Target: Tinos

by Jeffrey Siger

  Chapter Eight

  When Andreas’ mother asked him to come along with her to the final fitting, his first reaction was, “Why me?” He knew as much about fashion as he knew about rocket science, probably less. But, his sister couldn’t come and, as the only other child in his mother’s life, Andreas went because he knew how anxious she was to look just right. His mother said she’d never bought a dress “this important” before and wanted it to be “perfect.”

  Her home was not far from his office. She’d moved there as a young bride, it was where her son and daughter were born, and her hero cop husband died. The old neighborhood was unrecognizable from when Andreas grew up there. Greek was no longer the dominant language. No language was. It was a hodgepodge of languages, people, and cultures. It was also dangerous.

  Andreas and his sister had begged their mother to move but she refused to leave her home, even to live among her grandchildren. All Andreas could do was ask the local police commander to keep a special eye on his mother’s place, and the word on the street was “stay away, it’s protected.” But new trouble moved into the neighborhood every day, and it took time for them to get the word.

  Andreas sat at a traffic light two blocks from his mother’s place. The colors and faces passing by were very different from his childhood memories. He guessed at their nationalities. As a cop he was pretty good at that. Profiling some would say. Self-defense said others. Members of certain groups just seemed to commit certain crimes. They specialized. Cops knew that but couldn’t say so publicly.

  Perhaps we should, thought Andreas. Bring it all out into the open. Let everyone know the truth, that every group had its special sorts of predators—and that they preyed worst upon their own kind. It’s not helping anyone ignoring that reality. The scum of a group always makes the news, making it easy for the rest of the country to classify everyone in the group as bad. No way that was true. No more so than that all Greeks were…

  The blaring of the horn from the car behind him jolted Andreas out of his daydream. “Okay, I get it, the light’s green.” He drove through the light and saw his mother standing on the sidewalk. Enough about saving the world, he thought. Time to focus on what really matters. Andreas smiled. “I’m back to thinking like a Greek.”

  ***

  It was turning into a beautiful late afternoon. No Albanian gang war and no more lawyers. Andreas even got to surprise Lila when he walked into their apartment.

  “My God, were you fired?” Lila kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Not that lucky.”

  “Then maybe my watch is broken. It reads five-fifteen.”

  “That means I’ve only been up for a zillion hours.”

  “How did the fitting go with your mother?”

  “Fine.”

  “How does the dress look?”

  “Fine.”

  “Boys. You’re all alike. Are these the sort of one word answers I can look forward to from our son?” Lila smiled.

  “Yes.” Andreas stretched his arms and yawned. “Where is he?”

  “I put him in for a nap. But if you want to—”

  “No, don’t wake him, I’m too exhausted to be much fun to play with. I better take a nap myself.”

  “Good, I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed until the first guests arrive. You need to get some sleep. Our flight to Mykonos is first thing in the morning.”

  Andreas thought this might be the right opportunity for mentioning that as soon as they landed he’d be catching a boat to Tinos. Wrong move, stupid, said a little voice inside his head. Take the nap and keep your mouth shut.

  On the Thursday evening before a wedding, close family and friends traditionally gathered together at the home of the bride and groom for to strosimo tou krevatiou—the preparation of the wedding bed. Amid food, drink, much joy, and playful teasing, the unmarried girls (alleged virgins all) attempted to make up the bed while the young men waited around to undo it. It was a playful match, with a young man interested in the attentions of a particular girl making care to undo her handiwork. That undoing ritual took place three times before it was on to tossing gold coins and jewelry on the wedding bed amid a shower of confetti, rice, and money.

  But the most precious commodity tossed upon the bed, and the truest indicator of the real purpose of the practice, was saved for last: children. Giggling, laughing children, carefully bounced about by giggling, laughing parents. Tradition had the first child on the bed a boy, for superstition held that a male child symbolized good luck. Perhaps as a sign of changing attitudes—or intrigues yet to come—it was not unheard of in modern days for a future bride to coordinate the efforts of her girlfriends at assuring a girl child landed first.

  The tradition was rarely practiced when the couple already had a child, but holding it was not forbidden from any religious perspective and Lila wanted to observe it “for Tassaki.”

  The party went on until three in the morning, and though Andreas had far less to drink than at his bachelor party, the combination of all the toasts he’d been cajoled into joining and no sleep for two days had him feeling about the same. He wasn’t even sure if he slept at all before their early morning taxi ride to the airport, and could barely remember their flight to Mykonos. He was also fuzzy about precisely how he’d told Lila on landing that he was going to Tinos and “should” be back that night. But he distinctly remembered her response.

  Lila clutched the front of Andreas’ shirt, pulled him down to her eye level, and said a single word, “Sunday!”

  ***

  “How are you feeling, Chief?” were Maggie’s first words when Andreas called her in the office.

  “Not as bad as I’d thought I’d be.”

  “Where are you?”

  “On a ferry from Mykonos to Tinos. Should be there in twenty minutes. Just checking to see if Christina and Angelo have anything to tell me.”

  “Just a minute, I’ll check.”

  Andreas looked at his watch. It wasn’t even ten yet.

  “Chief?” It was Christina.

  “Can you talk?”

  “Yes. We’re on our way into the office. Just left the taverna.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “We found the girl. She was there with her uncle. It’s his place but he said he didn’t know any Punka Carausii and couldn’t remember the names of any of his customers. We showed him a photograph of Punka and he said he didn’t recognize him.”

  “My, what a surprise.”

  “I tried to speak to the girl but he told her to ‘shut up’ in Romanian. He didn’t realize Angelo’s girlfriend was Romanian and she always told him the same thing.”

  Andreas heard “fuck you” from Angelo in the background.

  “Angelo told the uncle that since he couldn’t help us, we’d have to justify our visit by having him prove to us that he was a law abiding taxpayer. Angelo had him pulling invoices for every item in the place. That shut him up. Also got him away from the girl.”

  “And?”

  “She was scared. I showed her Punka’s photograph and she said she’d never seen him before. I said, ‘Do you remember the man who came into the taverna the day before yesterday to see Punka?’ She acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. I asked her if she’d like to meet ‘that man,’ and tell him personally that she ‘never saw Punka before.’ She looked like she was going to cry. That’s when I said, ‘I’m wasting my time here. Get your things you’re coming with us to police headquarters.’

  “She burst into tears, said her uncle would ‘beat’ her if she told us anything. I said, ‘He’s going to beat you anyway.’”

  “Glad to see you’re so understanding,” said Andreas.

  “Thanks, Chief. That got her to talking. She told me Punka was a regular and, yes, he’d come back into the taverna after you dropped him off, but he didn’t speak to anyone. Her uncle tried to get him to talk about what happened but Punka wouldn’t tell him a thing.”

  “Why was the uncle so int
erested?”

  “She said he’s ‘a gossip.’ Like every other taverna owner in Greece.”

  “Did she know I was a cop?”

  “Yes, she overheard you.”

  “Dammit.”

  “Uhh, Chief.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were right about the girl and the tabloids. She scavenges them from the rubbish to look at the pictures. Seems your upcoming wedding made two of the biggie magazines this week, and after you left she realized where she’d seen you before.”

  Andreas cleared his throat. “And, of course, she told her uncle.”

  “He likes to be a big man with the gossip. It made her look good to him when she pointed you out in the magazines. One magazine gave your title and the uncle told everyone in the taverna and anyone else he could find that the head of GADA Special Crimes was in his place questioning Punka about the murder of his brothers.”

  “What did the lying son-of-a-bitch say when you confronted him.” Andreas made no attempt to hide his anger.

  Christina paused. “We didn’t confront him.”

  “You didn’t what?”

  “Chief, we figured the uncle wouldn’t tell us anything anyway, and if he knew the girl had talked to us he might do her some really serious harm.”

  Andreas shut his eyes, drew in a breath, and let it out. “You did the right thing. See you at the wedding.” He hung up.

  Andreas stared out the window. The ferry was preparing to pirouette up to the dock.

  It was my screw-up. That’s why Punka’s dead. No reason for someone else to get hurt because of me. Besides, with Punka gone there’ll be no more leads coming from that direction. Andreas slammed his fist into the back of the empty seat in front of him.

  We have to find another place to start.

  “Welcome to Tinos,” came over the loud speaker.

  ***

  The harbor of Tinos lay northwest and virtually equidistant from the old and new ports of Mykonos. How long that port-to-port, nine-mile trip took depended on whether one traveled by freighter, ferry, or fast boat. Almost every regularly scheduled commercial passenger vessel in or out of Athens’ port cities of Piraeus and Rafina that stopped on Mykonos also stopped on Tinos. That wasn’t just because Tinos lacked an airport, but because it was home to the Church of Panagia Evangelistria and the extraordinarily influential earthly power behind it which in less than two hundred years had established what many called The Vatican of Greece: The Panhellenic Holy Foundation of our Lady of the Annunciation of Tinos, better known simply as The Evangelistria Foundation.

  Tassos met Andreas at the quayside.

  “How was the trip?”

  “Uneventful. Except for the part where I told Lila I was leaving her for you.”

  “As long as you show up for the wedding all will be forgiven.”

  “She sort of said the same thing. But not as sweetly.”

  Tassos pointed to a stream of women dressed in black heading in the direction of Megalochari Avenue leading up the hill to Panagia Evangelistria. “Bring her back a candle from the church.”

  “Not sure they have one big enough to save me.” He watched some of the women drop to their knees and begin crawling along the three-foot wide, rose-color carpet running up along the right edge of the road. “Amazing how dedicated people can be to their faith.”

  Tassos smiled. “Until you know what they’re praying for. Not all are crawling with saintly thoughts.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “On the boat over from Piraeus I was sitting behind three normal-looking church-ladies. They were carrying on about the reason for their pilgrimage. Seems they all hated the same neighbor and were coming to Tinos with prayers and offerings to have their neighbor done in.”

  “You must be kidding.”

  “Just because you pray doesn’t mean you have a good soul. A lot of very bad people are big time churchgoers. And I’m not just talking about politicians.” Tassos smiled. “But at least my little old ladies are leaving their neighbor’s fate in God’s hands.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Any luck on who did in the tsigani brothers?”

  “Nothing specific, but this being Greece everyone has an opinion. Most blame it on metanastes.”

  “So what else is new? Greece’s usual suspects for anything bad, foreigners.”

  “That’s about what I said when the Tinians started in on them. But they insisted it’s not like that. They said that this season there are more foreign workers on Tinos than they can remember in years. Tsigani, too. ‘They’re everywhere.’”

  “Times are bad in Athens and Tinos is one of the cheaper places to live in the Cyclades,” said Andreas.

  “But there’s hardly any work here, and the foreigners are undercutting each other to get whatever work there is.”

  “Employers must love it.”

  “Even they’re worried. With so many metanastes competing for so little work, they’re afraid crime will go off the charts.”

  “Tell me about it. Have you seen what’s going on in Athens?”

  Tassos nodded. “In the Cyclades, too. But here’s the strange thing. I checked with the Tinos police. Got the real figures, not the ones for tourist consumption. If you pull out the two murders, crime actually is down on Tinos.”

  “That’s what I call a real miracle,” said Andreas.

  “I mean way down. And I’m talking break-ins, robberies. The sorts of things you expect to go off the charts when times are tough.”

  Andreas shook his head, “Never thought I’d be wishing for crime to be up, but it seems like the bad guys are doing exactly what Punka said they were told to do, ‘behave.’ Any idea why?”

  “No, but I’ve set up a meeting with someone who knows as much about what’s going on here as anyone. She works for the Evangelistria Foundation. All I told her was that I wanted to talk to her about a ‘sensitive’ matter. I figured I’d let you decide if you want the Foundation to know that their church might be some sort of target.”

  “If I recall correctly, two of our kings believed they owed their lives to the curative powers of the Megalochari, and at least one of our prime ministers considered that holy icon the source of his political power. How many milliseconds do you think it will take after we share our little theory with your Foundation lady before our Prime Minister gets a call from the Foundation and I get one from Spiros screaming, ‘What the hell are you doing?’”

  Tassos smiled. “Just tell him ‘we’re closing the case.’”

  Andreas rubbed his eyes. “When’s the meeting?”

  Tassos looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Andreas nodded toward the Church of Panagia Evangelistria. “Well, I guess we should head on up there.”

  Tassos gestured no. “When I told her it was ‘sensitive’ she suggested we meet at a taverna out of town.”

  “Guess it’s not just cops who worry about their walls having ears.”

  “Who knows, it might just be her cousin’s place and she wants to throw him some business.”

  Andreas smiled. “But we’re cops, we don’t pay.”

  “Could be it’s a cousin she doesn’t like.” Tassos pointed to a marked police car. “That’s our ride. You drive.”

  Chapter Nine

  Andreas once had a teacher who said Tinos resembled “a haunting, second millennium BC Mycenaean fortress.” It was easy to see why. The island’s high-ridged backbone ran northwest-to-southeast above the sea like some ever vigilant guardian of the shoreline while, at its narrow, eastern sea border with Mykonos, Tinos’ tallest peak, Mount Tsiknias, loomed down from the clouds and across its foothills toward the port city to the southwest.

  His teacher would go on and on about how the true beauty of Tinos lay in its surprises. None of that had changed. To foreigners, virtually everything about the island was a revelation for so few had even heard of it. But it was native-born Greeks, those raised on wondrous stories of the Megalochari and perhap
s even a daylong pilgrimage or two, who were most surprised at what they discovered outside the harbor town.

  Fifty villages as quiet and undisturbed as a dreamer’s quaint fantasy of Greece; brilliant vistas at every turn; a meandering two-hundred-mile network of cobblestone trails and old farm paths running from hillside to hillside and dipping into valleys in between; and a history of fabled marble quarries and artisans linked to some of Greece’s greatest artistic achievements.

  Tassos said they were looking for a taverna in a mountain village in the northeast region of the island. Locals called that district Kato Meria; the southeastern part of Tinos, including the port, they called Ano Meria; and everything to the west was Exo Meria. The “lower,” “upper,” and “other” parts, respectively.

  The taverna was around a bend on a twisting mountain road and, but for a large sign screaming TAVERNA OMORFI THEA, Andreas would have missed it. The place was practically invisible from the road. Tables inside led to many more on an outside terrace with still more arranged amphitheater fashion along a hillside filled with deep purple bougainvillea and wild fruit trees. It all ended at a fence line of pink and white oleander. Far beyond, out past the valley and port town below, a deep blue sea shimmered toward the islands of Delos and Rhenia on its way to the horizon and a cloudless, robin-egg blue sky.

  “The sign was right. This is a beautiful view,” said Andreas.

  A woman sitting alone at a table under a fig tree waved at them.

  “That’s Eleni.” Tassos waved back and they walked to her table.

  She looked about Andreas’ age and had the Greek woman’s traditional fancy for décolletage revealing dress, in this case a white sleeveless blouse. Aside from that national custom she was discreetly dressed in a knee-length dark-navy skirt and mid-heeled navy pumps. She was virtually indistinguishable from any other serious Greek businesswoman. With one exception: her hair was the bright copper color of an Irish setter and curly as a Shirley Temple doll.

  Eleni stood. “Hi, uncle.” She exchanged kisses with Tassos on both cheeks and shook hands with Andreas.