Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) Read online

  He rocked back on his heels, thoughts cascading through his mind. Lefteris. The fisherman with the implacable stare, son of one-armed Manolis, father of the drowned Yiangos. What hell had he made for them, the living and the dead, in this stinking, secret cave?

  Eleni stood in the centre of the subterranean gallery and tried to smile. Despite Theocharis’s expectant look, she couldn’t oblige him—couldn’t congratulate the dealer Roufos, that sick, calculating bastard, on becoming Theocharis’s sole agent for the sale of the figurines, couldn’t share in the old man’s satisfaction at the imminent increase of his riches. The only thing she could do was ignore his wife’s jubilant smiles. At least the swaggering Aris wasn’t there. He would have gloried in the arrangement more than anyone, even though he’d had nothing to do with it; and he’d have mocked her about the disposal of the pieces that she’d discovered.

  My God, she thought, what have I done? Those beautiful creations, their sublime lines and the unique blue marble. Now they’ll remain hidden from public view for ever, they’ll rest in the secure vault of some billionaire collector-thief. She was swamped by a wave of revulsion at her complicity.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Theochari,’ she said quietly, walking away before he could question her. If she remained in the gallery any longer, she would empty her stomach over the nearest display case. Her employer wasn’t quick enough to catch her, but Dhimitra was. Eleni heard the loud click of her stilettos on the flagstones behind her.

  ‘Don’t do anything foolish, Eleni,’ the mistress of the tower hissed as Eleni opened the heavy door. ‘You’re implicated in this as much as anyone.’ She smiled sardonically. ‘Would you like to spend the rest of your working life in prison?’ She laughed, the sound catching in her throat. ‘Maybe that would suit you. There are plenty of dykes inside.’

  Swallowing hard, Eleni kept her eyes off the tycoon’s wife and turned towards the nearest bathroom.

  ‘We’ll see you at dinner, then,’ Dhimitra said, taking cigarettes and a diamond-studded lighter from her bag. ‘Dear Eleni.’ She laughed again.

  Eleni made it to the bathroom and threw up into the basin, making no effort to avoid the gold taps. ‘Fuck it,’ she said under her breath. ‘What the hell am I doing here? These people are criminals, bandits, nothing better than common thieves—worse, because thieves have to eat. The rich steal because it’s their birthright, because they enjoy it. What am I doing helping them?’

  She sat down on the mahogany toilet seat and bent forward, burying her face in the silk skirt Theocharis had given her to wear for the presentation—the sales pitch, as Aris had put it. Christ, what was she doing here? And what about Alex Mavros? She’d just left him in the cave, told no one about him after he cracked his head on the rock. The poor guy was probably still concussed from the attack last night. She was sure that Theocharis had arranged that, put Lefteris or his watchmen on the job. The old man was terrified that Mavros was from the ministry. She didn’t think so, he was only trying to find Rosa Ozal. Was he all right? God, she should have told someone. But who? No one here would have helped. They were already suspicious of her because she’d allowed him into the dig. She’d reckoned he was safer on his own, but what if the blow had been worse than it looked?

  She stood up and dashed water over her face, staring at the dark rings under her eyes in the mirror. To think that bastard Roufos had already tried to hook her, asked her if she would like to visit him in his room later. She’d given him a frozen glare. And what about Aris? He’d been after her for years, found it exciting that she preferred women, the pervert. Where was he now? Shit, she didn’t care about any of the Theocharis family. Was Alex Mavros lying bleeding on that cave floor, dying because she didn’t have the guts to help him?

  Eleni unlocked the door and glanced out. She could smell the heavy aroma of Dhimitra’s tobacco, but she didn’t seem to be near by. Slipping off her shoes, she ran across the hall and out of the tower. The straight road ahead was too obvious, so she turned right and made her way behind a line of orange trees, feeling the soil between her toes. If she was lucky, the idiot at the gate would be asleep in his hutch—he often was. She’d go home and change, then get out of the estate and back to the cave. That was what she had to do.

  It was while she was waiting for a gardener working on a flower-bed near her house to turn his back that a scene she had witnessed flashed in front of Eleni again. Aris, it was Aris. He kept coming back to her. Aris and the Jeep, a week ago after dinner in the tower, the night before Liz Clifton left so suddenly. She’d been going back to her place and the Jeep had roared past, Aris at the wheel. And Liz was in the back seat, smiling at something the fat slob was saying, smiling and leaning forward to the woman who was sitting in the other front seat.

  There had been an empty expression on Barbara Hoeg’s face, a look that had seemed insignificant at the time but now struck Eleni as calculating and truly frightening. Barbara. Where was she? She never missed an evening at the Astrapi. Maybe Liz hadn’t left suddenly of her own will. Could Barbara have had something to do with Liz’s disappearance? She and Aris? And what about Rosa? Had she ever left the island?

  Eleni was suddenly sure that Alex had been asking the right questions all along. But she was filled with quaking fear at what the answers might turn out to be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  KYRA MARO sat on her bed, the door to the cell-like room closed. Although she’d been feeling faint all day and her stomach was empty, she couldn’t bring herself to eat or drink. But she was wondering what had happened to Rena. It was unlike her to miss delivering food. She extended a hand to the tin box that she’d lifted on to the bed with difficulty.

  Ach, Taso, she said to herself, you are here as always, my faithful boy. You have always been close, from the cold night I forced your crumpled form into the world until your last smiling moments—and since the day I dug you up with my own hands from the graveyard at Myli. Your father, he is the one I have really lost.

  The old woman raised her eyes to the photograph in the icon niche. The young soldier was looking down at her with the shy smile she had hardly ever seen. Because from their initial meeting Tzortz had not been shy—he had been filled with joy and love, for her and for Greece. Until the days when the war had closed its fist around them near the end of his time on the island. Maro bowed her head, one hand still on Tasos’s box.

  ‘Ach, Tzortz,’ she mouthed. ‘It was love that killed you, the love you felt for a ravaged country. If you hadn’t tried to bring the fight to these islands, you might have survived longer than you did, survived the peace as well as the war. Was it guilt that destroyed you? Or shame? Why couldn’t you tell me? I would have helped you. I would have washed away your pain.’

  Suddenly images were cascading in front of Maro, images she had kept at bay for decades. There was her lover standing in the doorway of the hut outside the village, the hovel she’d been forced to rent so that the child was spared the islanders’ taunts and abuse. It was a cold winter afternoon six years after the war, the sun already beginning to sink in the west. She had gone to Tzortz immediately, recognising his features despite the ragged beard and the filthy coat that covered his painfully thin form.

  ‘My love,’ she said, clutching his blackened hand, ‘you have come for me after all these years.’ She tried to draw him close, but he stepped back, his gaze fixed beyond her.

  ‘So it’s true what they say in the kafeneion,’ Tzortz said hoarsely. ‘It is true that you bore a…a monster.’ There was a film of tears on his bloodshot eyes. ‘Is it…is it mine?’

  Maro had stepped back to Tasos, her arm around the seven-year-old and her face stinging as if it had been slapped. ‘What…what has happened to you, Tzortz?’ she stammered. ‘This is your son. How can you listen to those cowards? Manolis and the others have poisoned the village with their lies.’ She pushed Tasos gently forward. ‘This is your son. He may not be able to speak, but he is happy and loving.’

  But Tzortz h
ad looked down and turned away, as if the boy’s misshapen head and his trusting smile were too much to bear.

  She called after him, begged him to stay, but he was stumbling down the road to the Kambos like a blind man, his back bent and his arms extended. She thought she heard a long, bitter cry above the gusts of wind. Leaning weakly against the door frame, her heart pounding, Maro tried to convince herself that she hadn’t been dreaming, that her lover really had come back to Trigono. By the time she’d done that, Tzortz was over the ridge and out of sight. She flew about the hut, pulling a threadbare coat on to her son—she couldn’t leave him on his own—and gathering up the donkey’s harness. In a few minutes they were on the road, old Erato moving quickly in response to her commands and Tasos grinning widely at the unaccustomed afternoon excursion.

  Another rapid cascade of images made the old woman blink. And then she made out her lover again, a sharp pain jabbing into her chest as she realised that she had to face the bitter final scene that she’d fended off for so long. She had lost her lover on the road towards the Theocharis estate, and by the time she picked him up again he was well ahead, ascending the steep path towards the saddle between Vigla and Profitis Ilias. The hills were grey and forbidding in the fading light. But Erato accepted the long pursuit without complaint, and they were only about a hundred metres behind when Tzortz disappeared over the ridge. Maro had been wondering if he was heading for the cave, their secret place, the place she had never been back to after his departure, but he had kept going. At last Maro had reached the wall that ran along the saddle, the donkey panting for breath and the wind rippling through Tasos’s short hair. Her blood froze when she saw what her lover was doing on the rocks far below.

  ‘No, Tzortz, no!’ she screamed, her words snatched away by the gusts. ‘No, wait for me!’ Hands darting in a frenzy, she tethered Erato to the wall, then tied Tasos to the donkey, rubbing his cheeks and smiling to reassure him. Then she was running down the sheer slope, her ankles twisting on the uneven surface. ‘Wait, Tzortz!’ she was crying. ‘I’m coming!’

  But she was too late. By the time she reached the narrow line of flat rocks at the water’s edge, her lover had finished loading his pockets with stones. The breath caught in her throat as she took in the rock, as large as a watermelon, that he’d lashed across his midriff.

  ‘No!’ she screeched. ‘Why, Tzortz? Why?’

  But the only man she’d ever loved made no reply. He looked at her once then shook his head before facing the windswept sea and the last of the light. The water closed over him with scarcely a sound.

  Maro sank to her knees, her hands beating the pitted rock until the skin was torn away. She would have jumped in after him, tried to save him, but she knew the water was deep there and she had her son to think of. Pray God he hadn’t understood what had happened. From that day since she’d never known why her lover had returned when he did, or why he had committed himself to the grey-blue element. Did he still hold himself responsible for what had happened to the villagers and his men during the war? Or was it because of poor, innocent Tasos? Was he so ashamed of his love for her and the child it had produced? He left all those questions unanswered, and they had tortured her even more than the hatred of the villagers. At least none of them had recognised the ragged figure that had appeared on Trigono but was not seen again.

  The hardest thing to bear was that the place where he had chosen to leave the surface of the earth had been the very spot Maro had dragged him to when the kaïki came to pick him up during the war. She thought she had saved him, but all she had done was show him the way to the underworld.

  Mavros shone the torch around the figures in the outer cave. Rinus and the Englishwomen, their heads down, were huddled by the blocked entrance as far as they could get from the decomposing goat. ‘There are three people tied up in the next cave. Has anyone got a knife?’ He directed the beam at his satchel and took out his water bottle.

  Jane reached for the small backpack she’d been wearing on the hills. ‘Here.’ She gave him a Swiss Army knife. ‘I always come prepared.’ She swallowed a laugh. ‘You’d better take this as well,’ she added, handing over a bottle of water. ‘Those poor people must need it more than we do. Anything I can do?’

  Mavros shook his head. ‘Not for the moment. Try to keep your friend’s spirits up.’ He went back into the inner chamber. Kneeling down by the woman at the far end, he cut the ropes and helped her to sit up.

  Rena had taken off her black cardigan. ‘Oh, Liz,’ she said, ‘what has happened to you? Who did this?’ She put the garment around the woman’s naked upper body.

  Mavros cracked the seal on one of the bottles and put it to the woman’s lips, letting her take no more than a few sips. He could hear the breath racking her lungs and catching in her throat. ‘So this is the woman who stayed with you recently, Rena,’ he said. ‘The one who left unexpectedly.’

  The widow nodded, her eyes locked on the weakened form beside her. ‘Yes, this is Liz. Who could have done this to her?’ She stared into the gloom beyond the torch beam. ‘What has been going on in here?’ She turned to Mavros. ‘What happened in the other cave?’

  He pursed his lips, not wanting to frighten the woman he’d just freed. ‘We’re trapped,’ he said in Greek.

  ‘Is it Lefteris?’ Rena asked.

  Mavros’s suspicions of Rena came back in a rush. ‘How did you know?’ he demanded.

  She shrugged. ‘Who else could it be? He’s often out hunting in this area and he’s the craziest person on Trigono.’

  Mavros nodded. He ought to have paid more attention to the fisherman than to the foreign residents. ‘Look after her,’ he said. ‘She shouldn’t have much water.’ He took the light and went over to the other bound figures. He leaned close to the battered faces. They were both breathing more regularly. He dribbled water from the second bottle into their mouths and then cut their bonds.

  ‘Mikkel and the American woman,’ Rena said. ‘Why are they here? Did Lefteris bring them down from the hut on his own?’

  ‘Two good questions,’ Mavros said, putting his ear close to Mikkel’s mouth. ‘I think he’s coming round.’ He pulled the German’s body up so that the grey-blond head was resting on his thigh. ‘Mikkel?’ he said. ‘Mikkel? Can you hear me? It’s Alex.’

  There was a long silence then a faint croak came from the broken mouth. ‘Barbara…Barbara…’ He said nothing more.

  Mavros eased his head back on to the cave floor and went back to Rena, having first shone the torch on the human remains at the other side of the chamber. ‘Is that…do you think that’s Rosa?’ he asked.

  Rena kept her eyes fixed on Liz. ‘Christ and the Holy Mother, I hope not. I can’t look.’

  The woman in her arms shivered, the tip of her tongue moving over cracked lips.

  Mavros drew closer. ‘Did you see who brought you here, Liz?’ he asked. ‘Can you remember anything?’

  Elizabeth Clifton raised an unsteady arm and pointed to the water bottle. Rena gave her a little more, then dabbed her mouth with a handkerchief.

  ‘Not…not who brought me in here,’ she whispered. ‘I think…I think they gave me drugs…my memory’s been playing…playing tricks. It still is. But I remember I was in a big car, a…four-by-four. Big man driving, bald, Aris…’

  ‘Aris Theocharis?’ Mavros said.

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’ Her chin slumped on to her chest. ‘And…and a woman.’

  Mavros looked at Rena. ‘Blonde hair, a lot of make-up, Greek?’ He had a flash of Dhimitra sitting next to Aris in the Astrapi.

  Liz shook her head feebly. ‘No…not Greek…foreign… German, I think…’

  There was an agonised gasp from the darkness. ‘Barbara…oh God, Barbara…what have you done?’

  Mavros kept his gaze on Liz. Her eyes had opened wide at Mikkel’s words. ‘Was that her name? Barbara?’

  She blinked and nodded. ‘Yes…yes, that was it. Barbara.’

  ‘Barbara and Aris did
this?’ Rena said in disbelief. ‘Barbara and Aris?’

  ‘No!’

  Mavros shone the light on Mikkel. He was trying to raise himself up from the floor.

  ‘Not…not Barbara and Aris,’ the German said, his eyes wide and his jaw loose, as if the terrible realisation had just struck him. ‘Barbara and Lefteris.’ He started to weep, a rasping, rending sound. ‘Lefteris…Lefteris killed Barbara, the animal. He killed her in our pool.’

  There was a rustle from the far wall and Rinus came into the triangle of light. ‘What the hell’s he talking about?’ he demanded. ‘Christ,’ he said, peering down. ‘That’s Liz, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ the widow replied, her tone harsh. ‘This is Liz and she’s been suffering from your filthy drugs. Admit it, you poisoner. You and Lefteris used Yiangos to pick up the drugs and now the poor boy’s dead. Lefteris used drugs to keep Liz how he wanted her in this…in this tomb.’ She spat on the floor. ‘I should have torn you to pieces when I had the chance.’

  Mikkel was still crying, words jumbled in the rush of air. ‘Oh God…oh God, Barbara, how could you do it? He told me…Lefteris told me before he knocked me out in the ruined hut…told me what the two of you had done to the poor women. Beaten them and filmed them and…’ He stopped and controlled his breathing. ‘No, Barbara,’ he said, his voice weak. ‘It wasn’t your fault. It was the addiction, the addiction drove you to it. You would never have helped the madman otherwise, you were never interested in dirty sex and sadism, you were never… Oh God, but you were. I could never satisfy you, you wanted to tie me up, you wanted to beat me…oh, Jesus Christ…’

  ‘Oh, Jesus Christ is right,’ Mavros said, rocking back on his heels and looking around the foul-smelling cave. ‘But Christ isn’t going to let us out of here and I can’t get a signal on my mobile phone. All we can do is hope that someone works out where we are.’