The Silver Stain (16 page)

Rudolf Kersten sat down again. His wife spoke to him in German. Mavros wanted to ask what Waggoner had meant, but he could see it wasn’t the right time. He moved away and saw Luke Jannet and Alice Quincy coming towards him in a golf cart.

‘What’d’ya think of that?’ the director said triumphantly, as the vehicle drew up. ‘We got enough material for the whole drop in one afternoon. We can edit it so the single planes look like dozens.’

‘It was certainly spectacular,’ Mavros agreed.

‘And you found pouting Cara’s dyke too. Quite a day it’s turned out to be.’

‘She’s been badly treated,’ Mavros said, his eyes on Jannet’s. ‘And she isn’t speaking.’

The director stared back at him. ‘Some rapist pick her up?’

Mavros was angry with himself for not thinking of that. It would certainly explain Maria’s condition – but Jannet hadn’t seen her. It was quite a thing to suggest, unless he’d heard something from the clinic.

‘Has Rosie Yellenberg been on the phone?’ he asked.

‘Rosie? Nah, she knows better than to bother me when I’m shooting.’

Mavros glanced at Alice Quincy. She looked uncomfortable, but that was her default mode.

‘We’ll be having a drink tonight,’ Jannet said. ‘Alice will tell you where and when. Guess you’ll be leaving tomorrow.’

‘Maybe,’ Mavros said, turning away. He wasn’t sure about Luke Jannet – either he was nothing but a coarse Hollywood operator, or he was more concerned about Maria Kondos than he was letting on – his eyes had been hard to read when he was talking about her. Either way, he could probe again later.

Riding the
papaki
back to the gate, Mavros saw Mikis leaning on the Jeep outside.

‘Good timing,’ he said, as he was let through on foot.

‘That’s what you think. My old man thinks you should get off the island immediately.’

Mavros’s heart missed a beat. ‘Why?’

‘We had a call from Kornaria – that wanker Dhrakakis. He made all kinds of threats to us and to you, including one about your kidneys.’

‘Great.’

‘There’s only one thing you can do if you want to stay,’ Mikis said, a smile hovering on his lips.

‘Take up pistol shooting?’

‘Wouldn’t hurt. No, you need to take heed of what the mayor of Kornaria said.’

Mavros stared at him uncomprehendingly.

The Cretan laughed. ‘Seriously consider getting your hair cut.’

‘Screw you, Miki. I’d rather take my chances with the dope-growers.’

‘Oh, that’s on the cards,’ the driver replied, his expression darkening. ‘That is definitely on the cards.’

ELEVEN

B
ack in his room in the hotel, Mavros booted up his laptop and checked his emails. The Fat Man had forwarded a large number of files in English – the old communist had never learned many words of the former imperial power’s language on principle. He had learned other things, which he asked Mavros to call him about.

‘How goes it, Yiorgo?’

‘Ah, the arse-licker of Hollywood. Still alive?’

Mavros told him about the dust-up with the men from Kornaria and the vendetta that had been proclaimed.

‘Marx, Engels and Lenin,’ the Fat Man said, with a groan, ‘you’ve been on the Great Island less than two days and already there’s a price on your head?’

‘Just doing my job. What about yours?’

‘Oh, I’m getting paid for this, am I? That’ll make a change.’

Mavros rolled his eyes. ‘As a matter of fact, the money is the only good part of this case. Make out an invoice. And talk.’

‘“Make out an invoice,” he says,’ Yiorgos said caustically. ‘Where do you think you are? Germany?’

The Fat Man wasn’t far from the truth, Mavros thought. The Heavenly Blue was an oasis of German order and calm, despite the staff in local costumes. Outside the perimeter fence, things were rather more fraught.

‘All right, let’s have it, Fat Man,’ he said, opening his notebook.

‘Who do you want first? There’s more on the Greek sites about Rudolf Kersten than the others. And – get this – he’s really popular for a German.’

As his friend spoke, Mavros was scrolling down the pages he’d been forwarded about the former paratrooper.

‘He made a fortune in the building trade in the Ruhr valley after the war,’ Yiorgos said, ‘starting off as a bricklayer and ending up as chief executive of the company.’ He grunted. ‘What we’d call a class traitor.’

Mavros ignored that, his eye having been caught by Kersten’s later war record. ‘He served on the Eastern Front,’ he noted, ‘wounded three times, twice seriously, and was both decorated and promoted several times.’

‘So he was an enemy of the Soviet motherland too,’ the Fat Man said sourly.

‘He passed through the denazification programme in 1947 and, having made his fortune, moved to Crete in 1964 to build the Heavenly Blue. He used only Greek architects, designers and labour, as well as donating large sums of money to villages that had suffered during the Axis occupation.’ He remembered what David Waggoner had said about blood money. That seemed a pretty uncharitable view.

‘He was in with the bastard Colonels, of course,’ Yiorgos said. ‘They were very happy to sell him permits to develop the hotel.’

‘Not sure if you can blame him for that,’ Mavros countered. ‘How many Greeks did the same thing?’

‘Greeks of the thieving, collaborating class.’

Yeah, yeah, Mavros thought. There was some truth in what the Fat Man said, but life wasn’t that simple. The dictatorship had lasted seven years and people had to feed their families somehow. He had a brief glimpse of his brother Andonis – long lost and a likely victim of the brutal regime – but, unlike in the past, the smiling face faded quickly.

‘Your problem, Yiorgo,’ he said, scrolling down more attachments, ‘is that Rudolf Kersten seems to be a genuinely good man, even though he’s a capitalist.’

‘And former Nazi. You should see what David Waggoner has to say about him.’

‘I’ve already heard him on the subject.’ Mavros found a file bearing the Briton’s name. There was a newspaper report of the sixtieth memorial of the Battle of Crete in 1941, when there had been tension between Allied and German veterans. A group of former SOE men, including Waggoner, had rounded on paratroop survivors and berated them for singing Nazi songs in the cemetery near Maleme. From what he could gather, Rudolf Kersten had stood apart with Hildegard and remained silent.

‘You see that story in the
Free News
?’ the Fat Man asked.

Waggoner had been interviewed following the death of one of his SOE comrades in Crete. He said that several Nazi war criminals, including one who had taken part in a massacre on the island, were still at large and had never been brought to justice – and one was even the head of a large enterprise near Chania.

‘Did you find anything else on that?’ Mavros asked.

‘Not even in
Rizospastis
,’ Yiorgos replied, naming the Communist Party organ. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Kersten is friends with the capitalist press barons. Maybe he put his lawyers on our people.’

‘Or maybe they reckoned he was clean.’

‘What is he?’ the Fat Man demanded ‘Your new best friend?’

Mavros held back from mentioning the money he’d earned from the German.

‘No, but I’ve met him and he doesn’t strike me as a hypocrite, never mind the type that has his nose up the press magnates’ arses. There’s a look in his eyes—’

‘Oh, there’s a look in his eyes,’ Yiorgos said snidely. ‘A look that your hypersensitive antennae picked up, suggesting he never did anything wrong in his life. Despite being on the Eastern Front for over three years.’

‘You finished? Did you get anything else on Waggoner?’

The Fat Man paused. ‘I did actually,’ he said dramatically, like a magician pulling a halibut out of a hat. ‘I talked to one of the old comrades who was on Crete during the occupation. He said that Waggoner was a crazy man, always pushing for the most dangerous sabotage raids. It seems he was wounded during the original battle. The Germans took him to Athens for surgery – strangely decent of them – and some months later he escaped from a train in Yugoslavia, before getting himself sent back to Crete.’

‘A man on a mission.’

‘Looks that way. He was a hard-line anti-Communist as well, like most of the British agents, and our people suspected him of “disappearing” several EAM operatives.’ EAM had been the National Liberation Front, which was largely under Communist control. ‘Of course, we never had much influence in Crete. They have their own ideology down there.’

‘I’ve noticed. What’s this about Cyprus?’

‘I found that on one of the far-right sites so I don’t know how accurate it is, but they say he was in charge of a British undercover execution squad in the late Fifties, before independence. Several innocent citizens, including a young lad of seventeen, were left in the street with their brains blown out. Eventually Waggoner got thrown out for being too much of a headcase even for the occupiers.’

Mavros wondered about that. Could it be that the former SOE man had a worse past than the German he’d accused?

‘OK, Yiorgo, I’ll go through what you’ve sent. Thanks.’

‘Oh, it’s “thanks” now, is it? Well get this, weird eye. I made a
galaktoboureko
and it’s even better than the old woman’s.’

Mavros had a saliva rush. ‘Save me a couple of pieces.’

The Fat Man laughed. ‘What makes you think there are any pieces left?’

Mavros cut the connection and continued scrolling down the attachments. There was an article from one of the Chania provincial papers about the house Waggoner had built outside Kornaria – it had dark stone floors and was very Spartan, which wasn’t a major surprise. There were also several pieces saying how popular the ex-soldier was, acting as godfather to numerous villagers’ children. His exploits during the war were described in heroic terms – Waggoner had led plenty of ambushes on German patrols and was said to have personally killed over thirty of the enemy.

Mavros was interrupted by his phone.

‘This is Cara. I need you.’ The words were simple, but the tone less so. Mavros picked up more than a hint of flirtation. ‘I’m in my suite.’

‘And I’m in the middle of something,’ he said. ‘Give me a few minutes, please.’

‘All right,’ the actress replied, less silkily.

Mavros called Niki. He had to wait for her to answer.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, shit, were you asleep?’

‘It has been known to happen at this time of day.’

‘Sorry.’ Niki didn’t often take a siesta, but she was never delighted to be woken from one. ‘I’m not sure what I’ll be up to later in the evening.’

There was a rapid intake of breath. ‘If you go near any Hollywood actresses, your dick is doomed.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve found the missing woman. I should be home soon.’

‘Oh. Well done. Are they appropriately grateful?’

‘I’m supposed to be going out with the director and his people.’

‘Would they include one Cara Parks?’ Niki asked.

‘Don’t know. Look, her assistant is in a bit of a state. She’s not talking and she may have been mistreated. I think Cara . . . I mean, Ms Parks has got other things on her mind.’

Niki instantly picked up on the vagueness in his voice. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope she’s not too upset.’ Her voice hardened and rose in volume. ‘And doesn’t need consoling, especially from a man she only met the day before yesterday.’

‘Love you, dearest,’ Mavros said. ‘Got to go.’ She wouldn’t like that rapid exit, but he had a lot on his mind – not least, the growing sense that finding Maria Kondos had opened several large and evil-smelling Pandora’s Boxes.

‘How is Maria?’

Cara Parks, seated in her usual place on the sofa and wearing a short denim skirt and multicoloured silk blouse, looked at him uncertainly. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,’ she replied, beckoning him to join her and pointing to the tray of drinks on the table. ‘Give me a vodka tonic, will you? Two of the former to one of the latter, a single rock.’

Mavros obliged and poured himself a shot of Wild Turkey.

‘The doctor . . . how do you pronounce his name?’

‘Stavrakakis,’ he said, raising his glass.

‘Cheers, and thanks, Alex. I really appreciate what you’ve done. Anyway, the doctor says the tests are all clear. She hasn’t sustained any head or internal injuries. She hasn’t been raped or anything like that.’

‘Great.’

‘Yeah, but she’s obviously suffered some pretty major psychological damage.’

‘She still isn’t talking? Not even to you?’

Cara Parks looked down. ‘No. I’m just back from the clinic. She turned her head to the wall. The last person I saw do that was my grandfather. He’d had chemotherapy too many times and he wanted it all to end.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Mavros watched her eyes. ‘Do you know anything about Kornaria, the village she escaped from?’

‘Only what you told me earlier.’ The reply was quick. ‘Why? Is it a nest of perverts as well as being Dopeville, Crete?’

‘Not that I know of. Stavrakakis seems like a competent type. I’m sure they’ll have English-speaking shrinks on hand.’

Cara nodded. ‘They do. But—’

There was the sound of voices in the hall. Luke Jannet came in unsteadily, followed by Alice Quincy and Rosie Yellenberg. Presumably the gorilla had admitted them.

‘Two little love birds . . . how does that song go?’ the director said, heading for the drinks tray.

Alice and Rosie exchanged a glance and shook their heads.

‘So, Mavros,’ Jannet said, raising a highball glass full of Glenfiddich, ‘whatcha think of the airplanes?’

‘They were cool. Glad I wasn’t on the ground when the 109s’ bullets were real.’

The director laughed. ‘That’s what the old Brit said.’

‘Waggoner? He was wounded during the battle.’

‘Is that right? I heard he took plenty of Krauts out later.’

Mavros sipped his drink. ‘Still, making a film’s not the same as being in a war.’

There was a prolonged silence, broken by Cara Parks.

‘Luke, Maria’s still not talking.’

‘I heard that from Rosie. She’ll come round.’ Jannet’s face tightened. ‘You telling me you’re not going to show up tomorrow? Jesus, Cara, it’s the fucking massacre scene.’