attention turned to his daughter. ‘Go back to bed,’ he said bluntly.
‘Go, my darling. Go,’ her mother urged her.
Hope stood still. ‘He doesn’t hit you when I’m around.’
Her mother’s eyes watered up as she covered her mouth with her hand.
‘Off to bed!’ her father yelled, grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back to her bed. She remembered screaming and crying. She remembered his hand slapping her across her face. She also remembered how she decided to intervene every night. She remembered her father’s frustration; how he wished she was deaf, too. She remembered her decision not to yell or cry. Each time pulled by her hair back to her dark room. She did it for her mother. She did it for the next three years until karma intervened for her.
On a stormy night, followed by a roll-in of nefarious, sinister fog, a young police officer stood at their door. He took off his wet cap and drove his gloved hand through his blond hair. He winced and began to utter his practiced line. ‘I’m sorry to inform you, ma’am, but your husband was involved in an automobile accident...’
‘Is he dead?’
The man’s pupils cornered to the left of his eyes. The tip of his tongue ran along his bluish, icy lips. He leaned closer and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly, staring over her shoulder at little Hope sitting on the sofa, enjoying her favorite tape - Disney’s Cinderella. Thin drops of rain dived from the officer’s carefree hair as he informed her mother that her father had not survived the crash.
‘Was he alone?’
The man took a step back. He seemed more uneasy than before.
‘Did he have a whore with him?’ her mother asked, helping him out of the sticky spot.
He nodded once again and closed his eyes in compassion.
‘Did she die, too?’
‘Yes, ma’am. They...’
‘Good. Thank you for the good news, officer,’ she replied and closed the door.
Hope’s first thought was that no one would ever pull her hair again.
Now, she was in the middle of nowhere, pushed to the ground and her hair was tangled around her attacker’s fingers.
‘Greece has voted. Time to take out the trash,’ the voice announced.
One loud bang travelled around Greece that moment. One loud bang from two simultaneous shots. Greece watched as the two women fell lifeless to the floor, parts of their head and brain decorating the light-colored carpet.
The image on their screens switched back to black.
Chapter 18
‘Sir?’ Ioli chased Police Lieutenant Colonel Oikonomou down the hallway, the route from the elevators to his corner office. The colonel was not one for talking. He hardly used adjectives or spoke more than three sentences back to back. Some called him a man of actions. Others labelled him as anti-social. His office blinds were permanently down and his door was always locked. He was the oldest at HQ, but, due to his behavior, he remained at his rank while others became Colonels and Generals, and got in line to be Chief. Lieutenant Colonel Oikonomou was placed on the ‘homicide floor’ and had the lone duty of signing cases.
He pretended not to hear her as he sprinted left down the corridor.
‘Sir,’ she spoke louder, having reached his side. Ioli’s past as a high school athlete guaranteed the sixty-year-old man had no chance of escape.
‘Hmm? Yes, Lieutenant Cara, what do you need? Be quick. I have work to attend to,’ he said, pausing just outside his office door.
I am work, you lazy, still-not retired, worthless piece of... Ioli’s inside little devil began to think. ‘Sir, I am officially assigned to the ongoing, for months if I may add, missing billionaire case...’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, he isn’t missing anymore. We found his body. Two of our own are somewhere out there in danger, and I want off the case and officially placed...’
‘Didn’t the autopsy confirm foul play? Poisoned, wasn’t he? That’s a homicide, Cara. Your department.’
‘With all due respect, sir, many are on the billionaire case. I believe I will be of more assistance on the Hotel Murder case. I hope, I do not have to wait for our colleagues also to die for it to become a case of mine.’
The grey-haired man scratched the back of his head and lowered his reading glasses to the tip of his nose. He stared at the tall girl standing in front of him. He grunted a few hmm’s and took the papers from her hands.
‘Okay, you’re off one case and on the other,’ he finally said, signing her petition. ‘Good luck,’ he said louder as she opened her mouth. Before her thank you could exit into the world, he had already disappeared behind his locked door, safe again in his castle. It was early morning, and he had eight full hours ahead of him. Eight hours of hiding from the world. He killed the hours with a good book and occasionally by adding to his stamp collection - his favorite hobby since childhood.
Ioli Cara wasted no time. She returned to the row of elevators and headed down to the conference room housing the operations for Hotel Murder.
She pushed the glass door’s oddly long bronze handle and entered the mayhem of the operation jungle.
She walked passed officers ducked in their keyboards with eyes on their screens. Boards filled with data and photos. Officers lined up in front of black phones, handling the hundreds of phone calls flying in from around Greece. In the corner of the vast room, Brigadier General Alexopoulos was being briefed by a variety of specialists. Ioli stood quietly by the open door.
‘...the signal was just to put us off track. Or just for the fun of it. A game. The signal was not that strong. I believe several have been set up and yes, we will have men chasing down each one, but I believe all will be deserted locations. An antenna and a computer running a pre-set program need no man-power. Why risk anyone getting arrested and blowing the whistle on their entire operation? Makes no sense,’ a woman’s voice could be heard from inside.
Ioli stood by the doorway. No one paid attention to her as the next in line to speak continued.
‘Sir, as you know we have been looking into known terrorists with similar demands from the past...’
‘Yes, Mrs. Cara?’ the general said, bringing silence to the crowded room.
Ioli straightened her body and walked towards him, her papers in hand. ‘I have been assigned to the case, sir...’
‘Great, we need all the manpower we can get. Go to Captain Savva and he will...’
‘Can I go to the tech labs, sir?’
He squinted his eyes at her. ‘Did you ask to be on this case or were you assigned?’
Ioli smiled. ‘I asked for it.’
‘Okay, go to the labs. I’m interested to see what’s going through your mind.’
And, with that said, he turned back to the Lieutenant that he had interrupted and asked him to continue.
Ioli backed out of the room, dug into her right pocket and pulled out a red jelly baby. ‘Will have to do,’ she whispered and swallowed the sweet.
She walked back through the busy room. She passed by Captain Savva. Half-Norwegian on his mother’s side, he had the fairest skin in the department. Tall, with glossy, sky-blue eyes and tufty, dark blond hair and deep cheek dimples, he also was the department’s most sought-after bachelor.
A young secretary rushed up to him and began stammering. Ioli heard that he was wanted down in interrogation room two. She overheard something about people who had received a Hotel Murder invitation. Ioli wished she could be in that room, yet did not regret her decision to not join Captain Savva’s team and headed straight out of the room. The tech labs were where she could study the videos transmitted from Hotel Murder.
A dark-haired officer next to the rosy-cheeked secretary produced a nylon bag containing the invitation.
>
‘No fingerprints, sir. I am taking it to Lieutenant Spyrou for further examination. Paper type, ink origin and the sort.’
Captain Savva nodded in agreement and proceeded to the stairs. A passionate fitness addict, he never used the elevator, no matter the number of steps.
Three minutes and twelve seconds later – he timed it, his iPhone App counting the lost calories - his sweaty hand came down on the cool handle of the interrogation room. A white room all around with damaging fluorescent light welcomed him in. He smiled at the couple sitting side by side and was glad to see they had been served coffee. Further joy came from the fact that coffee also awaited him, placed on the table in front of the chair opposite the couple.
‘Mr. and Mrs. Agapiou, I am Captain Paul Savva.’ He introduced himself, knowing full well who they were. Owners of Greece’s biggest tobacco factory, they produced his choice of poison. He craved an Asso’s cigarette at that very moment with the police HQ having banned smoking inside the building years ago.
Mrs. Agapiou had her arm wrapped around her husband’s and despite her expensive make-up, was pale as new paper. ‘Good day, Captain,’ she said.
‘So, we dodged a bullet, eh?’ her husband asked, always straight to the point.
‘Seems that way,’ Savva replied, sitting down. ‘Can you tell me, when did you receive the invitation?’
‘Last week. Monday, it was. Came with the rest of the mail,’ Mrs. Agapiou answered.
‘No stamp?’
She shook her head. ‘No. My God, those people came up to our mailbox.’
‘We have surveillance outside our house. There’s a camera facing the main gate. The letter-box is only a step away. Built in the brick wall, you see,’ Mr. Agapiou added, his smile lifting his heavy black mustache, gloating as if he had solved the case.
‘We went over surveillance footage from other locations too. The same heavy built man dressed in all black, wearing a ski mask dropped them off. But, please do go over your footage and send us a copy of that time. You never know. We all make mistakes.’
‘Well said, lad.’
Hotel Murder: The most gripping, page-turning mystery of the year (Greek Island Mysteries Book 5) Page 9