1 The Assassins' Village (10 page)

Chapter 11. Monday, the following day

The attempt and not the deed confound us.

Macbeth. Act 2 Scene 2

‘Bernard! Bernard! Where are you?’

Jenny stood at the foot of their stairs leaning against the wooden banisters. Breathing erratically, she slipped the lead from around the neck of their dog. He immediately went out into the courtyard and slopped greedily at its water bowl.

‘Up here my dear. Whatever’s the matter? You do sound a bit agitated.’

Bernard’s head appeared from behind the bathroom door; in his hand he was clutching a copy of the first two acts of Tony’s latest play.

‘Oh! You’ll never guess what’s happened. It’s dreadful! Awful!’

Jenny’s breath came in short rasps as she put a fluttering hand to her chest. She gave a wheeze and then a little cough.

‘Just a minute and I’ll be down.’

A short pause, followed by the sound of running water preceded Bernard who appeared in the doorway and then carefully made his way down the stairs to where Jenny waited below. He had hurt his back yesterday and was suffering from a bad case of stiffness and a possible pulled muscle.

‘What is it? Now, for goodness sake calm down or you’ll bring on one of your asthma attacks. Sit down over here.’

Bernard took her by the arm and led her over to the settee in their living room, his face grave with concern. ‘There now, let’s start at the beginning. Do you want a glass of water first?’

‘No, no I’m all right really. Don’t fuss so! Listen! It’s to do with Leslie and Sonja. Well Leslie really. He’s been found dead! Apparently, he broke his leg when he fell over a steep ledge into a vineyard.’

Bernard’s mouth opened in surprise at this bombshell and immediately sat down opposite his wife. ‘What? Good heavens! Where? How do you know all this?’

‘Well, I’ve just been talking to Elaine. She said that Di and Steve found him when they were out walking yesterday afternoon. It was on the track; you know the one that goes down to the river.’

‘Good Lord. Bloody hell! And does she know how it happened?’

‘Only what they’ve told her. And that is, they found him after he’d fallen down the slope. He was lying on his back with a broken leg. Apparently, they could tell that by the strange angle it was lying at. Ooh! How horrible!’ she gave a shudder and then continued. ‘Anyway, he was dead by then. Isn’t it all too ghastly? I do feel sorry for him. I mean, I know we didn’t like him, especially you and justifiably, but even so. Then there’s poor Sonja and in the middle of moving house too. I never did find out just why they were moving. I wonder how she’s going to cope with all this now. Perhaps she won’t bother to move after all.’

Bernard half listened in silence as Jenny chattered on with nervous excitement. He carefully weighed her words before he asked. ‘And at about what time did all this occur?’

“I don’t know for certain. We’d have to ask Di and Steve the exact time.’

Bernard thought carefully for a moment as he went back over the last time he’d had a proper conversation with Leslie; their meeting had not actually been pleasant.
Once upon a time they’d been quite cordial to one another. Not true close friends; they had both too much of the
primo uomo
in them. Although Bernard took his acting fairly seriously, it had been Leslie who had even greater aspirations with regard to his art. Leslie had long been convinced that a gallery owner of international importance would notice him. Then, he’d be signed up with a big fat contract and numerous commissions would start rolling his way. Leslie had often been heard to say,
that it was only because I am here in Cyprus
,
a bit of
a backwater place
that I haven’t been discovered
. The local market was all very well, but he
knew
he was destined for better. As he kept telling anyone who’d listen,
it was only a matter of time.

Bernard was far more prosaic about it all. He enjoyed whatever parts came his way, and loved the stage. The difference between them was that for Bernard it wasn’t his entire world. He adored his pretty little wife Jenny, and loved their varied life together in Cyprus. He interspersed his acting with a little bit of gardening, or fossil hunting whenever the mood took him. They had a good circle of friends both Cypriot and expatriates. Leslie did nothing except paint and look for female diversions.

The only black drawback in their cosy life was a certain lack of funds, and for that he blamed Leslie. He became aware that Jenny was still talking to him.

‘Sorry my dear, what was that you said again?’

Sighing in exasperation Jenny rolled her eyes at him.

He knew along the lines of what she was thinking. He heard her say it all a thousand times before. ‘
Why was it men never listened? What was it called these days? Selective hearing. Funny though, you always hear perfectly well when asked if you want a drink.’

‘I said. Perhaps we should go round and talk to Steve and Diana? You know, find out a bit more.’

Bernard nodded. ‘Mmm. Good idea. Maybe we should. What about Sonja? They might know if she needs anything doing and it would be a good idea anyway to talk to them first before we intrude on her. She must be very shocked and upset. I presume she is at home and knows…?’ his voice trailed off. It would be difficult. Sonja had always been a bit of an odd woman, naturally anti-social and it was possible that she wouldn’t want or need her neighbours’ well-meant overtures of help. What was it about this village, he thought? They certainly possessed more than their share of odd single women.  Alicia and Antigone, even Yanoulla was out of the ordinary. Sonja could well be added to the number; more than a veritable witches’ coven he concluded uncharitably. The village should be renamed ‘
Agios Witches,
he thought a trifle sourly. Talk about “
the wyrd sisters, hand in hand
” or even – he smiled at this – “
When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

~~~

They walked the short distance through the village to Steve and Di’s house. Bernard took it slowly over the cobbled path, nursing his back from the day before.

He grumbled. ‘As I’m not getting any younger it’ll probably take weeks to mend you know.’

Jenny just laughed at him for being a miserable old codger and asked what he had been doing. Feeling hurt at her offhand remark he refused to answer and carried on muttering under his breath.  As they rounded a corner they bumped into a tall burly figure. Bernard raised his hand in greeting.

‘Kalimera, Kristiakis. How are you today?’

‘Kalimera, Bernard and Jenny. I am very well, and you?’

Kristiakis was fifty-ish, vital and muscular with thick, dark curly hair reaching nearly to his shoulders. As he worked outdoors most of the year, the physical work
promoted a deeply-tanned face and body; his features proud and strong. He possessed dark-blue piercing eyes that smiled as he towered over the diminutive Jenny. He was very handsome, smoulderingly sexy, and looked very
Eastern
. Bernard noticed Jenny returning his smile. Bernard guessed what she was thinking; he could read her like a book.

She asked Kristiakis whether he had heard the dreadful news.

Kristiakis nodded his dark shaggy head in affirmation. The smile left his face and his eyes became guarded.

‘Bad business. Very bad,’ he hesitated as if he was about to add something else. He paused, and then in a gruff voice excused himself and moved on back down the road.  Jenny noticed he was carrying a small bag. She waited until he was out of sight and ear before turning to Bernard and hissed. ‘Give you three guesses as to
where
he spent last night!’

‘Oh Jenny! That is naughty. He is over twenty-one you know.’

‘Huh. I wonder if today is a Saint’s day. You know the Orthodox Church says that couples are not supposed to sleep together on the eve of a Saint’s day. Fancy saying when you can’t have sex! Although, I believe I’ve heard somewhere that the Church has now decreed that it’s permissible if the couple have a shower before attending the service.’

Bernard gave a sigh of exasperation as she prattled on.

‘Anyway, what I really meant was that he and Yanoulla must be lovers. He’s always round there according to Ann. I don’t know how she does it. She’s at least ten years older than him.’

‘Jenny! Don’t be such a busybody. I don’t mind Kristiakis and surely, it’s their business not yours.’ He regarded her crossly. As much as he loved his wife, she was a terrible chatterbox and scandalmonger. Never intentionally malicious, but everybody’s business always interested her.

‘Oh I know. But he has been seeing her for so long now, and I really doubt whether he plans to marry her.’

Jenny set off once more along the cobbled path, carefully watching out for loose stones. Following in her footsteps Bernard hurried to catch up with her.

‘You don’t know that for sure. Anyway, she’s been good for him in lots of ways. Look how years ago he distrusted all the British. It took a long time for him to eventually turn his back on his wild young days. You’ve got Yanoulla to thank for curbing his violence and bitterness.’

Jenny rolled her eyes at Bernard. ‘Hum. But has he really? I too haven’t forgotten the old stories about his EOKA days as a terrorist, or freedom fighter or whatever they call them nowadays, and of his attacks on British soldiers. This isn’t called the
“Assassins’ Village
” for nothing you know. Still, I suppose at least he talks to us now, and he does offer us help if we need it.’

‘The assassins bit goes way back before the trouble with the British. I wonder how he heard about Leslie. I suppose word gets round like wildfire in a village this size. Do you know he thoroughly disliked Leslie himself though?’

‘No. Why?’ She looked astonished that Bernard knew something she didn’t.

Bernard took a breath and paused before continuing. ‘Well apparently, it’s because Leslie was ex-military and had been over here during the troubles. I don’t know the full story, but there was some strange talk about reprisals and Leslie may have been involved. I repeat, only
may
have,’ he regarded her sternly.

‘How do you know all this? And why have you never told me this before?’ She demanded.

‘Because my little dove, it was told to me in confidence and you know how you love to chatter.’

Jenny opened her pink-lipsticked mouth to argue, an angry glint in her usually cool green eyes. She drew up her ample chest ready to argue.

Bernard chuckled at her expression. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right for once and anyway, no arguing now as we’re here. Don’t mention to Diana and Steve what I’ve just told you please. It was told to me in trust.’

‘Yes, but what was Leslie doing back here then and why…?’

Bernard raised his eyebrows at her to be silent as he reached out to ring the doorbell.

Chapter 12.  Monday morning

Methought I heard a voice cry, “Sleep no more!”
             

Macbeth. Act 2 Scene 2

As if yesterday’s events hadn’t shocked and disturbed them enough, Steve awoke after a particularly troubled night and with a deep sense of foreboding. He and Diana were going to be pestered at every available opportunity until the novelty died down. He knew that underneath most people’s thin veneer of correctness, there lay an almost ghoulish need for a taste of other people’s misfortune. Today would be grim. His beautiful Diana hadn’t been herself recently and her health worried him. Not that she would do anything about it, as over the years she’d developed a strong aversion for ‘traipsing to the doctors’ as she put it.

When they finally arrived home last night they found an anxious Elaine waiting for them together with their immediate neighbours, Peter and Ann. Naturally they all wanted to discuss the awful thing that had happened in their normally sleepy little village. They were avid for the latest news.

Earlier, before they reached their house, they agreed that he and Di would do exactly as the police had instructed. They would not divulge any of their suspicions or mention what they had found… apart from that already leaked to the public. The story was: Leslie had slipped whilst out taking his normal walk; he’d fallen down a slope and broken his leg. Unfortunately, it looked as if he’d also injured his head. So, unable to move he couldn’t raise the alarm and subsequently died. The police could divulge other aspects of the event when they chose. Di and Steve would not breathe a word about Leslie having his throat cut. The last thing they wanted was to tell everyone there was a murderer loose in the village.

‘But a fall down into a vineyard, why didn’t he yell for help?’ asked Ann. She looked across at Peter to back up her comment.

Peter was about his wife’s age. His short chubby stature suggested a fondness for
halloumi
and chips and plenty of local
Keo
beer and wine. His belly ran to a definite ‘pot’ or ‘wok smuggling’ as Di jokingly called it in the privacy of her home. His thinning, sandy hair completed the picture. Not in the best of shape, but both Steve and Di liked their neighbours’ good-heartedness.

‘It is all a little strange and very bad luck really. But if you think about it, he fell, broke a leg, banged his head, and he could hardly have called for help, could he? A terrible run of events,’ Pete said finishing the glass of red wine he’d been drinking whilst waiting for Steve and Di to arrive home. He put his empty glass down on the low table in front of him, hoping for a refill. Uncharacteristically mean, Steve deliberately ignored his friend’s movement; if he offered another they would never get rid of their unwanted guests. All he desired was for some peace and quiet and his long-overdue dinner.

Instead he replied to Peter’s summations. ‘Look the police don’t want us speculating on any of this. They are going to visit everyone in the village and ask their questions then. I expect they’ll want to properly interview everybody who was here at the time.’

Unfortunately he did nothing to dispel their inquisitiveness.

‘Oh and why is that? What can we tell them? Leslie was always out walking, as you well know. He went for miles. Sometimes Sonja would have to go and look for him in the car, as he’d get lost or gone too far and couldn’t make it all the way back home. Silly man! Look where it’s landed him.’ Ann looked around at the others as she made her remarks. Her northern forthrightness was, as usual, quick off the mark.

‘Ann!’

‘Well, it’s just routine, I’m sure,’ said Steve quietly.

The others fell silent and looked at him. Perhaps it was his tone or the quiet way he had spoken, but he quickly realised they sensed something was amiss. Ann sat forward on her chair, and opened her mouth to ask another question. Elaine forestalled her. She stood up, glancing at her watch.

‘Look at the time! I’m sure Steve and Di are starving. Why don’t we say goodnight, no doubt we’ll see you two sometime tomorrow?’

Peter and Ann acted contrite despite knowing they would elicit no more information until tomorrow at the earliest.

‘Sorry we didn’t think. You know, what with all the excitement and everything.’

Steve breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Dinner and a cold shower at last, life had to go on.

~~~

Di awoke bleary-eyed as the sun glided above the nearby hill. For hours she’d twisted and turned in deep, muddled sleep. In her unconsciousness she had been drifting in a dream-sea of a soft, silky cocoon. First, she tried to untangle the silken threads as they wound themselves around her restless body and legs. When she finally gave in, she felt herself being pulled relentlessly down into a void of deep velvet black. Drifting slowly like a feather, she heard the muted sound of a newborn, snuffling and gasping as it took its first breath. She pondered on this as the soft sounds changed to a high wail that wavered between that of a baby and a young girl. The wailing increased to a thin crescendo until it was suddenly snuffed out. The noise lay imprinted on her eardrum.

Di struggled to regain consciousness, and found herself filled with a strange deep depression and lassitude. She turned on to her side to find Steve wide-awake, regarding her with a troubled expression.

‘Morning,’ she said with a sigh and snuggled closer into his arms. ‘You’re awake early.’

‘Morning yourself, sleepyhead. You’ve slept later than usual. I wish I could say the same. I found it impossible to get to sleep. Too much going through my head I suppose after yesterday’s shock. You look like you need another hour or so though,’ he brushed a tangle of hair from her face.

‘I did drop off eventually, but oh! I still feel whacked out,’ she gave a great yawn. ‘I had the weirdest of dreams. Shall I tell you?’

‘No. Other people’s dreams are boring. Would you like some tea?’

‘Yes please. But, Steve this dream was so real. It was really scary at the end. I dreamt of something like a baby wailing, and then it just stopped. It’s made me feel very odd. And… miserable,’ she looked forlorn as she remembered the vividness of her nightmare.

‘It was just a dream,’ he replied, giving her a gentle smile. ‘Don’t think about it. I won’t be long with the tea. You just relax, I’ve told you. You’ve been overdoing it lately and what with all this happening yesterday. What do you expect? You’re bound to feel miserable. I know I do.’ He planted a quick kiss on her bare shoulder before rolling off the bed.

Diana watched him as he slipped on a light cotton dressing gown. Barefoot, he made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

It was just a bad dream; unnerving -
“I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did you not speak?”
Shakespeare again she thought. The play kept coming back to her.

The dream was so real; especially the bit about the baby. Di lay back on her pillow, a hollow ache in her throat. She thought she was past all that. For years they had tried for a baby. She had spent countless hours visiting gynaecologists who assured her there was nothing wrong with her. Indeed either of them. But it had all been wasted time. Nothing had happened, except one distressing early miscarriage about seven years ago. Since then neither had the heart nor will to talk about it. It was better buried deeply away. By mutual consent, Steve and Di accepted they were never going to have a family. With that acceptance they rediscovered their own joy in each other. Diana knew numerous people with children. With her loving nature, she lavished on them her own brand of attention and became their favourite ‘auntie’.

Di’s early writing had met with some modest success, and she knew Steve was pleased to watch her talent blossoming as the years passed. On numerous occasions he had said that as far as he was concerned, he was content so long as she was happy and well. He no longer felt the deep yearning for children.

Putting aside morbid thoughts, Diana brushed away the threatening telltale tears. She must be more overwrought than she knew. Discovering Leslie’s body was extremely upsetting. To suspect and to then have it more or less confirmed ‘something untoward had occurred’ was altogether appalling. Shocking, and Di then realised, sitting up with a jolt.  Shocking but it was also extremely interesting.

~~~

Early that same morning, the police called on them. They repeated their questions from the evening before and then asked a whole lot more. These new questions took on a different light; they probed deeper. Steve and Diana couldn’t help but feel under suspicion themselves. They were left in no doubt that the police were taking Leslie’s murder very seriously.

It was some time since the last murder in the village. A Mafioso-like hierarchy ran some of the Cypriot villages years ago. Agios Mamas being one of them. So great was the village’s infamous notoriety it had become known as “
The Assassins’ Village
.” If someone wanted a ‘job’ done, then for a hundred pounds or thereabouts, they simply let it be known in the right quarter.

Again, Steve and Diana went over what they knew, the time they’d found Leslie, and whether they’d noticed anyone else out on the hillside during that afternoon.

‘No, we didn’t see anyone at all. We heard the occasional gunfire in the distance. I remembering saying that a solitary hunter in the late afternoon in summer was unusual.’ Steve volunteered.

Inspector Christopopodoulou eagerly questioned them about the hunter while the sergeant took notes. Who, did they know regularly hunted around here, especially illegally during the summer months?  Steve and Diana were relative newcomers to Cyprus and knew of just a couple of local men with guns.

‘The only other one is, Kristiakis.’

They both looked uncomfortable at naming names, especially a neighbour in their village. Steve wanted to say
that it wasn’t a gun that killed Leslie anyway
.

‘Oh yes, Kristiakis.’ The inspector looked thoughtful for a moment and tapped his pen against the pad on his lap. He gave his colleague a small knowing nod. ‘We know him well from a previous unfortunate incident.’

Steve and Di couldn’t help looking at each other. Diana raised her eyebrows with interest and opened her eyes wide as if to say,
which previous incident?

They knew the tales of Kristiakis’ past EOKA connections, but that had been when he was a teenager. Surely the inspector wasn’t referring back to that?

The inspector saw their interest and gave a small smirk as he told them. ‘He bombed a local house. Threw a - how do you call it - home-made bomb through the open front doorway. He was a pathetic freedom fighter, it just made a lot of smoke and noise and work for us. Worse of all he got the wrong house. It was a Dutch house and he thought he was bombing the British!’ he scoffed with a look of contempt at his uncomfortable English witnesses.

Steve could have hit him. The inspector’s open hostility was only too apparent. He heard Di’s indrawn hiss next to him and he groped for her hand to stop her rising to the bait.

Sergeant Loukiades shuffled his feet as if in embarrassment over his boss’ blatant rudeness. He cleared his throat and then asked the Inspector something in Greek. After a short gruff interchange between them the inspector turned back to address Steve and Di.

Finally, the cocky little policeman had to grudgingly admit that apart from Leslie’s cut throat, there was something else to investigate. Steve and Di were right.

‘Mr Leslie was forcibly restrained. His hands had been bound together, and he suffered a gag in his mouth to prevent his crying out. I cannot say anymore until we have questioned all the villagers and come up with a possible suspect. I have a few ideas of my own of course but not what I can divulge until I am quite sure. From the coroner, we can tell how long Mr Leslie had lain there.’

Through his thick Greek accent Steve and Di were able to make out the Latin words
livor mortis
and the pooling of blood in the body
.

The inspector continued. ‘He died sometime around lunchtime.’

Thankfully, Steve and Di were therefore not suspects as they had been lunching in the local taverna then and remained there until at least three o’clock. They could back up their story with a watertight alibi and both breathed a sigh of relief. Although innocent a small smudge of guilt always managed to rub off onto those nearest.

The policeman continued his questions, answering his mobile telephone and barking orders at his patient sergeant at the same time. ‘Can you help any further? Who else, can you remember being in the taverna at the same time as yourselves? Who can be eliminated from the rest of the villagers?’

The inspector gave his imitation
Breitling
watch a quick glance as he waited for their response.

Steve and Diana stole a quick look at each other before replying. They were in agreement. He really was a little creep, and as much as they wanted the murderer to be caught, his personality did nothing to endear them to him. They had a moral duty however, and thought back to yesterday’s lunch. They’d enjoyed the long-relaxed couple of hours in the local taverna. The food and ambience was renowned, and being a Sunday, it had been packed out with both locals and visiting tourists.