Murder On Display_A riveting, stand-alone murder / mystery that keeps you guessing until the shocking end

by Luke Christodoulou

  ‘What the hell, Rashmi? It’s fucking night time still!’

  ‘The police are at the door, ordering me to let them in,’ she said; her voice closing with every other word.

  ‘Tall, pregnant lady with straight black hair?’ he inquired, sitting up and searching for his Versage boxer shorts.

  ‘That’s the one, sir. And, another younger man.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Rashmi. She is less dangerous than my wife’s Chihuahua. Let them in and see them to the lounge. Tell them, I am dressing and will be with them shortly.’

  ‘Fucking more questions about Natalie,’ he thought and walked over to his en-suite to relieve his filled-with-whiskey bladder.

  Outside, Ioli and Alexandro stood side by side in front of the resplendent front door.

  ‘All good with the baby? How are you coping? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘I’m fine. Baby has been good to me, letting me do my job,’ Ioli replied, instinctively placing her hand upon her tummy.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention the warrant?’ Alexandro asked, staring down at his black boots. Nothing he hated more than dirt on his shoes.

  ‘Because he would stall and never open the door until he had hidden anything he wished to hide. He thinks I am here to grill him about Natalie.’

  Alexandro nodded in agreement. Ioli thought it was funny how he posed when waiting for a door to open. He stood up straight, broadened his shoulders and his serious-looking face was more still than a Madame Tussaud’s waxwork. Ioli called it his ‘bodyguard pose’. Maybe it was a way to deal with his height. Ioli was taller than him, even now in her flats.

  The opening of the door cut into her thoughts. Rashmi smiled nervously in front of them.

  ‘This way, this way,’ she said with her hand extended. ‘Please come through. Mayor Stamos is in his bedroom getting dressed and will be with you shortly...’

  Ioli walked pass her, papers in hand. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Rashmi, Madame...’

  ‘I’m no Madame, thank you very much. Rashmi, this here is a warrant. We are going to search the house, the entire house. You are going to stay put; over there on those fine looking couches and will be joined by your boss shortly. Who else is in the building?’

  Rashmi took a step back. ‘Erm, just Miss Anna.’

  ‘And where is she?’ Alexandro asked as he wandered from them, his eyes wide open in awe as he studied the marble staircase that stood like a twister in the middle of the grand, vast room.

  ‘Up... Upstairs, in her bedroom,’ the young girl replied, taking more steps back and having finally reached the sofa, she sat down. She placed her hands between her legs and bit her lips. Her heartbeats doubled and she closed her eyes, praying to Buddha for his guidance, by repeating her favorite mantra.

  Ioli smiled at her. ‘You have nothing to worry about. Just stay there,’ Ioli advised and started to ascend the long, winding flight of stairs. ‘Search around the ground floor. I will send them down and then search upstairs,’ she said, turning to Alexandro, who had begun to follow her to the upstairs floor.

  ‘Sure,’ he said and turned around. He hopped off the last step, looked left and right and walked off towards the dining area. Ioli paused to stare at him. One thing she liked about him was the ‘no long discussions’ part. He was not one to judge her or disagree with something she said or propose a new way of action.

  Twenty steps later, Ioli found herself upon a luxurious, soft Persian carpet. In both directions, long corridors ran along towards large, oval windows. Bright light came through them, shining on the white walls and the golden frames of Renaissance artwork. The door to her left had a pink frame hanging on it. ANNA, it read. Ioli approached and knocked firmly on the door. No reply. She placed her hand on the door knob and pushed the door open. She did not need to go close to the bed to notice that the curves below the peach-colored sheets did not belong to a person, but to a row of pillows.

  ‘What the hell?’ Orestis Stamos’ morning voice boomed from down the corridor. ‘What the hell are you doing up here? Now, this is police harassment. You have no right...’ he shouted as he took quick, heavy steps towards her. His rant came to an abrupt end when Ioli held out the warrant, stopping only inches from his face.

  ‘I told you, you would see me again, and soon.’

  ‘You bitch! You got a warrant on me? On what grounds? I’m calling my wife immediately. This can’t be right,’ he sputtered as he reached for his Blackberry.

  ‘One.’

  ‘One what?’ he yelled, his fingers trembling as he flicked through his phone.

  ‘One curse word that I am so kind to let slide. You curse at me again and I will arrest you for offending an officer of the law. And you are not really going to call your wife, are you? You really want her to find out about Natalie? Besides, a warrant is a warrant. No lawyer can save you.’

  Oresti Stamos looked at the strong-willed woman opposite him. For the first time in his life, he felt that he was not in full control of a situation. He took his time, before speaking.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, extending his palms. ‘You want evidence that Natalie was here? No need. I will sign a statement that I was indeed having a sexual affair with the girl. But I did not kill her. She left here around midnight all fine and happy. I would never hurt her. I begged her to stay. She was such a sweet young girl. I had no reason to kill her. I... I loved her.’

  ‘You can give me that statement, Mayor. But there is no way in hell that I am not searching your house,’ she replied and walked past him. She stood at the head of the stairwell. ‘Now, if you may, sir? Please go sit by your maid or I will arrest you for obstruction of justice.’ The last sentence was wrapped around a strong, official tone.

  Ioli could not decide what to name the color of red that mayor’s face took on, nor what to compare it to. Tomato, pepper, beet, lobster. All of them ran through her mind.

  ‘Let me at least wake my daughter. I don’t need you scaring the living daylights out of her...’

  ‘There’s much going on in this house that is kept secret. Your daughter probably stayed out all night. Those are pillows under her sheets. She should be back shortly, I presume. What time does she believe you wake up?’

  The mayor looked lost for words. ‘Ten... ish,’ he mumbled as he stormed by her defeated, his shoulders lowered.

  ‘By the way, Natalie was pregnant. One month into her pregnancy. Would like to be informed if it was yours? It’s a simple DNA test.’

  Stamos froze on the spot. Ioli could not see his face. He just stood still for a whole minute and then continued his descent, without saying a word. Ioli looked on as he went and sat down on the corner of the white sofa. He and Rashmi did not exchange words. She knew well to not talk unless spoken to, especially when the mayor was this furious. She remained with her eyes closed, safe in the calm of her prayers.

  The seven-bedroom house revealed no secrets during their first hour there. Even as Ioli entered the mayor’s office on the ground floor, he did not break a sweat. His computer’s screen was relatively empty and no files other than family photos and poker games were found.

  Ioli decided on a different approach. She watched Oresti Stamos from behind one of the living room columns.

  ‘The eyes never lie’.

  ‘So, Mister Stamos, ready to fill in that statement, are we?’ she asked as she walked over to him.

  ‘Anything to get you out of my house. How can I trust you that it will stay between us? I committed no crime. She is... was over eighteen,’ he said, lifting up his head.

  ‘Great. Nothing in your statement will be revealed, unless new evidence is found and you are arrested for Natalie’s murder. If you are innocent as you say, you have nothing to fear. Officer Andreou will help you complete your statement,’ she said and nodded to Alexandro, who rushed to her side, notepad and pen in hand.

  As the mayor was preoccupied with Alexandro, Ioli exited through the kitchen and walked through the well-m
aintained garden. She stopped by the tranquil swimming pool and gazed at the house, counting the windows. With her fingers, she separated the long house into rooms.

  ‘Interesting,’ she thought and walked back to the modern-day palace. She entered through the open library window, making sure Mayor Stamos would not see her as she made her way back upstairs. She re-entered the master bedroom and spun around 360 degrees.

  ‘Well, well, Mister Bruce Wayne,’ she said with a smile. She approached the bookcase by the fireplace and crouched down; her finger running along the deep mark engraved on the expensive parquet floor. She stood up, her hands running around the bookcase. A black button was built-in the back of the third shelf. Ioli pushed it and stepped back, the bookcase following her, revealing a secret room behind it.

  The sharp, smoky smell from the mayor’s Cuban cigars lingered in the thick, hot air. The lone window looked unused, an opaque blue curtain blocking most of the sunlight. Ioli switched on the light; a plain light bulb hanging from above.

  ‘Guess the interior designer was not allowed in here,’ Ioli thought as she looked around, her eyes wide open at the piles of cash, stacked and stacked upon square shelves behind the wooden desk that dominated the room. Ioli sat down on the comfortable-looking office chair and lifted the laptop’s screen. She placed her USB into place and began to copy various files from the desktop. All were named after dates.

  ‘What kind of business are you running, Stamos?’

  On the other side of town –the poorer side, some may say- Valentina took less time to search the two-bedroom house with the cozy living room and the small kitchen. All the time under Mrs. Sophia’s judgmental gaze.

  ‘Still blaming my Adonis? Still searching for clues to incriminate him?’ she had cried as Valentina explained the reason she was there.

  ‘It’s not like that, Mrs. Sophia. A case...’

  ‘You should be spending your time finding a good husband at your age. Let the married, more experienced mainland cop solve the case and catch the real killer. You’re an islander. It’s not proper for a young girl to be single and working...’ she said, made a short pause, looked Valentina up and down, and added ‘... and walking around with so much skin showing.’

  ‘Mrs. Sophia! It’s 2016! Now, I am a kind person, but please, it is too early in the morning to provoke me. Leave the lectures for my mother,’ she replied and walked past the elderly lady.

  ‘It’s fucking hot, you old bat,’ she thought, looking down at her jean shorts. ‘And, my legs are fabulous,’ she pumped herself up, as she headed to Adoni’s room.

  She, neither, found anything in the house relating to Natalie.

  As she stood thinking how all this was a waste of time –and ‘morning coffee relaxing’ time, too- her cell phone begun to ring.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, bringing silence after her upbeat ringtone pierced through the air.

  ‘Valentina, dear? It’s Maria from next door,’ said the middle aged woman who lived by the police station. ‘Father Kallinikos is outside the door, looking for you. He’s in a right state. I tried to calm him down and he yelled at me to call you immediately. I think you should come, dear. He is going to have a heart attack, pacing up and down in this heat.’

  ‘Thank you, Maria. Tell him I am on my way.’

  Valentina did not bother informing Mrs. Sophia of her departure.

  ‘The sound of my car will let her know,’ she thought, hoping to avoid her begging for Adonis or worse, her so-called advice on how women should behave and dress. ‘She probably has flyers with the church’s dress code,’ Valentina humored herself as she walked out of the one-story bungalow and rushed to her car.

  Mrs. Sophia watched her leave from her kitchen window; her eyes peering through the gaps of her patterned, sewn-by-her, white curtains. ‘Oh, Lord,’ she said, looking at Valentina’s buttocks as she ran. ‘It should be illegal for shorts to be... well, so damn short,’ she said and laughed. She looked around the empty kitchen, realizing how alone she felt. ‘He will be home, soon. Tomorrow, he will be home. They have nothing against him. My poor, innocent, little knight,’ she whispered and gazed out into the sun. ‘Clear skies fear no thunders. Be brave my boy,’ she continued talking to herself and did the sign of the cross upon her body. Three fingers of her right hand met, one for the Father, one for the Son and one for The Holy Ghost. They travelled up to her forehead, then to her waist, next to her right shoulder and last to her left. A lonely tear escaped her eye and ran down her cheek, avoiding deep wrinkles along the way. ‘Be brave, Sophia. You’ve been through worse,’ she told herself off and decided to blank her mind by diving into her house chores.

  Down at the station, Father Kallinikos was still trying to catch his breath. Overweight and a fan of leisure walking, he came down the mountainous road of the church faster than ever before. Pacing up and down was not helping with his breathing or his sweating. Finally, he decided to sit down upon the top step of the police station’s entrance. Maria, the neighbor, had given up begging him to come inside and enjoy a refreshing, cold beverage.

  Father Kallinikos stood up, his eyes on the cloud of dust approaching from the East. Valentina was speeding down the dirt road and even accelerated as the vehicle’s wheels touched paved road. The car came to a halt in the parking area, settling exactly between the two parking spots, ignoring the white line separating the two slots. She stepped out of the car, thinking it was just her luck, on the day she risked wearing shorts to meet the priest, especially after Mrs. Sophia’s indiscreet ‘advice’.

  ‘At last, you’re here!’

  ‘What’s wrong, Father?’

  Father Kallinikos looked around at the quiet street. He approached Valentina, placed his hairy hand on her left shoulder and brought his lips closer to her ear. ‘The head... Natalie’s head, it’s... It’s in the church.’

  Chapter 16

  On Board

  The island of Syros lay in the Aegean sea two hours away. Adequate time to put our plan in motion. Syros was the main reason Tracy chose this particular cruise. We had visited the island during our honeymoon, AKA ‘the ancient years’. We lived in New York at the time. A far away time when I was an NYPD detective, Tracy was the epitome of the American dream –country girl from the south becoming a lawyer at a major firm in the city, but most importantly a time when we were called mum and dad. It seems unreal that five whole years had passed already since our daughter’s death.

  Syros lured Tracy in and a part of her heart remained there. The capital town, ‘The City of Hermes’ –Ermoupoli in Greek, stands on a natural amphitheatrical site with a wide port to welcome you. From the church of Saint Demetrius, built on the top of the hill towering over the town, down to the calm waters that housed colorful fishing boats, neo-classical buildings, old mansions and whitewashed houses cascaded. Along the harbor, taverns and cafes lined up to welcome you with their chairs under the tall palm trees. Tracy’s stomach forced her brain to dream of the local dish of salad with capers and the locally-produced San Michali cheese. My brain would never dream of a salad, but it would water my lips with the thought of the Syros Loukoumia and the incredible meat dishes served with ice cold beer.

  The senior class, all thirty-two of them, followed their teachers to the ship’s cinema room. To make sure none left or chose not to participate, the teachers let down their moral walls and agreed on the pupils viewing Deadpool. At least it kept them preoccupied and entertained. Neither of the teachers was amused. By the time the cleverly written opening sequence flashed by before their eyes, the Captain had unlocked their twelve rooms with his master key. He then pulled out a wooden stool from a service room, sat down, stretched his long legs and started to roll cigarettes.

  ‘Do your job, Captain,’ he said. ‘Nick is on guard at the entrance. No one will come down the hall,’ he continued as he licked the thin paper, imprisoning the tobacco, sentenced to burn later on in the evening; enjoyed with a glass of aged red wine. Brought up in poverty, the ship’
s captain knew well the importance of enjoying the high life his position offered him.

  I entered Holly’s room, once again. The doctor followed me in. Not one for words, she took a sample of the blood, placed it in a see-through vial and carefully laid it in her cool-bag. ‘Nick’s a good guy, he just doesn’t know how to show it,’ she said with a smile and walked out the room. The female mind never ceased to amaze me.

  My initial opinion remained intact. There were no signs of struggle in the room. Someone had studied hard over the ‘net’ to set up the room. Now, if it was Holly or her kidnapper/murderer, I did not know.

  I knelt by the large, cloud-shaped blood stain and fell forward upon my hands, to take a look under the bed. A dusty, empty place stared back. With retaliation from my knees, I lifted myself up and reminisced days of youth, before decades passed and cancer attacked.

  The half-empty jewelry box puzzled my grey cells. ‘Why take half? And why leave the roommate’s valuables behind?’

  Nicole, her roommate, had placed a headless woman’s figure with six wiry arms growing out of her, on her bedside table. From the serpent-like arms hung bracelets, a couple of expensive-looking necklaces and a platinum ring.

  The girls shared a wardrobe. Neither had had time to unpack and both pieces of luggage stood, side by side, behind the cherry-wood, sliding doors. The name tags offered all the information I needed. I pulled out Holly’s pink Samsonite suitcase and wondered if it was light because it was empty or had these pricey bags evolved since my day. The top flung open as I pressed the button and witnessed the half empty suitcase. ‘Did she bring the blood on board?’ I saw nothing else belonging to Holly in the room.

  I decided to open Nicole’s luggage as well. The teens chose their own roommates; Mrs. Anne had informed me. Some were pairs of two, most of three. ‘Were Nicole and Holly really close? Could she know what’s going on or have aided Holly?’

  And there it was. Lying on top of brand-name dresses and designer jeans. A gold bracelet with the name HOLLY carved into it. I dug around the clothes, bags of cosmetics and various shoes, but no more of the missing jewelry was to be found. I slipped the bracelet in a nylon bag and put in my trousers’ right-hand pocket.