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

  ‘Salamina!’ the lost-some-weight-lately chief announced and pulled me out of my thoughts about the sinful city.

  ‘That is where, most of you are going today!’

  Everyone sat up straight, blinked a few times and cursed inside. Swearing for being wrong. Most were looking forward to a quiet day patrolling or even better with paperwork behind a desk. Their bodies craved for sleep and coffee.

  ‘We have two people reported missing on the island and Captain Papacosta’s murder case. You will split up into three teams. First team will go door to door in Salamina town where the five year old girl went missing, the other door to door in Aianteio village where our forty year old was last seen and the remaining team will search the area around the ditch where the murder victim was found. Now, Costa, Gianni take the mic, my fucking leg is killing me,’ he grunted and plodded down the two steps and fell back into his chair. The black-suited, silver head always sat in the same chair. It was the same as all the other chairs in the room, but it was his. And that’s how he liked it. Without asking, Mary brought him over his second-for-the-day Greek coffee.

  I nodded to Captain Gianni Antoniou to go first. His tree trunk legs shook the two steps and we all got a view of his sweat forming a darker shade of grey, all down his back. He filled out his clothes to the point of no return. Undoubtedly, the biggest guy on the force. He laid his colossal hands on the lectern and his sausage fingers ran through his notes. He looked up. He owned a face that could inspire a cartoonist to create a masterpiece. Big round face, pointy ears, eyes too close to each other. However, to much surprise, he was quite the ladies man. After his second divorce, he dedicated his efforts to pretty, young Russian girls, much to the HQ’s man power’s envy. Every other Saturday, he would stroll into Odyssey Bar, next to Head Quarters, introducing a Svetlana, a Tatyana or an Alina.

  He cleared his sore, tar-filled throat. A chain smoker since high school, Gianni was the type of guy that made me glad, my daughter Gaby had persuaded me to quit smoking. Endless coughing, yellow teeth, sick-looking fingernails and a good ten years added to his face.

  ‘Thomas Aristopoulou. Age 42. Big shot lawyer. His office is just down the road from here. Went to Salamina two days ago for business. In the village Aianteio. Hasn’t been seen since.’ Big Gianni always spoke like a telegraph when in front of an audience. Unless, he had a beer in one hand, a cigar in the other and was telling a rude, sexist joke.

  A well-presented, youthful forty year old with blue eyes, appeared on the wall screen opposite us. Overweight, but a good looking bloke who took care of himself. ‘Reported missing by the wife, father of two primary school boys.’ The projector clicked and ticked and a blonde little girl with faint freckles on her high cheekbones, was smiling at us with a wide grin that revealed her missing teeth. ‘Anna Mikropoulou. Age 5. Reported missing by her mother, yesterday morning. Could have been gone all the previous night. They were staying at Salamis Bed and Breakfast. Two went to bed, one woke up there.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘You will each take the photo shown and turn every rock and tree, and knock on every door. Someone must have seen them. I will interview the mother again. Lieutenant Theodorou, you will be in charge of overseeing the search for the missing lawyer.’

  ‘Aye, Captain,’ Theodorou stood up, nodded and sat back down.

  Just as he lifted his right trunk to turn, I asked ‘Is either case church related?’

  The Captain processed my question as he turned back round. There was a slight rumble in the room, put to death by the chief’s be quiet cough.

  ‘How… erm.. How did you know?’

  ‘Suspicion. So are they?’

  ‘The lawyer was meeting with a client who was suing the church over land disagreements. His client claimed to own titles for land owned by the church.’

  The chief’s eyes focused on me. Studying me. Trying to get inside my head.

  ‘And the mother of the missing girl?’ I continued.

  ‘When I interviewed her, she had a priest with her. She said he was her pneumatiko, her spiritual father. She came to Salamina to confess.’

  ‘Confess what?’

  ‘Having a child out of wedlock.’

  ‘I see…’ and my mind’s engine went into overdrive.

  I was up next. Alex Panayiotou. His brutalized face appeared on the white wall. I walked them through the case; what the mother said, what the boss said, the coroner, the monastery. I described the area where the body was found. I read disappointed faces of sleepless officers, realizing that they would be spending their day, under the sun, on a hill slope, looking in the bushes, bagging pieces of rubbish. I presented them with my awkward I-am-done smile and wished them a good day. I fell back into my chair, words and pictures swirling around the corners of my mind.

  The chief stood up and ordered everybody to their duties. They all scattered like cockroaches when the light switched on. Mary and her laptop left last. As the door shut behind her hourglass figure, the chief came and sat down beside me. He did not say a word. His method of getting things out of you. He did not even look at you. He just sat there until you spoke. A method he used in his prime days as a homicide investigator, back when people were arguing about who was better. Michael Jackson or Prince?

  ‘I know you hate hunches. I know you hate it when I say a have a feeling about this. But, come on, when was the last time Salamina ever had a murder and two disappearances in a matter of days? Never, that’s when. And that abbot. Oh, I don’t trust that abbot. And I am sure, even though without evidence, that Alex was there. I need a warrant to enter the place.’

  ‘No judge will give you a warrant to search a monastery, especially based on a feeling.’ He mocked the last word.

  ‘No, but any judge would give you a warrant.’

  He smiled. ‘I like your balls, Papacosta, but go get me some evidence, any evidence, and I’ll get you your warrant.’

  Not all can be grown here…

  Chapter 11

  Car. Port. Ferry. Little police station on the prairie. You know the drill.

  Presentable Jason was waiting outside. A wrapped package, held tight, under his right armpit. Floral pink wrapping paper? The present was not from him. He hopped in the car.

  ‘Good morning, Captain. Lovely day today, is it not? Though it should rain one of these days; the crops need their water. How are you today, Captain?’

  So you talk when nervous. I decided to put him out of his misery.

  ‘Your mum sent me a present?’

  He went from a blush to a mature tomato red.

  ‘You are a great detective. Yes, she knitted you a cover for your coffee table.’

  He passed me the neatly wrapped package and turned beet-root red.

  ‘Thank her dearly from me. And stop being embarrassed. Greek mothers must do what Greek mothers do!’

  Red boy and Grinning Captain drove through the countryside discussing rural villages and their rustic way of life in the bucolic setting. The mountains that made up our horizon were cloaked in green and their peaks shrouded in white clouds. Clouds, but no rain. A November acting like a September.

  We arrived in Kaki Vigla and took the only two-way road the village had. Papageorgiou supermarket was open for business. Hopefully, their son would be in, too.

  I pulled up in one of the six, white painted rectangles that served as the store’s parking lot. Two elderly ladies were exiting the store, wheeling behind them their groceries for the week. Green veggies sprouted out of their bags, as they complained about sore feet and drowsiness from the new yellow pills.

  ‘Perhaps you’re not supposed to take them with your pink pills. What did the doctor say?’ her friend with more moles than teeth asked.

  ‘He just gives me pills and says ‘‘one-morning-evening-night” and sends me on my way. At 92, I think he doesn’t expect me to be back, but there I am every month to fill up my stock of favorite pills! I have enough to make a rainbow!’

  They both laughed. Humor. Best
medicine available. And with that thought, we entered the quite-large-for-a-village grocery.

  ‘It serves all the nearby villages,’ Jason declared, having read the look on my face as I gazed at the variety-filled aisles. His voice intruded the Greek hits of the eighties that echoed through the store. Golden oldies flowing out through creaking, once white, speakers that hung in all four corners of the vast shop. In the right hand corner was a counter where cigarettes and magazines were sold. An office visible behind it. A man stood there, studying delivery reports, his eyes moving rapidly behind thick, beige reading glasses. He had the mustache of a past era porn star which was lifted by a friendly smile that welcomed us as we approached.

  ‘Mr Papageorgiou, I am Jason Galanos…’

  ‘Oh, Demetris’s son…yes.’

  ‘We are here on a police matter. This is Captain Papacosta. He needs to ask your son a few questions.’

  His smile dropped and his bushy, grey eyebrows met.

  ‘Nico? What has Nico done? He is a good boy…’

  ‘He did not do anything, sir. Relax. I just need to ask him if he saw a man who has been reported missing.’

  He studied me for a second, with that disapproving look villagers give strangers that they do not trust.

  ‘Wait in the office.’ He nodded to the open door behind him. ‘I’ll go and get my son.’

  We both sat on the magnolia two-seater that began from one wall and ended on the next. Opposite us was a desk, filled with papers and accounting books and family photos sealed away in shiny frames. A small coffee table filled the room between the sofa and the desk; a coffee table that soon hosted two ice cold, homemade lemonades, a plate of chocolate filled biscuits and a plate of watermelon pieces swimming in honey flavored syrup. Greek hospitality provided by the owner’s wife who entered with a forced smile and a worried look. She wished us a good day, left the plastic tray and rushed back to work.

  Just as bitter lemon froze my upper lip, Mr Papageorgiou walked in towering a sixteen year old boy; holding him firmly by the shoulders. The boy had messed up brown hair and wore a weird grin that revealed his needing-a-brush braces.

  ‘This is Nico. Nico say hi,’ he told the boy as if he was talking to a toddler.

  ‘Hi,’ the teen said and giggled.

  ‘I am Captain Papacosta…’

  ‘Hi,’ he said and giggled again.

  ‘Is something amusing you?’

  ‘Don’t get him wrong. Nico is a special boy. He is always happy.’ The father explained to me in a subtle way, what I later read in the boy’s school file. Nico was never going to progress mentally past the age of five. I showed him the photograph of Alex Panayiotou and asked if he had seen the man before. He shook his head from side to side to state a no.

  ‘Thank you for your time,’ Jason stood up.

  I flashed the boy the photograph of the missing girl, much to Jason’s surprise. Again the violent shaking of the head. Next was the lawyer’s photograph.

  ‘No, no, never seen Piggy.’

  ‘Now, Nico. That isn’t very nice, is it? Are we done, Captain?’

  I stood up, mechanically shook his hand and walked out the office; disappointed. I picked up a pack of Malboro and a cheap lighter, threw a ten Euro note on the counter and exited the supermarket. Jason found me with one of my gluteus maximus on the car’s warm hood. I took a long drag, making its end turn into an orange-tipped flame. I let the smoke swirl around my lungs before releasing the air through my nose.

  ‘Whose were those photos…’

  ‘Don’t you ask me shit, boy. You know these people. Why the heck did you not tell me that Nico was not all there?’

  He paused. He wore an expression hard to read. He seemed to be counting. He reminded me of my anger-management uncle Phil. Counting to ten to relax was his panacea. Ok, so you’re angry too!

  ‘Sir, with all due respect, Nico is an excellent young man, capable of answering a simple have you seen this man question! And he is all there! He is as God made him, he plays basketball, he likes music…’

  I lifted my palm, asking him to stop.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jason. You are not to blame. Nico is not to blame either.’ More smoke. ‘The photos are of two missing people, last seen here on the island.’

  ‘Really? First time I am hearing about this…’

  ‘Neither was reported missing to the police here in Salamina, but in Athens. The lawyer’s wife went to her local police station and the girl’s mother called central. Anyway, let’s get going to check up on the search party.’

  I drove slowly through the striking village, left mostly untouched since Greece had a king. I could see Nico in my rear view mirror, speeding along on his black mountain bike with grocery bags on each side of the handlers. He zoomed pass us, singing: ‘Piggy’s gonna burn, piggy’s gonna burn, la la la lala, piggy’s gonna burn!’

  ‘Piggy. That’s what he called the lawyer!’ I stepped on the gas, overtook the cheery adolescent and came to a cloud-of-smoke, tire-screeching halt. I got out and ran to block his way.

  ‘Nico, Nicoooo,’ I called him to me.

  He froze in front of me, his trembling eyes looking up into mine.

  ‘Who told you Piggy’s going to burn?’

  He looked left and right and shivered realizing he was alone on the street with me. I raised my voice.

  ‘Who told you Piggy is going to burn? Answer me!’

  Tears started to fall. ‘Sir?’ Jason asked, standing by the car’s open door.

  ‘Tell me,’ I yelled.

  ‘No! No! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!’

  ‘Why Nico? Why can’t you tell me?’

  ‘The abbot said no police.’ The words fell out between the awkward giggles.

  ‘The abbot?’ I let go of his bike’s rubber handlebars and let him pedal off to the old lady who ordered the groceries.

  I knew it!

  ‘Come on, come on… Pick up… Chief! It’s Papacosta. It’s the abbot. The kid recognized the lawyer. We need a warrant quick, they could still be alive!’

  Chapter 12

  The last sunrays of the day had sunk into the ocean. Orange and red waves turned dark blue. The night rolled in. The mountains around us silent and black. The flickering blue lights from the horde of police cars, flashing round and round, making shadows dance across the hills. Like a slithering snake, the line of patrol cars headed up the narrow dirt road towards the gloomy monastery. One after one, the cars came to a standstill as armed policemen exited them and prepared to storm into the building.

  The gate was open. Inside darkness; quiet as a grave. The light had left and taken the wind with it. I went in first, gun steady between both my hands, flashlights from the men and women behind me showing me the way through inky trees that stood similar to soldiers under inspection. The smell of smoke reached us, blended with the ghastly odor of burnt flesh. Suddenly, we were faced with an image none of us would ever be able to remove from our minds. Every circle of light revealed a body. Cloaked in brown, all you could see was their faces. Hollow eyes, mouth violently wide open, all facial muscles stretched and distorted. Blood dripping from their noses formed crimson rivers from their ears. The lights moved around. Bodies everywhere. Small, see-through vials lay on the concrete ground in front of them.

  Poison.

  Polina located the main switch and the overhead spotlights came to life. We all froze at the sight of the smoking, charcoal body glued by burning skin to the stake. His mouth screaming out without flesh to cover his teeth. The fire had burned so hot, it reached his bones.

  If this was the lawyer…

  ‘Find the girl! Find the girl! Look everywhere!’ Half the force scattered through the trees or entered the cells and church. The other half checked the bodies for signs of life. Twenty two dead and counting.

  The abbot’s body was crouched over a thick, leather covered book. He had decorated it with his bloody saliva; his wrinkly fingers holding on tight. I wore my latex gloves and,
finger by finger, I removed the heavy book from his grasp. Could this be the gospel of Christ? I carefully placed it in a large evidence bag and called over Polina Demetriou. Someone I could trust. I ordered her to get it quickly back to our labs and notify the chief. He would know what experts to call in. She managed a faint smile upon her ashen face and sped off to carry out her task.

  They knew we were coming…

  ‘I avoid such sweet temptations… The supermarkets owner’s son is an altar boy… It is a brave choice to lock yourself away from the world… I love that I lived my whole life here. I know everyone and everyone knows me. People here are closer to their roots, their land, their church, their traditions… He is as God made him,’ Jason’s voice echoed out of the darkest parts of my mind. He never spoke to the monks. He grew up close to the church. He mentioned Nico was an altar boy, but made no reference to his situation. He was nervous whenever we drove up to the monastery or talked about the monks. I turned and searched for Sergeant Galanos. He stood motionless as a statue, unable to come forward and accept the images his eyes were receiving. I walked slowly towards him, noticing silent tears running freely down his cheeks.

  ‘You ok?’

  No reply.

  ‘Captain! We have her! We found her! She’s alive!’

  ‘Get the paramedics here fast! She has been poisoned!’

  Sergeant Mikropoulos held a police blanket in his arms. Blonde hair spilt out the top. Two small, scared blue eyes, gazing through the darkness. That is when I heard Galanos move. I spun around in a heartbeat to see him, pointing his firearm towards the girl. I blocked his view.

  ‘Move out the way, Captain or I will blow your head wide open. The girl must die or everyone’s death will be in vain!’

  ‘She is a four year old girl!’

  ‘She is a bastard! Now, move!’