by Nick Brown
Something in her frightened him so much he’d given up questioning Steve and run off. He’d seen the English woman before, but only at night in his dreams standing on the shelf of rock above the sea taunting him. Things were changing; her presence had shifted the balance.
The cigarette burned down to his fingers. He stood up, flicked it into the water and set off back down the sea wall. The walk to her apartment took about five minutes and he saw no one else on the street except the boat captain he’d met in the bar, who scowled at him. He rang the bell and waited, wondering how he would play what happened next. She opened the door wearing a long bath robe, her hair was still damp and hung limp over her shoulders. He started to speak but she stopped him.
“No talk; come.”
She took his hand and led him into the flat and he saw a small, sparsely furnished but very clean living room which incorporated a compact kitchen area. The room spoke of thrift, effort and hard times, but it was a brief glance, as she led him through to a smaller room half filled by a three quarter bed. Perhaps it was better this way; what could they have talked about? He’d nearly been killed and the shadow of the blanched and sea-damaged cadaver hanging above the boat would haunt any attempt at conversation.
The fumbling wasn’t as problematic as he’d feared and when she touched him he was hard. The earth didn’t move for either of them, but life changed and he lay awake afterwards with one of her legs spread across his and an arm over his chest. The night was hot and their sticky bodies adhered; she slept, he didn’t. He felt cramped but secure and happy. In bed she seemed bigger than when standing up. Her body was better muscled and her powerful legs seemed to dwarf his, and to his surprise he liked this.
His mind was working; he made decisions. In the morning he’d go to see Vassilis, he’d go unannounced. It was time to move the game forwards now he understood enough to have some cards to play.
Sometime before first light he drifted into an untroubled dream-free sleep, and only woke late when she entered the bedroom with a tray of coffee, fresh bread and honey. She swept back the curtain over the small window to reveal the view of a concrete wall. He thought that whatever the flat lacked in space and comfort, it also lacked in location, despite being within spitting distance of the sea. She sat on the bedside and they shared breakfast, neither knowing what to say about the change in their relationship. Then he called for a squad car to drive him to the Vassilis estate.
“Will you come back here tonight?”
“If I can; I hope so. I will ring you.”
In the car he thought of what his father would think of him staying in such a poor flat with such a woman, if his father now thought about him at all these days, which he doubted. As the car turned onto the track leading up to the house his phone rang.
“Syntagmatarchis Theodrakis, it’s Lucca. You were right about Andraki, you can put him down for Samarakis. There’s traces of him all over that one and I think maybe the body in the water too, but that’s trickier and we’ll need more time. What’s happening to us?”
“We’re drifting through the underworld, Lucca. Once you accept that, everything becomes clear and easier to deal with. Thanks for the results but I also need an estimate, as accurate as possible, of how many killers we’re dealing with and I want to know the moment you have it. I also need to know when Andraki can be questioned, get Kostandin onto it please. Let’s hope that our great leaders don’t have any bright ideas for a press release this time.”
“You’ve obviously not picked the rumour that Adamidis has been removed from his position; gossip of strange behaviour has attracted attention.”
Theodrakis laughed at that, it would need to be very strange to attract attention here at present, but before he could reply the squad car swept round a corner and into the compound of Vassilis’s house.
“Thanks Lucca, keep me informed.”
His first impression of the Vassilis estate, compounded during his visit, was that it was unreal; like a fairytale version of the lair of a sinister recluse. It was nothing like the villas and palaces of the vulgar rich he’d experienced visiting his father’s friends as a boy. The homes of the wealthy Athenians were not like this; it made him more curious about the occupant and the first sight of his host confirmed the conjecture.
Vassilis was in full magus mode when he was ushered through to the terrace and introduced. It took Theodrakis some time to adjust his vision sufficiently to the sharp contrast between the gloom of the corridors and the glare of the terrace, but when he could focus without blinking, his first impression was that there was some elaborate and subtle game being played. His host was wearing a type of long-sleeved, deep blue, silk kaftan which reminded Theodrakis of the illustration of a wizard in one of the books from his childhood. It only needed a pointed hat to replace the skull cap Vassilis had opted for and the illusion would be complete.
Was this some type of practical joke? But that was impossible; Vassilis had received no forewarning of his visit. Only he and the driver knew the destination, and the driver only knew once they’d turned off the main road onto the track a few minutes back. It wasn’t a joke and up close there was nothing remotely risible about Vassilis.
“What an unexpected pleasure you bestow on us, Syntagmatarchis Theodrakis; but I fear perhaps its purpose is not strictly social.”
Vassilis extended a limp hand and as Theodrakis took it he was surprised that such a large and powerfully built man would practise such a weak and cursory handshake. It was as if he detested human contact. However there was nothing else weak about him; rather the hooded, deep green eyes and fleshy features were intimidating and for the second time in minutes Theodrakis was reminded of an illustration in one of his books: a picture of the notorious magician Aleister Crowley.
“My apologies, Kirios Vassilis, but I have an urgent problem which I hope you will be able to help me solve.”
Vassilis made no reply but motioned to Theodrakis to sit at a large marble table at the far end of the terrace under the shade of a gnarled and ancient vine. He had a moment to look at his surroundings and the breathtakingly beautiful view across the mountain to the shimmering sea far below. Vassilis made no visible sign but an old woman brought a tray to the table. She set down a pitcher of cool wine and a bowl of olives. The pottery was so distinctive that Theodrakis recognised the beautiful decoration of leaping goats from a visit to the new museum in Pythagoreio. Vassilis noticed.
“I see you are a man of discerning taste, Syntagmatarchis. Yes, they are original, in the Wild Goat style imported here in the 6th century B.C., and rather better than the ones in the museum I’m sure you will agree. We tend to do things in style here, but I know you are not paying a social visit. However before your questions, let me pose you one.
“Why has it taken you so long to come to me?”
“Because it’s only been in the last twenty four hours that I’ve come to suspect that my murder investigation is merely a symptom of something else, something much more frightening.”
“Things are usually not what they seem, Syntagmatarchis Theodrakis: for instance would you be so kind as to direct your gaze towards our chapel over there beyond the formal garden, and tell me what you see.”
“I see gardens, the chapel, a statue and two old Cyprus trees.”
“So you see a statue, but you do not see our friend and protector, Father John?”
“No, there’s no one there.”
“But of course there is no reason why you should see him, rather like Schrödinger’s cat.”
“I’m sorry I’ve lost you, Kirios Vassilis, are you being metaphorical?”
Vassilis paused.
“A metaphor, yes, that would be an informed way of describing him.”
Vassilis was regarding him with interest and when he continued it was in a more intimate way, and Theodrakis felt he’d passed a test.
“Forgive me if I have confused you, Syntagmatarchis, let me begin again. You are baffled by these murders, they mak
e no sense, in fact they defy the possible. You are an unusual man to be a police officer, you think too much and you have reached the stage where your logical mind is being overruled by your instinct because you are an intuitive thinker, aren’t you. Do tell me if I am mistaken.”
“No, you’re not mistaken, when I look at this case from a procedural perspective it makes no sense as a murder enquiry. Looked at with an open mind it seems more like contagion, the type of thing that spreads plague.”
“Good, another good metaphor. Please indulge me for a few minutes: I am going to tell you some things that your logic will reject but which your intuitive mind will recognise. But first, do take some of our excellent wine while it is still cool.”
Theodrakis took the goblet and drank, the wine was cool and exquisite. He sat back to listen, aware of another turning point in his life.
“You are, of course, correct in your hypothesis that your murders are merely a symptom, although admittedly a terminal one, of the contagion sweeping this island. To prolong the medical analogy, we have reached the crisis. It is in fact a contagion that occurs in various parts of the multiverse and for a time I hoped we had seen the last of it here. But, like the plague with its rats, it inhabits hosts which enable it to spread.
“This island has experienced several outbreaks and in most cases it has only ended when the entire population emigrated. You will be aware of course that our history books record several such evacuations and there were others before the invention of writing. You will find the gaps in the archaeological record substantiate what I say.
“Now listen to this with an open mind; whoever said that the past is a foreign country where things are done differently was closer to the truth than he realised. You cannot escape the past because it does not go away. When your scientists finally come to understand time and existence they will appreciate the tangible reality I describe, unfortunately that is unlikely to be for centuries. A ripple in the multiverse is a cataclysm in your primitive one.
“The escalating situation here is a consequence of archaic destructive forces on the move: things the peasants here would see as the Devil, and they are almost correct, even though their reasoning is of course the credulous superstition of children.”
He refilled Theodrakis’s glass.
“I think you should drink a little more, Syntagmatarchis, it will help you cope with what I am about to tell you.
“The dead travel fast but they need assistance: evil gathers, it aggregates and fashions conductors of power. There is only a thin membrane between this world, which you of course think is the only one, and all the others. But, and pay great attention to this, there are certain gruesome fetish objects that contain elements of all these worlds and which become more powerful as each age adds its own particular contribution of evil. They cannot be destroyed, and have therefore to be separated from their owners and kept hidden. That way their power is limited to a psychic pollution of their immediate environment. You can use your primitive understanding of radioactive material to fashion an analogy.”
He paused for a moment, favouring Theodrakis with an expression close to a smile which the policeman found disconcerting.
“You will, of course, think this nonsense but try and regard these murders as part of a process to create something worse. The bones, which you have so clumsily attempted to keep secret, are central to this. They will become the next link in a pre-existing chain which, at present through our stewardship, luckily is hidden. But something searching for this link is now very close.
“I don’t expect you to understand this but I have shared a truth with you of which very few of the living are aware. Now it’s your turn tell me the truth about your investigations.”
He finished and looked at Theodrakis, who paused to take a sip of wine while he thought how he should respond, then decided that as he had come here for help and it was too late to go back he may as well unburden himself.
“I am dealing with a series of ritualistic killings that appear to have been committed by different people; some of these people we have already charged: we have their fingerprints, DNA. And in some cases confessions and yet …”
He paused.
“And yet I’m convinced they didn’t do it. Sounds mad doesn’t it? Let me tell you about the old tramp. This man, a harmless unfortunate dependent on hand outs and living on the street, is well known to the police because of his habit of confessing murders; according to him he’s committed all the high profile murders of the modern age and some much earlier such as Julius Caesar, who he claims to have killed in a cafenion in Vathia ten years ago.
“He turned up at the station to confess to one of these ritual murders, but the strange thing was that he was keener to tell us what he hadn’t done: he hadn’t killed Samarakis; this was a departure from the norm and he was obviously terrified of whatever he thought it was that had. When they checked him out his evidence was all over one of the victims. He wouldn’t have had the strength to kill in that way but he could tell us exactly how it was done: he knew all the procedures we’d kept out of the news.
“So I interviewed him and something inside him came out to taunt us, for a time we were in the presence of a quite different entity. So much so that one of the men in the room with me is still off work with some type of mental breakdown.
“Also, in my judgement there is no way Andraki could have killed Samarakis. So whatever the papers say, we are nowhere near the killer.”
He paused but had gone too far now to go back; he’d gambled on making this disclosure to Vassilis and in a way it was a relief to share this mind-destroying material with someone else, so he carried on.
“But the worst part of this is the ritual: the cutting out and taking of the bones. Where are the bones? What does this thing need them for?”
This last sentence he blurted out like a child. Vassilis regarded him with an expression that Theodrakis thought might be pity, maybe even affection. He poured more wine and as the detective gulped it down, he started to answer.
“I know what it wants them for. Sadly, I don’t know where they are and without that the knowledge is useless. You can take comfort though; this nightmare doesn’t really concern you. You are merely a modern walk-on part in a tragedy that extends back before time as you would recognise it. Our curse is to watch and contain it: as a punishment for our part in letting it loose in the first instance. We watch through the ages. But we wear out and some of us are corrupted.”
This made no literal sense to Theodrakis, but he believed it down in some submerged level of consciousness. Vassilis pointed to the weather-beaten roof of the chapel where, with a raucous cackle, three giant crows took off and flew high up to circle above them.
“Look, see there, Syntagmatarchis, we are not completely alone, we have some helpers, albeit reluctant ones. Birds that have the reputation of being ill-omened by most of the ignorant and, to be fair, not without good reason.”
Now Vassilis, who Theodrakis noticed had drunk none of the wine despite having lifted the goblet to his lips, seemed to come to a decision and said,
“You will know I am hated on this island. Hated but feared and the latter is the more important, and I, as the most visible member of our little group, play up to that reputation. We do not encourage enquiry. You will have noticed my costume I am sure; it is a style I once preferred to the current inhibiting fashion. I have nothing but contempt for your society and the, shall we say, service I am compelled to provide.
“Your fellow poet, that pathetic archaeologist, has had contact with my brothers in England. That is why he ran here to escape, not knowing that I arranged for him to come and he is too stupid to recognise it. Now others have arrived. This I did not foresee and fear they will prove to be a catalyst; things will accelerate and deteriorate unless they can be stopped. And if they are not stopped, the present problems of this feckless country will seem as nothing by comparison with what is to come. That is all I will tell you at present, any more would
disturb you excessively.
“But you have enough to be going on with. Find those bones quickly; use Watkins, he may be a fool but he is the perfect agent for what we face.”
Theodrakis was surprised to hear Vassilis use the collective ‘we’ but hadn’t time to think about it as Vassilis had one last statement to pass on.
“One last thing concerning the source of the evil you have seen but not recognised. As a poet, you will no doubt be able to place these few words
‘Things fall apart the centre cannot hold:
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world’
The blood dimmed tide is loose’.”
He looked at Theodrakis as if judging him then spoke with the manner of someone bringing a conversation to an end.
“Yes, I thought you would know it. Yeats, as a minor adept, understood a small part of this; I think you might have liked him. Now go; your eyes have been opened, you will know what to do. Do it quickly.”
Theodrakis saw the ancient servant women was standing behind him waiting to show him out and he followed her like someone in a dream. Outside in the compound there was a strikingly beautiful woman waiting by the squad car, much to the discomfort of the driver. She waited until he was close and said,
“You saw her too: saw what I saw. Be very careful.”
She turned and walked into the house.
Chapter 16:
Pass the Parcel
Late in the afternoon, they finally drove off the rough track onto the scorched land surrounding the Vassilis site above the sea. It was Giles’s fault they were so late. He’d taken Claire to Limnionas for a swim. Once there she’d been compelled by the beauty of the place and desperate to explore. They’d followed a track above the sea until it wound its way down to a rocky cove. Giles sat down on the tiny fringe of beach letting the water at the sea’s edge nibble at his toes and lost all sense of time gazing at the sparkling patterns created by the current: here smooth and deep blue, there disturbed, glinting, pale.