They’d gone through almost two dozen spanikopita and three pots of coffee. Andreas was glassy-eyed and Kouros claimed to be numb ‘for a lifetime’ to anything clerical. Maggie, on the other hand, seemed in virtual heaven. She said she couldn’t believe she’d been asked to immerse herself in the study of her church as part of her job, and get paid overtime for doing it. A lot of overtime.
‘I can’t read another word. I just can’t.’ Kouros pushed himself up from Andreas’ couch, stretched, and jumped up and down.
Andreas lifted his eyes from the pile of documents on his desk. ‘Stop that, you’re wrecking my concentration. I’ll forget where I am.’
‘That’s what I want to do,’ said Kouros, jumping three more times before stopping. ‘So much of this is all the same sh — ‘ he glanced at Maggie, ‘stuff, just written differently enough that I have to read it again and again and again. I see nothing.’
Andreas stretched. ‘I thought the first thousand or so articles were pretty interesting, myself.’
Maggie looked up from the chair she’d been glued to for hours. ‘Stop that, you two. This is very interesting. It’s the history of our church and of those special souls who dedicate their lives to honoring our past and our traditions in order to keep our church alive in the present.’
Andreas looked at Kouros, then at Maggie. ‘Cut us some slack, will you? We’re trying to find a clue to a murder, not impugn the church, and it’s…’ he looked at his watch, ‘… four o’clock in the morning.’
‘Like I said, Chief, I’ve had it,’ yawned Kouros.
Andreas threw his pencil on his desk. ‘Okay.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Before we call it a night, do either of you have anything to tell me that might be helpful? Anything?’
Kouros shrugged.
Maggie scowled. ‘Okay, wiseasses.’
Andreas smiled. At four in the morning Maggie finally was letting them know who really ran their office.
She handed Andreas a single sheet of paper. ‘Read this.’
He looked at it. ‘I’ve read this or something like it a hundred times already. It goes monastery by monastery according to hierarchical rank, describing each one’s history, location, size-’
‘Well, read it again, and this time more carefully.’
Just what he needed, another teaching moment; but he did as she told him. It described a monastery ranking near the bottom of the twenty, but it had more monks than virtually any of the others. It also was one of the strictest and most severe. He read it twice, then looked up. ‘Okay, what am I missing?’
Maggie took the paper from his hand and began reading out loud. ‘“The monastery withdrew its representative from the Holy Community decades ago and does not take part in its assemblies.”’
Andreas gave her a blank stare. She turned to Kouros. He shrugged and then yawned.
‘If one of the twenty monasteries refuses to participate in assemblies of the Holy Community of Mount Athos, why then are there twenty abbots in the photograph with the Protos at his installation — instead of nineteen?’ She said the last three words very slowly.
Kouros shrugged. ‘No idea. And I’m too tired to make a joke.’
Andreas stared at Maggie. ‘Twice in one day.’
‘What “twice in one day”?’ said Maggie.
‘That I’ve missed the obvious.’
Kouros reached for another spanikopita. ‘Don’t forget about the cross.’
Andreas nodded. ‘Fine, okay, three times.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Too late or early to call the Protos?’
‘Both,’ said Maggie. ‘He’s probably in the middle of morning prayers.’
‘I’ll take that as a sign to get some sleep.’ Andreas stood up. ‘At least now we have a question to ask.’
‘Do you think he’ll talk to you over the phone?’ asked Kouros.
Andreas shrugged. ‘Won’t know until I try. He gave me his landline numbers when we were in Ouranoupolis. They’re probably more secure than the prime minister’s, but if it’s something he doesn’t want to talk about I’m sure he’ll let me know.’
Andreas looked at Maggie. ‘Any idea of what his potential answer might be?’
‘Probably something obvious, like everyone came out of respect for the office of protos.’
‘Sort of like warring families getting together at a church social?’ Kouros was smiling.
Maggie shook her head. ‘You can’t help yourself.’
‘Would you prefer something more earthshaking? How about, “The devil made me do it”?’
Guessing at answers was a big part of every cop’s life. In Andreas’ experience some were better guessers than others, but even the best of them rarely were right on the mark, just close enough to point the way. Great, he thought, the devil made somebody show respect for the Protos.
Ever so quietly he crept into the room. Like a thief in the night. But a naked one, on tip-toe. Andreas had dropped his clothes on the floor outside the bedroom. Muscle memory brought him around the bed, extreme care lightly onto it. No covers tonight, he thought, the movement might wake her. Ahh, made it.
PLOP. An arm dropped across his bare chest. ‘Anything interesting happen today, my love?’
‘I can never sneak in on you, can I?’
‘Nope, and don’t you ever forget it.’ She patted his chest.
He rolled over and kissed her. ‘Missed you.’
‘I bet. After all that time alone with monks even Mother Theresa would look good.’
He laughed and touched her belly. ‘How are you guys doing?’
‘Great.’ She snuggled up to him. ‘Now that daddy’s home.’
He kissed her forehead. ‘Me, too.’
‘Tassos sent us the strangest gift today.’
‘What was it?’
‘It came from a florist, but I guess he was trying to tell me to learn to cook.’
‘Huh?’
‘It was wrapped with pink and blue ribbon — to cover all possibilities I assume — with a lovely note, but I can’t figure out why he sent what he did.’
‘What did the note say? I might have a better fix on his sense of humor.’
‘Something like, “May your home always be filled with joy and love, and may this protect your family from all that is not.”’
‘What did he send, a gun?’
‘No, wise guy,’ and she gently squeezed his nuts.
‘Careful, they’re not used to much action these days.’
Lila didn’t listen; instead held them in her right hand, lightly squeezing and gently rubbing. Andreas adjusted his position on the bed. She started feathering him with the tips of her fingers and, after a while, strayed on to something much firmer and erect to the touch. Back and forth she ran her fingers, from top to bottom and back again. She stopped when she felt him start to pulsate, then gripped him tightly, and slowly and deliberately began pulling up and down.
‘I’d love to take you in my mouth, but I just-’
‘Don’t worry, this is just fine. Oh, yes, just fine.’ Andreas put his arm under her body and pulled her against him. He was flat on his back and thrusting in synch with her hand.
She squeezed extra hard and pulled twice, very slowly.
Andreas moved his hand to where he could touch Lila’s bare ass and squeeze it in rhythm with her stroke. He began to moan, she kissed him and stroked faster. He moaned more, twisting beneath her hand, then paused for an instant before thrusting his hips forward and holding them there. ‘Don’t stop, please don’t stop.’
She didn’t.
‘Ohhhh, ohhhhh…’
Lila kept pulling, even after he’d finished. Andreas had to hold her hand to get her to stop. ‘Easy there, my love, we’ll need to use it again some day.’
She kissed his cheek. ‘You like?’
‘Yes… I like.’ He kissed her neck. They lay silently holding each other for a few moments, then Andreas left for the bathroom.
‘So don’t you want to know what he sent us?’
‘Who, my mind is completely blank at the moment. Just the way I like it.’
‘Glad I could clear your head.’
Andreas was laughing as he walked back into the bedroom. ‘Okay, what was it?’
‘The strangest thing. Garlic. A dozen heads, wrapped tightly together in a line, and in a gold mesh bag no less. Such a silly thing. But a lovely thought.’
His first thought was thank God the room was pitch black, so Lila couldn’t see his face.
Andreas swallowed. ‘Yes, a lovely thought.’ His mother used to do the same thing, hang garlic in their house. But it wasn’t for cooking: it was to keep the devil away.
Andreas remembered the day she gave up that superstition. They’d just returned from his father’s funeral. She was a young mother of two children whose husband had chosen to commit suicide rather than subject his family to any more of the shame brought on by the bastard minister who’d set him up to look corrupt.
It was a moment burned into his memory. His mother was tearing down the garlic and ripping it to shreds. ‘It doesn’t work. Nothing works if the devil wants to take you. Nothing.’
Andreas crossed himself in the dark and prayed his mother was wrong.
11
‘Hello, Your Holiness, it’s Andreas Kaldis. Sorry to bother you again.’
‘No need to keep apologizing, my son. We’re way past that. So, what fresh hell have you brought me today?’ There was a lightness to the Protos’ voice. It wasn’t what Andreas expected.
‘I’m glad to hear you’re sounding better.’
‘It is Easter Week, our holiest time, and all our trials must be measured against the ultimate sacrifice. Besides, I may never have the chance to use that Dorothy Parker “fresh hell” line again.’
‘I hope you’re not right about the “hell” part,’ whoever Dorothy Parker was. ‘I understand one of the monasteries is not part of the Holy Community.’
‘Yes, sadly that is true. Although we are hopeful they will return.’
‘But there are twenty abbots in the photograph taken at your ceremony. Did its abbot attend?’
‘Yes. In fact, that day was the first step toward a hoped-for reconciliation.’
‘What made your rogue monastery suddenly see the light?’
The Protos cleared his throat. ‘I would not call it a rogue monastery, just slightly overzealous in pursuing its alternative beliefs on church policy.’
Spoken like a true politician. Andreas waited, there had to be more coming. Teachers were like that.
‘We owe it all to Kalogeros Zacharias.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘A monk in that monastery, but a very special man. Although relatively young, he has great patience, humility, and skills. He gained the trust of his abbot and ultimately convinced him to attend the ceremony out of respect to the 1,100-year-old office of protos.’
Guess Maggie was right.
‘That was not an easy feat to achieve. That abbot was the reason his monastery withdrew in the first place, and he is a man of, shall we say, strong opinions. He never got along with any protos before me. Some say our few steps forward are my doing, but they are all thanks to Zacharias.’
‘What do you know about Zacharias?’
‘He’s very well educated, speaks a half-dozen languages, and came to Mount Athos in the mid-nineties.’
‘From where?’
‘I don’t know his origins, but his passport is Swiss. I know because he once asked me if he should obtain a Greek passport now that he was a Greek citizen.’
‘What rank does he hold in his monastery?’
‘None, he does not want rank. Which perhaps is why he’s so well thought of by so many. He presents no threat.’
Andreas thought, this guy Zacharias seems too good to be true. What’s he doing in the outcast monastery if he’s so talented? ‘Do you happen to have a file on him?’
The Protos paused. ‘What you’re asking is highly irregular.’
‘So is the murder of a monk. And I’m trying to keep it that way.’
The Protos let out a breath. ‘You have your own special way with words.’
‘Can you arrange for me to come up and meet with Zacharias?’
‘When?’
‘Today.’
‘Impossible, this is Holy Week.’
‘Your Holiness, I appreciate all that but like I said-’
‘My son, I understand what you’re about to say, but you don’t understand. That monastery has the strictest rules of any on our Holy Mountain. No one, and I mean no one, is allowed access during Easter Week. From Sunday to the following Sunday at noon it has no contact with the outside world. There is no telephone and even electricity is forbidden during that holy period. There is no way you can visit or communicate with Zacharias until Sunday afternoon.’
Andreas let out a deep breath. ‘When can you get me his file?’
‘The one I have, right away, but it contains little more than what I’ve said. Any additional information would be in his monastery’s file.’
‘And not available until Sunday.’
‘Assuming the abbot cooperates. Sorry.’
Andreas thought damn, but said, ‘Thank you, Your Holiness.’
‘You’re welcome, my son.’ He paused. ‘And I appreciate all that you’re doing. Bless you and your family.’
‘Thank you.’
Between the garlic and the blessing things were looking up. Now if only he had some idea of where the devil to look for an answer, or something like that.
This was the time of year he liked least. Most held the opposite belief. They lived for the pageantry and depth of Orthodox Easter. He couldn’t stand being cooped up for almost eight days, and counted off every day, every hour, until Sunday noon, his own resurrection day. But he never let on. Never. He had their trust and wasn’t about to lose it with a casual gesture or word. No, he wouldn’t let down his guard for a second.
Gaining trust wasn’t as hard as many thought, at least not for Zacharias. He’d been doing it for years, long before finding his way into monastic life. Through time and patience he’d take the measure of one he wished to befriend, then with an easy smile, become exactly what the other wanted him to be, allowing his target to take center stage and credit for whatever mattered to the other. And when the potential friend questioned Zacharias’ motives — and that time always came — Zacharias was at his best.
He’d confide a past that made him less than perfect, one that encouraged rescue and, in a monastery, a shared desire for salvation. His story forged a relationship in spiritual steel. The other now ‘knew’ Zacharias’ weaknesses and understood him completely: Zacharias was a soul seeking redemption and a place in heaven through a revived life of selfless good works and prayer.
And to keep all of them believing that, he’d keep on praying.
‘These still are pretty good.’ Kouros was eating one of the spanikopita from the night before.
‘Obviously, you’re a bachelor,’ said Andreas.
‘And proud of it.’ He finished off the last bite and reached for another one.
‘Stop already, I’m getting sick watching you eat that crap.’
Kouros didn’t stop. ‘So, how did your early morning call go to the Protos?’
‘Just terrific, everything’s absolutely perfect in paradise. The answer to our question on the surprise appearance of the twentieth abbot at the Protos’ ceremony turns out to be a dead end. We’ve got a savior monk reuniting the gone-astray monastery with the flock. And I can’t even talk to that monk until Sunday morning.’
‘Sunday, why Sunday?’
‘No person or communication is allowed to enter or exit that monastery from Palm Sunday through noon on Easter Sunday.’
‘Bummer. Which monastery is it?’
‘The one Maggie and I were talking about last night.’
‘Chief, you never mentioned the name. The two of you were looking at some paper and I was falling asl
eep.’
Andreas shook his head and said the name.
Kouros stopped in mid-bite. ‘You’re kidding me?’
‘Why?’
‘That’s the monastery of the three missing monks. The monks we never got to interview on Patmos.’
Andreas sat up in his chair. ‘The same ones Abbot Christodoulos said left to return-’
‘Sunday night. But if what the Protos told you was true, no way they could have made it back to that monastery in time to take part in Easter Week.’
Andreas nodded his head.
‘Maybe you misunderstood what the abbot said?’
‘No way.’ Andreas paused. ‘But maybe he didn’t know that monastery’s rule and just thought that’s where they were going.’
‘Maybe, but before the abbot came to Patmos he was on Mount Athos for a half dozen years. If that monastery was as strict as the Protos said, he must have known they couldn’t have made it back to their monastery in time.’
‘Kind of makes you wonder.’ Andreas picked up a pencil, stared at it, and put it back down on his desk. ‘Let’s see what the abbot has to say for himself.’
Lila always liked time to herself and had no doubt that’s what helped keep her from going mad when, after her husband’s death, virtually every eligible man in Athens and beyond was after her. She detested all the phony posturing and hustle of the dating scene, and learned that ‘eligible’ could be a relative term to many a currently married man who saw landing Lila as a unique opportunity for ‘trading up’ the social ladder. She’d even tinkered with the idea of escaping her suitors by hiding away in a monastery for nuns. But the fates were Greek and they had their own plans for her. Or so Lila now liked to say.
At the moment, though, Lila was not alone. Her mother had stopped by and they were sitting in Lila’s kitchen having coffee. As a child, Lila would sit in her mother’s kitchen and watch her hover around the cooks, making sure everything was prepared ‘just like your father likes it.’ Even though her mother never had to cook or touch a dirty dish, she was as much an old-school Greek wife as any you’d find in the remotest mountain village: husband ruled, wife did all else — albeit, in Lila’s mother’s case, with a houseful of servants to help.
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