Murder in Mykonos

7

Andreas had fallen into a routine. He'd wake an hour and a half before sunrise, dress in running shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers, do sit-ups and push-ups while his coffee brewed, gather what he planned to wear that day, and drive the five minutes from his rented house on the Paradise Beach road to police headquarters; where he'd park and jog the hundred yards onto the airport runway. At that hour only airport security and cleaning crews were around, and as chief of police, Andreas could go where he pleased.

He liked jogging inside the perimeter fence at sunrise. It gave him time to think, something you dared not do if you were crazy enough to attempt jogging on Mykonos roads — especially at sunrise. That was when the drunkest of the drunk returned from beach clubs and bars. The worst accidents took place during those hours, and heaven help the seriously injured awaiting an emergency helicopter flight to Athens. After his run he'd return to headquarters, shower, and ask the officer in charge to brief him on the 'fresh hells' to confront from the night before.

For the moment, his thoughts were on the wonder of the Mykonos morning light. It never ceased to amaze him how its pale, rose-blue magic somehow brought the island's rock-edged hills and bright white structures into graceful harmony. If only it could last, he thought, but hard light always came, bringing on the heat. Later, when siesta was over and dusk had arrived, the light changed again, with every color competing for your eye. Every vessel, every soaring bird, every stroller in the port, and every lamppost lining the harbor seemed to stand alone and yet — somehow — fit together against the horizon.

Sort of like a 3-D movie, thought Andreas, bringing himself back to the reality of his day.

There hadn't been a break on the Vandrew case. His men had shown her picture at all the likely places, but no one had seen her — or would admit to it if they had. She wasn't listed on any airline passenger list, and ferries kept no records of passenger names. Nor had they turned up anything so far in any of the tourist logs hotels were required to maintain and regularly turn over to the police. That was no surprise. No one enforced the requirement. The bigger hotels complied, the unlicensed rooms didn't, and everything in between was a maybe. Besides, none of the records were on computer so no one ever bothered to look at them unless there was a reason tied to a specific person at a specific hotel. Many simply were tossed to make room for other things.

Andreas pushed himself a little harder on his second lap around the perimeter. He assumed Vandrew arrived sometime during the two weeks preceding what the coroner fixed as her latest probable time of death. With the average tourist stay at three days, and 30,000 licensed beds to report, there theoretically were 140,000, mostly handwritten hotel entries to review for that period — assuming she was reported. Good luck finding her that way. He jogged back to the station.

Andreas had showered, and dressed and was having his second cup of coffee when the officer at the front desk called to tell him someone was there to see him — an Albanian who said he'd 'only talk to the chief.' Andreas went down to meet him, a short, slim man, about thirty, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans. He looked tired and nervous. 'You want to see me?' Andreas used his official tone.

'Yes, sir.' The man's eyes jumped back and forth between Andreas and the other policemen. 'Cousin say to trust you.'

'Who's your cousin?'

'Alex. He find body in church.'

He had Andreas' interest. Andreas led him up to his office and had him sit across from his desk. He left the door open — just in case — and smiled to try to make the man comfortable. 'So, why did you want to see me?'

The man's voice cracked as he spoke. 'Alex say I can trust you,' he repeated as if reassuring himself that he could. 'He say you fair and did not hurt him.'

Andreas just listened.

'I knew the girl.'

Andreas hoped his expression didn't show his excitement. He let him go on.

He spoke quickly in broken Greek. 'She stay at hotel I work nights. I know her from picture police show me.'

'Why didn't you tell that to the police officer when he showed you the photograph?' Andreas already knew the answer.

'I afraid.'

Andreas nodded. An honest answer.

'Because boss not want me say anything.' A surprising answer. 'I did not want lose job.' He was shaking now. Andreas offered him some water, and he took a drink. 'When police showed me picture I know it her but my boss not put her in book.'

His boss was stealing from the tax office — another Mykonos tradition.

'Then police speak to boss and he say she murdered.' He was rocking back and forth in the chair.

Andreas perked up but maintained his steady, official tone. 'How did your boss know that?' His men had been instructed not to say she was dead.

'He say everyone on Mykonos know girl found murdered and if police show picture of girl it had to be her.' His voice was slightly calmer though he continued to rock.

Sort of like trying to hide an elephant under a tablecloth, thought Andreas.

'He say he want no trouble with police and to say nothing.' He stopped rocking and started clasping and unclasping his hands.

'Why are you telling me this now?' Andreas asked, looking for a motive.

'I like her, she nice to me,' he said, his voice cracking this time.

Andreas knew there had to be more of a reason than that. Giving his best all-knowing look he said, 'And?'

The man started rocking again. 'I know Alex found her. I tell him what boss say. He say must tell you.' He paused. 'Because you will find out and I be in big trouble.'

God bless those who overestimate how much police know — and can find out — Andreas thought. 'And?' His voice was more forceful this time.

The man started to shake again. 'No more, that only reason.'

Andreas decided not to press him. He'd leave that to Kouros, who spoke some Albanian. He'd remain the good cop on this one. Andreas picked up the phone and called Kouros. He met Kouros at the doorway and whispered what the man had said and what he wanted Kouros to do.

Andreas introduced the man to Kouros as if the man were his friend. 'Officer Kouros, this man has been a great help to us. Please take his statement and make sure no one lets his boss know he was here.'

Kouros turned to the man and nodded. 'Where do you work, sir?' he asked in Albanian.

'The Hotel Adlantis.'

It took about an hour of good-cop, bad-cop to get the man frightened enough to tell what else he knew. Another hour until Andreas was convinced the man wasn't lying, and another thirty seconds for Andreas and Kouros to be out the door racing toward the hotel. Annika hadn't slept well. She felt uncomfortable in the room. She wanted to get out and decided to sleep on the beach. She threw her things into a beach bag, put on a tank top and a pair of shorts, and headed out the door, flopping along in her sandals.

It was still very early for Mykonos. She'd slept only a couple of hours. She couldn't believe how different this walk to the bus station was from her last. The streets were deserted. She laughed and shook her head as a police car went screaming by her. No one on the roads and still they drive with sirens blaring. Boys never grow up, she thought.

There was only one bus, marked 'Paradise.' She smiled. That's just where she wanted to be. Andreas was in no mood for niceties. He told the woman behind the counter he wanted to speak to the owner. She said he was out and wasn't sure when he'd be back. He told her that in ten minutes either the owner was here talking to them or his officers started knocking on doors and talking to every guest in the hotel. His choice. Ilias was there in five.

'Ilias Batesakis?' Andreas' tone was as stern as his look.

'Yes.' His voice was neutral.

'Is there a place we can talk privately?'

Ilias showed him and Kouros into the small office next to the reception counter and closed the door.

Andreas stared at him, saying nothing. Without moving his eyes from Ilias he held out his hand, and Kouros handed him a photograph. 'Have you ever seen this woman before?'

Ilias looked at the photo with no emotion. 'As I told your officers last night, no, not in my life.'

'It's time to rethink your answer.'

'Who do you think you're talking to?' Ilias raised his voice. 'You come into my place of business, frightening my help and threatening me. I am a cousin of the mayor.'

'Fine. He can visit you in jail,' Andreas said, and gave Kouros a take-him-away gesture.

Kouros motioned for Ilias to follow him. Ilias laughed, until Kouros grabbed him, swung him around, and cuffed his hands behind him. Not the usual treatment afforded politically connected Mykonians. Ilias no longer was laughing. He began to curse.

Andreas simply waited until he'd finished. 'We came here to ask you questions. You're the one who's turned yourself into a murder suspect.'

The color drained from Ilias' face. It was as gray as his hair. 'Murder? I didn't do anything to the girl. I don't know what happened to her. She never came back.'

There was no need to note he'd just admitted to lying — they were way past that point.

'Where are the tapes?'

The man looked as if he might faint. 'What tapes?'

Andreas threw him into a chair. 'Asshole, where are the tapes? You're the number one suspect in a murder case. Now try to change my mind.'

'I want to speak to my cousin.' He sounded frightened.

Andreas smacked him across the face with the back of his hand. 'Take him out of here, Yianni. We'll get what we want from him back at the station.'

Ilias was strong and tried to resist when Kouros took his arm to pull him out of the chair, but Kouros was stronger and enjoyed his work. The sound of Ilias bouncing off the walls got the receptionist yelling, 'Is everything all right in there?'

Kouros had Ilias pressed against the wall with his arms locked behind him in cuffs. Breathing heavily, Ilias yelled back, 'Yes, Roz. All is okay.' Then he said quietly, 'She came by boat.'

Kouros didn't budge. 'Keep talking,' said Andreas.

'She was to stay four days but left before.' It was a struggle for him to speak.

'What do you mean "left before"?' Andreas' voice was merciless.

'She disappeared. We never saw her after the second day.'

'What did you do with her things?'

'I threw them out.'

All of that matched with what his night man had told them. Now to see if what else they'd been told was true.

'I want to see the tapes.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Ilias said, his voice cracking.

Andreas stepped forward so that his eyes were twelve inches from Ilias' and spoke in a precise, determined whisper. 'Let me put it this way, you fucking pervert, we know you have a video camera hidden in your "special room," and frankly, I don't give a shit how often you beat off to those fantasies of yours, but if you force us to tear this hotel apart brick by brick until we find that camera and those tapes — and we will find them — you better pray hers is with them. Otherwise, we'll know you tossed it because you didn't want us to know what was on it.'

Ilias was in full panic. 'No, no! I had nothing to do with her. The tape is downstairs. You'll see what I say is true.'

So, the night man was right about the tapes, too.

'I want to see the girl's room.' Andreas gestured for Kouros to let him off the wall.

'There's someone in it.'

'So what?'

'Please, this will ruin the reputation of my hotel.'

Andreas couldn't believe the guy. He's a murder suspect and he's worried about disturbing a guest.

'We're going to take the handcuffs off, but if you even breathe funny, we'll drag you out of here by your balls. Understand?'

'Yes.'

'Now show us.' Andreas nodded to Kouros to take off the cuffs.

He took them first to a locked room on the bottom floor where he kept the tapes. Her time at the hotel was recorded on one of hundreds. They must go back years. Possibly decades. Andreas' heart was pounding. Could he be the one? 'Where's her room?'

'Next door.'

They knocked on the door but there was no answer. Ilias opened it with his passkey. It was tiny. Women's clothes were scattered as if the occupant had left in a hurry. Andreas looked at Ilias. 'You have tapes of her too?'

No answer.

Andreas slapped him again. 'I'm talking to you.'

'Yes.'

'Where is she?'

'I don't know. She must have gone out.'

'How do you know?'

'I was taping her while she slept.'

Andreas wanted to punch him. 'Where's the camera?'

He showed them two — one in the bedroom, one in the bathroom.

'Yianni, get him out of here. Take him back to the station and let him call whoever the hell he wants. He'll need them all. Also, get someone over here to watch both rooms until forensics gets here from Syros. I'll wait for him.'

Ilias started to object but Andreas gave him a warning look and he went quietly.

Andreas sat on the edge of the bed and called Tassos from his cell phone. Tassos sounded as excited at hearing what Andreas had found as Andreas was at telling him. Forensics would be on the way within an hour. Andreas hung up and stared down at the floor, thinking.

Why did speaking to Tassos make him think of his father? And why was that bothering him? He thought he'd gotten over the anger. Eight is a bad age to lose a dad. You're just getting to know him, appreciate him, learn from him, and poof; suddenly he's gone. It can make you a very angry young man, finding yourself instantly a fatherless, only son. Maybe that's why I've never married, he thought — to spare some other eight-year-old the pain. Nah, that's not it. Just haven't found the right girl yet. Thank God for my sister's kids, or I'd never hear the end of it from Mother.

He looked up. A pair of French doors opened onto a small balcony. The scene beyond was magnificent: a serene silver-blue sea and shades-of-brown distant hills dotted with tiny white houses under an Aegean-blue sky. He wondered how many other young women had seen that view as one of their last on earth.

Andreas couldn't believe his luck at finding the killer so quickly. It seemed too good to be true.