by Nick Brown
He came to himself and looked for Claire; eventually he saw her standing above him on a shelf of rock. She was naked with her arms outstretched as if frozen in a Mexican wave with her night dark hair part covering her face. She was in a world of her own; he was uneasy and decided not to call to her. He went back to watching the sea and when he turned again she’d gone. Some time later, he heard the sound of stones slipping as she slithered and scuffed her way back down the path to join him. He looked at his watch, surprised how late it had grown, and realised he was delaying Steve, who’d lent them his car.
All this he told Steve by way of apology as they drove to the site in late afternoon, rather than morning. What he didn’t say was that when the still-naked Claire reached the beach she’d made love to him with an urgent brutality that took him by surprise. Her normal modus operandi was slow and gentle. Not that he was complaining, she was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to him: beautiful, caring, and generous. But he’d changed his T-shirt to a shirt with a collar to hide the bite marks on his neck: the bites on his lips and left ear he couldn’t do anything about. Steve commented,
“You’ve been having fun then; I thought you were meant to leave that type of thing behind you in the sixth form.”
He hadn’t graced this with a reply; just explained he’d left Claire to get a taxi back from Limnionas so he could join Steve on the site visit. He did mention, though, the increasingly rancid smell inside the car. Steve hadn’t reacted well to this. They drove the rest of the way in stony silence.
The setting of the site, despite fire damage, was still beautiful but didn’t have a good feel to it. Steve told him that one of its secondary functions was possibly an unusual Neolithic inhumation. Giles had seen enough of them to last a lifetime. So while Steve scratched around on the mound, Giles walked the area looking at the pot and flint scatter. By this time they were talking again and carried on a shouted conversation across a distance of around thirty metres.
“Steve, I still don’t understand what you’re meant to be doing up here for your girlfriend’s dad.”
“I told you I’m doing him a favour, it’s his land.”
“Funny sort of favour don’t you think? He’d have been better off getting it surveyed by the local archaeologists.”
“He doesn’t want people nosing around.”
“So what are we doing then? Hang on, that’s interesting, it’s the second of these I’ve found.”
“What?”
There was a pause; Steve shouted again.
“What?”
“This can’t be right. Steve, this is fucking human bone! Fresh human bone; what’s going on here?”
There was no answer.
“Steve, did you hear? I’m picking up fresh human bone, we need to get the police.”
Still no answer.
“You knew about this, didn’t you? You bloody knew it already. For Christ’s sake what are you mixed up with?”
“Giles, you’d better come over here.”
Steve sat slumped at the side of the mound, his feet hanging over the edge of the small trench. He looked like he was about to cry.
“Steve, what’s going on?”
Giles got no answer but looked into the trench and saw the edge of a cremation urn that Steve had been in the process of excavating. He sat down next to him and said gently,
“Think of the killings, Steve, this could be evidence, it might be your girlfriend next. You have to tell the police or at least that detective you were talking to.”
“And say what; that I had a bad experience in England and it’s followed me here?”
“Don’t be stupid, this has nothing to do with that; these are modern killings and these bones are fresh.”
“Look in the bottom of the trench, Giles. Trowel through some of the fill from the older level behind the urn, see what you find. Then tell me this has nothing to do with it.”
Giles took the trowel and went down on his knees to work. Soon he unearthed bones: long bones, fingers, shin and arm; old bones; some older than the urn burial. Others were more recent but he estimated still several hundred years old. They were mixed up and out of context but there was nothing fresh here, nothing connecting them with the murders. These had been buried for centuries at least. He was trying to explain this; Steve cut across him,
“Doesn’t this seem scarily familiar to you, Giles? Can’t you see the bones in there are the same as the ones you’ve found on the surface?”
“How would you know what I found? You didn’t bother to look.”
Steve didn’t answer; just sat, head bowed, watching his legs kicking the side of the trench and during the silence Giles filled in the blanks.
“There’s more, aren’t there? You’ve found more, haven’t you? What have you done with them, Steve? What are you playing at?”
Giles fired the questions not waiting for a reply, not that Steve looked like providing one. Then he shouted,
“That smell in the car, that’s bone isn’t it: you’ve hidden bones in your fucking car, haven’t you? What are you playing at? You’re concealing evidence. Why, why are you doing it? Are you completely fucking mad?”
“I’m scared. Not mad, scared. At first I thought I was doing it to give me more time on site but that wasn’t the real reason. Giles, I think that this whole site is some type of set up and that I’m the fall guy. I was lured to this island, it wasn’t a lucky break.”
He stopped and the two men stood silently thinking back to the horror of Skendleby. Then Steve began to tell him, in a quiet and almost controlled voice, about the site.
“You’re right about them being out of context though, the mixing is deliberate, they must be used and reused for some kind of ritual and I think the ones outside are being kept for the next episode.”
Giles tried to speak.
“No, don’t stop me, Giles, I’ve had this shit going round in my head since the students found the first human bone. I need to get this out, you have to listen.”
He took a deep breath as if steeling himself then continued.
“First, let me tell you why I’m doing this. Two people told me I had to do it: Professor Andraki, who has since attacked a policeman and is suspected for at least one of the killings and been locked up, and Vassilis, who seems to run the island. He owns this land, he claims he’s Alekka’s dad but I’m not sure about that.”
He stopped, lit a cigarette with trembling hands.
“And they both asked me to pay particular attention to anything I found that was out of context, tell them only, not the police, them. No one else is meant to know. Now tell me Giles, what could be more out of fucking context than those bones?”
He didn’t want an answer, when Giles tried one he was cut off.
“No, don’t interrupt ‘cos if I stop I don’t think I’ll be able to start again.”
This time Giles stayed quiet.
“Now I’m going to give you the archaeological reasons why this is so bad.
“There’s bone from several time periods and they’re deliberately mixed up, which means from time to time it’s opened up and reused. Think about that, Giles: the place is still used. There’s bone in there from thousands of years before the Neolithic, yet there are people who still know about it and use it. What sort of people would be capable of doing that?”
Giles tried to speak but Steve hushed him.
“No, no, let me finish. The new bones are scattered on the surface around the site like they’re waiting to be used. Like we think they were left out to let the flesh rot in some British Neolithic communities. But all of them, the ones inside the feature and the ones scattered around, are all the same type, all long bones. The worst thing is that there’s bone here that predates the Neolithic: pre-date the ritual, how can that happen? It’s like time’s been warped. Remember the bones at Skendleby: it’s happening again.”
Giles said nothing; then, after an uncomfortable silence,
“Giles, I think I’
ve been set up. I came here to get away from all this and ended up mixed in everything I ran away from.”
“Steve, why not tell Alekka, couldn’t she get her dad to take the pressure off?”
“Giles, you never listen properly do you? I’m not sure she is his daughter, I’m not even sure she’s alive. She’s so cold, after we make love I’m cold, my fingers go numb.”
A year ago Giles would have laughed and called him paranoid; out here with the bones he felt a trickle of fear lift the hairs on the back of his neck. Claire had said last night there was something badly wrong with Steve’s Greek girlfriend: something you shouldn’t trust. He had complete confidence in the blend of psychic power and intuition that was the basis of Claire’s judgement. She’d saved his soul and transformed his life, and he loved her with a sincerity of which he’d never believed he was capable. He also knew that Steve was badly damaged, mentally dislocated and needed careful handling.
Standing in the slanting late afternoon sunshine on this weird site with its strangely elongated shadows, he was wondering whether it had been a good idea to come here. But Claire said she loved the place and it had certainly charged her sexual performance in a way that, although stimulating, he’d not quite got used to. He decided to calm Steve down and persuade him to act rationally.
“Steve, all we need to do is to give this site a quick once-over then take the recent bones to the police right? Then it will become a crime scene and be off-limits and you’re in the clear, yeah? Then you can take a few days off to show me and Claire round the island, chill out and forget the scary stuff.”
“That’s not how things work here Gi, it’s not England.”
“Have you got a better idea?”
“No, I’ve not got any ideas; I just don’t want trouble. I’m not going to have anything more to do with this site and I’m not going to the police. I’ll tell Vassilis about the bones and let him deal with it.”
“You can’t do that, you have to tell the police.”
“If you’re so keen, tell them yourself, you can have them. Come on, it’s getting late, let’s get away from here. Look, perhaps you’re right about some of this, maybe I am too wound up. I’m seeing Alekka tonight, I have to clean up, maybe she can tell her dad.”
Giles didn’t want to push him any further and they still hadn’t talked about Tim Thompson or his letter. He wanted to get off this ground before the sun went down. So they packed up, Giles slipped the two human bones into a collecting bag and they trudged across the burnt stony ground towards the car. The ghost of Tim Thompson hovered above them. The crows watching from the ruined walls of the deserted village rose into the air and flew slowly away.
The drive back was no relief; the rancid stench from the bones hidden in the back was stronger, but neither of them felt inclined to mention it. When Steve dropped Giles off, he got out and walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He reached inside and rummaged around for a moment before pulling out a bundle wrapped in an old blanket.
“Please take these, Giles, and bury them in the grove while we decide what to do; I can’t keep them any longer. I’ll talk to Alekka about them tonight. I don’t think either of us wants more of this today; I’ll call in tomorrow morning.”
Giles accepted the atrocious bundle, knowing Steve was handing the responsibility across with the bones but, since Skendleby, he’d felt responsible for him so he took them. Steve passed him a spade from the back of the car and he made his way into the grove to prepare a temporary burial.
Chapter 17:
The Centre Cannot Hold
He woke with a jerk as the door opened and couldn’t remember where he was. Hippolyta brought the breakfast tray across and laid it on the bed.
“Don’t get too used to this, it’s not a regular service but last night you seemed so worn down.”
It was true, last night he’d fallen asleep as soon as they got into bed; yet, unusually, enjoyed a deep and dreamless sleep. She was still wearing the T-shirt she slept in, she climbed back into bed and side-by-side they worked their way through the contents of the tray. However, the day ahead couldn’t be put off indefinitely, and after draining the last dregs of the coffee and kissing her on the lips, which were sticky sweet from the honey, he got up and squeezed into the tiny shower cubicle. He heard the doorbell as he was drying and shortly after, the smokey voice of Captain Michales from the hallway.
“I have a message for the policeman who I think must be here.”
He didn’t hear her reply but he guessed it must have been affirmative as Michales continued.
“It’s from the English. Not Steve, the new one, he wants to talk to him, says it is urgent, perhaps it is not so bad your policeman is here; I have already too many women to watch over.”
Then the door shut and Theodrakis felt it was safe to leave the bathroom but before he could ask for more detail, his phone rang.
“Theodrakis, it’s Kostandin we‘ve got big trouble here, we need you.”
“OK, I’m leaving now.”
“Better tell whoever you’re with you won’t be back for a while.”
The line went dead and Theodrakis was left wondering; he hated being left in the dark, it fuelled his anxieties. He dressed hurriedly, reassured Hippolyta he’d keep in touch and left the apartment.
The taxi to Vathia took forever; he tried to call Lucca but only got his messaging service. There was an angry demonstration in Lion Square, a consequence of the Athens government having fallen during the night, the driver told him. He hadn’t time to worry about his friends and family in the capital, because as the cab rounded the corner they were stopped by a nastier crowd. The driver managed to reverse the cab and drive him through backstreets to about a hundred metres from the compound at the rear of the station.
“I’m not taking you any further; it’s too dangerous, get another taxi next time.”
Theodrakis didn’t leave a tip; just made an undignified dash for the compound gate, praying his electronic fob key would work first time for a change. To his relief it did and he scampered into the building in time to hear the first stone crashing into the re-enforced glass windows at the front. Inside it was pandemonium: the clerical support staff were in the rooms at the back while the police, some with helmets and riot shields, were couched in the spaces between the windows at the front. He saw the senior desk sergeant and shouted across to him,
“Who’s in charge here?”
“Syntagmatarchis Kostandin, I think, sir, he’s upstairs in the chief’s room.”
Theodrakis raced upstairs and found Kostandin on the phone.
“What’s going on and who’s in charge?”
“I don’t know, and you are, in that order. Have you got any instructions for me?” Kostandin managed a strained grin as he spoke. “No, really it’s true, it’s all blown up on the mainland. Xenarkis has been shipped out with all the specials and thirty local men to help restore order in Athens, they’ve called reinforcements in from all the islands. The situation there collapsed into anarchy not long after they flew out so I think they’ll be too late. Where’ve you been, Theodrakis?”
“No time for that now, I’ll tell you later, are you in touch with the island commander?”
“I’ve already said it’s you. Adamidis is under sedation, Xenarkis is probably circling over Athens trying to land and Samarakis is dead. Welcome to your command.”
“We’re the same rank.”
“Yes, but you hold central office rank, political rank, I’m only local so it’s you, and do you know? I’m relieved.”
“What’s going on out there?”
“In Lion Square, it’s the normal crowd of communists, anarchists and students as far as we know. We, as you will have noticed, have our own difficulties so we can’t get there to find out. I’ve told our few men stuck on the spot to keep out of harm’s way.”
“So, who are those people out there? They don’t look like the normal protesting class, they look like farmers and fi
shermen. I saw old women among them.”
Kostandin looked tired and worried; he slumped onto a chair, mopped his face with a grubby looking handkerchief before he answered.
“That’s not a protest, that’s a lynch mob, and before you ask who they want to lynch he’s called Antonis and his father is …”
Theodrakis answered for him.
“Vassilis. Why, for God’s sake? Why did you arrest him?”
“We had no choice; most of my men hate the nasty little shit as much as the crowd out there. We did it to protect him. He’s been hanging round at nights, people have always feared and hated him. Since his accident he’s got worse, they say Vassilis can’t control him anymore. Rumour is he attacked a girl who works one of the bars in Kokari. He’d been stalking her. They believe he’s the killer behind all the murders and that everything we’ve done up to now has been a cover-up. That Englishman screwing Vassilis’s daughter should have let him die.”
Theodrakis felt the start of a migraine. He wanted to sit down, say nothing and let Kostandin deal with the situation but he knew that option was long past. He looked out of the window: these were poor people, poor and frightened, unused to demonstrating, with no leaders and no tactics. Not like the Athenian protesters; they shouldn’t be too hard to shift. He was about to give some orders when he noticed that Kostandin was still speaking.
“There’s more. We’ve got problems inside as well. The old man in the cells and Andraki in the hospital secure unit; none of the lads will go near them, they either shout frightening things or just howl. Don’t laugh until you see it, believe me it’s not funny; since we’ve had Antonis in here they won’t stop screaming.”
Theodrakis put up a hand to silence him, and outside the shouting lessened in intensity.
“Have we got tear gas here?”
“Yes, but surely you’re not going?”
Theodrakis cut him off.
“If it works on an Athenian crowd then you can bet it will work a lot quicker here. Send out a couple of canisters then baton charge, they’ll scatter soon enough, I don’t think those people really want to be out there anymore.”