Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) (21 page)

He checked his own voicemail. Nothing from her and nothing from Deniz Ozal. His suspicions that the Turkish- American wasn’t particularly concerned about his sister were deepening. He hoped his client hadn’t been slapping any more hookers. If he hadn’t been so set on taking a break from Athens and Niki, that might have put him off the case. As far as he was concerned, men who hit women were scum.

Mavros went out again, seeing Rena through the open window of the upper room. She was holding something out in front of her and examining it, her expression intense. He went out into the street and back towards the bar. Walking up the dark track beyond the village, about fifty metres from the Astrapi he heard what he initially thought were animal sounds over the wall to his left—breath being drawn in hard, limbs rubbing against the dry-stone wall. Then he heard a human voice, a loud whisper.

‘Keep still, will you?’ A male speaking Greek.

A female laugh. ‘Keep still? I didn’t come here to do that.’

There was a pause and then a dull slap.

‘Fuck you, Ari,’ said the woman. ‘Is that the best you can do?’ Mavros recognised the throaty voice now. It was Dhimitra Theochari’s. It seemed she’d managed to meet up with her stepson. Now Mavros could see why she’d been so restless at the dinner table. Her husband, so much older than she was, obviously didn’t satisfy her. But did she want to be hit? He thought about intervening to help her out.

‘I told you,’ Aris said. ‘Stop jerking around.’

There was a sultry laugh. ‘All right, do it as fast as you like. I don’t care.’

Mavros walked on. It sounded like the mining tycoon’s wife could look after herself.

‘Liar,’ Aris grunted, his breath coming fast.

Mavros entered the glow of light around the bar and glanced over his shoulder. Two linked bodies were just visible in the field, Aris behind his stepmother, trousers round his knees. Dhimitra was up against the wall, her head bowed and her hands on the top. Her expensive clothes would be getting dirty.

He opened the door and entered the bar. The first table he passed was taken by the English tourists he’d seen before.

‘Where’s Aris got to?’ he heard the shaven-headed Roy say. ‘We need more drink.’

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a minute,’ replied the bulky Trace. ‘He told me he likes peeing under the stars. I’m not surprised. The toilet in here’s disgusting.’

Mavros took in the rest of the tables as he went to the bar. The Americans, Gretchen and Lance, were starting on a bottle of red wine, their faces suggesting that they weren’t fans of Aerosmith—the band’s first album was blasting from the speakers. In the far corner, Mikkel raised a glass to Mavros and gave him a weak smile. Barbara was at the bar, cigarette in one hand and bottle of beer in the other, her eyes down. She looked exhausted. Near her was Eleni, deep in conversation with the barman. She kept her eyes off Mavros when he handed over the clothes he’d borrowed.

‘Good evening, Alex!’ Rinus shouted through the buzz of guitars. ‘What’ll you have? This one’s on me.’ He gave a tight smile and cocked his ear to hear the reply to his offer.

Mavros shrugged. ‘Very good of you,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a beer.’ He pointed to Barbara’s. ‘One of those.’

The German woman slowly raised her eyes and surveyed him with a blank expression. He nodded to her but received no acknowledgement. Either she was nearly out for the count or he wasn’t her favourite person.

‘So,’ Rinus said, lowering the volume of the music marginally and handing him a bottle of Amstel. ‘Eleni tells me you were asking about a woman.’ He gave Mavros a guileless look.

‘That’s right,’ Mavros replied, surprised by the directness of the approach and feeling the archaeologist’s eyes on him. He delved in his pocket and took out the photograph. ‘This is my friend. Did you ever meet her?’

Rinus flattened the photo out on the bar top and gave it a brief look. ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘It’s Rosa.’ He nodded at Mavros. ‘She used to come in here. She was a lot of fun.’ He scratched behind his ear. ‘June, it must have been. Yeah, June.’ He slid the photo to Eleni. ‘Don’t you remember Rosa?’

Eleni shook her head insistently then pushed the photo on to Barbara, who stared at it and then flicked it back, her expression blank but her eyes less glazed.

The barman laughed. ‘You must both have been pissed. I’m sure she was in here at the same time you were some nights.’ He turned back to Mavros. ‘Anyway, how is Rosa? She said she might come back.’

‘And she hasn’t?’ Mavros said.

‘No, man.’ Rinus stared at him. ‘She hasn’t come back. New York is where she lives, isn’t it? Long way.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you were from Scotland. Have you seen her recently?’

Mavros was studying him. So far the barman hadn’t let drop any hint that he might be lying. ‘No, I haven’t seen her for a couple of years. She used to study in Edinburgh,’ he said, fabricating a background. ‘She sent me a card telling me how wonderful Trigono was. I don’t suppose you remember her leaving the island, do you?’

Rinus folded the photo and handed it back to Mavros. ‘Yes, as it happens I do. I was down at the port waiting for a delivery of booze. I saw her get on the ferry that the truck came off.’ He smiled loosely, glancing towards Barbara. ‘I even remember her waving to me.’ He nodded at Mavros again, this time giving him a wink. ‘Beautiful woman, wouldn’t you say?’

Mavros held his eyes for a moment and then put the photo back in his pocket. As he raised the beer bottle to his lips, he thought about that wink. He was pretty sure the implication was that Rinus had been involved with Rosa. ‘Have you heard from her since then?’ he asked.

‘From Rosa?’ Rinus shook his head. ‘Nah. They come, so to speak…’ he laughed ‘…and they go. I don’t expect letters.’ He glanced at Eleni. ‘Hey, have you told our Scottish friend what Trigono was called in ancient times?’ There was an expectant smile on his lips.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Rinus,’ the archaeologist said, shaking her head at him.

‘Pesinthos,’ the barman said. ‘Get it? Pe-sin-thos,’ he repeated, stressing the middle syllable. ‘That’s what we like around here. Plenty of sin.’

Mavros raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that right?’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’m an atheist. I’ve got a pretty limited conception of sin.’

The Dutchman stared at him, his mouth half open.

Then the door banged open and everyone swung round. Aris Theocharis blundered in, a grin on his heavy face. Behind him walked Dhimitra, holding her head high. She was wearing a tight red dress that emphasised her breasts and tanned legs. There were dust marks on her front. The couple sat down next to Mikkel at the rear of the bar. As he turned to face forwards again, Mavros caught sight of Eleni and Barbara. Both of the women had their eyes on the barman, their faces set in taut expressions. Rinus didn’t seem to be concerned. He leaned across to the sound system and changed the record. The sound of Status Quo made Mavros’s mind up for him. He’d find another opportunity to ask Aris and Dhimitra if they’d ever met Rosa.

Outside, the air was warmer than it had been the previous night. The constellations were wheeling across the velvet black dome of the sky and the breeze was light. If Trigono, aka Pesinthos, hadn’t been full of crazy people, Mavros could almost have seen the attraction of the place.

M
AVROS
slept badly. Although the night was cool, he woke up sweating several times, the top sheet tangled round his limbs. He kept dreaming that he was in the sea, his arms flailing as his legs were impeded by the dark red nets he’d seen on the fishing boats in the harbour. Images flashed before him of a young couple flailing, their naked flesh puckered by the chill water and their mouths open in desperate screams.

The muffled ring of his mobile phone brought him back to reality. He’d left it on overnight in case Niki called before she went to work, placing it under his clothes so that Rena wouldn’t hear it. He mumbled an answer. the chill water and their mouths open in desperate screams.

‘That you, dick?’ Deniz Ozal’s voice was loud, the sound of an announcement in the background. ‘Jesus, my ancestors like to shout.’

‘It’s me,’ Mavros replied, fumbling for his watch. It was six in the morning, which explained the absence of light from the slatted shutters. ‘You’re in Turkey.’

Ozal laughed. ‘Pretty sharp, my man. Did I wake you?’

‘Don’t worry about it. You’re paying for a twenty-four-hour service.’

‘You got that right, the rates you charge. So, what have you found out?’

‘Not much,’ Mavros said. ‘There’s been a tragedy on the island and people aren’t in the mood for talking.’

‘Couple of kids drowned? I saw that on the news.’

‘In Turkey?’

‘No, I just got here. I’ve been in Athens. You don’t reckon Rosa could have gone back to Trigono, then?’

‘I certainly haven’t seen any sign of her. But I’m working on a couple of angles. There’s a guy in a bar who remembers her.’

Ozal grunted. ‘Yeah, Rosa was a party girl when the mood took her.’ He broke off. ‘Hey, I’ve gotta go. I’m being paged. I’ll be in touch in a couple of days.’

The connection was cut.

Mavros lay back in the darkness, phone by his side. Yet again Deniz Ozal hadn’t seemed very concerned about his missing sister. Still, he was paying the fee and at least he’d finally called in. But Mavros had the feeling his client would choke off the funds after the minimum five days if he didn’t come up with something concrete about Rosa. He was going to have to put the squeeze on Rena as soon as he saw her. In the meantime he thought about the other angles he’d mentioned. It seemed that, one way or another, everyone and everything on Trigono were linked to Panos Theocharis. He needed information on the museum benefactor and he knew where to get it. He picked up his phone again and highlighted a number in the address book.

‘Anna, good morning.’

‘Alex?’ His sister’s voice was immediately tense. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Calm down. Nothing’s happened.’ Mavros heard his brother-in-law asking what was going on. ‘Tell Nondas to keep his mind on making money.’

‘Oh, be quiet. Are you still on Trigono?’

‘Yes. Listen, what do you know about the Theocharis family? I had dinner at the old man’s place last night.’

‘Did you indeed?’ Anna sounded interested. ‘I hope this is going to be an exchange of information, Alex. Can you give me the low-down on the place? He never allows media people in. It’s some kind of medieval tower, isn’t it?’

Mavros sighed. Anna’s journalistic instincts were irrepressible. ‘Yes, it is. All right, I’ll tell you all about Paliopyrgos when I get back. What can you give me about Panos Theocharis?’

‘Nothing right now.’ She paused for him to register annoyance, but he resisted the temptation—she liked to exercise power over him whenever she got the opportunity. ‘But you’re in luck. I did a story on him for one of the magazines last year. After I’ve got the children to school, I’ll fax you it.’

‘E-mail it to me and I’ll access my server from here,’ Mavros said, remembering the Internet café. ‘Thanks, Anna.’

‘I’ll be expecting lots of gossip in return,’ she said with a brittle laugh. ‘Don’t enjoy the sun too much.’

Mavros put the phone down and looked at the faint grey light that was creeping across the floor. In the distance he could hear the first crows of Trigono’s cockerels from the villagers’ runs. Getting up, he padded to the shutters and looked through the narrow gap between the slats and into the courtyard. His eyelids sprang wide apart as he saw his landlady standing by the wellhead. Her face was contorted, she held a long-bladed knife in her right hand and she was staring straight at his room.

Mavros bided his time before going out. Rena stood motionless in the yard for over ten minutes, and he had no idea how long she’d been there. As the sky lightened further, she seemed to come back to herself, going into her kitchen and busying herself with what the rich smell suggested was a
baklavas
. It was when she emerged wiping her hands on a cloth, her expression less bleak, that Mavros decided to approach her.

Rena gave a shy smile as he came across the courtyard. ‘Good morning, Alex,’ she said, stuffing the cloth under her apron.

‘Good morning, Rena,’ he said, returning her smile.

Spots of red had appeared on her cheeks. ‘You like coffee?’ she asked, glancing towards her kitchen. ‘I make a honey pastry but it is not ready yet.’

Mavros nodded. ‘I would like a Greek coffee, no sugar, thank you. I can wait for whatever it is that you’re baking. It smells fantastic.’

Rena stepped away briskly, her demeanour now very different to what it had been earlier. Mavros felt bad about deceiving her, pretending that he didn’t know what the sweet filo pastry was. But, as her appearance with the knife had emphasised, she was a complex character. If he was to prise information from her, he’d need all his skills. That Rena was obviously grieving but was still eager to please made him feel even worse. The way that she looked at him suggested that she might have more than just a landlady’s interest in him. He wondered if his blue-brown eye had caught her attention as well as Eleni’s, and swallowed a groan.

When she came back out with his coffee on a tray, he took the plunge. ‘Rena, there’s something I want to ask you about. Is this a good time?’

She looked alarmed at his serious tone. ‘Of course.’ She sat down opposite him at the table under the bougainvillaea. ‘What is it, Alex?’ she said, her eyes on his.

Mavros smiled to put her at ease. ‘I wondered if you’d ever seen this woman on the island.’ He held out the folded photograph of Rosa Ozal.

Rena took it and opened it. She tried to dissemble but her lips parted and she blinked several times, one hand rising quickly to the corner of an eye.

‘Are you all right?’ Mavros asked, leaning forward and watching her carefully.

Rena raised a hand. ‘Do not worry,’ she said, breathing deeply. ‘I…I sometimes feel…how do you say? Dizzy?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have bothered you with this.’ He tried to take the photo from her hand.

She tightened her grip on it. ‘No, no,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Please forgive me, Alex. I have been working in the fields too much these days and the sun is a devil, even at this time of the year.’ She looked down at the photograph again. ‘Yes, I know this woman,’ she said slowly. She raised her head and met his eyes again. ‘She stayed in my house.’

‘Did she?’ Mavros was relieved that Rena had told the truth. But why had she seemed so shocked by the photo? He didn’t buy what she said about the effect of the sun. She would have been used to it.

‘I remember her name,’ Rena continued, her voice still soft. ‘Rosa. She was American, I think.’

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Do you remember when was she here?’

Rena thought about it. ‘In June, I think. She stayed for about ten days. If you like, I can check in my book.’ She stood up and went to the kitchen. ‘The
eforia
, the tax office, makes us keep records,’ she said as she came out. ‘Most people do not bother, but I like to be careful.’ She turned the pages of a large cardboard-covered book. ‘Yes, here she is.’ She held the book out to him.

‘Rosa Ozal,’ he read, then stopped. He wasn’t supposed to be able to understand Greek. ‘What’s all this?’ he asked, pointing to the handwritten columns.

‘Nationality American,’ Rena said, leaning forward. ‘There is her passport number. Arrived June fifth, left June sixteenth. Paid fifty thousand drachmas in advance.’

Mavros had taken a pen and a small notebook from his pocket and was writing down the dates. He looked back up at her. ‘She’s a friend of mine,’ he explained with a brief smile. ‘She recommended that I come to Trigono.’

Rena was studying him and he could almost hear the question she was asking herself. Why was he taking down details about the woman? That was hardly the action of a friend. He put his notebook on the table quickly.

‘Can you give me your passport, please?’ Rena asked, her voice suddenly more formal. ‘I need to write down your name and the number.’

‘I…I had to leave it at the bank,’ he said, the words coming out in a rush. ‘I’ll give you it tomorrow, all right?’ He had only his ID card with him and he didn’t want her to see that.

Rena nodded slowly, her eyes questioning. ‘Alex,’ she said, ‘is there something wrong?’ She looked at him and it struck him that maybe she was in the same position as he was; maybe she was trying to decide how much to disclose. ‘Has something happened to Rosa?’

‘She sent a card in June,’ he said. ‘From Trigono. And then it seems she went to Turkey. But no one who knows her has seen her since she left the US for Greece.’

Rena’s eyes were wide, her mouth open. Then she twitched her head and glanced at Mavros nervously. ‘Rosa has disappeared?’

Mavros raised his shoulders. ‘So it seems.’

‘And you are a friend? You are looking for her?’ Rena’s face was glowing red, her expression almost as pained as it had been at dawn.

He nodded.

‘But you said Rosa went to Turkey?’ Rena asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be looking for her there?’

‘I thought that maybe she enjoyed herself so much here that she came back. You haven’t seen her since June?’

Rena shook her head, her eyes down. There was something about the way she was reacting that Mavros had noticed from the start, something that made him think Rosa meant more to the widow than the average tourist who stayed with her.

‘Alex,’ she said, raising her eyes to his again. ‘There is a man called Rinus. He has a bar called—’

‘The Astrapi,’ he interrupted. ‘Yes, I’ve been there. And met him.’

‘Yes. This Rinus, he and Rosa spent time together.’ The words seemed to burn her mouth as she spoke them. ‘And Alex? Rosa left Trigono very quickly, before she was going to. I think…I think there was some trouble between them.’

He leaned closer. ‘Trouble?’ he said, his eyes on hers again. ‘What kind of trouble?’

Rena raised her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Someone told me they were shouting at each other outside the bar. I heard…I heard he hit her.’

Mavros thought about the Dutchman and the way he’d spoken openly about Rosa. The barman was very sure of himself despite his small stature. Mavros would have to find a way of using Rena’s accusation to shake his confidence.

He took out the photos he’d found in the chimney and pushed them across the table to the widow. ‘Do these mean anything to you?’

Rena examined the photo of the dig, turning it round to see the writing in Rosa’s hand on the rear. A look of suspicion that turned into barely suppressed anger came over her face. ‘It’s where that woman works, the archaeologist,’ she said slowly. ‘But why was Rosa at…’ The words trailed away.

‘Rosa and Eleni were friends,’ Mavros said, remembering the photo he’d seen in the archaeologist’s album. He wondered why Rena despised her so much, but he didn’t think he’d get an answer to that question. ‘Did you know that?’

For a few moments it looked like Rena was going to speak, her mouth opening and closing like a fish’s, but she kept silent and glanced at the photo of the war memorial. It was only when she picked up the faded shot of the wartime officer that she found her tongue again.

‘George Lawrence,’ she said, reading the inscription on the back. ‘I know this photograph.’ She stared at Mavros. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘They were all together, in a plastic bag up the chimney in my room. I think Rosa may have put them there.’ He was returning her look. ‘What do you mean, you know this photograph? You’ve seen it before?’

‘I…I don’t remember,’ the widow said, shaking her head in a way that suggested confusion—or the attempt to imply it. She glared at him. ‘Why were you looking up my chimney? It is not for you to do that.’

Mavros gave an embarrassed shrug. ‘I saw the edge of the plastic bag hanging down,’ he lied. ‘Rena, was Rosa interested in this man?’ He held up the portrait. ‘Did she ask you about him?’

She shook her head emphatically. ‘No, but—’ She broke off.

‘You said Rosa went in a hurry. Did she leave anything behind?’

Rena felt the force of his eyes and looked down. ‘No, nothing,’ she mumbled.

He reckoned she might be lying. That was something else he’d have to follow up. ‘All right,’ he said, standing up and moving away from the table. ‘Oh, one more thing. I heard that you are the village librarian. You look after the books.’

His landlady looked up and nodded. ‘Yes, I look after the books. Nobody else wanted to do it and I like to read when I have time.’ She shook her head. ‘But it is not for you. There is nothing in English.’

Mavros realised the flaw in his plan. As long as he maintained the guise of foreigner, he couldn’t ask her about the dead historian Vlastos’s book. This was getting complicated.

‘Oh,’ he said, giving a disappointed shrug. ‘I wanted to find out more about the island.’

Rena raised her chin in a negative movement. ‘I am sorry. There is nothing for you in the library.’

The small birds were drilling and darting between the branches. Mavros felt the widow’s eyes follow him across the yard to his room. His questions had yielded some useful answers, but he was convinced that Rena knew more about Rosa Ozal than she’d admitted. He’d also seen new and disturbing sides of his landlady’s nature. In the later part of the morning she’d been evasive; while earlier she’d stood in the cold grey of dawn, clutching a large knife and staring across the courtyard at his room—the room that Rosa Ozal had once occupied.