Crying Blue Murder (MIRA) (31 page)

‘What has Lefteris done to make you hate him?’ he asked, raising his sunglasses to look into the widow’s eyes.

Rena’s cheeks blanched. ‘What has he done?’ she said in a tight voice. ‘What has he done?’ She dropped her gaze. ‘I was drawn to him for a while. He sensed my weakness after Argyris died, he came to me and overwhelmed me. For a while he made me feel like a woman again.’ Her voice dwindled to a whisper. ‘And then I realised that he only wanted to dominate me, to mount me like a bull.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Until something happened to him in the summer and he couldn’t…he couldn’t do it any more.’ She looked up. ‘But that only made him more violent than he used to be.’ She opened the top button of her blouse and pointed to a scarred patch of skin. ‘Cigarettes. He told me not to scream and I…I obeyed him.’ Her eyes were clouded with tears. ‘And…and I saw what he was doing to his son. He and that bastard Dutchman, they’re in it together. Lefteris rents the bar to him and they do their filthy business there. But why did they have to involve poor Yiangos? He used to be such a sweet boy but Lefteris was making him hard, in his own image. Oh, God…’ Rena drew her sleeve over her eyes. ‘I have to go, Alex. I’ve said too much.’ She twitched her head as if to deny everything she’d told him and hurried away, the wicker basket banging against her leg.

Mavros stood watching her as she moved up the asphalt road towards the Kambos. It sounded like she knew about the drug dealing. He hadn’t expected such an outpouring of information, let alone emotion. He wasn’t sure where it all left him. He would have to talk to Rena again, though much of what she’d said was only tangentially linked to Rosa Ozal. But he was getting a bad feeling about the case. Someone else was too. The attack on him wasn’t a random one. He went up the narrow path to confirm this impression. So Lefteris and Rinus were in business together. The barman was still serving customers when Mavros had left so he couldn’t have attacked him, but he might have put his partner up to it.

There were plenty of footprints on the dusty earth both inside and over the walls, far too many to be much help. It was easy enough to find the location where he had been assaulted. There was a patch of his blood on a large stone by the side where he had fallen, and the footprints in this area were even more chaotic—mainly trainers, the ones worn by both the Englishmen. He climbed over the wall to his left, the bones in his side complaining, and found more prints among the mule and goat tracks. These were from heavy boots, as worn by the village men, some of them no doubt left by the farmer who worked the field. But others must have been from his assailants. His rescuers were unsure how many there had been—they admitted they’d all been half pissed—but there had been at least two. He followed a faint line of double tracks then lost them in a patch of earth where the animals must have congregated. And then he found a length of thick metal piping.

Biting his lip, he kneeled down and picked it up in a handkerchief before putting it in his satchel. It was about forty centimetres long, the metal grey and dented in several places at one end. Through the dust Mavros thought he could see traces of blood. If he decided to get the police involved this would be useful evidence, especially if the person holding it hadn’t been wearing gloves. But he didn’t intend talking to the local policeman, not even now. He’d seen the guy in the bar on his first night and it was obvious he was in Rinus’s pocket. But this was serious. Whoever laid into him hadn’t just been using fists. The piping was potentially a lethal weapon. If the British couples hadn’t arrived when they did, he might have been in a much worse state than he was. Someone on Trigono had upped the stakes in a big way.

Trying unsuccessfully to protect his aching ribs as he clambered back over the wall, Mavros walked back to the outskirts of the village and hired the same mountain bike from the girl with the pitying expression. He mounted up and headed out towards the Kambos. He was hoping Eleni would be at the dig as he wanted to ask her about Liz. The photo he’d seen in her album showed that she had known the Englishwoman too. Now this was more significant since perhaps she had disappeared too. Was there a connection between Liz Clifton and Rosa Ozal, or had they both suddenly left the island by coincidence? Maybe Liz Clifton had just found the photo with Rosa’s writing in the room at Rena’s. But why would she, or someone else, have put it up the chimney along with the other photos and the diskette?

When he reached the top of the slope between the village and the plateau, Mavros stopped to catch his breath. Looking around at the patchwork of cultivated land, he felt the wind on his back. The sea to his right was choppy, the vibrant blue cut with white. He hadn’t heard a weather forecast since he’d been on the island. At last he was experiencing the rapid increase in wind that was notorious in the Cyclades. Storms often messed up ferry schedules and forced urgent medical cases to be transported to the mainland by helicopter.

This gave him even more motivation to wrap up the case. The idea of being marooned on Trigono was filling him with trepidation.

M
AVROS
followed the road through the cultivated plain. When it turned to the rough track beyond the Paliopyrgos estate and began to steepen, he ditched the bike behind a boulder overgrown with bone-dry thistles and continued on foot. The wind whistled past his head as he climbed towards the dig plateau and he felt his breath catching in his throat. The clink of goat bells made him look to his left. The coats of the animals were visible on the western slopes of Profitis Ilias, the young herdsman he’d met waving at him. At first Mavros thought something was wrong, so vigorously was the arm moving, then he realised that it was just an overstated greeting and returned it less effusively. That didn’t put the islander off. He came loping down the hillside, his dog barking at his heels.

‘I remember you,’ the young man said with a wide smile. His teeth were surprisingly white, the skin on his face smooth and tanned.

‘I remember you too,’ Mavros said, nodding and making to move on.

‘Dinos,’ the herdsman said. ‘I am Dinos.’

‘Yes,’ Mavros replied, staying where he was and resigning himself to a conversation with the lonely local. ‘I am Alex.’

‘Cigarette?’ There was another smile.

Mavros shook his head, looking past Dinos up the slope. Some of the goats were right up on the ridge. An idea came to him. ‘You go up there?’

‘I go up there every day,’ Dinos said. ‘The goats can get over the old wall. I must stop them going to the edge of the cliff.’

‘You can see very far from the top, I suppose.’ Mavros kept his voice level, displaying no more than passing interest. He didn’t want to scare the herdsman off.

‘Yes, to all the islands.’ Dinos swept his arm round in a great sweep.

‘There are islands near Trigono, are there not?’

‘Aspronisi, Mavronisi, Eschati,’ the herdsman recited.

Mavros nodded, a smile on his lips, then he put his hand on Dinos’s arm and caught his eye. ‘I imagine you see boats too. Fishing boats.’

The islander stiffened and tried to pull away, but Mavros didn’t let him.

‘You saw Yiangos and Nafsika, didn’t you?’ Mavros had moved close, his mouth up to Dinos’s ear. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone your secret.’

The herdsman was breathing hard and suddenly he let out a long groan, his chest heaving.

‘It was Aris Theocharis’s boat that hit theirs, wasn’t it?’ Mavros said quietly. He felt sympathy for the simple boy who had obviously bottled up what he’d seen and was burning with guilt. ‘I won’t tell anyone you told me, I promise.’

Dinos fought to get his breathing under control. He blinked tears from his eyes then leaned his head against Mavros’s shoulder. ‘He hit the
trata
but he didn’t help Yiangos and Nafsika until it was…until it was too late,’ he said, sliding his tongue over chapped lips. Then he jerked away and started running up the slope towards his goats.

Mavros squatted down and thought about what he’d heard. His call to the boatyard on Paros had made him pretty sure that Aris had been involved in the accident, but this unexpected confirmation had thrown him. He didn’t think it would be worth much in a court. The Theocharis family lawyers wouldn’t need long to discredit Dinos’s testimony on the grounds of mental deficiency, even if the old man failed to bribe the goatherd or his family into silence. But it gave him something to hold against the multimillionaire.

He had the feeling that he’d soon need everything he could find to defend himself against Trigono’s self-appointed lord and master.

January 8th, 1943
 

Disaster has come to Trigono; disaster that I am, at least in
part, responsible for. But I must be firm. I must not allow
myself to be diverted from the objectives of my mission
.

We were unlucky on several counts. Or perhaps we
brought the wrath of the enemy on our own heads. I cannot
be sure. The Italians have continued to claim that during ‘a
cowardly act of sabotage’ two of their garrison, a sentry
and, worse, an officer doing his rounds at the supply depot,
were killed in ‘the most barbaric fashion, their throats slit
like animals in a slaughterhouse’. So say the proclamations
that have been posted in Paros, Andiparos and Trigono. I
knew nothing about this during the operation, although I
remember Griffin disappearing on his own into the dark on
more than one occasion. When I questioned him this
morning he said in his terse way that he was not to blame
and I had to take his word for that, but he has a wicked look
in his eye, a cold, inhuman stare. Rees is in awe of him and
since the raid he has kept his distance
.

Perhaps Trigono would have escaped retribution if the
trail of footprints from British army boots hadn’t been
followed to the cove on the south of Paros: and if a goatherd
on the hillside above hadn’t sighted the
Ersi
on her voyage
back to Trig. The Italians beat that information out of the poor
boy. Apparently his jaw was broken and one eye badly
damaged. There are fears that he will lose the sight in it. But
even those terrible injuries pale into insignificance in comparison
with the Italians’ actions here today
.

From the summit of Vigla we watched as the enemy approached
the harbour of Faros in three commandeered
kaïkia,
Agamemnon having learned from a runner sent by
Ajax that they were on their way. The word had been spread
around the village that everyone should be as compliant as
possible. At any rate, the majority of the locals knew nothing
about us. According to Maro, Ajax and his men were tight
lipped even with their families. I was worried about Maro and
wished that she could be with me in the hills. Obviously that
was impossible as it would only have drawn attention to her,
as well as raising her brother’s suspicions about the two of
us even more. When I saw him yesterday, he gave me a searching
look and then turned away to talk to the Sacred Band
group. He deals only with Agamemnon now
.

The Italians came round Cape Fonias and moored in the
port, men immediately moving through the village in pairs. We
could only sit and wait helplessly, hoping that they didn’t harm
any Trigoniotes and that they wouldn’t pick up any hint of our
presence. Until midday there was no sign of trouble. Then we
saw a larger group of enemy soldiers on mules come over the
brow of the hill above the Kambos and head towards the buildings
of Myli, where the hut I used before I came up to the caves
is located. We watched them as they moved down the track and
waited. There were men and women working in the fields around
the windmills and we saw them suddenly rush towards the old
church. They were soon shut up inside, an Italian on the door,
his rifle at the ready. I wondered what was about to happen, a
sense of foreboding settling over me like a cloud of poison gas
.

Agamemnon crawled up the hill behind us and raised his
binoculars. ‘They have learned from the Germans in Crete,’
he said, his voice taut. ‘The enemy herded villagers into
churches there. You can be sure they will be interrogating
them.’ I could feel his eyes on me. ‘Did any of the islanders
see you when you were living down there?
’

‘
I don’t think so,’ I replied
.

‘
What about the girl Maro?’ he asked, moving closer so
that I could smell his sour breath. ‘She was taking supplies
to you, was she not?
’

I kept my eyes on the buildings in the distance. A man had
just been dragged out of the church. ‘When Ajax was injured,
yes,’ I replied, my heart beating fast. I sensed his disapproval.
‘She won’t tell the Italians anything. I am sure of that
.’

‘
I hope so, for our sakes and for the sake of the island,’ he
said. ‘If they find even the slightest trace of enemy presence,
they will feel justified to act as harshly as the Germans.’ He
jabbed his elbow into my side. ‘Have you any idea how little
value our oppressors put on human lives?
’

I saw a puff of smoke between the windmills then heard
the crump of an explosion in the clear air
.

‘
Grenade,’ Griffin said, his ear cocked. ‘And another
.’

There was a long rattle of gunfire, a combination of rifle
shots and the repetitive drill of sub-machine guns. We listened
as the sounds continued, then saw the men on the door move
away. They were joined by others and they all directed their
fire at the church
.

‘
Bloody hell,’ Rees said under his breath. ‘How many
people are in there?
’

‘
Sixteen,’ Griffin replied. ‘I counted them in.’ He turned and
gave a tight smile. ‘I wonder how many will be walking out
.’

Agamemnon stared at him, an expression of disgust
twisting his face. ‘My God, Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘what kind
of men are you?’ He withdrew to the ridge and rejoined his
unit
.

At last the Italians ceased fire and opened the doors to the
church. Soldiers entered and soon reappeared, dragging six
men and one woman out. At first I thought they were dead,
then I saw them stand up, their legs unsteady. Relief dashed
over me. And then I made out that they were being attached
to the mules by long ropes. The Italians set off at a brisk pace,
their captives forced to run after them or be dragged along
the stony road. My heart was pounding as I tried to make out
the faces of the islanders, in particular the woman. But all I
could see were black clothes and bare legs. Could it be Maro?
Would she have been in the fields? I didn’t know and everything
suddenly shifted. My life went into an uncontrolled
descent, like a paratrooper’s whose chute fails to open
.

We waited until they had disappeared over the hill, a cloud
of dust marking their passing towards the village. Ordering
Griffin to stay on watch, which he didn’t like, I took Rees with
me down the slope. Over to our right the Greeks were also
making their way towards the mills, Agamemnon running
with great strides over the bushes. I wondered if Myli and its
buildings were part of his family estate, but dismissed that
unworthy thought
.

As we approached the scene of the shooting. I heard shrill
screams above my desperate gasps, loud wails similar to the
ones I’d heard from the hut during the exhumation. Scarcely
able to breathe, I followed Agamemnon round the last bend
between the high walls
.

The body of an elderly man lay in the clear space in front
of the church, women on their knees around him. There were
explosion craters near by, smoke rising from the devastated
mills. I assumed the man had been killed during the firing,
but Agamemnon turned to me from the body and said that he
must have died of heart failure. There was no mark on him.
Going towards the church, which was pocked by dozens of
bullet holes, I counted the islanders and came to nine including
the dead man. Nine plus the seven captives came to
sixteen. If Griffin’s numbers were correct, there were no casualties
apart from the old man. That was a miracle. The
Italians must have been trying to frighten the locals with the
gunfire and grenades. Taking hostages meant that they had
effectively neutralised us. Their assumption was that the islanders
would no longer help or harbour us. That way they
could avoid casualties by leaving the southern massif
uncombed
.

‘
Who was the woman they took?’ I demanded of a tear-
stained peasant woman. ‘Was it Maro Grypari?’ She stared
at me blankly and I felt the fear rise up in me. I grabbed her
arms and shook her. ‘Was it Maro Grypari?’ I heard myself
shout
.

‘
No, it wasn’t,’ Agamemnon said, detaching the woman
from my grasp and giving her into the care of another female
islander. ‘Do you care about anyone apart from the girl you
are corrupting?’ he said bitterly. ‘Do you know why they did
this, Lieutenant? Do you know why they terrified these people
and destroyed the mills and defaced the church?
’

The cloud of foreboding I had felt now enveloped me completely.
‘Why?’ I asked, my voice weak
.

Agamemnon stepped up to me and spoke in a low, hard
voice, his spittle soaking my face. ‘Because they found a book
in English in the hut over there.’ He was pointing at the hovel
where I’d lived after my arrival on Trigono. No, it couldn’t
be. I knew I had lost my copy of Byron, but I’d assumed it was
in one of the caves or on the slopes I’d been crawling over
for weeks. Then it came back to me. The last time I read from
it had been the night before Maro came, the night before we
first made love. I hadn’t needed it after that, I had been so
caught up in my own dream of love and war. Oh, God, what
have I done?