Unslinging his Uncle George’s favourite hunting rifle - a Czechoslovakian-bought Ceska Zbvrojovka 550 - Kyriakos laid himself across the flat rock he had picked out earlier. Bending his right knee in classic sniper fashion, he fitted the smooth walnut stock to his shoulder and settled himself. When he was happy he was set, he let his breath out slowly, at the same time sighting through the scope his uncle had warned him he was to treat with the utmost respect, having cost more than the rifle.
As the car crested the rise to come level with the house, Kyriakos followed it the last few yards until it stopped alongside the porch, driver’s side to him. Neither the grey-haired man nor the woman came forward, but remained under the shade. As both front doors opened, Kyriakos ignored Anton, focusing instead on the man levering himself out of the passenger seat to stand, stiffly, upright.
Working as he did in the accounts department of one of Paphos’s bigger property developers, Kyriakos’s marksmanship skills were not as developed as his mountain-born cousins. Nevertheless, even for him, it presented an easy shot. As the scope’s cross-hairs settled on the side of the man’s temple and Kyriakos’s finger curled so it fitted, snug around the trigger, he couldn’t stop the smile that came into his face.
CHAPTER 32
Thirty-two years of age, Anton was tall and slim. He wore the flat cap that was common in those parts and a light jacket that bulged under one arm. As he came round the bonnet, the old man’s face broke into a smile. Stepping down the porch, he came forward to embrace the younger man.
'Kalimera, Anton. Welcome!'
'Kalimera, Grandfather,' Anton said, returning the old man’s hug.
Releasing his grandson - one of many - the older man let the smile drop as he turned to face Anton’s passenger, now also coming forward on stiff legs. He nodded a curt, 'Kalimera.' The minimum courtesy demanded.
'Kalimera,' the man replied.
Mounting the porch, Anton paused to accept the woman’s hug, words of welcome and kisses, before letting his grandfather lead him inside.
At the foot of the steps, Anton’s passenger looked up at the woman who, every time he now saw her, sent shivers up and down his spine. It was a week since they’d parted, but even though he couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses, he could tell she had not changed. The light was still absent. She smiled at him, weakly.
'Hello, Peter.'
He tried returning it. It wasn’t easy. 'Hello Gina.'
At first she hesitated. Then, as if to head off the uncomfortable silence that threatened, she descended to stand before him. She was still wearing the surgical collar, her hair piled high to stop it catching. Up close, he could see that the livid blue bruising round her eyes was yet to fade, and he felt again the anguish of knowing he was its cause - when the back of his head crashed into her face. He hoped it wasn’t just wishful thinking that the injuries seemed less pronounced than a week ago.
She tried another smile. More warmth this time. 'Welcome back.'
'Thank you.' He nearly added, 'Glad to be back,' but thought better of it.
For a moment they stood looking at each other, both fishing for the words. In the end they gave up and settled for a hug and the light kiss Gina planted on his cheek. Chaste though it was, Murray was glad none of the family were on hand to witness it. Then he remembered. He turned to look up at the mountain above them. As if reading his thoughts, she stepped round him, eyes searching the slopes. Suddenly, she raised an arm above her head and waved. High above, a figure rose to show himself amid the rocks, acknowledging her greeting by raising his rifle above his head, Apache style.
Though the sun was behind him, Murray thought he recognised young Kyriakos, one of her many cousins. As Gina turned to go inside - 'Let’s get you out of the sun,' – he let his gaze linger on the family member rostered for ‘guardianship’ duties that day. He could still remember the look on Kyriakos’s face - others as well - when he first met them all at the family gathering following the blast. Now, the way Kyriakos held the rifle aloft, framed against the sky, Murray could just make out it was fitted with a telescopic sight. And though he was aware of the younger man’s brief, he wondered just what Kyriakos had been doing up to the moment Gina waved at him. Suppressing the thought - if any of them were minded to vent their feelings there was little he could do about it anyway - he turned to follow after her.
CHAPTER 33
Situated on the first floor of Pafos Police Headquarters, the Divisional Training Room enjoys a pleasant aspect over Kennedy Square and the Town Gardens. Bordered by cafes and restaurants, the square is a popular gathering place for locals and tourists alike. The former meet there to conduct business-in-the-sun over coffee and rolls, the latter to soak up the atmosphere of the Old Town’s buzz and bustle. Across the road from the square, flower beds stocked with local flora line the station’s western wall.
When not in use, the Training Room has long been a favoured hang out - literally - for staff to enjoy a smoke with their morning break. There, they lean from the tall windows to carry on shouted conversations with those they recognise across the square - or passing motorists. In days past, male officers would also enjoy rating, on a scale of one-to-ten, those female passers-by they chose to favour with their attentions - which meant most of them. Nowadays the tradition is less observed.
Some weeks before, the Force’s latest attempts to enforce its No-Smoking Policy in all its buildings - thereby bringing it in line with the rest of the European Union - had led to what some said was a ‘ridiculous’ debate, when the ‘window hangers’ sought to argue that they were not actually smoking on the premises. Seeing the matter well down his order of priorities, Pippis had, perhaps wisely, skirted round the issue. He’d sensed his staff’s strength of feeling over a policy some claimed impacted upon their much-needed work-breaks, while also threatening to undermine the station’s well-established ‘links with its community.’ Eventually, under pressure from his HQ’s Health-and-Safety-obsessed Personnel Department, Pippis had arranged a meeting with all concerned to resolve the matter.
It never took place.
The day the meeting was scheduled, Pippis authorised the Training Room to be converted into a Major Incident Room for the biggest criminal investigation in the Pafos Police’s history. Those staff still with enough time on their hands to worry about the No Smoking Policy - in reality very few - were forced to seek solace elsewhere. The problem disappeared overnight.
Not that Pippis had given the matter a thought since the night of the explosion. Which explained why, despite his presence and that of the force’s Assistant Chief Constable, Operations, several of the detectives, index clerks and typists were at that moment puffing away, oblivious of the crime they were committing.
When he first arrived - ostensibly to show his support and catch up on progress, but also under strict orders from the Island’s Chief of Police to assess, personally, how Pippis was holding up - Assistant Chief Constable Akis Mavromatis nearly made the mistake of commenting on the fact the policy was being ignored. Worse in his eyes, the Divisional Commander himself appeared to be leading the revolt. Thankfully, both for common sense and Akis’s credibility around the force - he still hoped to one day make Chief Constable - his ambitious policeman’s instincts sensed danger before he opened his mouth. For the longer his briefing session wore on, the more he realised the level of commitment among the Investigation Team. He also became aware of how high was their determination to see justice done, for the sake of their Commander if nothing else - at which point the Assistant Chief congratulated himself on his wise decision to say nothing. Had he chosen otherwise he now realised, he might have found himself flat on his back, gazing up at the tall windows from one of the pretty beds of African Violets beneath, wondering if another bomb had gone off.
Nevertheless, Policy matters apart, the ACC had largely succeeded in his mission. After listening to Pippis’s patient retelling of the history between the Englishman and the Russian whose presence on th
e island was now such Big News at Headquarters, and seeing for himself what the investigation had so far produced, he was in little doubt that Pippis’s early assertions were correct. The bomb was, quite clearly, intended for the Englishman, Murray, rather than Pippis’s family. Furthermore, despite the absence of direct evidence, Akis was also satisfied that the man behind the bombing was almost certainly Podruznig, as Pippis had been stating from the start. But whilst he could understand, completely, why Pippis had authorised the search of the Sea-Caves property that had attracted such strong complaint from the Russian Embassy at Nicosia, he could also see that all Pippis had was circumstantial evidence. If the Russians pressed their complaint, the Chief would be hard pushed to justify their actions. And whilst everyone wanted to give Pippis their backing - under the circumstances how could they do otherwise - it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be hung out to dry if such a course was needed. They had discussed the matter at length at Headquarters, and were all agreed. Regrettable though it may be, long-gone were the days when countries like Cyprus could get away with a shrug and a philosophical, 'It is the way we do things here.' Not in these days of Human Rights, Civil Litigation and the so-called ‘European Courts of Justice.’ Unfortunately, in terms of bringing the guilty party to book, things weren’t looking so good.
A former detective himself, Akis knew that not all crimes are capable of being investigated to a conviction. And whilst levels of crime in Cyprus were rising and changing - less ‘tourist’ crime; more organised fraud, money laundering, forced prostitution and burglary, mainly perpetrated by immigrant groups - the island’s Police Force was not well-equipped when it came to dealing with the likes of Podruznig. Nevertheless, as Akis listened to Pippis’s account, he began to realise that, despite his expectation that he would quickly spot something vital that had been overlooked in the emotional heat of the moment, the opposite was the case.
As far as he could tell, the investigation had been everything it should have been - even allowing for the personal dimension that had led some at Headquarters to suggest that Pippis ought to be taken out of the equation. Furthermore, Pippis’s Chief of Detectives was one of the most experienced investigators around. The way he had set up the enquiry and how, under Pippis’s direction, he was managing things were, as far as the ACC could see, by the book.
The only trouble was, the evidence they were seeking was yet to come to light. And if he was reading what Pippis was telling him correctly, there was diminishing likelihood it would do so. Which made him wonder why, given that his own family were amongst the victims, Pippis didn’t seem too concerned when he acknowledged the possibility that Podruznig and his henchmen might, ultimately, escape legal sanction. Eventually, made conscious of the passage of time by Pippis’s constant checking of his wristwatch, Akis asked the question that was uppermost in his mind.
'So, what message would you like me to take back to the Chief?'
For long seconds Pippis continued to play with the elastic band he had taken to twiddling with during the latter part of the Assistant Chief’s visit. When he eventually looked up to meet his senior’s quizzical look head-on, Pippis’s eyes were as cold and lifeless as those of the sea bass that grace the metal slabs on Pafos’s ancient Fish Market. And Akis Mavromatis wasn’t at all sure what to make of it when Pippis answered in a voice that was almost too calm, 'Tell him, Pippis has things in hand.'
After the man from Headquarters had gone, Pippis turned to Andri. The woman who was privy to most of his secrets was sitting to attention, already awaiting whatever order was to come her way. It was as if by being ready, she thought she might ease some of the burden weighing so heavily on the man she had enjoyed working for these past four years. Seeing the willing look on her face, Pippis was struck by an overwhelming feeling of guilt. For in that moment, he realised just how much he had always taken the woman who looked after his daily affairs for granted. Suddenly, he remembered the issue Gina had raised with him, an age ago now it seemed, concerning Andri’s husband, Laslo. And right then Pippis decided he would, after all, speak to his opposite number at Limassol about the matter. Gina had been right. It was the least he could do. But other things needed his attention first.
'I’ll be out the rest of the day Andri. Let me know if anyone is looking for me.'
Andri nodded and smiled, proud to know he trusted her to cover for him on those occasions when matters outside of his Divisional Commander duties called on his time. She liked to think that she had just about perfected the fine arts of delay, avoidance and diversion. In fact it was one of the more challenging aspects of her job to rapidly come up with some new-yet-plausible reason why Pippis was not in a position to be reached/return the call/come to the phone, when one of the force’s Chief Officers or another senior colleague was looking for him. She never sought to delve, which was why it took her so long to rule out another woman - and for which she gave thanks. She would never have been able to look Gina in the eye again. Instead, Andri was happy to accept that in a close-knit town like Pafos, a man in Pippis’s position has many other calls on his time, apart from his official duties.
But that day, as Pippis left, having allowed the ACC enough time to be well clear of the station, Andri didn’t need to wonder where he was going. She knew for a fact it would be the same place he had visited every afternoon for the past two weeks. And if anyone did suspect and tried to make anything of it by suggesting he was abusing his position by taking off for a few hours each day, she would be more than happy to put them right.
CHAPTER 34
Rising from the padded comfort of her wooden steamer, Marianna Podruznig left the other mothers to their chatter and went over to the drinks table the caterers had set up under the big yellow awning. As she waited for the young Asian girl who had come with the food to finish preparing her iced lime-juice, Sasha’s voice, shrill with excitement, broke into her musings.
'Watch mama. I’m going to jump the furthest.'
Turning, Marianne just managed the requisite smile of encouragement in time before her daughter launched herself from the side of the pool. She landed with a splash and a scream amidst the shrieking gang of girls. At once, a fierce debate broke out over whether or not the birthday girl had broken the record set by Lizzy, the tallest, moments before.
In no hurry to rejoin the other women - she had noticed how their voices dropped the moment she was out of hearing - Marianna made a show of enjoying the children’s pool-play. For the next few minutes she made sure her laughter at their antics was interspersed with appropriate words of warning about not straying into the deep end, or holding each other under the water too long, as would be expected from an attentive parent.
But less than half of Marianna’s attention was on making sure the girls were having a good time. The greater part still dwelt on the matters she had been struggling to get her head round ever since that awful day when the fears she had been doing her best to suppress for so long, became reality.
What concerned her wasn’t just the way the police arrived out of the blue to invade her home and rifle through even her most private and, she had thought, hidden possessions - including Sasha’s toy-boxes and collection of stuffed animals. Rather, it was the effect the visit - coupled with whatever words the policeman-in-charge whispered in Valerik’s ear before he left - had on her husband, that was causing her to lose sleep.
Marianna had long ago accepted that she was never going to be anything other than the trophy-wife she knew Valerik was looking for the day he asked her to marry him. She wasn’t that stupid. But though she had been realistic enough to know she would always take second place to Valerik’s business and other interests, she was prepared to settle for the crumbs Valerik tossed her way every now and then and which he knew were essential to maintaining the façade of a happy family. The crumbs included expensive gifts for her and Sasha, dining parties at the island’s swankiest restaurants, private-arranged access to Lara Bay so Sasha could witness the turtles hatching. All designed to gi
ve an impression of a normal happy family, living the dream that comes with a place in the sun.
But since that day, even those meagre hand-outs had ceased. And the more she thought about it, the more the words of the Englishman who had surprised her that day in Scorpios returned to haunt her. When his ship starts to sink and his back is to the wall, you and your daughter will simply be so much baggage, to be jettisoned along with the rest of the ballast.
Okay, she wasn’t sure if Valerik’s back was to the wall yet. He didn’t give that impression and besides, he would never tell her if it was. But she had wondered long and hard about the ‘Pafos Bomb Outrage’ that had dominated both the news, and everyone’s conversation the last couple of weeks. More and more, she found herself wondering if her husband may have been connected to it after all - despite all his denials.
During the house search, Valerik had made a point of keeping her away from the officers, telling her to stay in her room and making sure Uri was present to make sure she kept her mouth shut. Afterwards, he told her next to nothing other than it was simply part of the local authorities’ ongoing campaign to harass Pontians such as himself. And she regarded it as acutely patronising when he simply told her, 'not to worry about it.' But she had worried. Especially as the bomb happened only days after the Englishman’s dire warning that, 'things may soon start to get worse'.
And things definitely were worse. Valerik had barely spoken to her or Sasha these past two weeks. And though she had managed to get him to agree to her hosting a party for their daughter’s seventh birthday - 'Whatever you like ': then, when she pressed, 'I said I’ll be there, if I’m around' - he was yet to go beyond the brief wave he had managed across the pool when all their guests arrived. And he was still talking into his mobile.
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