Murder in Mykonos

11

When Tassos finally called Andreas that morning, his voice was grim. He had nothing new on Ilias but had probable IDs on eight victims and none of them was listed on Ilias' tapes. All eight were tall blonds traveling alone from Holland, Scandinavia, or Germany and disappeared during the summer months of different years. Each was last seen or heard from on or near Mykonos.

They'd made the identifications with help from his friend at Interpol, but there'd be no more help from him on the subject of missing women without a formal request — and explanation of what the hell was going on — from the ministry.

'As it was,' Tassos said, 'my friend pressed me for why a homicide detective on an idyllic Greek island was so interested in all eighteen- to thirty-year-old, tall, blond women reported as missing in Europe over the past twenty summers.'

'Not a bad question,' said Andreas.

'He said my answer — "statistical reasons" — didn't pass "bullshit" on his snifftest meter, but he'd let it pass because he owed me.' Tassos paused before continuing. 'My favor wasn't big enough for him to keep it to himself if we ask for DNA comparisons of our bone collection against their list of missing blonds. He won't miss what that means — no one could miss what that means.'

Andreas figured 'no one' included tourists, travel agents, parents of young women and everyone else in the world with a TV. Their time was running out.

Sounding slightly less grim now, Tassos said, 'I also spoke to my friend at New Scotland Yard. He should have something for us on Father Paul by early afternoon — if there is anything.'

'Thanks,' Andreas said without enthusiasm.

Forcing a note of lightness into his voice, Tassos said, 'Okay, Chief, I showed you mine, now show me yours.'

Andreas smiled and played along. 'Mine's bigger. I spoke to the taxi driver who picked up Vandrew the morning of the day she disappeared. She was on the road from the beach where Father Paul lives. Said she'd been taken there by Yiorgos Chanas, son of-'

'Panos.' It was an edgy interruption.

Andreas was surprised at his tone. 'Yes.'

Tassos said, 'His whole place is dirty, and I don't mean just the kitchen.'

'What's dirty about it?' Andreas hadn't heard it called that before. Overpriced and filled with aging girl-chasers, yes, but not dirty in the cop sense.

'It starts at the top. I've no problem with older guys chasing young girls, but Panos takes it too far. He and his buddies do the usual big-money flash and brag about their boats and planes — you know, that "mine's bigger than yours" sort of thing.'

Andreas laughed. Tassos didn't miss a trick.

'But when that doesn't work he takes a nasty turn.' There was an unmistakable anger in Tassos' voice. 'He drops a little date-rape shit — probably Rohypnol — in the girl's drink, and it's on to party time.'

'I can't believe it,' Andreas said, outraged. 'The son of a bitch is… how's he get away with it? Why do you let him?'

Tassos' voice showed frustration, not offense, at the question. 'Never touches locals — or Greeks for that matter. Always ends up the same way, some young — and therefore obviously promiscuous — tourist girl's word against a "respected Mykonian businessman" and his "respected witnesses." Besides, date-rape drugs have a nasty habit of producing a degree of amnesia in their victims. Like an alcohol blackout, but worse. They can't remember events that took place while under its influence. And for those who do, it's usually too late to make a difference.'

'Christ, how many other sinister little secrets are going to pop up in the middle of this investigation?' Andreas knew that his own frustration was beginning to show.

Tassos wasn't reassuring. 'And he has this weird competitive thing with his son over who gets first shot at the girl. Panos had a really fucked-up childhood — his sister died in some almost-too-freak an accident to be an accident, and, if you ask me, he's trying his damnedest to pass his craziness on to his kid.' He sounded like an angry father.

'Great,' Andreas said, 'now we've got two suspects sprouting serial-killer characteristics.'

'And we're just getting started. Any other possibilities?'

'Aside from the son?' asked Andreas.

'I doubt he was killing in diapers. Too young to be our man. If he's involved at all, it's through his father, but it seems unlikely. Remember your list — serial killers are loners.'

Andreas didn't disagree. 'The taxi driver said a South African jeweler — a guy with a shop over by Alpha Bank — was with her the night she disappeared.'

Tassos paused. 'I know the guy but have nothing on him. Respected businessman as far as I know, but I'll see what there is.'

'Then there's the taxi driver, Manny Manoulis.'

Tassos' voice jumped at the name. 'Christ, Andreas, you aren't making this any easier.'

'What are you talking about?' Andreas felt a headache starting above his left eye.

For a few seconds Andreas heard only Tassos' breathing. 'When Manny was a kid he was raped. It was horrible. He was only eight. Some drugged-up degenerates caught him in town late at night over by the Kastro. He was hanging out waiting for his father to close his shop. The rapists never made it to trial, if you know what I mean, but the kid was never the same.'

Andreas' headache took aim at a spot right between his eyes.

'He tried to kill himself three times before puberty,' Tassos continued. 'Finally, some psychiatrist from Athens got through to him and he's been pretty much under control since then. I think he's on medication.'

'What do you mean "pretty much"?'

'His father was a nice guy — dead now — and considering what happened, we tended to cut the kid some slack.' Tassos sounded defensive.

Andreas knew he wasn't going to like what was coming.

'Every once in a while a female tourist has complained that she thought her taxi driver was masturbating in the front seat.'

'Jeezus, Tassos.'

'We never had to ask who it was.' He paused. 'It's always the same story. The driver would never say anything to any of them or expose himself — certainly he never tries to touch them — and the few who've leaned over the front seat to check him out have seen a lot more dicks than his.' He paused again. 'We've treated it as harmless.' His words hung in the air.

After a pause, Andreas asked, 'How long's this been going on?'

'Hmm. I'd say about twenty years.'

Andreas' head was pounding, and he rubbed his forehead. 'Now we've got three meeting the profile, plus a priest my instincts scream is dirty, a jeweler we know nothing about, and who knows how many more suspects from the date-rape-drug crowd over at Panos'.'

Tassos said nothing. Andreas tried to ease his headache with less serious thoughts, and he burst out laughing.

'Are you okay?' Tassos asked.

'You remember the name of that Agatha Christie murder mystery about all those people on the train?'

'Yeah, I saw the movie, Murder on the Orient Express.'

Andreas caught himself nodding into the phone. 'That's it, the one with a dozen suspects, each one looking guiltier than the other.'

'Do you remember who did it?' Tassos asked.

Andreas laughed. 'Yeah, they all did — with only one body to work with and stuck on a train. Here we have eighteen, maybe more, and a whole island — more than enough for all our suspects to have killed at least one.'

'I really hope you're kidding,' Tassos said, his voice serious.

Andreas sighed. 'I'd like to think I am.' The whimsy of the moment was gone. 'I think I'll stop by to say hello to your friend Panos.'

'He's probably at his farm. It's out by the reservoir in Ano Mera.'

Andreas rubbed his eyes with the heel of his free hand. 'Time to get back to work.' He was about to hang up but didn't. He knew Tassos hadn't either. There was something else he had to say, something he'd been meaning to say. 'I don't know where all this is headed, but I want you to know I'm praying for something.'

Tassos spoke softly. 'What's that?'

'That nothing bad happens to some other poor girl because of what we're doing.' There was a long pause.

'Amen.' Tassos hung up. Demetra looked forward to seeing her cousin. It was a terrific day, bright, sunny and not too hot. She had a surprise for Annika; she was moving her to a different hotel. The parents of one of her friends owned a new five-star hotel on a beach made famous for unexpected, transforming romance in the movie Shirley Valentine — just the sort of atmosphere her cousin could use.

Demetra took a taxi from the airport to Annika's hotel. She told the driver to wait while she ran in to speak to her cousin. He grumbled, but after a 'Greek-to-Greek' conversation — at all appropriate decibel levels — agreed to wait 'a few minutes.' Demetra had tried unsuccessfully for more than a day to reach Annika after getting her message that she was staying at the Hotel Adlantis, but none of Demetra's phone calls to the hotel had been returned. That wasn't like her cousin. She assumed Annika hadn't received her messages.

As she got out of the taxi she noticed a police car parked by the entrance. A young policeman was leaning against the hood, smoking and smiling at her. She smiled back. He was cute. Once inside she heard shouting. It was a man's voice yelling about 'police,' 'lousy cousin,' and 'useless mayor.' When she reached the counter, she saw that it was a gray-haired man screaming into a cell phone. She stood looking at her watch and the taxi outside while the man behind the counter seemed oblivious to her presence. After a minute she said in Greek, 'Excuse me.' He waved her off.

Wrong move. 'Excuse me.'

No answer.

'Excuse me,' she said a little louder now.

Still no response, but an angry look.

'Excuse me.' Demetra banged on the bell on the counter.

The man swore at her in Greek.

She swore back and banged louder on the bell, yelling 'EXCUSE ME EXCUSE ME EXCUSE ME.'

Finally, the man put the phone against his side and cursed at her for two or three seconds. 'What do you want?'

She smiled. 'I am looking for my cousin, Annika Vanden Haag.'

'She's not here,' he said, and he put the phone back to his ear.

'Where is she?'

He looked at her with hate in his eyes. 'I don't keep track of my guests. Now leave before I get really angry.' He went back to his conversation.

She screamed, 'HELP! POLICE! HELP! POLICE!'

The man's face turned white. He dropped the phone and told her to shut up.

She smiled. 'Now, where's my cousin?'

He swore a few words at her but answered, 'I don't know. She hasn't been in her room since yesterday morning and she was going to leave today. She probably moved somewhere else.'

'Did she take her things with her?'

'How should I know?'

Demetra smiled, turned toward the front door, and waved at the policeman who looked as if he'd heard someone calling for him. He waved back. She turned back to the gray-haired man. She thought he'd be seething. Instead he looked scared to death.

'Her things are still here. It happens all the time. A girl meets a boy and leaves her things. All the time.'

Demetra was getting nervous. 'I want to see her room.'

'I can't allow it,' he said, seeming almost to tremble.

She just stared at him. He came from behind the desk and led her down the stairs. She'd forgotten all about the taxi driver.

The room looked as if Annika had left in a hurry, but with clothes and toiletries there — as if she'd intended to return. Demetra left the room and headed upstairs toward the taxi. She thought of saying something to the policeman, but what was there to say? She'd call Annika's mother as soon as she reached her hotel and let her decide what to do.

The only thing she knew for sure was that something was very wrong. Catia's relief at Demetra's voice was very short-lived. She expected Demetra to tell her that she was with Annika or at least had spoken to her. Instead, Catia heard panic. 'I don't know where she is, Auntie, I don't know.'

All her life Demetra was the tough-mouthed little kid who tended to lose it a bit under pressure, just the opposite of Annika. Out of habit, Catia spent most of their conversation calming her niece and ignoring her own anxiety. That changed as soon as they hung up and Catia called her brother, Demetra's father — the deputy minister. He tried treating his younger sister as she'd just treated his daughter, but Catia would have none of it.

'Don't patronize me, Spiros, I'm not Demetra,' Catia said, her voice steely.

He sounded slightly annoyed. 'I understand you're worried about Annika being out all night, but let's be realistic, she just broke up with her boyfriend, she's on Mykonos, and… uh-'

Catia cut him off. 'This is not about that. I know something's wrong. I sense evil.' With those words she let her brother know further argument was useless because, among Greeks, a mother's sense of evil lurking about her child was taken very seriously.

He sighed. 'Okay, what do you want from me?'

It wasn't exactly the marines she asked for, just a call from the person in charge of all police in Greece to the chief of police in Mykonos to find her daughter ASAP.

Another sigh. 'Okay, little sister, I'll call as soon as we hang up.'

Catia thanked him, sent him kisses, and hung up feeling much better. She was certain her brother would find Annika. After all, wasn't that what police did all the time?