1 The Assassins' Village (27 page)

‘I am very sorry. We have done everything we could. Your husband has passed away…’

The post mortem showed Alexis died from a bacterium present in the raw oysters that he’d eaten.

Yanoulla said. ‘But I ate the same food and I haven’t suffered any side effects.’ She was told that although the bacterium was naturally present in the sea it didn’t alter the appearance, taste or smell of the oysters. Therefore, regrettably there was no way of knowing it was there. There was an added bonus, (Yanoulla thought). As Alexis had been over fond of alcohol, his liver was in poor shape, thereby predisposing him to the bacteria entering the bloodstream. There was nothing they could have done.

Yanoulla walked away. A free woman once again and feeling completely void of guilt. In fact, never had she felt so ecstatic.

~~~

When her two girls were grown up and working for their living, Yanoulla decided it was time for moving back to Cyprus. She’d had enough of the ghastly wet and cold English weather and longed for the sun-filled days of her native land. She was now completely independent. Alexis’ parents were both dead and buried, taking away any obligation to care for them. Her daughters were young women commanding their own lives. Having been brought up in London they were lively and strong-willed, which was just as Yanoulla wanted them to be. They were Londoners and happy to remain in England with their friends. They knew their mother would welcome them with open arms whenever they visited her in Cyprus. Yanoulla’s yearning for Aphrodite’s Isle became stronger and at the beginning of the new century she made all the arrangements necessary for her homecoming. With tear-stained faces, her daughters waved goodbye at Heathrow airport, and Yanoulla climbed aboard the Cyprus Airways flight to Larnaca. Soon, in just four and a half hours, she would be back to where she really called home.

Agios Mamas had changed during the years she’d been away. She noticed there were more ruins, more empty houses and quite a few new faces. Some of these newcomers were Cypriots who’d reclaimed old family homes to use as weekend cottages, while the rest were mostly foreigners. There was now a mix of nationalities littered throughout the village, British, Scandinavians, and Dutch, American and even a Greek or two.

Yanoulla’s family had sold their own house long ago to a Cypriot property developer, so she began making enquiries for a vacant one. She found just what she was looking for; a modest two-bedroom stone house positioned on the outskirts of the village. It possessed a minute courtyard boasting an old, but working bread oven. A shady balcony hung over the courtyard from what was to be her bedroom. Off to one side of the house, a small shady patch of land with a couple of almond trees and some straggly bushes would be perfect to grow flowers and a few vegetables. Yanoulla was delighted. Within a month after agreeing a price, she had once again taken up residence in the village of her birth.

Alas. True happiness was not for Yanoulla. If she had felt like a foreigner in England then life back in the narrow enclave of Agios Mamas was in some ways little better. Yanoulla quickly found that when Cypriots moved far away to escape the rigours of strife, or simply to try and better themselves abroad, on returning home they are often viewed with suspicion, distrust and sometimes, pure jealousy. They after all did not stay and put up with the hardships. They escaped, made fortunes and came back flaunting their new wealth. Or this is how some Cypriots view the returnees.

Although Yanoulla had only married Alexis, and hadn’t acquired any wealth of her own, the older villagers looked down their long hairy noses at this ‘Charlie’, this Anglo Cypriot and wouldn’t entirely accept her back into their midst.

Despite her regular visits to church and living a quiet life, she stood out as being different. For one thing she didn’t dress in black, despite being a widow. The old women dressed like ravens, hissed and gossiped together as they sat on their stiff hard chairs in the late evening sunshine. But Yanoulla had lived too long away to be bothered with the ‘old ways’ and did a little flaunting of her own. She was relishing her newfound freedom and Alexis was no longer around to slap her down.

Krisitakis found the new Yanoulla a bit of a puzzle, and her emancipation a little scary in his narrow world. He would have preferred to watch her from a distance, but for almost the first time in his life he was lonely for female company. All the young women were married and living in the towns. He owned no vast tracts of
land or a profitable business bringing in loads of money. As he grew older, he lost some of the youthful appeal he once used to his advantage.

But to her he was perfect. Yanoulla had noticed immediately that he was still lean and dark from hours spent working in the sun. Surreptitiously glancing at his face as she sat demurely in the back of the church, she was startled to realise his eyes were still the dark blue pools she had once wanted to drown in, his legs long and hard. She dreamed of wrapping her own legs around him as he held her down in his arms.

Sitting there, Krisitakis felt her gaze upon him. He was no fool. He was single and lusty still. Here, was a woman with a body that had kept much of its youthful firmness. She was probably still available if he read her signals right.

Within days they were lovers.

~~~

Giving herself a little mental shake, Yanoulla returned from her daydreams back to the present. She thought that compared to the majority of her age group she had done something with her life, albeit it hadn’t been a very happy one. Most others from the village had never gone much further than Limassol, let alone left the island. Her days in England had at least opened her eyes on a new world and, despite her hatred for her late husband, she could thank him for that. Alexis! Dead and buried and not a word ever breathed that had led to the authorities to even suspect her role in his death. She refused to think of it as murder. He had been a complete bastard deserving exactly what he got.

Returning home from England, Yanoulla joyfully discovered that Kristiakis was unattached, and she decided to have one final pitch for him. Knowing it might all be thrown back in her face, it was still worth one more try. Almost stealthily, she waited and watched him from a distance. She remembered only too well her humiliation during those awful summer festivals long ago. This time she would maintain her pride. A look here, a small smile and a walk with just a little more than a sinuous grace. Finally, one fine day she almost fainted with excitement when he made the first move.

His teeth looked brilliantly white against the dark tan of his face; that morning he had shaved off the old-fashioned and heavy moustache that many Cypriot men favoured. Approaching Yanoulla, his smile had almost been that of a shyer, younger man.

Yanoulla’s balcony doors needed adjusting; they dragged on the floor, making it difficult for her to close at night. Kristiakis, the handyman-builder was just the person for the job. A discussion took place over the price of materials and the time that would entail for the labour involved. There was some gentle haggling over the price – this was the East after all, and Kristiakis set to work. One small job led to another and after a few days of consolidated effort they both stood back admiring his work. Standing in the cool dim interior of Yanoulla’s bedroom one thing had led to another on the white lace heirloom of a bedspread. Yanoulla neither expected nor received an offer of marriage. Besides, she reas
o
ned one husband had been quite enough to live with, and as far as Kristiakis was concerned he liked his carefree life as a bachelor too much.

Sadly, their idyllic little arrangement was shaken one day when Auntie decided enough was enough.

‘Yanoulla is undesirable as a long-term partner for my nephew.’ The old dragon of an auntie had begun her familiar bleating about babies and marriage, and the newly available nubile Marina.

Yanoulla bit her lip thinking back to their last vitriolic argument. If only he’d been honest about it, instead of denying it all. When he’d finally admitted he was attracted to Marina and had in fact been seeing her, Yanoulla literally saw red. What was more galling despite finding him out was that he was going to continue to see her.

They argued ferociously. ‘I am a free man!’ Kristiakis repeated.

The final insult he flung at her was his parting shot. ‘You are too old for me. Our affair has only been a bit of fun to pass the time. We’ve both enjoyed each other for the sex, but things change. I have to move on. I have other plans to make.’

Well! Yanoulla would see about that. Too old and other plans? Not if she had anything to do with it. If only he knew just what the new Yanoulla was capable of. She would show him and that sloe-eyed little strumpet Marina. She’d get even. She was reminded of her favourite Macbeth quotation from Act 1 between Macbeth and his Lady.

Macbeth had asked
.
‘What if we fail?’

‘We fail! But screw up your courage to the sticking place, And we’ll not fail.’

Yanoulla knew she had plenty of courage. She’d already murdered and buried one man she’d lived with.

~~~

And now Kristiakis, was dead too. He was found swinging in the old bakery barn. His neck a bloody mess from the fine rope around it. Strange how, looking at his body, dishevelled and broken, it no longer held her in thrall.

Chapter 38. Friends?

What is the night? Almost at odds with morning, which is which.

Macbeth. Act 3 Scene 4

The sun was setting, plunging down behind the dry hills, a golden shawl spreading like molten treacle over the tips. A cool south-westerly breeze swept up the valleys from the coast. The inhabitants of the mountain villages closed their eyes in relief at this respite from the heat.

A few friends were gathered on Steve and Di’s flat roof for sundowners. The stresses and strains of the past few days were showing in their eyes and faces. At first their talk was desultory and typically British.

‘I do hope we have some heavy rain this winter as the island really needs it,’ Jen said standing and watching the sun’s disappearing rays. ‘Oh! Thank you, Steve.’ She turned to accept a refill to her white wine spritzer with a smile. Like the rest of them she thought she’d been drinking too much these past few days and had asked for a spritzer. ‘A spritzer only counts as half a drink surely?’ she’d said ten minutes ago.

‘We certainly do. The dams are all but empty and it’s costing the government, and by that I mean us a fortune buying water from Greece,’ Steve replied as he looked round the gathered company for any other glasses that needed freshening. ‘And we all know how greedy they can be.’

‘Well the country has huge money problems. I don’t see why we can’t accept Turkey’s offer. They’ve got gallons of the stuff. A simple pipeline from the mainland, it’s barely a short hop away,’ injected Bernard as he helped himself to a handful of cashews.

‘Politics, Bernard. You know that. We’ve gone over all this before,’ said Ann joining in.

‘Bugger politics. It’d make perfect logical sense. They’ve got it, we need it. It’s as simple as that. It would probably make relations better with them in the long run too,’ he replied, a caustic note entering his voice. ‘I like the Turkish Cypriots, and their food is bloody good too.’

They all laughed at Bernard and his fondness for food.

‘Oh no, there’s more to it than that. You remember when it was first mooted. The Greek Cypriots complained that the northern Turkish Cypriots were going to get more water from the deal than those in the south. As if that made any difference! So long as everyone got enough fresh water what does it matter?’ she replied frowning at her husband, who was accepting his fourth glass of red wine.

‘Ah. But what about the politicians, eh? They probably have a theory that the Turks would put poison in their water supply. We all know how paranoid they are of anything Turkish!’ Steve laughed. ‘Anyway, that’s enough of that. I really don’t want to spoil our evening by talking about bloody politicians.

‘Hear, hear!’ Jen took a sip and raised her glass. ‘Cheers to that.’

Everyone joined her.

Di took a look around at the company of people they called their friends. It felt good to enjoy a drink or two. It was important to carry on and pick up the pieces of their usual everyday lives. All of them were wishing the police would finally put together all the clues and facts. Despite feeling sorry for the two dead men and also for Sonja now left on her own, they needed to get back to some sort of normality.
They had tried to carry on, getting on with their careers, helping out with their charity work or indulging their pastimes. But most of it had been sporadic, shelved until the time when they could stop looking over their shoulders and breathe more easily.

‘I think we all needed this. A get together I mean. After all that’s happened lately. I’m only sorry Sonja didn’t feel up to joining us tonight. I did go round to see her but she wouldn’t come. I know everyone here understands how she’s feeling, but it might have done her some good to realise that we’re all thinking of her and that we do in fact care.’

They all nodded, one or two voicing their own comments. They too had tried making contact with her but she was very reticent and adamant that she wanted to be on her own. Offers of help and invitations to supper were all turned down. She needed to be by herself spending her time reflecting on what she was going to do with her life.

‘Has anyone spoken to Yanoulla? She must be feeling pretty ghastly too. Kristiakis was the love of her life,’ queried Ann as she looked round at the company.

Diana nodded. ‘Yes I have. I spoke to her this morning in the car park. She didn’t say a lot and looked grim. She said she was going to go and stay with a cousin in Limassol for a few days. I have her mobile number if we need her.’ She looked thoughtful.

‘I heard you visited Alicia? How was she?’ Pete asked, pausing in his task of passing round a plateful of savoury canapés.

‘Um. A bit thinner than usual and she looks like she’s aged, apart from looking weary and upset.’ Diana suddenly decided she didn’t want to answer any more questions. She felt weary and upset herself. Nonetheless, she knew the talk would largely feature on the two deaths.

‘She still maintains she left Leslie alive. She was furious with him and wanted to teach him a lesson.’ A thought occurred to Di as she let the conversation carry on around her. Why
was
Alicia so furious with Leslie? What had he done? Was this all to do with his little black book?

‘Huh! By leaving him with a broken leg? Some lesson,’ said Ann joining in.

‘I’m not sure that the police can’t have her for that alone,’ Bernard mused.

‘That’s exactly what I said to Di when she returned home after seeing her. And with Kristiakis now dead, it looks like he’s out of the picture. Or maybe the killer wants us to think that Kristiakis did do it and then killed himself in a fit of guilt.’

There were a few oohs! and aahs! As this little bit of information filtered through. Nobody had thought of that. It was all getting very tangled.

‘Going back to Sonja, I did see her myself today,’ Ann said. ‘I don’t think she was particularly keen to see me, but I had to do my bit and see that she was all right. You know coping with everything. One thing I did learn was that her step-son Thomas has visited her and thrown her into a bit of a quandary.’

‘Oh and why is that?’ Diana’s ears pricked up at this latest bit of news.

‘Well, surprisingly enough, once she started talking she couldn’t seem to stop. It was a bit like a train letting off steam. She said Leslie had left everything except their new house to his two children. Sonja will have the house and nothing else. Leslie changed his will a month or so ago.’

There was a little silence while everyone digested this information.

Jen finally spoke. ‘But, he hardly ever saw them. I mean, it’s good that he did that, but I wonder why he changed it.’

‘I don’t know, guilt perhaps? All Sonja said, is that she would have seen them right in the event of his natural death. She says they’ve always misunderstood her. They call her ‘Leslie’s witch’, but she doesn’t hate them. She’d just always ignored them as she doesn’t like or feel comfortable with children in any way. She never wanted children of her own and the question of having them never arose. Leslie had had a vasectomy as soon as his children were born.’

There were a few raised eyebrows over this revelation. Most of those present had known Sonja and Leslie for years and she’d never mentioned being misunderstood before, or that Leslie had been sterilised.

‘Well, it’s none of our business, who gets his money,’ Pete said.

‘Lucky for some he had some to leave to his heirs,’ Bernard replied with some bitterness as if recalling his unfortunate past dealings with Leslie. Everyone present knew about Bernard and Jen’s mishap over Leslie’s money deal and his remark obviously left one or two feeling awkward as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

Diana decided she had heard enough. Despite her earlier findings, almost nobody who knew Leslie had a watertight alibi. She didn’t want to reveal anything of what she’d recently learned. She certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone that Leslie’s book of secrets was in her safe-keeping. Nor what she and Steve suspected about Alicia’s clothing, or about the terrible lacerations around both Leslie’s and Kristiakis’ necks.

When Kristiakis had been found dead and she and Steve had rushed out to see for themselves, one thing had stood out.

No one else
apart from she, Steve, the police and the murderer knew that
both
these two men had died from what looked like a vicious knifing. Despite the rope around Kristiakis’ neck, it was not this that killed him. At first glance it appeared the rope had cut cruelly into his flesh during asphyxiation. In fact the murderer had covered the real cause of death with a
post mortem
hanging.

Like Leslie, Kristiakis had been killed by the severance of his carotid artery. This was a cut-throat murderer.