Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) (36 page)

‘
Tzortz?’ she said to me last night after we had made love,
her arm on my chest. ‘You will be careful on this voyage to
Naxos, will you not? You will come back for me.’ Her voice
has the timbre of a girl’s but the way she speaks, honest and
proud, is that of a woman who has experienced much. ‘I am
not afraid for myself, but I worry for you. The man with the
empty eyes, he is dangerous
.’

‘
I know Griffin is dangerous,’ I replied with a smile. ‘That
is why he is here.’ I have resisted great pressure from
Agamemnon to have my man recalled to base because of the
killings he carried out on Paros. If only his Sacred Band had
proved so effective against the enemy
.

She looked at me seriously, her eyes glinting in the oil
lamp’s flickering light. ‘And my brother is dangerous too. The
enemy wears a uniform you can recognise, but the people on
your own side are sometimes more to be feared
.’

I squeezed her hand. ‘I will be careful.’ Then I laughed,
confident as perhaps only a young man in love can be. ‘What
are you saying, Maro? That the islanders will turn against
me because of Griffin’s fearsome eyes, or because they
suspect that you and I are lovers? The Italians are the ones
who sent their relatives to rot in Chadhari, not the British
.’

She nodded but still her eyes were troubled
.

‘
Come to me, little Maro,’ I said, drawing her close. ‘No
matter what happens, we will always be together. I promise
you that
.’

‘
I know,’ she said, her eyes wide and suddenly damp
‘Athanati agapi,’ she whispered. Love that doesn’t die
.

I repeated the words, my lips meeting hers
.

Ah, Maro. Ah, Greece. What sacrifice would I not make
for you?
 

Mavros looked around the hillsides. He considered shouting out Gretchen’s name, but the blast of the wind above the enclosed space he was occupying showed how pointless that would be. The only thing to do was to climb up to the ridge and use the higher ground to locate her or anyone else who was in the vicinity. Eleni was also troubling him. She might be on her way back to the caves beyond the dig with help for him by now, but he had the feeling that something strange was going on. Where had the watchman Mitsos got to? It didn’t seem likely that Theocharis would have given him the afternoon off without sending a replacement.

The least sheer of the slopes rising up from the sunken valley was to his right. The fact that Rena had brought Melpo down a steeper descent showed how experienced both woman and donkey were on the terrain. As Mavros traversed the scree near the cliff wall, he came to a narrow space almost completely concealed by a rock face, the formation similar to the blind door inside the excavated passage by the burial chambers. Peering into it, he saw a narrow zigzag channel leading into the hill. The stony floor was uneven, but when he bent down he could make out the ridged marks of shoes and boots on the sandy deposits on some areas of the rock. They looked recent. He moved into the passageway, feeling the rough walls tug at his shirt. As he approached the dark cave the half-sweet, half sharp smell of decay flooded his nostrils. He wondered if one of the simple goatherd’s animals had strayed into the subterranean labyrinth and permanently lost the light.

Then he heard the faint scraping noise, something abrading the rock, that he had heard in the other cave before he’d been knocked out. The hairs rose on his neck as he went into the darkness, breath catching in his throat as the stench worsened. He wished he still had the torch that Eleni had taken. The murk was so impenetrable that when he closed his eyes his vision was no worse.

The scream, long and shrill, from the slopes outside made him jump, the top of his head making contact with the uneven ceiling.

‘Shit,’ he said, raising his hand to the crack he’d received earlier. ‘What next?’ Turning on his heel, arms extended and hands on the stone walls, he made his way towards the faint line of light that was visible at the twisting entrance corridor.

Back in the open air, he ran his eye around the ridge, seeing no sign of the person—a woman, he reckoned—who had shrieked in what sounded like pain or panic. He started the ascent of the scree chute, immediately losing his footing and falling on his hands. It took him several minutes to get to the top, his thighs tight and his lungs bursting. The instant he made it to the saddle, the wind buffeted him like a straw in a hurricane, forcing him to crouch down low as he surveyed the island’s southern cliffs. The sea was raging all around Trigono, the white foam that was bursting over the north- facing headlands giving them the appearance of the bows of ships slicing through the water at high speed. The great snake of the ridge between Vigla and Profitis Ilias was to his left, the dark green bushes and low trees that dotted its flanks straining in the blast like hounds pulling on the leash. But he could see no living creature apart from the gulls that were riding the wind currents. Even the nimble goats must have taken shelter on the lower ground or in one of the overgrown watercourses.

Mavros moved a few metres southwards into the lee of the howling northerly and squatted down. Had he imagined the scream? Could it have been the wind caught in a distorted rock, or a large seabird screeching its disapproval of the change in the weather? He didn’t think so. It had to be Gretchen. But where was she?

Standing up against the pounding gusts, he headed east. It wasn’t long before he was above the wired compound of the dig. He could see Eleni’s motorbike by the gate, but there were no other vehicles and no people visible. He decided to go down and use the machine to get to the village. He could spend days searching for the American woman on the slopes and in the ravines, let alone in the caves and the disused mine shafts. Rena should be at least halfway to the village by now. He could probably catch her up, though the prospect of riding the powerful bike hardly filled him with joy.

He scrambled down the slope, the muscles in his calves complaining. The first thing that struck him was that Eleni would surely have taken her motorbike if she’d gone to get help for him. And the second, as he finally reached level ground and hobbled towards the machine, was that the rims of both wheels were pressing into the ground. The tyres were completely flat. He didn’t bother calculating the odds of that happening accidentally. Something was very wrong.

Setting off down the track towards the place where he’d left his bicycle, Mavros thought he heard the wind’s blast increase in volume. Then he saw the roof of a large vehicle come over the brow ahead. Before he could move, it skidded to a halt in front of him, the doors opening and two bulky figures running towards him.

Mitsos got to him first, the watchman’s heavy hands gripping his upper arms hard.

Aris arrived, the flesh on his bare arms wobbling. ‘So, Alex,’ he said in Greek. ‘It’s time we had a talk.’ He jerked his head towards the Jeep. ‘Get him in the back, Mitso.’

‘What’s going on?’ Mavros asked over his shoulder as he was marched away.

‘Don’t worry, Mister Brilliant Detective,’ the big man said scornfully. ‘You’ll hear soon enough.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘And I think you’ll be interested, very interested indeed.’

‘Not if you’re doing the talking,’ Mavros muttered as Mitsos thrust him into the Jeep and sat beside him, hand still clutching his arm. ‘Where’s Eleni?’ he demanded. ‘Have you kidnapped her as well? What about Gretchen, the American woman? Have you seen her?’

Aris started the engine and turned to him. ‘We’ve got everyone you want, my friend.’ He laughed again, his eyes narrowing. ‘And we’ve got news of your brother Andonis.’

Mavros felt his stomach somersault as the Jeep swung round, but the nausea that coursed through him wasn’t caused by Aris’s driving. Andonis? His brother’s face rose up before him, the eyes as bright blue as ever. What did Aris mean? Jesus Christ. Andonis. What did the museum benefactor’s son know about him? Was this finally the breakthrough he’d spent most of his life waiting for?

He passed the rest of the short journey in another world, the innocent one he’d grown up in before his brother went into the dark. Could it really be that Andonis had got a message through from the underworld after all this time? Could it really be?

Rinus was lying inside the roofless herdsman’s hut on the southern side of the ridge watching the seagulls soar on the violent updraughts and trying to make sense of what he’d seen. He asked himself what the fuck was going on. That stuff he’d kept back from the last shipment Lefteris brought in— shit, what had it done to him? He had felt jittery from the minute he took it, had felt the stone walls drawing around him as he walked to the Astrapi. It was only when he was on the BMW, racing down the road to the Kambos with the wind whistling past his helmet, that he began to get a grip. But after he’d stashed the bike in the usual place behind the bushes, things had gone even more crazy.

First, as he followed the winding watercourse up to the ridge, sure that no one could see him in the heavy growth of evergreens and gorse, he’d caught sight of the two Americans who came to the bar. The woman Gretchen was a surly cow but Lance was okay, pretty straight but okay. They were up on the ridge to the west, staring down at something. He guessed it was Eleni’s dig but he couldn’t be sure from where he was. He lost them after a while as he ascended the dry line of stones created by the winter torrents. It changed direction all the time according to the contours of the hillside.

Then, when he was making the final approach to the ridge, he’d caught a glimpse of the mad widow Rena up on the heights to his right. She was crouching over, also peering at something below her. She may have been taking protection from the bastard wind, but it looked more like she was taking care no one saw her, like she was up to nothing that was good. The witch. Thank Christ his ex-wife Kate hadn’t been as demented as her. Otherwise he might have ended up in a wooden box like the one the villagers said Rena put her husband in.

Just before he took cover behind the walls of the ruined hut, he saw Eleni on the track below. God, the stupid woman was running, heavy legs pounding and loose tits all over the place. She didn’t make it, though. Aris caught up with her easily and dragged her into the Jeep. Shit, what had she been doing to upset the Theocharis family?

Crazy people, they were all crazy. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? He stretched out on the flat rock and tried to get his head together. This was his routine; it had been for a long time now. Ever since his tart of a wife had taken the girls and left him. Bit of gear, hammer down the road on the bike, chill out in the hut and then… and then the other. It was a weird way to live, but it was his own. He’d made it, without help from anyone else. Later on he’d go back and sort the bar out, get ready for the drinkers. Not that there would be many of those from now until April. Winter was on its way, the season for planning next year’s operations. Yeah. Next year. Hey, hold on, guy. This year’s operations were still going on. This year’s operations had to be sorted out after what had happened to Yiangos. Things were getting a bit hot for comfort. That fucker Alex, he had to be fixed soon. Before he left the island and shot his mouth off.

Then he felt himself begin to sink. It sometimes happened this way. The rush from the gear and the climb up the watercourse made him close his eyes and sink into the other world, leaving the muck to fly away and hit someone else. He let himself be surrounded by the bodies from the videos he watched—hard faces, dirty and cursing, but soft bodies, wet and willing. Yes, climb all over them, open their cracks and stick it to them wherever he wanted. Bitches, he’d show them, he’d show them all. Sinking into the dark…

But everything was different when he came round. It had never been like this before. The seagulls hovering and banking, yes, the sun westering into its crimson fall, but on his own—he was usually alone in the old hut. Alone or with the only one who trusted him. What were these other people doing here?

Rinus sat up with a jerk. Fuck. Who were they, the types on each side of him? They were naked, their faces battered and bloody, their arms tied behind their backs and their ankles roped. Eyes closed, lips smashed, were they breathing? He leaned over and touched the man’s neck. Yes, a faint pulse. And in the woman’s. Fucking shit, who were they? Did he have anything to do with what had happened to them? Jesus, had he blacked out and gone psycho?

He ran an eye over the woman’s body. Flaccid breasts, dark hair in her groin and on her legs. He was having difficulty identifying the face because of the bruises and blood. Christ, yes, he thought. It was the American he’d seen up here earlier. Gretchen. So was the guy her partner? Yes, partner, not husband—she’d been very sharp about that the first night in the bar. Was this Lance? He looked more closely, taking in the small, limp dick and the puny chest and arms. No, Lance was tall and fit, and besides, his hair wasn’t blond. Fuck, it was Mikkel, Barbara’s Mikkel. How did he and Gretchen get here? Who tied them up? Could he have done it himself, stoned and out of control?

Rinus got to his feet, his mind reeling. He had to get organised, had to sort this mess out. But how? And then, as the wind made his eyes flood with salt tears and the heaving surface of the surrounding sea darkened, he understood what he had to do. There was no viable option.

He had to tell someone.

Rena reached the outskirts of the village without seeing anyone on the road, the other workers from the fields and the building sites having already returned. It was as she passed the Bar Astrapi that she was spotted by a group of little boys playing football. She heard their alarmed cries as they realised what was over the donkey’s back, so she quickened her pace. Her legs were aching from the long walk and she could hear Melpo’s rapid breathing. The poor beast had been expecting to turn into her field in the Kambos, but she had kept going without complaint. Fortunately old Thodhoris hadn’t been there.