The Dead Virgins (The India Sommers Mysteries Book 1)

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘Don’t say that, miss, you are not responsible for the lusts of men.’

  ‘We shall see, Rose,’ said Rubria, ‘it is in the hands of the goddess. Now, where is this tunnel?’

  Rose pulled the rug away and revealed a trapdoor beneath. They both pulled on the recessed metal ring and the trapdoor rose, lifting with it the stench of the filth beneath. Rubria raised her finger to beneath her nose while Rose turned her head away to take a clean breath. Below them, the maintenance shaft dropped away into a stone lined tunnel leading from the latrine. The flow of water at the bottom was evidence of the importance of the sewer and it was obviously fed by a supply somewhere upstream as a means of flushing away the filth.

  ‘Right,’ said Rubria eventually, ‘no point in waiting any longer.’ She sat on the edge and lowered herself into the tunnel. The ceiling, made from concrete lintels, was a few inches above her head and she could reach both walls of baked clay bricks if she outstretched her arms. Rubria stood ankle deep in slow moving sewage as Rose risked the stench to lean into the opening above.

  ‘Follow the flow downstream,’ she said, ‘I will make all haste to meet you at the other end.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rubria.

  ‘May the gods be with you, miss,’ said Rose and lowered the trapdoor to seal the sewer.

  Rubria heard the rug being drawn over the access trap and stood for a few moments in abject fear as she tried to summon the courage to move. The blackness was absolute and she couldn’t see as far as a hand in front of her face. Finally she took a single step forward, followed by a nervous second. Her outstretched hand dragged against one wall, a slim comfort in the total darkness and soon she was walking as fast as she dared in the slime and disgusting mess beneath her feet.

  ----

  Soon she felt the floor of the sewer start to slope downwards and Rubria realised that it must be starting to descend toward the base of the hill. The sound of the trickling water became louder and she realised it must be flowing over an obstacle of some sort. Treading carefully she tested the ground before her with her feet and was soon rewarded with the first potential hazard. Instead of solid ground, her foot dangled in space and she carefully lowered it down until it again met the sewer floor, obviously the first of many steps down to the base of the hill. Over and over again she took a step downwards until she lost all track of how many she had taken.

  Suddenly a breath of fresh air wafted past her nostrils and her head lifted automatically to gulp in the welcome relief. For a moment she thought she was at her journey’s end but was disappointed to see a small circle of light far above her head at the top of a narrow airshaft, designed to release the build-up of gases. Rubria stood for a long time beneath the shaft, gulping in the air and gazing longingly at the inaccessible light above. For an age she could not bring herself to continue her journey and sat on pile of collapsed masonry, staring upwards and crying quietly in despair.

  Suddenly, something ran over her foot and she screamed in fright as the biggest rat she had ever seen was caught in the circle of light shining down from above. She caught her breath and with renewed determination, continued her journey down the subterranean stairway.

  Rubria lost all track of time but eventually realised that something was changing. The sound of trickling water had always been with her but it was getting louder the further she walked. Finally, it had become quite loud indeed and Rubria realised it sounded like a waterfall.

  ‘Oh no,’ she groaned as she realised the implications and though the tunnel was still in total darkness, she soon realised her worst fears when she couldn’t find the next step down with her feet.

  The steady flow of water that had accompanied her for the last hour or so now fell from beneath her into a pool below. She had no way of knowing how far below the pool was or its depth. Rubria stopped in despair. She didn’t want to take the last step into the unknown as she had no idea what awaited her below but it was pointless going back as there was no way out. She removed one sandal and, holding it over the edge, dropped it into the darkness, counting as it fell.

  ‘One, two, thr…’ She heard a splash above the sound of the falling water and repeated the exercise with the other sandal.

  One, two, thr…’ splash. There it was again. There was no other option and Rubria realised she had to go on. Already filthy, she sat on the edge of the drop, dangling her legs into the darkness.

  ‘Holy Mother protect me,’ she prayed and pushed herself forward into the unknown.

  ----

  Chapter 14

  Samothrace 2010

  India and Brandon walked from the quayside and up onto the main road running through the island’s one port, Kariamiotisa. Behind them, rows of blue fishing boats bobbed on the gentle swell in the manmade harbour. They waited for the light traffic to pass before crossing and made their way toward the rows of red tiled houses. Brandon consulted a sketched diagram he had been given by the captain, before leading the way up a side street. He stopped before a small tavern with a couple of wooden benches outside.

  ‘Looks like this is the place,’ he said and knocked on the door before entering the cool darkness within. ‘Hello,’ he called, ‘anyone home?’

  ‘Hello,’ came the answer from a rear room, ‘just a second.’

  They waited patiently and eventually an elderly lady came out, wiping her flour covered hands in her apron.

  ‘Hello,’ she said with a smile, ‘English, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Brandon, ‘we have been given your name by Helios. He said you can give us a room for a couple of nights.’

  ‘Helios? Yes, such a good boy.’ She looked at India and smiled again. ‘Honeymoons, yes?’

  Before India could answer, Brandon answered for her.

  ‘Yes,’ he said quickly, ‘we are very much in love.’ He put his arm around India as if to prove the point.

  ‘Aaah,’ said the woman, ‘very goods. I am Agatha and this is my homes. I will put you up in the best room I have overlooking the seas. She turned to India before adding, ‘very romantics.’

  ‘Thank you,’ smiled India but as soon as Agatha turned away, she kicked Brandon in the ankle.

  ‘Is this all your luggages?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Brandon, ‘it was all very last minute, you understand.’

  ‘Aaah, young loves,’ said Agatha, ‘I was in loves once, with two brothers from Athens.’

  India glanced at Brandon and hid a smile.

  ‘Come with me,’ continued Agatha, ‘and I will show you to your rooms.’ They followed her up a narrow stone staircase onto a gloomy landing. She opened a door and they filed into a surprisingly spacious and clean bedroom.

  ‘Lovely views, yes?’ asked Agatha.

  ‘Beautiful,’ agreed India, looking out of the window.

  Agatha sat on the bed and bounced up and down, making it squeak loudly.

  ‘Very strong springs,’ she said proudly, ‘very new, only ten years old. The shower is downstairs and hot waters is available in the morninks. Toilet rolls is here,’ she added, opening a side cupboard, ‘the first one is free, extra rolls are one euro each. You are happy, yes?’

  ‘This will do fine,’ said Brandon, pulling out his wallet, ‘how much do we owe you?’

  ‘Thirty Euros every night,’ she said, ‘very cheaps.’

  He counted out a hundred and fifty.

  ‘Five nights should do it,’ he said, ‘is that okay?’

  ‘This is good,’ she said, putting the notes down the neckline of her blouse. She turned to India. ‘Five nights,’ she said with a wink, ‘much luvvinks, yes?’

  India bit her tongue and just smiled

  ‘Aaah,’ said Agatha, ‘very romantics. I will leave you in pieces.’ She left the room and India closed the door gently before spinning around with fire in her eyes.

  ‘Honeymoon,’ she snarled, ‘what on earth made you say that? Why can’t I have my own room?’

  ‘Calm down,’ said Brand
on, ‘I have my reasons.’

  ‘If you think I am sleeping with you then you are sadly mistaken, mister,’ she said, folding her arms in defiance.

  ‘India,’ interrupted Brandon, ‘shut up for a minute and just listen. Don’t forget the killer was from around here and we don’t know anything about him yet. Until we know it is safe, I would rather we stay very close.’

  ‘Oh,’ said India, ‘of course, sorry, I didn’t think.’

  ‘No you didn’t. Don’t worry, you can have the bed, I will sleep on the floor. Anyway, what makes you so sure I would want to sleep with you?’

  India’s shock was almost comical as her anger found a new target.

  ‘Why? What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Brandon, ‘it’s just… I mean… oh forget it. I can’t win this argument. Look, I don’t know about you but I just want a shower and a change of clothes.’

  ‘Hot waters is available in the morninks,’ said India, mimicking the woman’s accent to break the tension.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ answered Brandon, ‘I forgot.’ Suddenly he picked up his rucksack and delved into the contents.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he answered and suddenly stood up holding a pair of Speedos.

  ‘Who needs a shower’ he asked, ‘when you’ve got the beautiful Aegean on your doorstep? Come on, grab those designer bikinis you fleeced me for and we’ll have a bit of a break before the work starts.’

  ----

  Several hours later, they sat outside a tavern, each sipping on a glass of ouzo and watching a spectacular sunset.

  ‘I have never seen anything so beautiful,’ said India, ‘no wonder they based the temple of the gods on this island.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know,’ said Brandon, ‘the same sunset is probably being watched by millions of other people across the med.’

  ‘Oh shut up, Brandon,’ said India, ‘where’s your romance?’

  He raised one eyebrow and stared silently over his glass as he sipped his ouzo.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said India, ‘anyway, what is the plan now we are here?’

  ‘Well,’ answered, Brandon, ‘the dead man’s license has been traced to somewhere along the coast called Therma. I’ve booked us on a sightseeing trip tomorrow and we’ll visit some of his known haunts to see if we can pick up any information.’

  ‘When are we going to Paleopolis?’

  ‘Paleopolis?’ asked Brandon.

  ‘The temple of the Gods,’ she said, ‘we can’t come all the way to Samothrace and not go to the ruins.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Brandon, ‘let’s not forget our purpose here, there’s still a little girl missing.’

  India nodded sombrely.

  ‘Do you think she’s okay?’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Brandon, ‘everything possible is being done to find her but she seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth. None of the known threats has any knowledge at all. Drug rings, prostitution rackets, even terrorist groups, they’ve all have been checked out.’

  ‘They could be lying,’ she said.

  ‘Possibly but we have a network of contacts throughout every known organisation. Either this is a new group or the result of some fanatic acting on his own.’

  ‘So why aren’t there more of you out here,’ asked India.

  ‘The main enquiry is going on back home. This is just a wild card, so to speak. We don’t hold much hope of finding anything but we obviously have to cover every angle.’

  ‘So what have your people found out about the dead man?’ asked India.

  ‘Not much. We know his name is Peter Venezelos and his driving license is registered in Therma but apart from that, there’s not much to know. This island is very isolated and he doesn’t appear on any database we can find. In my experience, the civil servants in these sorts of places are pretty slow in computerising their records. Given time, I’m sure we could dig up all sorts of facts but time is the one thing we haven’t got.’ He called the waiter and ordered more drinks. ‘So,’ he continued, ‘what else can you tell me about this island?’

  ‘Not much,’ said India, ‘after the death of Elektra the temple of the gods went from strength to strength and lasted thousands of years, right up until it was torn down by the Byzantines in the fourth century.’

  ‘So that’s a dead end as far as the investigation goes then,’ said Brandon.

  ‘Possibly, though don’t forget, for all those thousands of years previous to that, it was a fundamental part of life to most people across this part of the world.’

  They talked long into the night and eventually made their way back to the taverna in the early hours of the morning, slightly worse for wear. They spent an awkward ten minutes getting changed and organising the sleeping arrangements before India curled up on the squeaky bed under a sheet. Brandon lay on the floor on a makeshift mattress made from the two spare blankets they had found on top of the wardrobe.

  ‘You okay?’ asked India in the darkness.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said, ‘I’ve slept in a lot worse places than this.’

  ‘Good night then,’ she said and closed her eyes, falling asleep within minutes.

  ----

  The following morning saw them both on a small bus heading along the coast road toward the town named after the natural warm springs that were its main attraction. The bus was filled with tourists, all keen to see more of the island and India could hear a range of languages including Greek, German and English.

  Eventually they arrived and India and Brandon got off to follow the tourists into the village. They spent an hour wandering around the market before eventually moving up into the side streets, finally finding the one named on Brandon’s slip of paper. They made their way into the café near the end of the row of whitewashed houses and despite the language differences, managed to order some coffees as they took in the environment around them. They ordered a light lunch, striking up a conversation with a waitress who spoke English and Brandon eventually eased the subject around to Peter Venezelos, explaining that he had met him on a previous holiday and would like to say hello.

  ‘Yes I know Peter,’ she said, ‘but he has been away for a long time. He left over a year ago but I know not where.’

  ‘Did he live around here?’ asked Brandon. ‘Perhaps I could pop in and say hello to his parents. It would be good to see them again.’

  The girl paused.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t understand, his parents have been dead for many years. Mama Christou raised him and his brother. Where did you say you met him?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Brandon, realising he had made a silly mistake, ‘I must be mistaken. Perhaps I will catch up with him next time.’ He placed some money on the bar and led the way out of the café and away from the street. The girl watched them leave before reaching for the handset of an ancient landline on the bar. Outside, India and Brandon crossed the square.

  ‘That was awkward,’ said India.

  ‘Schoolboy error,’ said Brandon. ‘I assumed too much too quickly. Still, at least we’ve got a name.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mama Christou,’ he said. ‘Sounds like a name most people will know in a place like this.’ He was right for within a few minutes, they had directions to Mama Christou’s house and had found out she was now a frail old woman with failing eyesight. Brandon bought a bunch of flowers and they made their way to an old part of the village. India knocked on the door and a young woman answered.

  ‘Hello,’ said India, ‘do you speak English?’

  ‘A little,’ said the woman.

  ‘We are looking for Mama Christou. Peter Venezelos said she lived here.’

  The woman’s eyes widened.

  ‘You are a friend of Peter?’ she asked, ‘have you seen him?

  ‘Yes,’ said Brandon, ‘he is in England. We have become friends over the last few months and when I told him I was coming he
re on holiday, he asked me to pop in and give Mama Christou some flowers.’

  ‘That’s not like him,’ said the woman, ‘still, you had better come in.’

  They entered a darkened room and immediately they could see an old woman sat in a battered chair with a shawl wrapped around her knees. The young woman pulled up two chairs from the table and placed them facing the old woman.

  ‘Mama,’ she said in English, ‘we have visitors, they are friends of Peter. They have come to pay their respects to you.’

  The old woman peered at them through thick glasses.

  ‘Friends of Peter,’ she said, ‘which ones? Better not be the Aetosh, they are not welcome here, bringing their trouble all the time. Tell them to go away.’

  ‘No, Mama,’ said the young woman, ‘they are not the Aetosh, they are English. Nice people. Look, they have brought you flowers.’

  ‘English.’ she said. ‘What are English doing in my home?’

  Brandon stepped forward.

  ‘Peter said to pop in and say hello,’ he said, ‘we haven’t known him long but he said you brought him up.’

  ‘I did,’ said the woman, ‘and look how he repays me. No job, no grandchildren and left us without any food in the cupboard. I should have known, he spent most of his time riding his moped with the rest of the hooligans. A waster, that boy is, nothing more than a scoundrel.’ She leaned back and closed her eyes, mumbling something incoherently under her breath.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the younger woman, ‘she gets a bit upset these days. Times are hard you see.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Brandon, ‘perhaps we shouldn’t have come.’ They stood up to leave but as they left, he paused and pulled out a pile of Euros from his wallet before placing them on the table.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I forgot to say,’ said Brandon, ‘Peter told me to give you this. It’s not much but it will help a little.’

  ‘It’s not charity is it?’ asked the woman, ‘Mama would never accept charity.’

  ‘No, certainly not,’ he lied, ‘Peter asked me to bring it to you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.