From behind his sunglasses Andreas studied him. The Albanian was probably in his early twenties, but his hands and arms bore the bruises and calluses of a far longer lifetime of manual labor. A seriously distressed wedding ring faintly glistened on his finger as he held the bottle to his lips. His hand was shaking and he was frightened. He should be; that was normal. Now to see if there was anything about his story or behavior that wasn't.
He let the man finish drinking and stared at him for a minute longer without saying a word. Probably Kouros was right about the man being illegal. He must be scared to death he'll be asked to show his papers. Andreas decided to let that fear fester while he went after what he really wanted to know. Kouros could deal with his papers later.
'Did you call?' Andreas kept his voice firm but pleasant. He didn't have to say about what; either he'd know or he wasn't the right guy.
'Yes, sir.'
'What's your name?'
'Alex.'
He didn't need his last name for now. 'Where are you from?'
'Ano Mera.'
That was the other town on Mykonos, located in the middle of the island. But that wasn't what Andreas meant by his question. He let it pass. The man had to know Andreas knew he was from Albania, if only from his heavily accented Greek.
'So, Alex, why don't you tell us what you're doing up here.'
'I was working here today.'
'Doing what?'
'Fixing stone walls.'
'Where?'
He turned and pointed two hundred yards up the steep hillside. 'By the church.'
Andreas looked where the man was pointing. All he saw were many muted shades of brown dirt, brown bushes, and brown rocks — though when he looked closer he saw the rocks were more gray and reddish than brown. The only church he saw was on a different hillside far off to the left. 'Do you mean there?' He pointed to the distant traditional, whitewashed, blue-doored, Mykonian family church with its distinctive terra-cotta-colored, horizontal half-cylinder shaped roof. They were all over the island, some no bigger than a hundred square feet.
'No, there.' The man pointed to where he'd pointed before.
Andreas walked over and sighted down the man's arm as if it were a rifle. Out of the brown he could just make out rocks forming a wall, and behind the wall a structure of some sort — also made out of rocks — part way up the hill. He'd never seen an unpainted stone church on Mykonos.
'Who do you work for?'
The man gave the name of a well-known contractor on the island and said he was told to come here today to start rebuilding the walls around the church. As far as he knew, he was the first one to work here. Someone was supposed to help him but hadn't shown up. In fact, he hadn't seen anyone else around all day, except for an SUV or two that drove by while he was waiting for the police.
When Andreas asked why he called, the man got very nervous. Andreas pressed him. 'I know you don't want trouble, so just answer my questions. Why'd you call?'
He was literally shaking. 'If I not tell what I find, someone else come here and tell police, then you blame me when find I was here.'
A rational reason, Andreas thought, possibly too rational. He'd better keep a close eye on the guy until he saw the body. A fresh one would make this guy suspect numero uno.
'Okay, then. Where'd you find the body?'
'In the church.'
'What were you doing in the church? I thought you were working on the walls.' Alex looked like he might run. Andreas moved to block off an escape down the hill. Kouros must have sensed the same thing because he moved to cut off a run the other way. Andreas wondered whether he should unholster his gun. Not quite yet.
The man dropped to his knees and began shaking his head. 'I know I did wrong, I know I did wrong.'
Andreas' hand was now on his pistol. Kouros' already was out of the holster.
'I want to see what inside church. It so old and different from others.' As if to redeem himself, he added, 'but door not locked.'
'What was inside?' Andreas' tone was chillingly serious.
The man seemed afraid to look up from the ground. 'Icons, candles…' He trailed off.
Just what you'd expect to find in a church, thought Andreas. 'What else?'
No answer.
In a voice of unmistakable, ultimate authority Andreas said, 'What else?'
The man was breathing quickly. 'There a stone on the floor.' He paused. 'I want to see what under it.'
Andreas and Kouros looked at each other. He saw Kouros immediately relax, smile at him, and holster his weapon. Even Andreas had to fight back a laugh. This poor bastard obviously didn't know much about island churches. Cremation was forbidden in the Greek Orthodox faith, and there wasn't enough cemetery space on most islands — even the mainland — for permanent burial under ground. So, the dead were buried in a cemetery only for three or four years. Then their bones were dug up and cleaned as part of a ritual before finally being interred in either the wall or under a floor slab in a family church — assuming the family had a church. Otherwise, they were stored in a building at the cemetery.
Alex probably was expecting to find some secret buried treasure and instead got the scare of his life when he opened a burial crypt.
Andreas wished he'd been there to see his face. Ah, what the hell, he thought; we've come this far and the guy did call us. Let's just play it out. 'Okay. Why don't you just show us what you found.'
The climb took about ten minutes for Andreas and Kouros, about six for Alex. No question who was in better shape for scrambling up hillsides, though Andreas tried to convince himself he was taking a bit longer to enjoy the view. And what a view it was. Each shade-of-brown hill faded into the next slightly darker rise until only a haze of retreating, graceful curves remained to vanish into a sapphire sea and slightly lighter sky. Salt-wind driven fragrances of wild rosemary, savory, and thyme seasoned the air. Whoever chose this site for looking out upon eternity knew what he was doing, thought Andreas.
From up here, he could see that the church was a testament to ancient craftsmanship in natural stone. But this was not an antiquities tour, and Andreas had a lot of work to do back in the office — boring things, but still things. He told Alex to lead the way inside.
Alex pushed open the unpainted wooden door. As usual for a church, the door faced west, toward the setting sun, and the altar at the other end faced east, and the rising sun. That meant there'd be no direct sunlight through the front door until late afternoon, but there was enough light to see. They followed him inside.
The church was smaller than it seemed from outside, probably only about eight feet wide by fifteen feet long, including the small separated space in the rear reserved for the priest. Each side wall had a tiny, tightly shuttered window opening. Looming above them was the cylindrical dome. At its highest point this one looked no more than fifteen feet from the floor. The floor was made of some sort of hard-packed, dirtlike material, but not dirt. Probably ground seashells. A delicately engraved slab of white marble about four and a half feet long by two and a half feet wide sat flush with the floor, centered lengthwise in the middle of the main chamber. Obviously, Alex had taken the time to put it back in place.
As Alex had said, the interior of the church was neat and clean, with icons and candles in all the appropriate places. Andreas thought some family friend or neighbor must be looking after the place — unless the spirits were taking care of it themselves. There was no way the church could be in this condition without someone regularly caring for it. It was time to end Alex's ordeal and get back to planning the next traffic stop.
Andreas pointed to the crypt. 'Would you please open it up for us.'
Alex started to shake again. 'No, please, I can't. Please.'