Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) (28 page)

He entered the pool of light outside the bar and glanced around. The large green Jeep was parked by the wall, as was Eleni’s motorbike. The regulars were here, though there was no sign of Barbara and Mikkel’s Suzuki.

Inside the bar was smoke-filled, the organ-heavy sound of The Doors cascading from the speakers.

‘Alex,’ Eleni said, turning to him as he reached the counter. ‘I wondered if I might see you.’ Her thick hair was pulled back in a knot and her face was made up more than usual. The buttons of her denim shirt were open halfway down her chest.

Mavros nodded to her. Looking beyond, he made out Aris Theocharis in the corner, his stepmother Dhimitra beside him. The bald man ignored Mavros, but the museum benefactor’s wife gave him a nod and a loose smile as she raised a martini glass to her glistening scarlet lips. There was no sign of the old man.

‘I came to see you at the dig this afternoon,’ he said, leaning on the bar beside Eleni. He watched as her eyebrows shot up. ‘But you weren’t around.’

‘No,’ she said, looking down at her beer. ‘No, I was working with Theocharis in the tower. Some…some cataloguing.’ She lifted her gaze back to him. ‘Why? Did you want something?’

Mavros watched as Rinus went round the end of the bar and started talking to Aris and Dhimitra. ‘Well, yes, I did actually.’ He smiled at her, trying to dispel the suspicion in her voice. He edged closer. ‘You remember that woman Rosa Ozal I asked you about?’ Her expression was blank. ‘I was just wondering if you were sure you didn’t know her. After all, Rinus remembers her coming in here quite often, and you do too…’ He smiled again, letting the words trail away.

The archaeologist’s eyes narrowed and for a moment he thought she was going to lose her temper. Then she let out a long breath and pursed her lips. ‘God, you don’t give up, do you, Alex?’ she said, shaking her head then relaxing slightly. ‘All right. Yes, I knew her. If you must know, we had a brief affair.’ She held her eyes on his. ‘Although I tried to get you interested—God knows why—I prefer women. Satisfied?’

Mavros watched as the barman turned in their direction, still talking to the Greeks. ‘What about Rinus? Did he have something going with her too?’

Eleni gave a dismissive snort, the sound catching in her throat. ‘Rinus thinks he’s a ladies’ man. Rosa put him in his place.’

‘Was that near the time she left?’ Mavros asked quickly. Rinus was moving back towards the bar.

Eleni thought and nodded. ‘A day or two before. Why?’

Mavros shrugged as the Dutchman arrived. He also wanted to learn how likely it was that the Cycladic figurine he’d found in Rena’s bedroom was genuine, but he hadn’t worked out how to do so without mentioning the widow. He’d have to find another opportunity.

‘Alex,’ Rinus said, ‘I didn’t see you there.’ His voice dripped false bonhomie. ‘What would you like?’

‘What I’d really like,’ Mavros replied, ‘is a private conversation with you, but I don’t suppose I’m going to get one right now.’

The barman gave him a half-nervous, half-mocking look and raised his shoulders. ‘I’m busy with my customers. How about later?’

‘I’ll be waiting,’ Mavros said.

Rinus smiled weakly. ‘Whatever. Dhimitra would like you both to join her. What are you drinking?’

Eleni’s face was set hard. ‘You go, Alex,’ she said. ‘I see enough of that woman.’

Mavros didn’t want to miss the opportunity of talking to Dhimitra without her husband. ‘I’ll see
you
later too,’ he said. ‘Brandy,’ he added, turning to Rinus. ‘Seven stars, since the rich lady’s buying.’

The barman grunted, eyes on the glasses he was filling.

As Mavros approached the table, he heard Aris’s voice thunder out.

‘Where’s Barbara? Where’s her wimp of a husband? They’re always here by now.’

Rinus shrugged as he arrived with the tray of drinks. ‘Don’t know. I haven’t seen either of them all—’ He broke off as he picked up Mavros’s questioning glance. ‘I haven’t seen either of them this evening.’ This time he didn’t hang around to make conversation.

‘So, Alex,’ Dhimitra said in her throaty voice. ‘What have you been up to today?’ The question sounded innocent, but Mavros got the immediate impression that he was being probed.

He raised the cognac glass to her, aware that Aris was staring at him bullishly. ‘Me? I’ve been doing what tourists do. Exploring the locale, sampling the food and drink—’

‘And asking questions,’ the bald man interrupted.

Mavros held his gaze and then nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve been asking questions. I’m going to ask Mrs Theocharis one now. A friend of mine was here earlier in the year. She hasn’t been seen since.’ He took the photo of Rosa from his pocket and held it up in front of the woman opposite him. ‘I don’t suppose you met her in June?’

Dhimitra waved away the pungent smoke from her untipped Assos and stared at the image. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I never saw her. I…’ She looked at Mavros and smiled apologetically. ‘I don’t get out of the estate as much as I’d like. My husband is very—’

‘Demanding,’ Aris Theocharis interrupted again, laughing coarsely. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I don’t suppose your husband could have met her?’ Mavros asked Dhimitra.

The former nightclub singer laughed, the smoke pluming from her nostrils. In the low lights of the Astrapi her blonde hair looked almost natural and the heavy foundation covering the wrinkles on her face and neck were less visible. ‘Panos? No, he keeps himself very much to himself these days.’

‘Beating his ancient meat in front of
tsondes
,’ Aris said with a guffaw.

‘What?’ Mavros asked, feigning incomprehension.

‘
Tsondes
?’ Aris looked at him as if he were a moron. ‘Blue movies, porn, shagfests. You get my meaning?’

Mavros caught his eye and held it. Aris Theocharis had a big mouth, but he wasn’t sure what lay beneath the bravado. The big man dropped his gaze after a few seconds. Nothing much, maybe.

‘My husband…’ Dhimitra began, her heavy hand with its immaculate purple nails suddenly on Mavros’s forearm. ‘My husband lives for the past, as you understand from the collection he showed you. His sexual interests are—how shall I put it?—restricted.’

Aris grunted. ‘At least the guys in the movies stay hard.’

‘Stop it, Ari,’ Dhimitra said, flashing him a stern look. ‘Alex doesn’t want to know about your father’s private life.’

‘Doesn’t he?’ Aris demanded, glancing at Mavros. ‘Excuse me. I have to talk to Rinus.’

They watched him shamble over to the bar, his bulky frame looming over the Dutchman.

‘I must apologise for my stepson,’ Dhimitra said, lips parting over gleaming capped teeth. ‘He can be very crude.’ She smiled expansively and Mavros suddenly felt the weight of her hand on his thigh under the table. ‘You, on the other hand, are sensitive, are you not?’ The tips of her fingers approached his groin.

Mavros pushed his chair back and nodded. ‘Yes, I’m very sensitive,’ he said. ‘And I know how to avoid trouble.’ He looked across at the heavily made-up woman, wondering if she was after him for sex or if she had another agenda. Maybe Theocharis had told her to find out if he was in the antiquities trade. If he played along, he might pick up information about Rosa—but he couldn’t face getting closer to the vulpine Dhimitra.

‘Your husband is one of this country’s most influential and powerful men,’ he added. ‘Find someone else to drop in the shit.’ He turned away and headed for the door, aware that Eleni’s eyes were on him but not intending to stop. He’d made the rebuff of Dhimitra as unsubtle as he could. It was time he showed his teeth to people other than Rinus.

Outside, he stood in the light for a time, trying to get his thoughts in order. Aris talked tougher than he was, Dhimitra was a scheming nymphomaniac, Eleni was a lesbian who tried it on with men, and Rinus was a dope dealer with wandering eyes and hands. There was no shortage of suspicious characters who either knew or could have known Rosa Ozal, but none of them was about to tell him what caused her to leave before she’d planned to. He stepped into the darkness, the constellations higher now and the cotton-wool traces of distant galaxies more faint. He knew it was time to make things happen. Rather than waiting for Rinus to close up, he decided to see if he could get into his flat. That was the most likely place to find something linking the Dutchman to Rosa.

Before he was more than ten metres down the track he heard the long-drawn-out screech of an owl. Seconds later there was a heavy blow on the back of his head.

‘Ah!’ Mavros heard himself exclaim, the sound of his voice somehow insulated. He dropped to the ground and felt sharp stones pierce the skin on his kneecaps.

More blows followed, a narrow torch beam playing over his head and shoulders to direct the hits. Some were random, rebounding off his shoulders and upper arms, but others were well aimed, fists making contact with his chin and temples. He began to sink into unconsciousness, his eyes filling with sticky blood and his breath rushing in his throat. Then, as if from far away, he heard voices. Loud voices.

Male. ‘Oi, what are you doing?’

Female. ‘Get off him. Go on, get away.’

Male. ‘Grab him, Norm. Quick, he’s getting over the wall. No, Trace, don’t.’

Mavros heard a sharp blow and a gasp.

Female. ‘That’ll teach you, two of you ganging up on a defenceless guy. Oh, shit, I’ve broken my heel on the bastard.’

Stones rattled around, thudding on to the ground near Mavros. He heard rapid footsteps moving away.

Male. ‘They’ve cleared off. How many were there?’

Female. ‘Two on the track, I think, Roy. There might have been someone else behind the wall. This travel torch of mine’s not too bright.’

The other female. ‘Here, it’s the bloke from the restaurant. He was in the bar last night and all.’

Male. ‘Oh yeah, so it is. We’d better get him up to the Astrapi.’

Another male. ‘No, no.’ Mavros realised it was his own voice. ‘Get me to my place. House on the street leading to the square. Blue door with yellow panels.’ He felt himself fall away again. ‘Please.’

He was vaguely aware of being lifted up as his head was smothered in darkness, his breathing loud, far too loud. Then everything went completely silent.

January 5th, 1943

We have struck our first blow and the blood is running quick
in our veins!

I won’t pretend things have been easy. In fact, I’ve been so
busy organising the operation and wrangling with the Greeks
that I have been unable to keep this diary for weeks. And unwilling
in case Agamemnon or his men should discover it,
which would be catastrophic for Maro and me. But now we
have holed up on Vigla again and I have more time. I have even
seen Maro, though only briefly and in the presence of her
brother. My love for her still burns strong, so strong. How I wish
we could slip away to our secret place and lose ourselves in
each other, but the mission is what counts now. We have blooded
the Italians and it will not be long before we must do so again
.

I have to say that Agamemnon and his squad have been
less than helpful. As soon as I outlined my plan to blow up
the enemy garrison’s stores depot and an electricity substation
in Parikia, the main town of Paros, the Sacred Band
turned its collective face against me. Agamemnon had obviously
been working on Ajax as well. The local men refused
to take any part in the sabotage operation, following the
position established by the captain—that any subversive
action would bring the wrath of the enemy down upon
innocent islanders’ heads. I tried in vain to convince them that
we would leave no traces, that the Italians would be unable
to establish any connection with Trigono, but it was no good.
Many of the Trigoniotes have relatives on Paros and the
threat of reprisals against the population of the neighbouring
island disturbed them just as much. It was pointless to
remind them that the Italians are in no way as vindictive as
the Germans on the mainland, and that we would make sure
our activities injured no enemy personnel. They were
adamant. Agamemnon has heard reports of Cretan peasants
being forced to dig their own graves, of women and children
being herded into churches and burned to death, and those
accounts seemed to scare even the redoubtable Ajax. So much
for the spirit of resistance. I understood their fears—my God,
I have Maro to think about—but the struggle has to take
precedence. Being in love is wonderful, but standing up to
tyranny is the greater glory. Byron knew both and he chose
to die in the Greeks’ own war of independence rather than in
the arms of a woman
.

But I had an ace up my sleeve. I informed base of the stalemate
we had reached and they supported my line. In the brass
hats’ view, civilian casualties, though regrettable, are sometimes
unavoidable. So they ordered Agamemnon to keep his
distance and sent me a pair of experienced sabotage hands
to back me up. From now on this would be an all-British operation.
I had enough local knowledge to get us to the target
area and the fact that we would be wearing army-issue boots
and using British weapons would get the locals off the hook
.

Corporals Rees and Griffin of the Royal Marines duly
arrived on the supply kaïki on Boxing Day, the former a wiry,
red-faced Welshman and the latter a monosyllabic
Yorkshireman with a vicious glint in his eye. They are both
explosives experts and apparently Griffin is well versed in the
black arts of silent killing. I told him that he was unlikely to
have to use those on the somnolent Italian detachment on
Paros and that he was only to strike on my direct order. He
raised a sceptical eyebrow and went on checking his kit. My
God, I’m glad he’s on our side!