Murder in Mykonos

Andreas was getting an uneasy vibe from this guy but didn't want to show it. The man didn't seem curious in the least as to why the chief of police was out here asking him all these questions. No reason to make him think I'm suspicious, he thought — at least not until I've had the chance to check him out, and the forensics are back.

'Thank you, Father. I appreciate your cooperation.'

The man extended his hand, and this time Andreas shook it. Father Paul turned and started back toward his house. 'Oh, by the way.' He kept walking as he talked. 'There is one thing I'm curious about, Chief Kaldis.'

Ah, here it comes, thought Andreas. 'What is it, Father?'

'Why didn't you ask me about the body?' Andreas kept yelling at himself as he drove back to town. He'd screwed up. In trying not to seem suspicious he'd made it clear to the priest that he was. Father Paul might be without a phone, but he was not without friends. Several had stopped by earlier in the afternoon to tell him about the body in 'his' church. The priest was not mad. Far from it. The more appropriate word was eccentric. He claimed to know nothing about the body, adding that he had no reason ever to disturb a burial crypt — and regarded even an attempt as a sacrilege.

Andreas left it at that. He knew he'd better prepare a lot better for his next round with Father Paul. No more questioning until he heard back from forensics or — God forbid — something else went wrong. The first call Catia made that morning was to her brother's wife, Lila, in Athens. Her daughter, Demetra, and Annika were like sisters. Catia could not imagine Annika going to Greece without seeing Demetra. Her sister-in-law hadn't spoken to Catia since before Annika's graduation and wouldn't let Catia say a thing until she'd heard all the details about that. Catia gave the hurried version and, before Lila could raise another subject, asked if she'd heard from Annika.

'Yes, the day she arrived in Greece. She called me for Demetra's cell phone number — to make plans to travel the islands together.'

Catia hadn't realized how anxious she was until hearing her sister-in-law's words. She let out a deep sigh of relief and smiled. Her daughter had once more shown good judgment. 'Do you know where they are?'

'I know Demetra is still in Milan. She's not through with her work-study semester at the fashion house there. I think they made plans to get together when she gets back.'

Every anxious thought came rushing back. Catia struggled for control of her voice. 'Do you have any idea where Annika may be?'

'No, but I'm sure Demetra does. Here, let me give you her mobile number.'

When Catia called no one answered and as instructed she left a message for Demetra. Something was wrong. She sensed she'd never find her daughter this way. There was no logical reason for her feelings, only a mother's intuition. For the moment, though, Catia could think of nothing else to do but tell her husband how worried she was, wait for a call from Demetra, and — probably — throw up. The phone rang and it was Tassos. He had some preliminary results for Andreas.

'I'm impressed, Tassos — answers before lunch.'

'You'll be glad you didn't eat.' His voice was grave.

'That bad?'

'Very.'

'The woman suffocated to death… almost certainly right where we found her. She'd been prepared for burial while alive… tampons pushed very deeply into vaginal and anal cavities… far more than would be used for burial. Probably torture.' Tassos kept pausing, as if trying to grasp the meaning of his own words as he said them. 'As best as Costas can tell, she probably died somewhere between the seventh and ninth of June.'

'Saint Calliope's name day!' Andreas blurted out.

'Yes.' Tassos went silent for a moment. 'He confirmed she was in her twenties, Caucasian, blond, blue-eyed, and almost six feet tall.'

None of this was news. Andreas waited for the other shoe to drop.

'Preliminary pharmacology results show a strong indication of methamphetamine.'

Instantly, Andreas felt he knew the reason for Tassos' mood. 'Crystal meth! The same as in your body from ten years ago! The Scandinavian girl.'

He didn't have to see him to know Tassos was nodding. 'Yes… but I'm afraid that's not all of it.'

'Not all of it? We've got two dead bodies ten years apart in what probably are ritual killings. How much worse can it be?' His voice exuded anxiety.

Tassos paused again. 'In churches as old as this one there was no separation of the bones in a burial crypt; one generation was piled on top of the next. That's why it's not surprising we found the body lying on old bones.' Another pause. 'We know that the last member of the family who built that church left Mykonos more than sixty years ago. We should check to see if anyone remembers the last time someone was buried there.'

'Why?'

'Well, we have a little problem, my friend.' Tassos was using the sort of voice cops use when they're about to drop a bomb on a buddy. 'The bones are too young.'

'Are too what?' Andreas sounded truly puzzled.

'Young. New, not old, not ancient. Recent, recent, recent.' Tassos seemed to be forcing himself back to cop-banter — a defense mechanism employed against the horrors of their job. Andreas let him go on.

'The bones don't belong in that crypt. Most of them were well over a hundred years old, some a little younger. Then we have the five-, ten-, and fifteen-year-old ones.'

'The what?' Andreas' pulse was racing.

Tassos' voice was deadly serious. 'I am afraid we have more than a ritual killing on our hands.'

Andreas held his breath.

'The only information we have as yet on the three sets of bones is that they are skeletal remains approximately five years apart.' Andreas could hear him drawing a breath. 'And they most likely are all of young women… tall young women.'

Andreas felt his throat closing. This was unheard-of. Greece had never had one of these before. Ever. 'A serial killer,' Andreas heard himself say, stunned.

'You and I must meet. Do you have time if I come over around four?'

Andreas thought it strange how someone as senior on the force as Tassos had put the question. He took it as a nervous courtesy intended to make things not seem as real and urgent as they were — as knights might have spoken to compose themselves before charging blindly into dark caves after monsters.

Andreas nervously tried to lighten the mood. 'I'll try to squeeze you in between my motorbike-accident review and meeting with the hotel association's president over weekend parking restrictions.'

Tassos chuckled. 'Thanks. I know how busy you are.' Then he added, 'Welcome to Mykonos — isn't that what you said when we met? And I bet you thought it would be boring.'

Andreas grinned. 'Yeah, right.' He paused and refocused. 'Any luck with an ID on the dead woman yet?'

'We should have something by the time I see you. We think she's Dutch. A girl matching her description hasn't been heard from in weeks. Her father got Interpol involved, and we should have a positive ID by the end of the day. Her parents thought she was somewhere in the Mediterranean, possibly Greece, but no one knew just where.'

'If you give me her name, I'll get someone started on trying to find a connection here.'

'Sure, let me get it for you.'

Andreas' head was spinning as he waited for Tassos to find the name. A serial killer in Greece — on Mykonos! The island and its reputation for tolerating all sorts of sinful behavior will be damned by the Greek Church and vilified in the Greek press as spawning this horror and shaming all of Greece before the world. Shame was the appropriate word, too, for now it was a world news headline story: SERIAL KILLER SECRETLY HAUNTS MYKONOS FOR DECADES. From fame to infamy in an instant. The hunt, the capture, the trial would be consumed by a crazed, feeding-frenzy media led by the European Union and Americans — which sent Greece its most sought-after tourists. And if the killer was never found…