Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you!

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Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 5

by Luke Christodoulou


  Better than fine actually, I am great.

  Father, I hope you die painfully, you son of a bitch.

  Now that your favourite punching bag is gone,

  I hope you don’t beat mama twice as often.

  DO NOT LOOK FOR ME.

  I AM DEAD TO YOU!

  Katie.

  *****

  Chapter 11

  The International Airport of Paphos is located in the rural village of Timi which as it turned out was only a fifteen-minute drive to our crime scene. I was glad it was just a stone’s throw away as I was eager to get there. The crime scene in Samos I saw only through photographs, testimonies and mortuary shots while the crime scene in Crete I saw days after the murder actually happened. Now was my chance. Now, I could really get close. It was only twelve past ten and the body, the coroner, the police officers and the witness were all there.

  Two young officers were expecting us and greeted us very formally. We had officers Andrea Charalampous and Giorgo Georgiou as our escorts. They looked so young. Neither looked older than twenty-five. Probably still cadets or new to the force. It seems that in every country the same rule applies. ‘‘The lower you are in ranking, the jobs you get suck,’’ to put it rather bluntly. An amazing crime scene by a serial killer and these kids were stuck with the vastly important chore of picking us up from the airport. Both looked alike. Average height, black hair, green eyes, muscular and clean-shaven. After introductions were made they led us to their police car. It felt weird having to sit in the back of a police car. I did not think much of it and went to sit in the passenger’s seat up front. However, I entered the driver’s seat, making a fool out of myself in front of the officers and Ioli who laughed out loud. In Cyprus, as I should have known, they drive on the other side following the driving code of the British who colonised the island not so many decades ago.

  As we drove the scenic route to our crime scene, Ioli made small talk with the two cordial Greek-Cypriot officers that were sent to pick us up. I was more focused on the endless, deep, blue sea that filled my view, all the way to the horizon where the sea caressed the light blue cloudless sky. ‘‘If there is such a thing as a paradise and my girls are there, I wish they have views like this,’’ I thought. My thoughts did not distract my attention from the conversation on going in the police car.

  ‘‘It is nothing like we have ever laid eyes on before,’’ Andrea admitted.

  It was amusing to see these youngsters discuss the case, while obviously trying to flirt with Ioli. Ioli though, remained professional and I could tell that every question she made was aiming to gain clues to the case. This girl truly had a way in getting others to open up.

  “Where did you live in the US, Captain?” Giorgo asked.

  “I see your reputation precedes you,” Ioli commented.

  “Astoria,” I answered.

  “My grandmother was American. I think she lived in the Bronx.”

  “You never visited?”

  “My father left us when I was young. He didn’t keep in touch. I would love to visit America one of these days, ” he said with slight complaint in his voice.

  ‘‘There’s Petra tou Romiou. On your right, down there,’’ Andrea pointed out.

  We looked down and saw the long winding road leading to the beach where a great rock and many smaller ones around it stood out of the water. We parked right next to the beach just behind the police tape that kept back the nosy tourist and the noisy reporters. We ducked under the tape and walked over to who seemed to be the person in charge.

  ‘‘Captain Filippou, this is Captain Papacosta and Lieutenant Cara of the Hellenic Police,’’ Giorgo said introducing us.

  Captain Filippou shook both our hands firmly and with a slight smile said, ‘‘welcome to our island. Sorry it is not under better circumstances.’’

  We took turns in shaking his hand and slightly smiling that awkward murder scene smile. We both nodded in agreement that the circumstances were not the greatest.

  Captain Filippou was a short, square-looking man with scattered grey hair and tired eyes. A man that looked well past his prime, but probably was not even in his late fifties. The job sure did get the best of him.

  He looked up to us every time he spoke and I wondered if he would have a neck-ache by the time he was through with the two tall Greek police officers.

  We followed him as he led us down to the beach. He took his time as he sauntered through the beach. Law enforcement officers and the crew of the forensic team were scattered all over the beach looking for evidence. It is at this moment when I realised how quiet it was for a crime scene. The sound of the waves crashing upon the pebble beach overlapped all other noises. In all the organized chaos happening around us, one image stood out above all. The dark blue body bag. A blond lady in her early fifties, wearing the smallest reading glasses imaginable, stood beside the body. From her posture and her manner my brain identified her as the coroner.

  “Notice how nobody is smoking?” Ioli murmured.

  “Or holding a cup of take away coffee,” I replied.

  “No one is striding up and down barking orders,” she continued, pointing out the differences between this crime scene and crime scenes back in Greece.

  ‘‘There,’’ the captain said, pointing at the rock in the sea as he stopped just a few steps from the water. ‘‘The body was found there, standing up…’’

  ‘‘Standing up?’’ Ioli asked, with obvious curiosity written in her voice.

  The captain looked down and quietly said, ‘‘the killer passed a whole metal bar through her back tissue. You know, the thin ones used at construction sites. Like a fence spike it was. That’s how he got her to stand up. He cut off her arms too. Mrs Angelidou, the coroner, will tell you more.”

  ‘‘Who found the body?’’ I inquired.

  ‘‘An American professor staying at a hotel nearby. He came for a morning swim. He was in a right state. Still is, kind of. I cannot say I blame him, to be honest. This is not something you get to see on any given day. He is over there with the paramedics if you wish to speak with him after the coroner.”

  ‘‘Did you find anything else on the body, the rock…?’’ Ioli asked next.

  ‘‘Nothing on the body. She was completely naked. However, there was a red rose with a hand mirror placed on the rock in front of the body. We did not find any fingerprints.”

  ‘‘This is a very careful murderer,’’ I remarked. ‘‘Have you managed to identify the body?’’

  ‘‘An Alicia Robinson was reported missing from her hotel in a nearby village an hour ago. She went for a walk last night and no one has seen her since. A model from the UK. Judging on the victim’s looks and age, I believe it’s her, but of course we have arranged for someone from the modelling agency to come down to the hospital’s morgue and identify her officially.”

  ‘‘Excuse me? Captain?’’ a decorous cadet interrupted us. ‘‘Excuse me for interrupting you sir, but the coroner said she has to leave so if the Greek police want to talk to her…’’

  ‘‘Ok, ok, we are coming,’’ the captain said and rolled his eyes.

  I don’t know why, but every time I walk towards a body bag time seems to slow down, noises fade away and everything around turns to grey. The only thing I see in colour is the body bag. I do not know why. Maybe I am just weird that way. Maybe I just watch way too many crime shows.

  As we approached, the coroner, not caring about pointless introductions, knelt down and unzipped the bag all the way down to the waist of the victim. The young girl was stunningly beautiful. She looked peaceful for a victim of such a violent crime. There was a tranquillity you do not observe often with murder victims. She looked asleep as the crime was fresh and no decomposition had taken place.

  ‘‘Sleeping beauty…’’ Ioli whispered as if she was reading my mind.

  ‘‘Yeah, if sleeping beauty was missing a pair of arms,’’ the coroner remarked sarcastically and further peeled the body bag to rev
eal how the girl’s arms were chopped off just below her shoulders. They were violent and messy cuts. You could clearly see how the killer struggled to cut through the bone. Pieces from arteries and skin were dangling from the remaining part of the arms.

  “The arms?” Ioli asked.

  “Haven’t found them yet. He has either taken them with him or most likely he threw them into the sea. Quite deep waters we’ve got here, just a few meters in. I’ve called for the coast guards’ scuba diving team to search the area. I’ll keep you informed,” the captain replied.

  Coroners in New York and in Greece had no differences when it came to how detached they had become due to the nature of what they witness daily and the Greek-Cypriot coroner was just the same. She showed no signs of emotion as she ordered the cadet to help her roll over the body.

  Both mine and Ioli’s eyes widened at the sight of the girl’s back. It was badly bruised and swollen. Two bloody circles stood out. One precisely under her back spine and one just below her neck.

  ‘‘She was already dead when the arms were cut off. She died due to extensive loss of blood from repeated stabs to her lumbar vertebrae, here around her waist. After the stabbing and while the victim was still alive and bleeding out, the killer dug his knife deep into her and cut open a cavity around three centimeters wide by twisting around the blade. He… or she …proceeded to puncture her body with the sharp end of a long metal bar -two centimeters in diameter-which we removed and was collected by the evidence grew. The pointed end bar ripped through her body along her spine and exited here, at the top point of the interscapular. Time of death? Roughly six to eight hours ago.”

  “Any defensive wounds? One of our victims was drugged, the other was not,” I said during her short pause for breath.

  “None I can see at the moment, though most defensive wounds are found on the hands and arms. She had no other bruises other than the ones on her back and these faint ones here around the neck. The killer must have stabbed her from behind and locked her close to him by putting his arm around her throat here, ” she said as she pointed to the girl’s throat.

  “As for being drugged you will have to wait for blood testing to be completed.”

  “Any needle entry marks?”

  “No. Not anything visible at the time. I’ll check again thoroughly during the autopsy.”

  “No other bruises you say? So she wasn’t raped?” Ioli asked as she gazed upon the girl’s beauty.

  “No, no marks indicate rape. I’ll check for any signs of sexual intercourse. I will know more after the autopsy. I will send in my detailed report ASAP. The captain has my number if you need any clarifications. Still got my number, Andrea?’’ she threw the question at Captain Filippou accompanied with a wink that caught him off guard. Some history there for sure.

  ‘‘Erm, yeah, Helen.’’ He awkwardly smiled back.

  ‘‘Use it one of these days, will you?’’ she said as she stood up and without saying goodbye, she walked towards her car.

  As Captain Andrea Filippou watched his Helen walk away, Ioli and I knelt next to the body.

  ‘‘And the plot thickens,” she whispered.

  I knew exactly what she was thinking as it was on my mind as well. We had no clue on how this victim connected to our two previous victims. We had another murder scene, again without any fingerprints and in another country.

  ‘‘We need to have our team check all flights to Cyprus from Greece over the last four days, see if anything suspicious comes up. Especially flights from the islands. Also, I want people working on Alicia. I want to know where she went, who she saw, what she ate… everything.”

  Ioli nodded and added, ‘‘I’ll call our team now and then check with the local police that they are working on Alicia’s timeline since her arrival on the island. Maybe get some men to check out local construction sites, see if anyone saw anyone suspicious. I mean, the killer must have picked up the metal bar from somewhere, right?’’

  ‘‘That’s a great idea, Cara.”

  As she stood up and wandered off with her phone in hand ready to dial, I remained next to the body. I gazed upon the area and then closed my eyes, recreating the scene in my head. No blood was found on the beach so the stabbing must have taken place in the shallow waters. ‘Could she have been drugged like Eric Blair or was she attacked like Stacy?’ The toxicology report would take a while, but my gut told me she was lured here and attacked. The killer must have the ability to act normal. This was no creep. This was a handsome, sociable guy capable of flirting with a girl and persuading her to follow him for a late night’s swim.

  ‘‘Captain, do you wish to interview the eye witness before we dismiss him? We’ve got him over there, on one of the picnic tables. My men have taken his statement, but I thought you would like to hear from him too.”

  ‘‘Yeah, for sure,’’ I replied to Captain Filippou.

  ‘‘See you when you’re done. We have arranged a hotel for the both of you. I’ll take you there afterwards.” He shook my hand in a hurry and left me to go check up on his men.

  ‘‘Thanks,’’ I quickly managed to say and stood up. I was dusting off my knees when Ioli came up to me.

  ‘‘Next stop the witness?’’ she smiled.

  ‘‘Clever girl. He’s over there.”

  The professor sat in the middle of the left side of an old, worn-out by time, wooden bench. He did not look like a university professor with his white, tight, square cuts and a cobalt blue T-shirt on top. A tall and masculine man sitting there like a scared school boy, looking anxiously around him, mechanically playing with his thumbs by rubbing them together. Every now and then, he would stop playing with his thumps and would scratch the back of his head. It was obvious he did not want to be there. He probably was wishing he had chosen another beach for his swim. But life does not work that way and as it turned out, luck was in our corner. Who would have guessed that the professor would reveal what was right in front of our eyes all this time.

  ‘‘Professor?’’ I said politely with my good cop smile.

  ‘‘I am Captain Papacosta and this is Lieutenant Ioli Cara. May we have a word with you?’’

  ‘‘Erm, yeah… sure. Are you American?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘I’m of Greek origin. Born and raised in New York. You?’’

  ‘‘Los Angeles… I already told everything to the other Captain, though his English wasn’t the greatest…’’

  His voice had money written all over it. Obviously grew up rich. Some beach mansion along Paradise Cove in Malibu. The type of guy Jimmy called posh.

  ‘‘If you don’t mind answering a few more questions for us…’’ Ioli commented.

  The professor turned and looked at her with his teary, red, sore eyes and it was the first time he relaxed his facial muscles and sat up straight. He smiled at her and answered, ‘‘sure, of course, anything to help.”

  The effect of a pretty lady always amazed me.

  ‘‘What time did you arrive at the beach, professor?’’ Ioli started the questions as we both sat down on the picnic bench opposite the witness.

  ‘‘Call me Michael, please. Around ten to seven. I’m sure about the time because according to my phone I called the police at 06:58.”

  ‘‘Can you describe what you saw? Did you see anyone else? Any cars leaving the scene?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘No, the place was deserted. As I drove down I saw no other cars. Guess most tourists were still in bed or having breakfast. I parked up there, next to the road and walked down. As I laid down my towel, I looked up and there she was. Aphrodite herself standing right there on her rock. Obviously someone copied the pose from the sculpture of Aphrodite of Mylos that is exhibited in the Louvre. And the roses and the mirror that the police found next to her? All symbols of beauty and Aphrodite herself.”

  That moment I had a flash in my head of Eric’s body and the bizarre lightning scar the murderer had left on his forehead. Lightning was the symbol of the god of gods, Zeus.
r />   ‘‘Where was Zeus born, Professor?’’ I asked, knowing the answer that was about to find me. I noticed Ioli’s eyes open wide as she immediately understood where I was going with this.

  ‘‘Erm…’’ The professor began to say unsure why I was asking him a job related question. ‘‘In Crete, at Mount Ida,’’ he replied.

  ‘‘And Hera?’’ Ioli added.

  ‘‘Well, no myth tells of a specific birthplace, however, Hera’s sacred island was considered to be Samos.’’

  That moment we knew. We had a pattern.

  ‘‘As you say the hands being cut off and the roses and the mirror were based on Aphrodite. Could you enlighten us as to what a cut open head and stomach would mean to Zeus?’’ I said with my curiosity running wild.

  ‘‘There have been more such murders?’’ the professor said, obviously nervous and with terror painted in his baby-blue eyes.

  ‘‘I am not at liberty to discuss murder cases with you, but I would really appreciate your discretion and I could use your knowledge. We are looking for a very dangerous killer and anything you may say could help us catch him,’’ I answered and sat back to hear his answer.

  The professor took on a lecture tone, habit of profession I guess, and said, ‘‘they are two different stories –the opening of the stomach and the opening of the head-concerning Zeus. Zeus along with Poseidon, Hades, Demetra, Estia and Hera were all children of the titans Cronos and Rea. Cronos though, feared that one of his offspring would one day kill him and take his place as king of the gods. So Cronos decided, to Rea’s dismay, to eat his children. He actually swallowed them whole. Rea was desperate and when Cronos asked to eat their last child –Zeus-Rea gave him a large stone wrapped in cloth to swallow. Zeus remained hidden and grew up in Crete until he felt strong enough to challenge his father. Zeus managed to defeat Cronos and he proceeded to cut his stomach wide open as to release his five siblings with whom they would form the Olympian Gods.’’

  ‘‘I thought the Olympian Gods were twelve,’’ Ioli said.

  ‘‘Yes, they are. Aphrodite, daughter of Uranus and offspring of Zeus with various women, were added to the original group of gods. Athena was one of his daughters and our second legend. You see, the Oracle told Zeus that his mistress, who was bearing a child, was going to give birth to his murderer. Zeus, having taken a lesson or two from his father, but not willing to kill his unborn decided to swallow his mistress so he himself would give birth to his child therefore changing the prophecy. I know these myths are weird to us today, but they were reality to the ancient Greeks,’’ he added, most likely having read our expressions. Our ‘‘what the fuck?’’ looks as Ioli so elegantly put it later on.

 

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