Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) Read online

  The small chamber, its internal wall hewn out of the rocky base of the kastro, was lit by a multitude of candles, the heavy scent of wax hanging in the air. Kyra Maro was kneeling on the floor, her tiny head on the embroidered bedspread. Rena could see no movement in her chest, but that wasn’t what frightened her. There was an open tin box on the floor and the bed was laid out with darkly stained objects that she knew immediately were human bones. And between the old woman’s outstretched arms was a skull, the eye sockets gaping and the cranium disfigured by an uneven bulge on the top.

  Rena’s knees were weak and her breath was coming in rapid gasps. She forced herself to go closer and bend over Kyra Maro. Touching her fleshless wrist, she found a pulse that was stronger than she’d expected. She stepped back, unsure what to do. The way the room had been arranged gave the impression of ritual. Perhaps the old woman did this every night, there was no way of knowing, and she might be upset to be discovered with the bones.

  Kneeling down beside the box, Rena looked at its lid. A white cross had been painted roughly on it, along with the capital letters alpha and gamma, and the numbers 1943-1964. She rocked back on her heels and tried to make sense of this. The gamma may have referred to a member of Kyra Maro’s family—her surname was Grypari. But whose bones could they be? As far as Rena knew, the old woman had never married or had children. She assumed the numbers were dates; 1943—Maro would have been about twenty then. But whose were the initials? And why had his or her bones been taken from the ossuary?

  Rena shivered and got slowly to her feet, having decided to go without waking the old woman. Though faint, her breathing was regular and she didn’t seem to be ill. It was as she ran her eyes around the cell-like room one last time that Rena saw the faded photograph in the icon niche. She recognised it immediately. She had come across it in the room across her courtyard that she rented out. Her surprise at seeing it again in Kyra Maro’s bedroom diluted the shock she’d got from the bones. Then the old woman twitched, her eyes suddenly flickering.

  Not wanting to be caught in her sanctuary, Rena moved quickly out of the room towards the front door. She remembered to take the bowl of soup to cover her tracks—she’d come back with it later. Outside, she turned the key in the door and started quickly down the street, almost colliding with Manolis Gryparis. The old man with the single arm stared hard at her as he brushed past. She was halfway home when it occurred to her that now Kyra Maro’s brother was aware that she had a key to the old woman’s house. As far as she knew, no one else in Maro’s family had one. It was the kind of knowledge that the old bastard was quite capable of using to his advantage—or to that of his terrible son, Lefteris.

  Eleni pulled up in front of the Bar Astrapi, dust rising in the bright lights. Mavros let go of her and got off the bike, his thighs aching. He’d been trying to grip the seat in order to reduce his hold on her, but she’d driven so fast that he’d been forced to encircle her midriff with his arms as he’d done earlier in the day.

  ‘You can buy me a drink for the ride,’ Eleni said, her voice humourless. ‘I won’t charge you for anything else.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll get you a drink,’ Mavros replied. ‘In a few minutes. First I want to go back to my place to change so that you can take these clothes back.’ He also wanted to call Niki, but he wasn’t going to tell Eleni that.

  The archaeologist gave a shrug. ‘You do what you like, Alex,’ she said indifferently. ‘You know where to find me.’ She turned away and went into the bar, the sound of heavy rock music increasing as the door was opened.

  Mavros walked down the unlit track towards the village. He could have done without another late night, but there were people he needed to talk to and he reckoned that their guard would be down and their tongues looser in the Astrapi. That was, unless Eleni warned them about his interest in Rosa. Even if she did, their reactions might be revealing.

  He entered the village street and in the sparse lights made out his landlady approaching her front door from the opposite direction, a plate in her hands. He gave her a wave, but her head was down and she didn’t respond.

  ‘Hello,’ he said as he got closer.

  Rena’s head shot up and she gazed at him with wide eyes. ‘Oh, Alex.’ She gave him a nod as she put her key in the lock, holding the plate firmly in one hand.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked as he followed her in.

  ‘Wrong?’ she repeated, eyes to the front. ‘No.’ She turned when she came out of the passage to the yard. ‘You know, the dead young persons…’

  Mavros nodded. ‘It must be very hard for everyone.’

  ‘No,’ she said bitterly. ‘Not for everyone. There are people who do not care so much.’

  He looked at her and saw that her eyes were damp. ‘Excuse me, I have to…’ He moved towards his rooms.

  ‘You stay in now?’ Rena asked, her expression lightening slightly. ‘You would like coffee?’

  Mavros shook his head. ‘No, I’m meeting—’ He broke off. Maybe this was the time to question Rena. But she still looked very upset. It would be better to talk to her in the morning. ‘I’m meeting some people.’ He smiled awkwardly as he remembered Rena’s aversion to Eleni. ‘Goodnight.’

  The widow kept her eyes on him for a second then nodded. ‘Goodnight,’ she said in a low voice.

  Mavros went into his bedroom and changed out of the clothes Eleni had given him. He was wondering about Rena. Underneath the black clothes and scarf she was attractive, young enough to find another husband and smarter than most island women. But there was something worrying about her, something that at times made him feel like a naughty child. It was as if she lived in a different dimension to everyone else on the island, as if she had access to mysteries denied to other people. He grunted as he pulled on a clean T-shirt. Maybe she was just more subtle than her rivals about taking the tourists’ money without making them feel they’d been milked.

  He took his mobile out and called Niki’s flat. His encounters with Eleni had brought her closer and he wanted to hear her voice. Niki may have been volatile and trying, but he knew her feelings for him were genuine. As it turned out, he heard her voice only on the recorded message. He told her he’d call again the next day and cut the connection. The same happened with her mobile number. She’d probably passed out with a case file on her face—when she wasn’t with him, she took her work to bed and turned off the phones.

  He checked his own voicemail. Nothing from her and nothing from Deniz Ozal. His suspicions that the Turkish- American wasn’t particularly concerned about his sister were deepening. He hoped his client hadn’t been slapping any more hookers. If he hadn’t been so set on taking a break from Athens and Niki, that might have put him off the case. As far as he was concerned, men who hit women were scum.

  Mavros went out again, seeing Rena through the open window of the upper room. She was holding something out in front of her and examining it, her expression intense. He went out into the street and back towards the bar. Walking up the dark track beyond the village, about fifty metres from the Astrapi he heard what he initially thought were animal sounds over the wall to his left—breath being drawn in hard, limbs rubbing against the dry-stone wall. Then he heard a human voice, a loud whisper.

  ‘Keep still, will you?’ A male speaking Greek.

  A female laugh. ‘Keep still? I didn’t come here to do that.’

  There was a pause and then a dull slap.

  ‘Fuck you, Ari,’ said the woman. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ Mavros recognised the throaty voice now. It was Dhimitra Theochari’s. It seemed she’d managed to meet up with her stepson. Now Mavros could see why she’d been so restless at the dinner table. Her husband, so much older than she was, obviously didn’t satisfy her. But did she want to be hit? He thought about intervening to help her out.

  ‘I told you,’ Aris said. ‘Stop jerking around.’

  There was a sultry laugh. ‘All right, do it as fast as you like. I don’t care.’

&n
bsp; Mavros walked on. It sounded like the mining tycoon’s wife could look after herself.

  ‘Liar,’ Aris grunted, his breath coming fast.

  Mavros entered the glow of light around the bar and glanced over his shoulder. Two linked bodies were just visible in the field, Aris behind his stepmother, trousers round his knees. Dhimitra was up against the wall, her head bowed and her hands on the top. Her expensive clothes would be getting dirty.

  He opened the door and entered the bar. The first table he passed was taken by the English tourists he’d seen before.

  ‘Where’s Aris got to?’ he heard the shaven-headed Roy say. ‘We need more drink.’

  ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a minute,’ replied the bulky Trace. ‘He told me he likes peeing under the stars. I’m not surprised. The toilet in here’s disgusting.’

  Mavros took in the rest of the tables as he went to the bar. The Americans, Gretchen and Lance, were starting on a bottle of red wine, their faces suggesting that they weren’t fans of Aerosmith—the band’s first album was blasting from the speakers. In the far corner, Mikkel raised a glass to Mavros and gave him a weak smile. Barbara was at the bar, cigarette in one hand and bottle of beer in the other, her eyes down. She looked exhausted. Near her was Eleni, deep in conversation with the barman. She kept her eyes off Mavros when he handed over the clothes he’d borrowed.

  ‘Good evening, Alex!’ Rinus shouted through the buzz of guitars. ‘What’ll you have? This one’s on me.’ He gave a tight smile and cocked his ear to hear the reply to his offer.

  Mavros shrugged. ‘Very good of you,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a beer.’ He pointed to Barbara’s. ‘One of those.’

  The German woman slowly raised her eyes and surveyed him with a blank expression. He nodded to her but received no acknowledgement. Either she was nearly out for the count or he wasn’t her favourite person.

  ‘So,’ Rinus said, lowering the volume of the music marginally and handing him a bottle of Amstel. ‘Eleni tells me you were asking about a woman.’ He gave Mavros a guileless look.

  ‘That’s right,’ Mavros replied, surprised by the directness of the approach and feeling the archaeologist’s eyes on him. He delved in his pocket and took out the photograph. ‘This is my friend. Did you ever meet her?’

  Rinus flattened the photo out on the bar top and gave it a brief look. ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘It’s Rosa.’ He nodded at Mavros. ‘She used to come in here. She was a lot of fun.’ He scratched behind his ear. ‘June, it must have been. Yeah, June.’ He slid the photo to Eleni. ‘Don’t you remember Rosa?’

  Eleni shook her head insistently then pushed the photo on to Barbara, who stared at it and then flicked it back, her expression blank but her eyes less glazed.

  The barman laughed. ‘You must both have been pissed. I’m sure she was in here at the same time you were some nights.’ He turned back to Mavros. ‘Anyway, how is Rosa? She said she might come back.’

  ‘And she hasn’t?’ Mavros said.

  ‘No, man.’ Rinus stared at him. ‘She hasn’t come back. New York is where she lives, isn’t it? Long way.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were from Scotland. Have you seen her recently?’

  Mavros was studying him. So far the barman hadn’t let drop any hint that he might be lying. ‘No, I haven’t seen her for a couple of years. She used to study in Edinburgh,’ he said, fabricating a background. ‘She sent me a card telling me how wonderful Trigono was. I don’t suppose you remember her leaving the island, do you?’

  Rinus folded the photo and handed it back to Mavros. ‘Yes, as it happens I do. I was down at the port waiting for a delivery of booze. I saw her get on the ferry that the truck came off.’ He smiled loosely, glancing towards Barbara. ‘I even remember her waving to me.’ He nodded at Mavros again, this time giving him a wink. ‘Beautiful woman, wouldn’t you say?’

  Mavros held his eyes for a moment and then put the photo back in his pocket. As he raised the beer bottle to his lips, he thought about that wink. He was pretty sure the implication was that Rinus had been involved with Rosa. ‘Have you heard from her since then?’ he asked.

  ‘From Rosa?’ Rinus shook his head. ‘Nah. They come, so to speak…’ he laughed ‘…and they go. I don’t expect letters.’ He glanced at Eleni. ‘Hey, have you told our Scottish friend what Trigono was called in ancient times?’ There was an expectant smile on his lips.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Rinus,’ the archaeologist said, shaking her head at him.

  ‘Pesinthos,’ the barman said. ‘Get it? Pe-sin-thos,’ he repeated, stressing the middle syllable. ‘That’s what we like around here. Plenty of sin.’

  Mavros raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that right?’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’m an atheist. I’ve got a pretty limited conception of sin.’

  The Dutchman stared at him, his mouth half open.

  Then the door banged open and everyone swung round. Aris Theocharis blundered in, a grin on his heavy face. Behind him walked Dhimitra, holding her head high. She was wearing a tight red dress that emphasised her breasts and tanned legs. There were dust marks on her front. The couple sat down next to Mikkel at the rear of the bar. As he turned to face forwards again, Mavros caught sight of Eleni and Barbara. Both of the women had their eyes on the barman, their faces set in taut expressions. Rinus didn’t seem to be concerned. He leaned across to the sound system and changed the record. The sound of Status Quo made Mavros’s mind up for him. He’d find another opportunity to ask Aris and Dhimitra if they’d ever met Rosa.

  Outside, the air was warmer than it had been the previous night. The constellations were wheeling across the velvet black dome of the sky and the breeze was light. If Trigono, aka Pesinthos, hadn’t been full of crazy people, Mavros could almost have seen the attraction of the place.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MAVROS slept badly. Although the night was cool, he woke up sweating several times, the top sheet tangled round his limbs. He kept dreaming that he was in the sea, his arms flailing as his legs were impeded by the dark red nets he’d seen on the fishing boats in the harbour. Images flashed before him of a young couple flailing, their naked flesh puckered by the chill water and their mouths open in desperate screams.

  The muffled ring of his mobile phone brought him back to reality. He’d left it on overnight in case Niki called before she went to work, placing it under his clothes so that Rena wouldn’t hear it. He mumbled an answer. the chill water and their mouths open in desperate screams.

  ‘That you, dick?’ Deniz Ozal’s voice was loud, the sound of an announcement in the background. ‘Jesus, my ancestors like to shout.’

  ‘It’s me,’ Mavros replied, fumbling for his watch. It was six in the morning, which explained the absence of light from the slatted shutters. ‘You’re in Turkey.’

  Ozal laughed. ‘Pretty sharp, my man. Did I wake you?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re paying for a twenty-four-hour service.’

  ‘You got that right, the rates you charge. So, what have you found out?’

  ‘Not much,’ Mavros said. ‘There’s been a tragedy on the island and people aren’t in the mood for talking.’

  ‘Couple of kids drowned? I saw that on the news.’

  ‘In Turkey?’

  ‘No, I just got here. I’ve been in Athens. You don’t reckon Rosa could have gone back to Trigono, then?’

  ‘I certainly haven’t seen any sign of her. But I’m working on a couple of angles. There’s a guy in a bar who remembers her.’

  Ozal grunted. ‘Yeah, Rosa was a party girl when the mood took her.’ He broke off. ‘Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m being paged. I’ll be in touch in a couple of days.’

  The connection was cut.

  Mavros lay back in the darkness, phone by his side. Yet again Deniz Ozal hadn’t seemed very concerned about his missing sister. Still, he was paying the fee and at least he’d finally called in. But Mavros had the feeling his client would choke off the funds after the minimum five days
if he didn’t come up with something concrete about Rosa. He was going to have to put the squeeze on Rena as soon as he saw her. In the meantime he thought about the other angles he’d mentioned. It seemed that, one way or another, everyone and everything on Trigono were linked to Panos Theocharis. He needed information on the museum benefactor and he knew where to get it. He picked up his phone again and highlighted a number in the address book.

  ‘Anna, good morning.’

  ‘Alex?’ His sister’s voice was immediately tense. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Calm down. Nothing’s happened.’ Mavros heard his brother-in-law asking what was going on. ‘Tell Nondas to keep his mind on making money.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet. Are you still on Trigono?’

  ‘Yes. Listen, what do you know about the Theocharis family? I had dinner at the old man’s place last night.’

  ‘Did you indeed?’ Anna sounded interested. ‘I hope this is going to be an exchange of information, Alex. Can you give me the low-down on the place? He never allows media people in. It’s some kind of medieval tower, isn’t it?’

  Mavros sighed. Anna’s journalistic instincts were irrepressible. ‘Yes, it is. All right, I’ll tell you all about Paliopyrgos when I get back. What can you give me about Panos Theocharis?’

  ‘Nothing right now.’ She paused for him to register annoyance, but he resisted the temptation—she liked to exercise power over him whenever she got the opportunity. ‘But you’re in luck. I did a story on him for one of the magazines last year. After I’ve got the children to school, I’ll fax you it.’

  ‘E-mail it to me and I’ll access my server from here,’ Mavros said, remembering the Internet café. ‘Thanks, Anna.’

  ‘I’ll be expecting lots of gossip in return,’ she said with a brittle laugh. ‘Don’t enjoy the sun too much.’

  Mavros put the phone down and looked at the faint grey light that was creeping across the floor. In the distance he could hear the first crows of Trigono’s cockerels from the villagers’ runs. Getting up, he padded to the shutters and looked through the narrow gap between the slats and into the courtyard. His eyelids sprang wide apart as he saw his landlady standing by the wellhead. Her face was contorted, she held a long-bladed knife in her right hand and she was staring straight at his room.