Andreas studied the first few photos very carefully, handing each to Kouros as he finished. Then he quickly shuffled through the rest as if disinterested. ‘What do you think, Yianni?’
‘Only one.’
Andreas nodded. ‘Sergeant. Where’s your captain?’
He looked at his shoes. ‘I don’t know.’
Andreas took that to mean that he did, and that his captain probably was nearby. ‘Tell him to get his ass in here now or I’ll find him and personally drag him in here by his balls.’
‘Chief, I don’t think-’
‘ I said now.’
The sergeant hurried out the door.
Andreas looked at Kouros. ‘Do you think they’re just stupid, or lazy, or is it something else?’
Kouros shrugged.
‘Let’s hope it’s the first two. But watch out for the third. Which reminds me.’ Andreas spun his hand in the air and pointed to his ear. Listening devices were not unusual in police stations trying to catch suspects talking among themselves.
Kouros nodded. ‘But do you really think the captain is being blackmailed by his gay lover?’
Andreas rolled his eyes. He’d grown used to that sense of humor. They’d been together since Andreas was chief of police on Mykonos and Kouros was a brash young rookie.
Kouros laughed.
About a minute later the door burst open and a middle-aged man about Andreas’ height, but with a noticeable potbelly, stormed into the room. ‘ Who the fuck do you think you are?’ he screamed, moving his eyes between Andreas and Kouros.
Andreas smiled. ‘I’m the one you’re looking for, Captain. How nice of you to take time out of your busy schedule to drop in for a chat.’
The captain pushed himself straight into Andreas’ face. ‘You’re an asshole and I don’t give a fuck who you think you are, this is my island and no one talks to me that way. No one.’
Andreas smiled. ‘Simple choice. Start cooperating or grab your worry beads and start praying. My job description includes investigating police corruption anywhere in Greece. So if you and your island want to make it to the top of my shit list, just keep it up,’ Andreas lifted his hands and patted the captain’s cheeks, ‘ kukla.’ The use of the endearing word for ‘doll’ in Greek did not hide Andreas’ message: go ahead, test me, asshole.
The captain drew in and let out a quick breath, then stepped back, so fast that Andreas made a mental note to seriously consider starting an investigation.
Andreas stared at the captain. ‘I understand you believe the monk was the victim of a random mugging?’
‘What else could it be?’ His tone was edgy.
‘That’s what I’m asking you.’
‘He was a monk. Been here forty years. Everyone loved him. He had no vices, no girlfriends, boyfriends, or enemies. His life was an open book. No one had a motive.’
‘You think he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?’
‘Yes, he probably was attacked by some of that same scum that drifts in during tourist season to prey on whatever looks easy. We get that sort passing through every once in a while.’ The captain paused. ‘Why, do you think some psycho with a grudge against the church decided to take it out on poor Vassilis?’ He smiled as if he’d already anticipated and dismissed Andreas’ thinking.
‘As a matter of fact, no, I don’t. But, for the same reason, I don’t think it was a mugging.’ Andreas handed him the photographs. ‘What jumps out at you from these?’
The captain looked through each one and shrugged. ‘His throat was cut.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Exactly. And what does that mean to you?’
The captain bristled. ‘I don’t have time for your bullshit.’
Andreas remained calm. ‘Yianni?’
Kouros answered matter-of-factly. ‘There are no other marks or stab wounds on the body.’
‘So?’ said the captain.
Kouros continued. ‘A single cut, administered at precisely the point most likely to cause as quick and painless a death as can be done by a knife.’
The captain shrugged.
‘Muggers aren’t that careful, precise, or trained,’ said Andreas. ‘I can’t remember ever seeing a mugging-turned-murder victim cut just once. Have you, Captain?’
The captain didn’t answer, just glared.
‘I’ll take that as a no. And if this were a psycho lashing out against a symbol of the church, I can’t imagine rage great enough to drive a deadly, random attack on a monk being satisfied by a single, surgical slice.’
The captain clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘So what are you saying?’
‘Premeditated murder.’
Andreas expected an argument.
‘I can’t imagine why. But I see your point.’
Andreas was surprised. Perhaps this asshole actually had an open mind. Maybe he ought to try mending fences. ‘I’d like to speak with the abbot. Do you think you possibly could arrange for him to see me now?’ Andreas didn’t need his help to make the appointment, but he wanted the captain to feel that he did. It was always better to have the head of police on a small island inside your tent pissing out, rather than outside pissing in.
The captain walked over to his desk, picked up the phone, pressed a speed dial button, and after a hushed, thirty-second conversation, hung up. ‘He’ll see you in an hour at the monastery.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ The captain extended his right hand.
Andreas wasn’t sure if that meant they’d made up, or that a farewell sucker punch was on the way. Andreas smiled, reached out and shook the captain’s hand, but all the while kept an eye on the man’s left, just in case.
Andreas and Kouros parked in the square across from where the monk was murdered. Flowers now covered the bloodstains. A sign pointing to the monastery was posted on the wall of the path that began a few feet from where the body was found. They followed it out of the square. The route soon merged with another path funneling tourists up from the parking area below. They followed the crowd uphill, past a taverna on the left and a few souvenir shops on the right.
Just before the path started downhill, almost everyone made a sharp right up onto a set of terraced steps leading into a small piazza. It was packed with tourists. On the far left side, a dozen more steps led up toward the monastery’s entrance. Andreas looked at his watch. They were thirty minutes early for their meeting. He suggested they have coffee at the taverna they’d just passed.
It took only a minute to get there, and no sooner did they step inside than a man built like Kouros, but twice his age, yelled out, ‘Welcome to Dimitri’s! Come, let me show you to our best table.’
‘We just want coffee,’ said Andreas.
‘Does that mean I should not give you our best table? Please do not offend me by suggesting I treat my guests as euros. My duty is to show Patmian hospitality to all pilgrims to our holy island.’
Andreas wasn’t buying the pitch. ‘We’re not pilgrims.’
The man smiled. ‘I know, you’re cops.’
He’d caught Andreas off guard. ‘Are we that obvious?’
The man laughed. ‘No, I saw you in the square with Mavros.’
‘Mavros?’
‘The sergeant.’ He patted Andreas on the shoulder. ‘Hi, I’m Dimitri, and welcome to my place. Follow me, please.’ He led them out a rear door onto a broad balcony running the length of the building. It literally hung off the edge of the mountain, looking out above Skala and off to the horizon as far as the eye could see.
‘This is quite a view,’ said Kouros.
‘Sure is,’ said Andreas. He wished Lila could be here.
‘Thank you. Please, sit down.’ Dimitri pointed to a large table by the open railing at the edge of the balcony. ‘I’ll bring your coffees. I know you are in a hurry to see the abbot.’
Before Andreas could speak, Dimitri added with another smile, ‘Only a hunch, but I saw you leave for Skala. Now you’re back in Chora, and five minutes ago you walked past my place headed in the direction of the entrance.’ He pointed toward the monastery. ‘Now you’re back again and only want coffee. I assume you’re waiting to go inside, but since the monastery is about to close to tourists for today, my guess is you’ve come back to meet someone inside. And the only one in the monastery who would dare talk to the police about what happened to Vassilis is Abbot Christodoulos.’ He walked away from the table.