by Sewell, Ron
Sweat poured from Pavlo’s skin. “You both fail to understand. I didn’t kill her.”
Barris’ chair groaned as he leaned back. “I’m not the one who’s made a mistake. Okay, change of topic. The missing icons, did you report this to the police?”
Pavlo wasn’t prepared for the change of subject. He sat back and remained silent for a few minutes. “Nitsa thought we might make a great deal of money if we informed the Turkish authorities.”
Barris hid a smile. “So you admit you were out to profit from an illegal regime.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so.”
“The truth at last. You wanted it for yourself and argued. One way or another it got out of hand and you killed her.”
“I’ve told you a dozen times, I didn’t kill her. The Turkish sergeant and his friends raped and beat her.”
“You were there when this happened?” asked Barris.
“No, I listened from my cell.”
A knock on the door caused both police officers to pause the interrogation as a female officer entered. Barris rose in one movement while Nasso struggled to his feet.
“Interview re the death of Nitsa Charalambous stopped at eleven-thirty,” proclaimed Nasso as he switched off the machine.
They left, leaving the officer with him.
“Might I have a glass of water, please?”
She didn’t move.
Barris and Nasso returned and sat opposite Pavlo.
“Constable,” said Barris, “go and get three cups of coffee. Take your time.”
Nasso started the tape. “Interview re the death of Nitsa Charalambus restarted at twelve-thirty.”
The DI gave a crisp nod. “All right, Pavlo, let me tell you the facts so far. The body of Nitsa Charalambous is in the morgue and the pathologist tells me she’s been brutally violated. From DNA analysis, the deceased woman had intercourse and anal sex with three persons but you were not one of them. I find it strange you didn’t. I believe you had a different agenda. During this bestiality, one of you strangled her. You and your clique played a sick game and it went wrong. You’re going to tell me the answer, Pavlo.”
The DI paused. “For your information, the bishop arrived first thing this morning and has confirmed the identity of the body as Nitsa Charalambous. He informed us she was a simple village girl who worked faithfully for him for many years to support her ailing parents. He said that you visited his home to repair various items. He cannot tell us what they were as he leaves the management of such matters to his housekeeper. Is that correct?”
Pavlo thumped the table and stood. “I did not kill her.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
Pavlo gave a vague nod. “What you say is true. Did the bishop tell you the story of the hidden icons?”
Without hesitating, the DI replied. “No, he didn’t.”
Pavlo blinked in astonishment and forced himself to concentrate. “He’s lying. Nitsa overheard him talking to a Cypriot and his partner from London and one thing led to another. They were going to collect them from Varosha.”
“So you personally never heard this conversation?”
“No, but I believed Nitsa.” He sobbed. “We loved each other and were going to get married.”
The DI shook his head. “Pavlo, I’m trying to help you? These lies will make it worse. Tell me about your group’s people trafficking operation. Why did they beat her? It’s time you told the truth. Tell me what happened again and remember,” he pointed to the machine, “we have it all taped.”
“What’s the point, you’re not listening.”
The DI leaned on the table, his hot breath hitting Pavlo’s face. “We’ll go over this ten, a hundred, and if need be, a thousand times. Tell me what you did to Nitsa Charalambous and why?”
“For God’s sake I’ve told you. Leave me alone. I did not touch Nitsa. What do you mean by trafficking? Why won’t you believe me?”
“Pavlo, I believe you persuaded Nitsa, this simple girl, to go with you to the north. Your contacts eager to sample the goods took it in turns to abuse her. Unfortunately, it got out of hand and she died. There are no icons and never were. Why you didn’t dump her in a ditch we’ll never know or did you fancy humping a dead one? You psychopaths are a strange bunch.”
Nasso turned off the tape as the interview room door opened and the constable returned with three coffees.
“Drink your coffee, Pavlo.”
Their drinks finished, Nasso restarted the tape.
“Why did you kill her?” asked the DI again.
“I keep telling you, I did not touch Nitsa. The Turkish soldiers raped and murdered her.”
“Pavlo, it’s a pack of lies. You’re aware I can’t go on with this enquiry in the north. Do you believe the camp commandant allows his men to rape women on his base? No he wouldn’t, you know this and have made up the entire story. Admit you and your friends raped and killed Nitsa. Believe me when I say, I’m prepared to get answers, today, tomorrow, doesn’t matter to me. You can’t win. I’m an expert at getting the truth out of murderers.”
Pavlo wiped his forehead and perspiration dripped off his hand. “Can’t you understand? I loved her.”
A question came from Nasso. “What did you experience when you found out your friends had killed your girlfriend?”
Pavlo’s mind raced. He sipped the cold coffee and wondered why they kept asking him these silly questions.
“I asked you a question,” said Nasso, his voice hardened.
“I wasn’t listening. Please repeat the question?”
The DI held his breath, controlling his urge to grab Pavlo and beat a confession from him. “Are you deaf or think I’m a fool?”
Pavlo’s face contorted and his eyes stared ahead. Chaos filled his mind. “I can’t go on. I’m exhausted. I must sleep.” He slumped onto the table. Someone called his name from far away. He opened his eyes and thought the figure looming over him was Nitsa.
“Have I got to get up? It’s time; I’ve got to go.” Shock slammed the doors of his mind shut, but the images of the dank cell and soldiers laughing as they abused him, remained. The pain unbearable. “Stop, please stop. I don’t like it here. You can’t do that, it hurts. Must go. I’m going. How do I get out? You can’t keep me here. ”
The DI snapped his fingers in front of Pavlo’s eyes. “Shit, he’s in another world. His mind’s gone.”
Pavlo’s lips moved as if he were speaking but there was no sound.
“You mean he’s loco?” said Nasso.
The DI waved his hands in the air. “You’d better believe it. I’ve seen this happen. I wish I knew what goes on in a suspect’s head when they suffer a total breakdown. The bastard beats up women but can’t stand the strain. Get the doctor. This one’s destined for a padded cell.” He turned the tape off and removed the two discs. “Constable, shoelaces, belt, everything he could damage himself with, take them all.”
With his head resting on his arms, Pavlo sobbed.
“Do you think he killed her?” said Nasso.
“I’m not clairvoyant, but if he didn’t, one of his perverted friends did. I’d stake my pension on it. I reckon he’s a procurer of women. Sergeant, get the paperwork completed and leave the folder on my desk. Thank God my shift’s over. I’m going home.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Mr Kyriades,” said the woman at reception.
Petros hurried towards her.
“A bishop telephoned earlier.” She handed him an envelope.
“Thank you.” Does he ever rest, he thought. He strolled to the centre of the lobby and opened the envelope. The receptionist glanced at him before returning to her book. On a slip of paper, he read a two-word message from the bishop. Telephone me. He walked out of reception and into the car park.
Concerned, he pressed the memory button on his mobile.
“Good evening, Mr Kyriades.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I’m not sure, but
listen. This morning I identified my housekeeper in the Nicosia mortuary. The handyman who visits my house is charged with her murder.”
“Does that affect this collection?”
“The police informed me at least three men raped her. They discovered her in the boot of the handyman’s car at the border crossing. Maybe I’m just putting two and two together and reaching the wrong conclusion but they did ask about missing icons. Naturally I denied any knowledge.”
“I work with risk,” said Petros. “But I prefer to avoid them. Thank you for the information. Sorry regarding the death of your housekeeper.” He ended the call with the bishop’s last words in his mind: Be prepared.
Petros checked the time, three minutes had elapsed. He opted to keep this to himself. There was no going back and tonight’s recon would confirm if she had talked.
* * *
Petros stood in the hallway examining the fire escape plan while he waited for Maria. He turned as someone approached. “You okay?”
She kissed him on the lips. “Stop worrying. You have enough to consider.”
“It’s my job to worry.” He opened the door and took a step back. “You first.” Maria pinched his backside, smiled and entered.
On one bed sat Bear, Kyriacos, Takis and George. Andreas stared out of the window. The dull sunlight cast its shadow onto the meagrely furnished room.
Petros remained standing while Maria perched on the edge of a chair, crossed her long, shapely legs and folded her arms across her breasts. He removed the plan from his pocket. “Tonight we’ll do a final recon. George, Maria, you will park the trucks here.” He pointed to his sketch of Varosha. “I want you to wait in your vehicles for two hours. Make out you’re resting and listening to the radio. With luck no one will query why you’re parked there. Afterwards, return to the hotel. On the other hand, if someone becomes nosey, move on.”
He attempted to keep his voice light. “Kyriacos, Takis, Bear and I will enter the town and try to raise the altar. One way or the other we’ll return at the same time.”
“To lift that block of marble, PK, we might need the jacks,” said Kyriacos. “Wouldn’t it be better if we took them in tonight and hid them somewhere safe until tomorrow? Makes life easier.”
“Good thinking. Thanks,” said Petros, his tone sincere. “One more thing. I’ve checked the emergency exits from the hotel; no problem. They’re not alarmed. Any questions?”
“Are we eating before our stroll into Varosha?” said Bear
“Are you suggesting you’re suffering from malnutrition?”
“I’m starving.”
Petros shook his head. “Bear, you don’t know the meaning of the word. Okay, we’ll meet in the reception at six and go for a meal. Can you last till then?”
“I’m going to pop out for a kebab or two to ward off my hunger pains.”
Takis laughed. “That’s the best idea you’ve had in days. I’ll join you.”
The meeting ended in general chatter.
Back in their room, Maria went to the window and closed the curtains. With an impish gleam in her eyes she put her arms around Petros’s neck. “I have an idea.” She touched his mouth with her fingers. “Be quiet.” In one movement she pushed him onto the bed and lay on top of him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and her legs wrapped around his.
They made love and held each other. Later, Maria fell asleep, her head on his chest. Naked, they lay beneath the crumpled sheets, his arm around her shoulder.
Maria stirred and opened her eyes. She raised herself, kissed Petros and smiled. “We’d better get ready or the boys will talk.”
“And they’re not already?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
On the completion of their meal, they wandered back to the hotel. George and Maria dressed in dark blue tracksuits and the men changed into army overalls.
Maria, accompanied by George, headed for reception. As they strolled through the foyer, the young woman behind the desk nodded politely. “If you are going for a walk, take an umbrella. Here take one of these.”
“Thank you,” said Maria.
Petros led his team along the passage. He held the fire door open and jammed it shut with a piece of cardboard over the latch.
In the car park, George unloaded the hydraulic jacks and a sack of stuff for which Petros had asked.
The five men gathered and hoisted equipment onto their backs. Petros was all set. Over the years, he had trusted his gut feelings, those that had guided him through the deserts of Iraq and Afghanistan. “Follow me. If we become separated, stop and I’ll come back for you.” He turned into a dimly lit road and walked approximately two hundred metres. On his left, apartments and offices filled the space between hotels. To his right, a rusted and broken wire fence split the living from the abandoned. They stopped. Petros glanced left and right. “Time to go. Ready?” He ran across the tarmac and stepped over the wire. The others followed on his heels.
The sky was cloud-free and bright moonlight shed its light on the deserted stretch of beach, the lapping of waves the only sound to disturb the silence. Out in the bay the red and green lamps of channel marker buoys moved with the tidal stream.
Concealed by the shadows, listening and watching, Petros walked into the heart of Varosha, followed silently by his team. The breeze increased; a gust rattled the branches of trees, masking nearly soundless footsteps. Petros squinted at the full moon. The light it gave enabled them to travel through the deserted streets, with empty houses abandoned for years. It was quiet apart from the wind disturbing the trees.
He gathered his group in a building opposite the church. “Everyone wait here and be quiet.”
Takis began to say something but Bear pressed a finger to his lips.
Petros ran across the road and stopped at the church steps. He turned his head towards the inside and at once snapped it back. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts. Lower than the entrance threshold, he shone the beam from his torch. He frowned. What had he seen? Again he craned his head. High up in the corners two white motion detectors, their pulsing red lights operating at regular intervals. No wires; he reasoned they were battery-operated and the receiver was more than likely located in the soldiers’ card-playing room. A question filled his mind: do we play their game? With caution, he returned to his men.
“The bishop’s housekeeper told the authorities. The Turks have fitted motion detectors.”
“You’re joking,” said Kyriacos.
“You heard me correctly. It’s time for a bit of fun. Bear, make your way around and have a gander for any other surprises.”
Bear nodded, charged across the road and dived into the shadows. For two minutes he vanished. In silence he returned.
Petros studied his face. “What did you see?”
“I concur, two movement detectors, nothing else.”
“What do we do now?” asked Kyriacos.
Bear crooked a smile. “Empty that sack and give it here. I’ll not be long.” He walked to the back of the building and disappeared.
“What’s he up to, PK?” said Takis.
“He has a way with animals. I think he has an idea to flush out anyone who’s waiting.”
Five minutes passed before the roar of bedlam erupted. Fighting feral cats screeched, snarled, spat and triggered the sensors.
Without a sound, Bear appeared back alongside the others. “Be quiet and wait.”
“Here they come,” said Petros.
Footsteps raced along the road. Petros smiled; the soldiers had been equipped with rubber-soled boots. Someone was on the ball.
Four armed men, gasping for breath, halted twenty metres away. The sergeant motioned for two to investigate the rear of the building while he and the other approached. At the entrance they stopped. From their backpacks they removed torches.
With his machine pistol cocked, the soldier charged into the building and fired a short burst, sending three cats streaking out like deranged seagulls. He exited with his we
apon slung over his shoulder. The sergeant crossed the threshold and reset the detectors.
In spite of the distance and the shadows, Petros noted the disappointment on their faces.
The guards left and Petros motioned for everyone to move to another building. “Now we do it again and again.”
“I’ll add a couple of dead rats. That’ll add to the fight,” said Bear.
Three times Bear captured the cats and the patrol arrived. Whatever passed between them, the movement detectors ended up in the middle of the road with a large boot destroying their intricate workings.
Their footsteps and laughter died away. In the distance a truck started, its headlights illuminating the street.
“I bet one of them’s going to that cafe to collect their late-night snacks,” said Bear. “Makes me feel hungry.”
The team controlled their laughter. Petros glanced at his watch. Three hours had elapsed.
“We’ve frittered away enough time. Let’s go.”
The five drifted across the road in silence, entered the church and stood around the altar.
Bear removed a can of WD40 from the sack and sprayed the two operating valves. “This will be interesting,” he muttered. He placed his right hand on the water supply valve and attempted to twist the wheel. With a grunt he beamed as it turned. “Gotcha.” Again he soaked the recessed valve before inserting the bishop’s sword, which clunked into place. The main valve squeaked open and the sound of running water filled their ears. A loud thump came from below and the richly carved block jerked itself free of the plinth and rose. Half a metre from its base the noise stopped. Petros strolled to the front of the altar and rotated an inset stone cross ninety degrees. With a gentle push the slab swung away, allowing him the sight of a spiral stairway.
“Jesus Christ,” said Bear, “this hasn’t shifted for forty years and it bloody works.”
Andreas tapped him on the shoulder. “My friend, please do not blaspheme in a house of God.”
Petros peered into the gloom. The men, torches in hand, descended the staircase into the ancient chamber.