Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) (18 page)

Then he went back through the album and felt a rush in his veins. This time the female couple was different. Eleni was still in shot, but now she was embracing a dark-haired woman who Mavros recognised immediately. It was Rosa Ozal. So the missing woman knew the archaeologist. That went some way to explaining the photo of the dig. But why had it been hidden in the chimney at Rena’s house?

Before he could think farther about the discovery, he heard the sound of a car drawing up outside. Mavros put the album back where he’d found it and moved quickly to the bathroom. Heavy footsteps pounded across the terrace and he didn’t make it. He grabbed a magazine.

‘Eleni?’ Aris Theocharis bellowed from the open door. ‘
Edho
eisai
?’ Are you here? Then he noticed Mavros, who was shielding his naked groin.

‘She’s sleeping,’ Mavros said in English.

The visitor pursed his fleshy lips and nodded slowly. ‘I saw you in the bar, didn’t I?’ He didn’t look particularly surprised to find an undressed man in the archaeologist’s house.

‘Did you?’ Mavros replied. ‘My name’s Alex. Eleni invited me for lunch.’

‘The naked lunch?’ The big man laughed coarsely.

‘
Ti
gyreveis
?’ What do you want? Eleni was standing at the bedroom door, wrapping a robe around her body. There was a look of extreme distaste on her face.

‘We’re speaking English, Eleni,’ Aris said, giving her a mocking look. ‘Your boyfriend and me.’

‘In that case I’ll say what I’m thinking in English,’ the archaeologist said, stepping up to him. ‘Fuck off.’

Aris Theocharis laughed again. ‘Charming. And all I’m doing is delivering a message from my father.’

‘Why didn’t he phone me?’ Eleni demanded.

‘He was going to,’ Aris replied, glancing at Mavros. ‘But I volunteered to come down.’ He winked at her. ‘Keeping an eye on you, lover girl. And the company you keep.’

Eleni pursed her lips. ‘What’s the message?’

Aris nodded slowly. ‘I almost forgot. You’re to come to dinner tonight.’ He grinned at Mavros. ‘Your presence is required too.’ He looked back at Eleni. ‘Mitsos reported that you took a visitor into the site. Naughty, naughty.’ He laughed then stared at her, his expression suddenly serious, and walked away.

Eleni sent a string of insults in Greek after him.

‘What’s the matter?’ Mavros asked when she’d finished.

She gave him an infuriated glare. ‘Oh, nothing. That bastard’s only here for a few weeks every year but he…he makes me so angry.’ She went towards the bathroom in a flurry of towelling. ‘The useless pig.’

Mavros watched her go thoughtfully. He had picked up an uncharacteristic hint of fear in her voice. Eleni gave the impression of being a strong woman, but Aris Theocharis had some kind of hold over her.

He spent the rest of the afternoon debating whether to ask Eleni about Rosa Ozal, but decided against it. He suspected that in the mood she was in she’d just brush him off. It would be better to talk to her when she was less irritable. At one point he told her that he’d pass up Theocharis’s invitation and go back to the village, but she wouldn’t let him.

‘No, no, it will be so exciting for you, Alex,’ she said, looking up from the notes she was writing at her table. ‘Meeting a person like Panos Theocharis will be a very useful experience for a writer. I can tell you that there’s no one else like him anywhere.’

Mavros could tell from Eleni’s tone that she wasn’t paying the museum benefactor a compliment.

Dinos led the goats through the gap in the wall on the ridge and let them spread out over the slope above the ruins of Vathy, the pair of mongrel dogs circling his feet. He went over to the heaps of stone near by, all that remained of the herdsman’s hut built by his great-grandfather, and sent a rising string of notes from his pipe into the air. The sea beyond the inlet was blinding blue, the pair of islands at the far end floating like turtles on the water. Farther out, Eschati was the curve of a seal’s back, almost swallowed by the waves. This afternoon there were no boats.

Dinos was thinking about the
trata
he’d been watching the other day. His cousin Yiangos, he’d been at the helm. And Nafsika, her chest bare. They had swum to the little beach; Dinos hadn’t been able to see what they’d done, but he knew all the same. He had gone hard when he thought about it, had emptied himself on to the thin soil. And then…and then the other boats had come. He blinked and forced the images away, wouldn’t think about them.

The goats had headed west. He got up and went after them, suddenly worried that they were homing in on the cultivated terraces over there. The widow Rena worked the old madwoman’s strips now and she sometimes spoke sharply to him. But not as sharply as Lefteris. Even though Yiangos’s father was a fisherman he often came out here; Dinos didn’t know why. He hadn’t planted anything on his terraces, the ones beyond Rena’s. But Dinos had seen the gleaming new pick-up over by the rocks where they used to dig the minerals, usually in the evening, its headlights never on. He was probably looking for ancient things in the caves, like the woman with curly hair who spent her days digging. Lefteris was a fierce man. One time he had spotted Dinos as he looked down from the ridge. The goatherd shivered as he recalled the burning eyes and the clenched fists. But Lefteris hadn’t done anything more. Like everyone else on the island, he thought Dinos was a moron, the son of a drink-addled farmer and a shrewish mother, not even worthy of a clout on the back of the head the next time he saw him in the village. Dinos was pleased that he had fooled them.

The clanging of the goat bells was interrupted by a shout. Dinos looked round and saw the only person he knew who didn’t treat him like a fool. Smiling as he stuffed the pipe back in his pocket, he ran with loping strides towards the shattered walls of the old hut. To the devil with the goats.

A little before eight o’clock they set off on foot towards the tower. Eleni had given Mavros a pair of cream trousers and a loose-fitting shirt that a previous occupant of her house had left behind. She’d pulled her hair back and put on a pale yellow dress that flattered her figure, but she’d made no other concession to evening wear. Make-up apparently wasn’t her thing either. At least her tanned face gave her a healthy glow that was just the right side of rugged.

‘How many people work on the estate?’ Mavros asked as they passed out of the orchards and entered a rock garden filled with a plethora of plants and blooms, insects buzzing somnolently around them in the gathering gloom.

‘Dozens,’ Eleni replied. ‘I think most of the families on the island work for Theocharis one way or another. He gives the locals work even though it would be much cheaper for him to use Albanians.’

That made an impression on Mavros. Most Greeks with money used workers from the former communist stronghold to do the shitty jobs for shitty wages. It seemed that Theocharis believed in looking after the islanders. He took in the complex of buildings. Close up he could see that there was accommodation for numerous guests, though most of the houses were unlit. The old tower was even more imposing from beneath, the medieval stonework picked out by floodlights and the terrace beneath it covered in light-coloured tenting. He followed Eleni up a wide staircase. Reaching the top, he saw that a large part of the platform in front of the tower was filled by a swimming pool, the water gleaming pale blue in the lights. Beyond it Panos Theocharis was standing at the rail of the belvedere, looking out over his glittering nocturnal domain. Above him the dome of the sky curved into the darkness, the Milky Way and the stars much more intense than Mavros was used to in the big city.

‘Ah, there you are,’ the old man said in English. ‘I hope you don’t mind yet another dinner, Eleni?’ He nodded at her once, the set of his face beneath the sculpted white beard discouraging a reply. ‘Please introduce your friend.’

‘Alex Cochrane,’ Mavros put in, using his mother’s maiden name. He suspected the multimillionaire would have met Dorothy at cultural receptions in Athens, but he was hoping that he wouldn’t remember that half of her surname or connect it with him.

‘I prefer to use first names, Alex,’ Theocharis said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not,’ Mavros replied. Eleni’s stiffness gave him the feeling that following suit and addressing Theocharis by his first name was probably not a good idea, despite the offer of informality. The old man was wearing a perfectly pressed pair of white trousers and an open-necked silk shirt that didn’t need a tie to emphasise its quality.

‘And what do you do, Alex?’ Theocharis asked.

‘I’m a writer,’ Mavros replied glibly.

‘Really?’ The museum benefactor suddenly sounded less friendly. ‘You’re not a journalist, I hope.’

Mavros shook his head. ‘Fiction,’ he said.

‘Anything I might have read?’ The Greek’s English had only the slightest hint of a non-native speaker’s accent.

‘I doubt it. I write trashy thrillers.’ Mavros went for an extra layer of security. ‘Under several noms de plume.’

Theocharis looked slightly more at ease. ‘How interesting,’ he said. He glanced at Eleni as a white-coated waiter came up with glasses of champagne. ‘And are you planning a scene in an archaeological site?’ There was an edge to his voice again.

‘Em, no,’ Mavros said, realising that he had to take the pressure off Eleni. ‘No, I’m in the middle of a book set in the United States. When I heard that Eleni was working on a dig here, I asked her if I could have a look. I’ve no special interest in Cycladic culture, though I found the excavations fascinating.’ He sipped the wine. It was as good as anything he’d ever tasted.

Panos Theocharis was nodding slowly, his eyes still on the archaeologist. ‘Eleni is an expert, Alex,’ he said, enunciating the words clearly. ‘But sometimes she acts beyond her authority.’ He gave a tight smile, and it was suddenly apparent where his son Aris’s malicious side originated. ‘That site is on my land.’ Now he turned his gaze on Mavros. ‘Visitors are only allowed with my personal permission, as Eleni knows very well.’

Mavros felt his heart begin to beat faster. The museum benefactor may have been old but his voice was underpinned by a young man’s strength of will. He wondered what had happened to the gorilla Mitsos. Presumably he should have denied Mavros entry rather than let Eleni do as she pleased. Or was the tycoon just playing at being a tyrant? ‘I’m sorry…’ he began.

Theocharis raised a hand and smiled with a little more warmth. ‘It’s all right. You’re not the first one. Eleni takes her friends up there quite often, even though I’ve asked her not to.’ The tension went out of his upper body and he leaned heavily on a stick that had been standing against the wall. ‘We’ll say no more about it.’ He looked past Mavros. ‘Ah, there you are, my dear.’

Eleni and Mavros turned and watched as the statuesque figure of a middle-aged woman approached them. She was tall, her unnaturally blonde hair set in a cascade that reached her bare shoulders. The black evening gown she was wearing would have been excessive at an embassy reception in the capital and the silver high-heeled shoes made loud clicks on the tiles of the terrace. Behind her three Alsatians padded across the tiles, their eyes fixed on the stranger.

Theocharis bowed to her with old-fashioned courtesy. ‘May I present my wife, Dhimitra?’ he said to Mavros. ‘My dear, this is Alex…ah, Alex Cochrane. He is a writer from—’ He broke off. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t yet discovered where he’s from.’

It wasn’t clear to Mavros if his host was mocking him. There was a touch of irony in his voice but that may just have been his nature. The only way he could have discovered Mavros’s true identity was by examining the Greek ID card, and that was buttoned securely in his back pocket.

‘I’m from Scotland,’ Mavros said, taking the hand that Dhimitra Theochari extended.

‘Really,’ she said. ‘How fascinating.’ Her English was much more heavily accented than her husband’s and the sardonic edge was more pronounced as well. She gave Eleni a brief and disapproving glance. ‘Back again?’ she asked in Greek, her tone coarser.

Theocharis took a glass of champagne from the waiter and handed it to his wife. ‘I asked Eleni to bring Alex to dinner because he visited the site this afternoon.’

Dhimitra was looking at Mavros over the rim of her glass, her kohl-lined eyes wide open and penetrating. There was a visible tension about her.

‘As he showed such curiosity,’ the host continued, emphasising the final word, ‘I thought he might like to see the collection.’

His wife turned her gaze on him. ‘Are you sure, Pano?’ she asked. ‘Things from graves are not interesting to everyone.’ She took a long sip of champagne. ‘Where is Aris?’

Theocharis raised his chin. ‘Who knows? Chasing tourist women in the bars, no doubt.’ He gave Dhimitra a brief smile. ‘Don’t worry, your stepson can look after himself.’

Mavros was watching the woman. There was something false about her, something out of place. He couldn’t work out what that element might be. She was decades younger than her husband, but that was hardly unusual in the families of the super-rich. And her hair colour obviously came from a bottle, though again, that was par for the course among women of her status. There was an ill-concealed scowl on her face now, as if the absence of the blustering Aris had ruined her evening.

‘Well, Alex?’ Theocharis said, turning to him. ‘You decide. Would you like a brief tour of my private collection before dinner?’

Mavros felt Eleni’s elbow jab into his side. She was looking at him expectantly. Showing interest was obviously de rigueur in the old tower.

‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘That would be very kind of you.’ He looked at Dhimitra. ‘I don’t have much experience of grave goods, but I’m very keen to see some. Are they from the site Eleni’s been excavating?’

He felt her elbow again, this time harder.

Theocharis put his still-full glass on the waiter’s tray. ‘Certainly not,’ he replied firmly. ‘All new finds are handed over to the relevant experts for analysis and classification.’ He moved slowly away from the edge of the terrace. ‘As I’m sure Eleni told you. What I’m going to show you are the fruits of my passion for collecting over the last forty years.’