Summer in Greece. A sentence of joy, of careless holidays, of turquoise waters and of long, sandy beaches. For me, a sentence of sweat. Of constant heat waves, strong enough to melt your insides like a spider’s poison.
I kept myself busy, by organizing my court dates. I had to testify on the cannibalistic cleaning lady. An elderly woman who kept her dead husband in the freezer and decided to cook and eat him. Ioli typed in the testimonies for me to go over.
The door flew open without a knock. It could only be the chief.
‘Costa, Ioli,’ he grunted our names. His tender way of a good morning.
‘I’ve got a case for you two.’
‘Since when do you come down here personally to deliver cases?’
He smiled at me and threw a photo of a young woman, hanging from the ceiling. ‘She hanged herself last night or so the local police reported, on Corfu island.’
‘So it was murder?’ Ioli asked.
‘Maybe. Most likely a suicide.’
‘Then, how is this…’
He did not let me finish.
He threw another photograph on the table. Another hanging body. A man in his early thirties. ‘Zakynthos. Last night.’ He threw another photo. ‘Kefalonia. Last night.’ Another. ‘Paxoi. Last night.’ He laid seven photographs before our eyes.
Seven islands.
Seven bodies.
Chapter 37
The Ionian Islands or Eptanisa (Seven Islands) as they are known in Greece are a group of islands scattered along Greece’s western coastline. Never subjected to Ottoman rule, the islands were a haven for ‘men of the spirit’. The arts flourished under Venetian rule and Italian influences can be found in local cuisine, rhythm of language and architect.
Nowadays, they enjoy being featured in travel magazines, Hollywood movies and top ten lists with the world’s best beaches.
‘Seven people, each on a different island, islands called The Seven Islands, all commit suicide the same day?’
‘You think they were murdered?’ Ioli asked.
‘Maybe. Or at least they are connected. This is one hell of a coincidence, if not.’
‘If they were all found this morning, it is likely that they wanted to be found. I mean, if it was planned, a body not being found would ruin the whole design.’
‘How do you feel about splitting up?’
‘I was thinking the same thing. I thought… as you are shit scared of flying…’
‘I am not scared…’
She raised her voice and continued ‘You take the speed boat down to Kythira and work yourself upwards while I’ll fly to Corfu and work myself down. We will probably meet somewhere in the middle.’
‘Sounds like a plan, Cara.’
‘By the way, how come it’s just the two of us? I thought a team would be sent to each island.’
‘The chief said it would look bad to local authorities. Athenian investigators stomping in, taking over their cases. Cases that, at the moment, are classified as suicides. Each island’s authority is in charge, until a greater connection is made. We are just assisting. Basically, we will check if they are actually suicides and look for connections between them.’
‘Sounds like a plan, as you say.’ She got up and touched my shoulder gently. ‘Take care.’
‘Be careful.’
‘Aren’t I always?’ she laughed, gave me a nudge and walked out the door.
Seven islands. Seven bodies. What a way to kick off your summer.
Chapter 38
Island of Kythira
By midday, I had docked on the little island of Kythira. The island lies opposite the Peloponnese peninsula, far away from the other six islands, with which it forms the group of the seven islands.
I stood on the wooden dock, my eyes taking in the picturesque town of Chora. The white painted houses ran down the side of the slope, towered by the tall walls of the castle that occupied the top of the hill. I took a deep breath. A delight to my lungs. The air purer than the polluted Athenian air. The sandy beach filled with tourists, local and foreign alike.
‘Fancy a ride, sir?’ a heavyset man with a thick, black mustache offered, horse and carriage behind him.
‘No, thank you. I believe I am being picked up.’ I gazed around the dock. I saw a uniformed constable standing up amongst his friends at a coffee shop, opposite the quiet street. He took one last sip and ran over to greet me.
‘Constable Stavros Souris,’ the dark haired young man introduced himself with a sincere islander smile. ‘This way, Captain,’ he said, picking up my small suitcase.
I walked behind him, shades and hat on, avoiding the burning sun. The short man walked tirelessly ahead.
‘Erm, Stavro?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Where is your car?’
He smiled. ‘No car. Everything is a ten minute walk away. It is just around the corner.’ We turned right, walking upon a bricked path that led us through people’s back door gardens. The flowers that had blossomed during spring were already showing signs of fading away, melting under the summer sun.
A blue-painted wooden door with an X formed by yellow police tape awaited us ahead. A female constable stood by the door. She flashed a smile as Stavro introduced us. Then, she opened the door and under the tape we went. Stavro stopped by the arch that separated the living room from the hall.
‘In there,’ he said and froze.
I entered the near empty room. A woman’s body hung from the ceiling by a thick sailor’s rope. The rope was tied from a strong wooden beam that crossed the room. A kitchen chair was knocked to the ground. I wore my gloves and pushed back her black hair from her face.
‘Identity?’
‘Rita Simonide. Age 37. Rented out the house from the old lady next door around Easter. Kept to herself. She was some sort of writer, we were told.’
‘Who found her?’
‘Mrs. Comninou, the old lady renting the place. She brought her breakfast every morning at seven.’
‘Where’s the doctor?’
‘He is on his way. I texted him as soon as you arrived. He had patients to see. He will be here soon. He only lives round the corner.’
‘What’s this?’ I picked up the nylon bag from the worn sofa.
‘The suicide note.’
‘Difficult it may be, to argue suicide is not a sin
God’s soul inside me, in my inner temple in
Only Samsons viewed as good and just
My death, my exit, a necessity, a must,’ I read.
‘I think you should call your priest too.’
‘On it,’ the eager-to-help officer replied.
Island of Kerkyra
Ioli had arrived earlier than me in Kerkyra, known around the world as Corfu. Greece’s northwestern frontier and home to the Ionian University, where Eftychia Stauropoulou taught religious studies. Until, the previous night when she leapt to her death, neck tied to her heavy wooden bed. Her lifeless body swung outside her bedroom window, revealed by the birth of dawn.
Ioli stood over the body that had been pulled into the bedroom for obvious reasons. The thirty year old woman had died instantly; the fall breaking her neck, snapping it into pieces. Corfu’s coroner explained to Ioli that ‘no violent marks were found or any defense wounds’ and the local police added ‘the house was fully locked from the inside. She was alone.’
‘We found this in her bathrobe pocket,’ a freckled sergeant said, passing her the suicide note.
‘I came naked from my mother’s womb and I shall have nothing when I die. The Lord gave me everything I had, and they were His to take away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.’
Underneath she had written three names. Jacob, Job, King David.
Island of Kythira
The doctor in Kythira ruled out foul play and based on the scene, I agreed. The priest shined more light.
‘Samson sacrificed himself to save others. The priest said it is the only suicide in the Bible looked upon favorably. For s
ome reason, Rita Simonide felt like she had to die and was trying to justify her decision,’ I said to Ioli over the phone.
‘Mine quoted the Bible, too, from the book of Job. I googled the three names she wrote underneath and I found that all three mentioned, had what we would describe today as depression. Costa, if all seven left a religious suicide note…’
‘That’s our connection.’
‘Another priest brainwashing easy victims?’
‘Maybe. Though is there one that travels the islands? Each has their own congregation.’
‘Mine wasn’t from Corfu. She only taught here.’
‘Mine wasn’t from here either. I’m going to call Polina back at HQ to see if she has finished with the background checks. Hopefully, she will have their permanent residence.’
‘Be careful with your sweet talk around that one, now Tracy is back.’
‘Huh?’
‘You men are so oblivious. Polina has a crush on you.’
‘Ridiculous. I could be her father.’
‘Whose your daddy is quite a common phrase here in Greece and that is all I’m saying. Anyway, I’m off to Paxos. Just thirty minutes away.’
‘It will take me a couple of hours to Zakynthos. I’ll call you when I’m done.’
I dialled Polina’s number.
‘Yes, Captain?’
‘Demetriou are you done with the background checks of…’
‘Just finished a case of Captain Germanos and I will be right on…’
‘I want it now,’ I raised my voice.
‘On it right away, Captain,’ her voice lost its sweet tone.
‘And Demetriou, call my house number in a couple of hours and inform my wife that I will not be returning tonight. I will be too busy to call and I don’t want her to worry.’
‘Wife, sir?’ she asked puzzled.
‘Yes, wife. Why do you ask?’
‘I was under the impression you were divorced. My mistake.’
‘Yes, your mistake. Now, get busy with the checks. I want to know if all victims were visitors to the islands and if so, where was their permanent residence.’
‘On it, boss.’ And the phone went silent. A feeling of remorse swam over me. I shook it off. It was for the best. Ioli is always right and there was no need in leading the poor girl on.
Ioli and I were each faced with a male body this time.
Island of Zakynthos
My heart skipped a beat as the speed boat passed by Nauagio beach. The famous shipwreck grew out of the sand in the isolated bay. The beach served as one of Tracy’s and mine’s first honeymoon stops. It had been her first time in Greece and she fell in love with the exotic island.
The speed boat flew by ships busy with unloading thrilled tourists that had waited a lifetime to visit one the landmark beaches of the world. Soon, I had docked in Eptanisa’s most populous city, Zakynthos town. A silent sergeant drove me to the third floor apartment where 32 year old Demetris Papademetriou, an athlete signed to a local soccer team, ended his life.
He had placed a plastic bag over his head and tied it tightly round his throat. He sat on the balcony, facing Faneromeni church. Another body, another note.
‘1 Samuel, 31:3-6,’ I read the ripped piece of kitchen roll. ‘A bible, please,’ I requested.
‘One minute, Captain,’ the young sergeant replied. He took out his phone. ‘There is an app… Wait… Tell me again the verse.’
‘1 Samuel, 31:3-6. Read it to me.’
‘The fighting grew very fierce around Saul, and the Philistine archers caught up with him and wounded him severely. Saul groaned to his armor bearer: take your sword and kill me before these pagan Philistines come to run me through and taunt and torture me. But his armor bearer was afraid and would not do it. So Saul took his own sword and fell on it. When his armor bearer realized that Saul was dead, he fell on his own sword and died beside the king. So Saul, his three sons, his armor bearer and his troops all died together that same day.’
‘That’s all of it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So, the king lost it all and killed himself. What did you lose, Demetri?’ I stared into his hollow blue eyes.
Island of Paxoi
Ioli too was faced with a young man’s body. A music teacher, Nikolas Perikli, alone on holiday in the quiet town of Gaios, leapt to his death from his holiday balcony to the hotel’s inner garden. He had used metal wire and as he fell, the wire viciously cut into his skin. He died instantly by the snapping of the neck. His body, pulled by gravity, slowly cut away from his head and fell to the ground. The head fell too, rolling along the stone path and into the swimming pool. The morning’s cleaning lady who whistled as she swept between the neatly placed sunbathing beds, suffered a severe heart attack at the sight of the floating head.
Ioli spent a good hour, photographing the scene and collecting evidence. She wanted to make sure beheaded Nikola took his own life.
A note slept amongst the dust, left on the glass coffee table, that with the old couch, took up most of the living area.
‘Judas, heaven or hell? Forgiving father, who can tell?’ Ioli read.
‘Funny how we all turn poetic at the end,’ she whispered.
The female constable smiled uncomfortably at her. ‘We’ve never had such a gruesome crime scene before. Most come here to enjoy the serenity offered.’
‘Looks like, this guy needed more peace than was offered.’
She picked up her phone and walked out of the unembellished hotel, into the vast village square. The coffee shops and ice-cream parlors were in full swing, serving sunburned, lobster colored tourists. She gazed into the deep, blue ocean just feet away and dialled my number. I had just read the note from my scene.
‘Costa, another note, another suicide, another person from out of town.’
‘Same here. I think these people were burdened with something and resorted to killing themselves as to redeem themselves. I think they must all have been religious.’
‘But isn’t suicide a sin, according to religion?’
‘Maybe that is why they are leaving the notes. Explaining their choice somehow.’
‘Has Polina called?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘I’m thinking maybe some sort of support group. They must have known each other. No way, am I believing seven people committed suicide on seven different islands all at the same time. The doctors we have spoken to, place the time of death between midnight and 2 A.M.’
‘Also, the way of death intrigues me. Why not put a pistol in your mouth? Or poison? Or get creative with a knife and so on…’
‘Exactly. Too many similarities. They knew each other. Polina needs to hurry up with the background checks.’ And with that, the tone went dead. Ioli ran and boarded the coast guard’s ship, ready to set sail for Lefkada. I, too, wrapped up in Zakynthos and left for Ithaki, Odysseus’s famous island. Hours later we both set out for our final island, Kefalonia.
Island of Kefalonia
We met exhausted in Argostoli, Kefalonia’s capital town, as the bright, summer sun dipped into the ocean’s horizon and light vanished from the sky. No moon, not even a slice.
‘You look like shit.’
‘Well, thank you sunshine. Now, there’s a way to greet your superior officer.’
‘Well, excuse me, Captain Papacosta. I promise to behave,’ she said, forcing a tired smile. ‘My feet are killing me.’
‘My back keeps reminding me of my age,’ I laughed.
‘How was Ithaca?’ she asked.
‘I went to a small fishing village called Kioni bay. A painter from Athens was renting a small, fishing hut. 67 years old, an Anastasia Pappa. I found her hanging by a fishing rope from the ceiling. The note said that death comes for us all, life given to us will leave our body sooner or later. She wrote a prayer and finished it with Father, here I come. You?’
‘Kalamos village in Lefkada. Idalia Rapti, the victim’s name. She fits the profile. Out of towner;
religious. Moved to the island to join a monastery and become a nun. She was only eighteen. I could not bear to watch her skinny body swinging from the chandelier. So young. Beautiful girl too. Her note was just one line. I have lived in hell, wherever I go now will be a step up!’
‘All these people have a story to be told. All lived in Athens, by the way. Polina finished with the background checks. So far, that is their only thing in common. We will visit all of their next of kin and hope to find out more. Let’s finish up with our seventh body, go to the hotel Polina booked for us and tomorrow morning I’ll be taking the ferry to the mainland and you will fly out at night. You sure you won’t be coming with me?’
‘I see no point in sitting in a boat for hours and then on a bus for even more hours when I can easily take those big metallic birds that were invented to save you time. It’s only an hour’s flight! That shrink needs to work on your fears if you ask me,’ she joked and laughed.
‘I don’t mind big planes…’
Ioli stopped laughing and gave me a judgmental look.
‘Well, I do, but I can still fly in them. It’s these tiny, little, small, puny tin boxes that fly the domestic flights. They turn my stomach into jelly and my heart into a race horse. No, thank you.’
‘Whatever you say, Captain. So, who’s our next victim?’
‘Agatha Richardson. 62 years old, from the UK. She lived and worked in Athens as a book editor for translated works. She retired and moved here five months ago.’
Argostoli town was built in a bay within a bay and boasted some of the calmest waters in Greece. The houses were buried in the green scenery provided by the hills behind it. It looked like the perfect place to retire to. Live in peace the rest of your days. Get a grip, Costa. You’re turning 50, not 80.
After introductions were made with the local police, they led us through an arched doorway that swallowed you into a colorful indoor garden.
‘It smells lovely,’ I commented. The local police officers exchanged looks.
‘Yes… Especially in contrast with inside,’ a young, blond constable mumbled.
I opened the door of the 19th century stone house which stood at the end of a row of red roses. That’s when the horrid smell hit us. A mixture of stale foods, blood and animal urine sprinkled with an odor of feces, lingered in the air.
Greek Island Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-2-3): Gripping, psychological mystery/thrillers destined to shock you! Page 38